by Melody Anne
“No! Well, not exactly. She’s more of an actress-for-hire. Check it out.”
I scrutinized the card. All that was on it was the simple drawing of a black mask in sparkling ink and an address in the bottom corner. “Dude, are you giving me Zorro’s card or something? There’s not even a name on here.”
“Her name is Rachel, and she just likes to keep an air of mystery about her. She also likes to meet her clients in person. It’s why there’s no number on there. You have to go to her office.” Scott’s voice lowered. “Quick, hide it. Allison’s coming back. As far as she knows, I met Rachel at the park.”
I slipped the card into my jacket pocket with Brittani’s number. Fantastic. Now I had two useless pieces of paper on me.
Allison slid into the booth beside Scott and took a sip of wine. I had to admit, Scott was happier with that girl around. Under his beard, his skin was tinged pink with alcohol and adoration for the woman next to him. I almost hated the guy.
“So, Baxter,” Allison said. “How is your business going? You’re trying to make clothes for the homeless or something, right? Have you gotten any investors?”
“Blankets.” I polished off my beer and held up the empty glass to Danielle so she’d bring another. “They’re blankets. They’re big enough to cover a person head to toe, and I stitched them together with materials that both keep the wind out and heat up according to your body temperature.”
“My friend the genius,” Scott said. He draped an arm around Allison. “I always knew you were too good for a desk job at the firm.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I said.
Danielle dropped off my second beer, giving me a half smile. She was definitely cute. Black hair streaked with red that framed her face in waves in the way those old cabaret singers used to wear it. Dark skin without a mark on it. Deep brown eyes and full lips she painted with gloss. Every part of her was perky, from her demeanor to her ass to her breasts.
We’d made out once in the alley behind the bar when I’d gotten wasted after Clare had left, but then I threw up into a Dumpster and that pretty much killed the moment. Nothing makes a woman back off faster than hurling day-old pizza on top of week-old nachos.
“This was one of those strange experiments I stumbled on,” I continued after Danielle left. “It was like five degrees out. The homeless man who usually sleeps outside my building looked like he was freezing, and he wouldn’t accept my invitation to take him in for the night. So I put together a blanket from things Clare left behind in the apartment, and gave it to him. He told me the next day it was the warmest he’d ever been. He said he’d even sweated at one point.”
Allison leaned her head on Scott’s shoulder. “So what exactly are you trying to do with them now?” she asked.
“Well, I managed to salvage the remaining materials and make one more as a prototype, but I’m trying to get someone to invest so I can afford to mass-market them and hopefully sell them to every place in the world that needs them. So far, all I’ve gotten is kicked out of offices and old men looking at me like I’ve suggested cutting off their dicks.”
Allison almost choked on her wine. She hated the d word. Scott rubbed her back and said, “What are you doing, though? Just showing up with one blanket and a PowerPoint presentation or something?”
“Exactly that.” I grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl in the center of the table and started popping nuts into my mouth as I tossed the shells on the floor. “I don’t have much more, man.”
“That doesn’t sound very impressive,” Allison said. “I mean, if you came to me asking for money, I’d want to know there was something worth investing in. At least more than one employee, maybe an interested buyer. Even a promise from the mayor that he would buy a bunch once they were complete. And did you show up in what you’re wearing now?”
“Yeah. But what’s wrong with this?”
“First of all, that jacket is wrinkled. It needs to be pressed. I’m also sure I spotted a hole or two. You look like you rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing you found on the floor.”
“Gee, thanks. Way to kick a guy when he’s down.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just trying to prove a point. The most important aspect in selling your product is selling yourself. Investors see you before they see your product, and they’ve already made their decision before you even open your mouth. If you show up looking like you don’t care, why should they?”
“She has a point.” Scott planted a kiss on her cheek. “My little salesgirl.”
“And what do you suggest I do?” I asked. “You really think some new clothes are going to make millionaires take me seriously all of a sudden? I’m still just this dude with no money, no employees, and a blanket made from recycling.”
“That might be part of the problem,” Allison said. “It’s just you. I think you need a partner, Baxter. I really do.” Allison’s purse started to chirp and she pulled out her phone and moaned. “It’s Arthur. He’s probably still at the office and can’t figure out how to turn off the computer or something. Be right back. The signal in here sucks.”
She trotted to the exit, her voice fading as she left the bar.
“Great.” I sat back in my seat. “Sure. I’ll just go out and get an assistant and ask them to work for nothing. What would they assist, anyway? I have nothing for them to do.”
Scott stroked his beard. “You need more than an assistant, Bax. I think Ally’s right. You need someone who can make you look good. Someone who can make your business look functional, or maybe even pose as an interested partner.”
“Perfect. Lemme just get one of those.” I scanned the bar. “Do you think I should go with Dean, with the beer belly and permanent mustard stains on his tie, or Beth, with her sixty years of experience and bright blue eye shadow?”
“That’s not what I had in mind. The card I gave you. Rachel, the actress-for-hire. She’ll play anyone or anything—as long as you don’t expect an intimate relationship. No sex stuff, obviously. But she might just be up for pretending to be your rich partner. Or, hell, it may be enough to bring her into meetings. She could sell Kryptonite to Superman. Dude, she’s that good.”
I polished off the second beer, letting the alcohol waft through my head along with the cheesy country song wailing from the speakers beside us. “Oh yeah? Will she work for free?”
“Well, no. She’s actually pretty expensive—”
“That puts me out.”
“Wait for it. She’s expensive, but she has a refund policy. If she can’t complete the job, you get your money back in full. She’s that confident. She gets her business through word of mouth, and the guy who referred me said she’s never had to give a refund.”
“Still.” I glanced at the door to make sure Allison hadn’t returned. “Where would I get the money to pay up front?”
“You have the money you’d been saving for the wedding, right?”
“I have some of it. A lot of it I’ve used for things like rent and food, but the rest I kept in case this whole endeavor tanks and I have to make as many of those blankets as I can on my own before calling it quits.”
“That’s perfect, then. You have nothing to lose here. She either gets you a major investor and national attention, or you get your money back.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the card with her address.
“Do you really think this chick would go for it?”
His eyes followed Allison as she shoved her phone into her purse and headed back toward us. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” I studied the card, my finger trailing up and down the strange mask. Scott was right. I had nothing left to lose.
In this sequel to Flirting with Fame, Veronica Wilde finds that playing pretend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be—especially when it’s coming from the one man who makes her heart go, well, wild.
Dealing in Deception
* * *
ORDER YOUR COPIES TODAY!
&nb
sp; For all the hopeless romantics who love
Happily Ever After
CHAPTER ONE
Avery
One thing Carrie Underwood forgot to mention: after you take a Louisville slugger to his headlights, and after you slash all four tires of your cheating ex-boyfriend’s truck, you get arrested and charged with willful destruction of property.
“This plea bargain is acceptable to both parties?” The judge squinted at Grant, my asshat ex, and then at me through John Lennon–type glasses perched on his oversized nose. He kind of reminded me of Santa Claus. Well, maybe if Santa wore a black robe and handed out sentencing instead of toys.
“Yes, Your Honor.” My father’s gravelly voice echoed in the judge’s chambers.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Grant’s lawyer replied.
I stared straight ahead and tried to look contrite. Really, the only thing I was sorry about was that someone had taken a video of me destroying Grant’s truck and posted it on YouTube. At least I was on my way to viral infamy. Three million hits and counting.
My father, District Attorney Samuel Hartley, had tried to get the charges dropped until he found out about the video from Grant’s lawyer. If looks could kill, I would be six feet under for sure. See, my father needed his zero-tolerance-policy-on-crime platform to win the mayoral seat he was gunning for. It wasn’t like he could change the rules just because his daughter broke them. He did, however, have all the charges booked under my mother’s maiden name, Melrose, instead of Hartley, to try to distance himself from the mess.
“Very well,” the judge said. He looked at me, and I met his steady gaze. “Avery Melrose, you are hereby sentenced to three hundred hours of community service and restitution in the amount of fifteen thousand dollars. You have six months to complete your community service and must pay the full amount of restitution within seventy-two hours. If you fail either condition of this plea bargain, you will be found in contempt and you will be arrested and will serve the remaining balance of your community service in a minimum-security facility. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Shit. My father hadn’t told me that the three hundred hours of community service had to be done in six months. This was my senior year at UNC, and I had too many things I needed to do to serve some kind of stupid penance.
“How the hell am I supposed to do community service and go to school?” I shouted at my dad as soon as we were out of the judge’s chambers.
“You might have thought about that before you took a bat to Grant’s truck, Avery. Jesus, what the hell were you thinking?” Dad stuffed the signed paperwork into his briefcase and started toward the exit.
Grant walked by, a smirk on his face. Asshole.
“I was thinking that I had just seen my boyfriend with his dick in some bimbo in our bed.” My voice echoed down the hallway of the courthouse, and several heads whipped around to stare. My father strode back and grabbed my arm.
“Will you keep your voice down? You’re acting like a piece of trailer trash.”
He pulled me past Grant, who now looked a little red in the face. I flipped him off as my father dragged me through the doors.
“You’re not ten years old, Avery. At least try and act like the well-bred lady you were raised to be.” He released me as soon as the door slammed closed. I stood on the steps of the courthouse, my chest rising and falling with anger.
He acted like I was throwing a tantrum. I wanted to stomp my foot, but it would only prove his point. How did he expect me to react when I went to Grant’s apartment and found him balls deep in some trashy-looking whore?
My boyfriend.
Fucking someone who wasn’t me.
And then he tried to tell me it wasn’t what it looked like.
I think that’s what pissed me off most. Like I misunderstood what was happening right in front of me. That he thought I was that stupid.
My normal cool-headed assessment skills went right out the window when I heard him moaning her name. I ran out and grabbed the bat he kept beside the front door and started hitting the first thing of his I saw: his truck. I’d broken all the windows and lights and dragged my keys up and down the sides of the shiny black paint by the time Grant put his pants on and got outside.
It took Grant and his roommate, Bryan, to get the bat out of my hands, but not before I got Grant good in his pitching shoulder. Bastard.
“I’m not sorry,” I said to my father, tilting my chin up. “Aren’t you always the one who says not to take shit from anyone?”
He growled. “Not taking shit and doing fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of property damage are not the same and you know it.”
“Can’t we just get someone to sign off that I did my time and we can move on? I have sorority obligations and studying, and you can’t honestly expect me to do three hundred hours of some kind of menial grunt work.” I looked up at him, giving him a huge pout. “Please, Daddy? Can’t you do something? I made a mistake.”
Already, I was two steps ahead, planning the welcome back party our sorority held every year. This year was especially important because I’d been voted vice president.
“. . . alongside a group of people that are currently on parole.”
Parole? I shook my head. “What?”
“This is exactly what I was talking about, Avery. You have no comprehension of what you’ve done. You’ll take a semester off from college to get this taken care of. The paperwork is already filed. Your three hundred hours will be working with the public works crew, alongside a group of recent parolees.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” My voice was way too high-pitched and loud, but he couldn’t mean what I was hearing. “I can’t take a semester off! What about Rush week? I have obligations! And you actually expect me to work alongside common criminals?”
A snarl turned his lips up. “What the hell do you think you are now, Avery? This goes on your permanent record! You’re twenty-one. You’re not a child anymore. And I’ve already looked at all the files of every single person you’ll be serving with. I wouldn’t allow you to be in danger, you know that.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Real tears burned my eyes. Every employer worth working for did criminal background checks. God, I wanted to kill Grant for fucking with my future because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I just . . . I loved Grant and I reacted without thinking.” My father was a reasonable person, but just in case he didn’t see my reasons clearly, I appealed to his emotional side. “He broke my heart, Daddy.”
I saw his face soften, and hope leapt to life in my chest. Surely he didn’t want his daughter working around the same dirty lowlifes he fought to put away every day.
“I know, and I’m sorry that you had to find him like that. But it doesn’t change what you did. I’m in a precarious position, Avery. My entire campaign rests on my one-strike platform. Hell, I’ve spent the last four years cleaning up the streets so that I’d be the best candidate for mayor. My hands are tied right now. You do the crime, you do the time.”
“Don’t use one of your campaign slogans on me,” I growled, then stomped down the steps.
“Avery, make sure you report to the public works department at six A.M. Monday. If you don’t show, they will arrest you and there won’t be anything I can do for you.” Before I could say anything else, a reporter rushed up the steps and thrust a microphone in my father’s face.
“Mr. Hartley, can you tell us how the arrest of your daughter has affected your campaign plans?” The blond woman smiled up at him, but I could see the gleeful malice gleaming in her eyes. Goddamned vultures.
“I can assure you, Ms. Chambers, that it hasn’t changed a thing. My daughter is going to pay for her lapse in judgment just like anyone else would. I’m serious when I say that I am willing to do whatever it takes to make our city a safer place.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw my father look directly into the camera, his politician’s smile in place. If he wasn’t running for
mayor, he would have pulled out all the stops to get me out of my punishment. That’s how it always worked with us.
But apparently not anymore.
I stormed to the parking lot and yanked open the door to my BMW convertible, a gift from Dad when I graduated from high school with a perfect 4.0. I flicked the AC on full blast, even though the top was down, and stomped down on the accelerator, speeding away from the courthouse as fast as I could go.
Wind whipped the tips of my ponytail against my face, but I ignored it.
No school. No sorority.
My life might as well be over right now.
Damn Grant and the wasted four years we spent together.
CHAPTER TWO
Seth
“Three months of community service and you’ll have served your entire sentence,” my parole officer said from across the desk. “Keep your nose clean, Seth, and you’ve got your entire future ahead of you.”
I sat back and crossed my arms, tried to listen to what Arnold was telling me. His office was a mess and it smelled musty, like there was old food sitting in some forgotten corner. But it was better than the cell that had been my home for the past twelve months.
“You got your GED and even started some college-level courses. That’s very good.” Arnold kept looking at me from over my file. Why the hell did he think he needed to tell me things that I already knew?
“There is a program that will pay for ex-convicts to earn a college degree. With your background and financial status, you’d get it all for free.”
In other words, I was a fucking low-life loser and the state would give me money to spend on a degree that might or might not keep me out of prison. Great use of the working public’s taxes. I’m sure they really appreciated it too.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. I really wouldn’t. No way could I see myself on a fucking college campus.