Undercover Lover (BWWM Romance Book 1)

by Theresa McGhee

  “Oh, that you’re girlfriend’s a thief. Nothing major.”

  “What?” Dean was surprised that he was surprised. His mother made no secret of the lengths she was willing to go to separate Dean from Meaghan. Somehow though, he had not been expecting this.

  “Are you sure?” he asked Smith.

  “Samantha just called me to ask me what you’re doing about it,” he said.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  Dean sighed.

  “So, now what?” Smith asked.

  “It's not true of course,” Dean hastened to assure him.

  “Of course it isn’t. Never did a woman of more integrity exist; I know she wouldn’t do that. And in such a stupid manner too. She’s too bright for that.”

  Dean laughed, “She has too much integrity to steal and if she did she wouldn’t have done it in such an obvious manner? That’s your argument?”

  “Hey! I’m on your side here,” Smith protested.

  “Yeah, I know. I made that very same argument myself,” he confessed ruefully.

  “So what now?” Smith asked again.

  “Damage control I guess,” Dean replied.

  *****

  “Hello.”

  “Am I speaking to Judy Maitland?” Samantha asked.

  “Yes. This is she.”

  “I wanted to find out from you whether the story I heard about a certain billionaire’s girlfriend stealing a tiara from you was true,” Samantha said.

  “I’m sorry. I am not speaking to any press about this. Good day.”

  “Wait. Judy! I’m not press,” Samantha exclaimed.

  “Oh? Then what are you?” Judy demanded.

  “I’m, an interested party with deep pockets,” Samantha drawled.

  Judy was silent on the other end, but she hadn’t hung up so Samantha continued.

  “I’m looking to garner some information on the woman you had your..spat with. If you’re willing to cooperate, there is a nice check at the end of the day for you.”

  The silence continued on for a bit. “What exactly do you have in mind?” Judy asked.

  Samantha smiled, “Not on the phone. Do you know the Hard Rock Café?”

  “Of course,” Judy said.

  “Let’s meet there in half an hour, can you do that?”

  “Yes. I can do that. But you’ll need to send a car for me,” Judy said.

  “Demands already. I like you Judy. I’ll be sending an uber to your location. Send me directions.”

  “Great. I’ll be waiting.”

  *****

  The Hard Rock Café was loud even at three o’clock in the afternoon. That was why Samantha chose it. She might not be a reader, but she’d been there when her study group had had an intense discussion of the Order of the Phoenix and the merits of having clandestine meetings in quiet bars vs. noisy bars. The latter was a clear winner. Samantha remembered that. Something about not being overheard.

  She sat down in a secluded corner and ordered a cream liqueur to give her Dutch courage as she waited. She had talked her plan over with Poppy Wesson and received her approval to go ahead but for obvious reasons she could not be directly involved, however stealthy the attack. Judy walked in and looked around for Samantha. She’d seen some of the advertisements she’d done for Agua Bendita bikini wear as well as Mara Hoffman. Judy was hoping not only to get cash out of this deal but maybe also a position as one of Samantha Crawford’s stylists. Now that would be one for her resume…she crowed. Maybe she should make it a prerequisite for her cooperation. She knew Samantha Crawford had previously been in a relationship with Dean Wesson and she had a feeling this had something to do with that. Whatever. It was none of her business. She was just here to get paid.

  She spotted Samantha at a corner table, sipping a creamy drink. Her face lit up as she hurried over, ready to wheel and deal.

  *****

  “Hi mama,” Meaghan said into the phone.

  “Hey dear. What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

  “I am sad,” Meaghan replied. “Can I come see you tonight? We have to talk.”

  “Oh oh, sounds dangerous. What time?”

  “I’m off work at six, can I come at seven?”

  “I’ll be waiting,” her mother said.

  “Okay, thanks mom. Bye. I love you.”

  “Love you too baby,” she replied.

  *****

  She let herself into her mother’s place with the key she still had. Mr. Henley was lounging outside his garage, smoking. Meaghan shot him a narrowed look as well as a wave and he shrugged back at her as if to say, “What can I say?”

  She stepped into the trailer she grew up in, breathing in the smell of home. She flopped back onto the couch and put on the TV to just…vegetate for five minutes. She kicked off her shoes, put her feet up and settled in to wait for her mother. Within a few minutes she’d dropped off to sleep.

  *****

  Judy walked into the waiting room of the hospital, looking around cautiously. It had been years since she’d been in this part of town. Brooklyn was so far behind her she didn’t like to even think about it. Yet here she was once again, chasing the money all the way back home. She studied the people around her, wondering which one of them was the TMZ guy. She couldn’t spot any cameras or anything to indicate that anyone was filming or preparing to film anything. She wondered for a moment if they were even here but then decided that there was no way that Samantha Crawford could overlook such a crucial detail. She leaned back, waiting for her name to be called. Finally someone called her name and she made her way to the triage room…

  The resemblance was startling. Sure this woman was older, and she had a wig on rather than her natural hair but still…she had the same regal air, the same tall, thin physique flaring a bit at the hips, shoulders ramrod straight, complexion clear chocolate and unblemished; just like her daughter’s. Good genes. Judy felt a small pang of regret to be doing this to her but she quashed it quickly, thinking about the ten k in cash money she was getting after this and access to dressing even bigger celebrities. It was her dream. One had to do what they had to do to make their dreams come true. She left the triage curtain slightly open for whomever was out there, filming

  “Mrs. Leonard?” she asked the nurse.

  “Yes? I am Amanda Leonard. Have we met?” the nurse asked turning to face Judy.

  “No. But I know your daughter a little. She stole from me,” Judy said. She didn’t bother to keep her voice down.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Amanda said unmoved. “My daughter is no thief.”

  “She stole from me. A tiara of great value. Why don’t you ask her about it? She sent her boyfriend to pay me for the tiara and made me sign an NDA to keep me silent. Doesn’t that sound like a thief to you?”

  Amanda Leonard narrowed her eyes. “Look lady; I don’t know who you are or what you want but I will not allow you to speak about my daughter in that way.”

  “I’m Judy Maitland, stylist to the stars. And I dressed your daughter for the Furious 7 premiere here in New York,” Judy had to get as much information out as possible so the gossip blogs could go dig up dirt. “She called me during the premiere to say she’d lost the tiara.”

  “There you go. She did not steal it. It got lost,” Amanda said.

  Judy snorted, “I secured that tiara to her head myself. There is no way she could have lost it. Not by accident anyway.”

  Amanda’s narrowed eyes got smaller, “And why are you here telling me all this anyway?”

  Judy sighed, this part was tricky. They hadn’t rehearsed what she would say if Amanda went on an exploration expedition as to her motives. What could she say that would sound plausible?

  “Well…I come from this part of Brooklyn and I hate to have a fellow Brooklynite spoiling our name unnecessarily,” she said.

  Amanda laughed out loud. “Really?” she said not sounding convinced.

  “Yes,” Judy insisted. This wasn’t about what Amanda believed
anyway.

  “Well thank you for the information. Now if you’re not here for medical attention kindly leave. I have work to do.”

  Judy nodded stiffly and left. As soon as she cleared the building, she called Samantha to let her know the job was done.

  *****

  “Hey dude,” Dean answered his phone when he saw Smith’s number, for him to call twice in one day must mean he was really worried.

  “Hey. I forgot to ask, does your mother know about…you know?” he asked.

  Dean sighed, “Aren’t you supposed to be on some tropical paradise, sipping margaritas and soaking in the sunshine?”

  “You would think so right? I thought it was supposed to be summer here because it's winter there right? The sun is supposed to do that right? No such luck. It's freezing cold and rainy.”

  “Maybe the sun finally had it and took a vacation,” Dean joked.

  “Oh yeah? Where would the sun vacation? Alpha Centauri?” Smith snarked.

  “Yeah, I hear its nice this time o’ year,” Dean said.

  “Really short days and long nights?” Smith countered.

  “Exactly,” Dean said.

  “Well fuck that. Holiday’s over. Time to get back to work sun!” Smith complained as Dean laughed.

  “And I don’t know if my mom knows. I’d guess no since she hasn’t called me to complain about ‘dragging the family name through the mud’ or whatever.”

  “Where else would Samantha have heard about it?”

  There was silence on the line as they both pondered this disturbing tidbit.

  “Why wouldn’t she call me if she knew? It’s not like her to just keep quiet.”

  “Unless…” Smith said ominously.

  Dean shook his head, “Shit.”

  *****

  The door banged open, waking Meaghan up. She sat up on the couch, startled, as she looked around to see her mother coming in. She looked mad. Meaghan wondered why…something happen out there, or something Meaghan did? Meaghan searched her mind to see if she could remember doing anything in the last day to annoy her mother but nothing came to mind.

  “Mama? Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “No. everything is not okay!” her mother snapped throwing her bag on the armchair. “I done told you that boy was trouble!”

  Meaghan tensed. She knew her mother meant Dean but she didn’t know why.

  “What’s happened?” she asked holding her breath.

  “A very shady young lady ambushed me at the hospital today to tell me that you’d stolen her tiara,” Amanda said.

  “I didn’t!” Meaghan protested with a gasp.

  “Of course I know you didn’t. what do you take me for. But you know why they doing this don’t you? It’s that man o’ yours.”

  “He didn’t do anything,” Meaghan found herself defending Dean to her mother. A position she’d been trying desperately to avoid. It would make the whole moving in with him thing seem even more of a bad idea.

  “No. He didn’t. the people around him though…”

  “You can’t blame him for that!”

  “I’m not blaming him. I’m just saying it might be better for you to find someone less…controversial.”

  “Ma…he asked me to move in with him.”

  Amanda Leonard sighed tiredly, “No.”

  Meaghan’s brow furrowed, “What do you mean no? Mama I’m a grown woman; that decision is mine alone.”

  Amanda was shaking her head. “Sure it is. But you misunderstand me. I am not forbidding you…” She said with a smile that said she knew full well what her daughter would do if she tried that. “I am saying that already, just being girlfriend and boyfriend, there is so much pressure on you. If he wants you to take this much pressure then he must be willing to put in equal commitment and put a ring on it.”

  “Put a… mama! We haven’t even been together a year!”

  “But you feel that it's soon enough to move in with each other?”

  Meaghan sighed; there was no winning this argument.

  “I’m not pressuring him to put a ring on it,” she said.

  “Fine. But don’t let him squander your youth and put you in a situation it's hard to get out of. All or nothing Megs my love. Let him commit to all or nothing.”

  Meaghan closed her eyes and then inclined her head one way then the other. All in all, it had gone much better than she’d imagined it would. Now all she had to do was tell Dean that the answer was no…

  Joy.

  Chapter 6

  Some normal people might have referred to Dean as a "morning person." Some sane people might have added some colorful adjectives before the phrase. However, the truth was that Dean was simply a generally stressed individual; one who just also happened to like waking up at the crack of dawn to run a few miles before he started the rest of his day. He took comfort in the routine of it. New York. was the city that never slept; yet it was just on the precipice of waking to whatever crises the day might bring whether they were political, economical, criminal, or individual.

  For a little while every morning, Dean could just clear his mind of every worry or trouble and just exist. He felt the pull of each step as each large foot hit the concrete to a pace set by Highway to Hell on his iPod, felt the stretch of every muscle, felt the sweat sticking to his t-shirt.

  Dean smiled at grumpy, old Mr. Crowder, who just scowled at him before bending over to grab his morning paper and half-mooning Dean in the process. No! Not again! Dean squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the old man hitched his pajama bottoms back up.

  "Mrs. C have you on a diet again, Mr. C?" Dean asked as he ran past. "Looking...er- healthy." He did not wait for an answer.

  Mostly he wanted to stab his mind's eye out with a hot poker.

  Several houses away, he awkwardly tried not to step on Bitsy the Cockapoo, whose owner had once again left open the side gate from the yard. Bitsy might be less than 14 inches high when standing still but in her best territorial mode, Dean was certain she was targeting sensitive personal areas of his that he would like to keep. A slight chase ensued as he tried to keep her barky-bitey parts away from anything she might consider "meaty" while he knocked on her owner's door. Of course, in order to avoid becoming a chew toy, he had to keep in constant motion, which meant that once the knocking part was complete, he had to return to weaving across Bitsy's Mom's lawn.

  Bitsy's Mom apparently was unappreciative of his oversized footprints on her manicured lawn even if he had saved her precious baby from the dangers of the world outside of the backyard. Dean would try to remember that the next time Bitsy got loose, but he never did. He was always a little bit more concerned about the barky-bitey parts to worry about the lawn.

  As he approached the corner, he noted a few of the residents of The Wilshire Apartments which catered exclusively to single people, making the walk-of-shame from the parking lot. He grinned, watching as they shuffled guiltily along, trying to avoid each other's eyes. Seeing them always reminded Dean how he was happy those days were over for him for good. He had Meaghan now; and she was warm, caring, and dependable.

  Dean tilted his head as he ran and daydreamed about all of Meaghan's wonderful qualities. It was more than how hot Meaghan was; because Meaghan was totally, walking-on-the-sun, breathtakingly, mind-shatteringly, heart-stoppingly hot but Meaghan was also smart, witty, generous, and kind. That wasn’t why though, that wasn’t why he was head over heels for her. If he was honest, he didn’t exactly know why. It could be that he could be himself with her; hidden geek and all…Maybe it was the fact that she understood his references or that she didn’t care about the money and the position and the fame. Maybe it was just her. Who knew?

  Meaghan saw the good in people and constantly tried to be a better person. She made the best uncontrollable sexy noises when she drank his first coffee in the morning, and she secretly loved Ben & Jerry's Crème Brule at three a.m. in bed. Meaghan cried during Steel Magnolias, she snickered through all the stupid part
s in Dodgeball, and, although, Dean was absolutely forbidden to mention either, he thought they were equally adorable.

  Dean sighed happily.

  Then he tripped over the curb.

  After the turn back to the house, he caught sight of Mr. Pickerby with his briefcase and his travel mug as he rushed to his chauffeur driven limousine in his suit and tie. In her fuzzy pink bathrobe, Mrs. Pickerby was two steps behind him with her mouth going a mile a minute but Dean had no idea what she was saying today since Nickelback's If Today Was Your Last Day filled his earbuds. Whatever she said every day, Mr. Pickerby never seemed happy about it, and clearly it needed repeating every morning.

  Farther down the street, Mr. Don't-Touch-My-Sports-Car was polishing his brand new yellow

  Jaguar.

  Several mornings in a row, Dean had seen him chasing two neighborhood boys with a soccer ball down the street after they kicked the ball within three feet of the Jag. The way he was touching the car this morning though, made Dean want to tell him to go ahead and fuck it already to get it out of his system. Instead, Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push that image out of his brain. Failing, he tried to replace it with a less disturbing image -- Mr. Crowder bent over to pick up his paper.

  At the four-way stop sign on the corner to his block, Dean jogged across the diagonal. A blue Jeep stopped a mere five inches from hitting him, and the irate owner slammed her fist onto the steering wheel horn multiple times, letting the final one last a good thirty seconds, just in case Dean missed the message.

  "...The Russian deep space probe Omega..." the Jeep's radio broadcasted.

  Dean yanked his earbuds out and gave the driver his best Welcome to New York look.

  "...unexpectedly re-entered Earth's atmosphere over Maryland..."

  She responded with an exasperated expression and gestured for him to get out of the street, which he did.

  "...and broke apart over..."

  The blue Jeep disappeared down the street as Dean stumbled into the La Colombe on the street corner. He quickly ordered his usual coffee, adding plenty of sugar to the

  paper cup. When he reached the register, Dean looked around, easily able to see over the bar, scoping out his usual barista. He was nowhere to be found.