On the way out, she stopped for a smoothie and then went into the club to busy herself with work and hopefully take her mind off things for a while. She couldn’t face Daisy yet. She had to figure out a way to fix this first.
Once in her father’s office, Brit booted up his seldom-used computer, ready to open one of Cord’s many spreadsheets to go over some numbers. But as the numbers blurred in front of her distracted eyes, she came up with a better idea.
Sometimes, the best way to get over a guy like Vincent was to get under another guy.
Minimizing the budget report, she navigated to her favorite dating site of the moment, Slammer, and clicked Create New Profile.
Hmm.
Shy girl looking for an outgoing guy. Brit hit the Backspace key until the cursor blinked at her from the empty Headline box. Friendly songbird looking for her prince. She slapped her forehead and pounded Backspace again.
“I am not making her sound appealing at all,” Brit whispered to no one. At the sound of shuffling feet, she peeked around her father’s dusty monitor to see who was passing. A maintenance man clad in a gray cotton work shirt and a hat to match nodded at her in passing.
Brit abandoned the Headline box on the Slammer website and opened another tab for Daisy’s Facebook profile. Score, Daisy had posted a cute picture Vincent had taken of her and Brit the day they went sightseeing. Brit now just had to crop herself out of the picture. Although considering Brit’s latest nude pic scandal, she wondered if leaving herself in would get Daisy more clicks.
Brit opened the only photo editing software she could find on her father’s computer—Microsoft Paint. She cropped herself out of the left side of the photo and uploaded it to the site. Daisy, now alone in the photo, grinned at her from the screen. She had a great smile among everything else about her perfect self. She scrolled up to the headline and typed, “Smile! You found me.”
There we go. Cheesy but original. A little too overly confident for sweet, quiet Daisy, but at least it would be eye catching. Matchmaking was in Brit’s blood—she trusted her instincts.
She heard commotion in the printer room down the hall. “Mike, is that you?”
“It’s Cord,” his chipper reply came.
Brit waited to see if Cord would pop into her father’s office, but she heard the telltale sounds of the copy machine wheezing out sheets of paper into its tray.
The Description field of the website was the daunting one. Brit had no idea what to type. She worked in some of her rejected headlines for starters. Busy musician looking for an outgoing guy to open her up.
“Ew, gross.”
To break her out of her shell. Do outgoing guys like shy girls? She had no idea. In a perfect world, Brit figured Daisy needed a guy with a party personality to keep up with her social life but who wasn’t an attention whore. But Brit didn’t know any guys like that.
Brit phoned in the rest of the description, talking generally about what she knew of Daisy’s interests outside of music and filling out only the required fields as indicated by the little asterisks next to the boxes. When she hit Submit, she watched the screen, waiting for some action. When nothing came, she clicked the Matches link to see the list of potential suitors.
“I’m so tired,” Cord said from the office door.
She minimized the browser window even though he couldn’t see the screen from where he was standing. “Still hungover from vacation?”
Cord collapsed into one of the guest chairs in front of the massive mahogany desk and cradled his head. “I have a headache. Apparently, replacing all water with Mai Tais is not a good regimen.”
“You don’t say. Did you take something?”
“I don’t like taking drugs.”
Brit inwardly smiled. That was something she didn’t hear every day in this industry.
“Hey, maybe you can help me. What do you think about this guy?” Brit maximized the window again and clicked one of the potential suitor’s pictures.
Cord lifted his head. “About who?”
Brit beckoned for Cord to come closer and pointed to the screen. “This guy.”
Cord heaved his long body from the chair, came around the desk, and leaned over Brit’s shoulder. “Not my type.”
“Not for you. Aren’t you straight? And like 45?”
He swatted the back of Brit’s chair.
“I’m kidding. This is for Daisy.”
Cord straightened to his full height. “Brit...”
“Hey, give me a break. I owe her one after setting her up with Vincent!”
“You’re not wrong about that. Are you planning on messaging the guys as her, too?”
Brit looked guilty and reached for her smoothie, now melting on the desk, and took a long pull at the straw before she could say anything.
Mike appeared in the opening of Lonnie’s office and knocked on the door. “Cord, you got a handle on Sam’s Sausage?”
Brit choked, and the strawberry puree and chia seeds she was drinking burned the inside of her nose.
Cord cleared his throat loudly to cover his own laugh. “All set up for October, Mike.”
Mike nodded. “Good. I’m going to be out again for a few days. I’ll have my cell.”
Brit, still holding a tissue to her nose, gave Mike a thumbs up, and he disappeared. She took another drink to recover herself. “What was that all about?”
“We’re doing an Oktoberfest party here. Sam’s Sausage is catering.”
“Sounds...meaty.”
“Speaking of sausage...” Cord pointed at the screen. “Back to Daisy’s next boyfriend.”
Brit hovered the cursor over one guy’s picture. “How about him?”
Cord leaned over Brit’s shoulder to get a better view of the screen. “He’s kind of nerdy.”
“You’re kind of nerdy,” she retorted. Brit squirmed in her seat at the insult she hoped Cord knew was a joke. Her mouse hand was clammy. “Besides, what’s wrong with nerds?”
“Would you date him?”
“Absolutely not.”
Cord coughed out the laugh he held in just moments ago. “But you’d set him up with Daisy?”
“He seems like a nice guy!” Brit pointed to the screen. “Here, look at this. He’s looking for a sweet girl to relax and watch TV with on lonely nights. He’s into music, like she is. I think he seems sweet. No one gives nerds enough credit.”
“Keep that in mind the next time one tries to date you.” Cord patted the back of the chair and walked out of the office.
Brit concentrated on the monitor again and scrolled through Daisy’s matches. So maybe a nerd wasn’t the best fit for Daisy at the moment.
“Dud, dud, high as a kite, full of himself, dud, poser, dud, hippie, wait a minute.” She went back to the hippie. He was poised over a set of bongo drums. Not a bad idea to add a rhythm section to Daisy’s act. No, another musician wasn’t going to help. She needed to find the opposite of a musician. She scrolled down and paused longer on the next guy. “Ah, a hillbilly.”
The guy was rugged with tanned skin from too much sun and too little sunscreen—the manly men seemed to opt to skip it—and a full beard. He had kind brown eyes, a crooked smile, and a buffalo plaid shirt. And a gun. Daisy wouldn’t like that, but this piece of man meat was exactly what she needed for a night. Now how to convince her?
Brit clicked to connect with him and found that it was a match. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she tapped out a message to the guy.
Hey, I’m Brit. This is a little weird, but I’m just going to be honest. I set this profile up for my friend. She needs a good rebound guy right now, and you seem like just the guy for her. She’s an earthy babe. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
Leaning back in the office chair, she took another sip of the smoothie, the condensation of the cup dripping onto her shirt. The message box turned red, and the computer dinged. Eager beaver.
I’m down for whatever. Anymore pics?
This time, Brit checked
Daisy’s artist website. Most of the options had Daisy’s pretty face partially obscured by her dreads, or her eyes were squeezed shut as she crooned into a microphone. But the picture on her About page was perfect—Daisy was looking away from the camera and laughing at something out of the frame. Brit sent that one along with a passable full-body shot of her on stage.
A musician. Hot.
Cool. I’ll set it up. What’s your name?
Otto.
Good god. What was it with guys and crazy names lately? What had Brit gotten Daisy into?
That a family name or something?
Nope, parents just liked it.
Great, I’ll be in touch.
It was her version of “don’t call me, I’ll call you.” Brit was starting to think this was a bad idea, but what was the big deal? It’d either be an OK one night stand or a flop of a first meeting. Brit would just make sure Daisy had her on speed dial in case anything went south.
She had a plan, sort of. It was time to face Daisy.
DAISY OPENED THE DOOR in a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants with a red nose and a miserable-looking face.
“Oh no, are you still sick?” Great, now Brit would have to deliver news to a sick girl.
“Bronchitis,” Daisy croaked.
“Let me get you some soup.”
Before Daisy could protest, Brit thundered up the stairs and into the cafe attached to the spice shop.
“Do you happen to know the girl who lives downstairs?” Brit pointed unnecessarily. “I think she’s a regular here.”
The woman with the short cropped black hair cocked her head.
“The girl there.” Brit pointed to the floor again. “Daisy. Pretty girl. Dreadlocks.”
“Oh, Daisy!”
“What kind of soup does she like?” Brit picked up one of the takeout menus and pointed to the soup section. She was tempted to try French instead of English. The little she remembered of Dutch wouldn’t be of any use in this case, she imagined.
“Yup, yup,” the woman said. “Here you go.” She ladled some soup into a bowl and bagged it up for Brit. “No charge.”
Brit bowed her head slightly. “Thank you.” And she dashed back downstairs. “Voilà! Soup!” she said triumphantly.
Daisy had left her door unlocked, and she was already curled up on the couch, the top of her head the only thing sticking out over a pile of blankets.
Setting the bag in front of Daisy on the ottoman, Brit eased onto the couch, but not close enough to get breathed on.
“How was the trip?” Daisy’s muffled voice came from under the covers.
“It was nice, really nice. Weird though.”
One bloodshot eye peeked out from the pile of blankets. “Weird? How so?”
“It has to do with Vincent,” Brit said carefully.
Daisy’s whole head came out of the cocoon. “What about Vincent? Did he say anything about me?”
“I was wrong about that guy. I never should’ve set you up with him in the first place. He’s a jerk.”
“Really?” Her eyes and mouth drooped.
“He doesn’t deserve you. But don’t worry, when you feel better, I have just the thing.”
“Vodka?”
“Better. His name is...Otto.” Brit cringed just saying it. She hurried on before the name sunk in. “He’s really handsome and rugged. Vincent’s polar opposite.”
“Like Cord?”
“Cord? I don’t know that I’d called Cord ‘rugged.’“
“Cord is pretty much Vincent’s polar opposite.”
“Ain’t that the truth. But no, this guy is more—manly’s not the right word—outdoorsy? Anyway, he’d be great for a fling.”
“I don’t know.”
“Trust me.” Even as she said it, guilt hitched in her throat.
“How do you know him?”
Now the guilt was suffocating. “An old friend of a friend.” Gulp. The lie slipped out before Brit could catch it. It was possible that someone she knew also knew him. “We connected online.” That part was the truth.
Daisy coughed and whimpered. “Maybe that is what I need. It’s not like Vincent was my boyfriend. I just thought he actually liked me.”
“He did.” Brit was about to lay a reassuring hand on Daisy, but she reconsidered. “He was just more into himself. Not the kind of guy you want around.”
“Thanks for looking out for me Brit. Let...Otto?”
Brit shrugged. “Yeah...”
“Let him know I’m in. Once I’m feeling better.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“BRIT.”
She recognized Daisy’s accusatory tone through the phone. Daisy must’ve found out that up until a couple days ago, Otto and Brit were complete strangers.
“You have to help me get rid of Otto. He’s starting to scare me.”
Oh no. Had she put Daisy in danger with her hare-brained idea? “Tell me everything.”
Brit was at the salon getting her color touched up, and the hair stylist was in the middle of foiling her head. She plugged her other ear with her finger so that she could hear Daisy better through the sound of blow dryers and chattering patrons. It was like Daisy was still talking to her from underneath the blankets.
“It started out with flirty texting. I sent him some pictures. He sent me one, and I told him he was handsome. Then I noticed in his picture that he had a dead deer hanging behind him.”
“Oh my gosh. Why would he send you that one?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t eat meat, but I’m fine with other people doing it. It’s not like I don’t know where it comes from. That’s the whole point. And hunters aren’t as bad as some of those evil farms out there raising cattle unethically.”
Daisy’s rants about meat were drowned out momentarily by the crinkling of Brit’s smock as the stylist motioned for Brit to head to another area to wait while her color set.
“The hunting thing wasn’t a dealbreaker. He didn’t know I was a vegetarian, so I gave him a pass on that one. Maybe he just thought he looked good in that picture. Then, he proceeded to send me more pictures of him posing with guns. These are his guns. And I don’t mean biceps. I don’t want to be with a guy with so many guns! Not even for a night! And why is he showing me all these? Is it supposed to be impressive?”
“Ew, I get what you’re saying. That is a little weird.”
“It just gets worse. I asked him if he had any pictures without guns, and he told me guns are his hobby. So not only does he happen to have guns for hunting or protection, but they’re his hobby!”
Brit had never heard Daisy string so many words together at one time. This guy had really shaken her up.
“I told him I didn’t think this was going to work. Then we hung up, and I thought it was over, but he called back three times after that!”
“Did you pick up?”
“The second time. I asked him if he had anything else to say to me. He didn’t. He said he wanted to get to know me as a person.”
“Which is probably bullshit,” Brit added.
“Even I could tell that was a line.”
Good, Daisy was getting savvier by the day.
“I told him this was the last time we were going to speak, and he called me again! Who is this guy? You need to tell your friend that he’s friends with a real jerk.”
Brit surveyed the salon before she covered her phone with her hand and slumped down in her seat. “Daisy, don’t hate me.”
“You don’t know him, do you?”
Brit’s spine jabbed into the plastic chair, but she didn’t move. It was penance. “How’d you know?”
“I figured it out pretty quick when he didn’t know a thing about you. And he referred to your mutual friend by two different names. Plus, you’re way too good to be hanging out with a guy like that.”
Brit didn’t deserve the compliment.
“Detective Daisy.”
“He was kind of a moron. It wasn’t hard.”
Brit la
ughed and straightened her back. She could feel the chemicals working into her scalp. “I picked up on that, too. Can you forgive me? I’ll officially retire from matchmaking. It’s clearly putting you in danger. I guess Barbara and Lander were a fluke.”
“Maybe I’m not matchable.”
“Believe me, Daisy, that couldn’t be further from the truth.” And if Brit hadn’t just declared her retirement, she would’ve proved it to her. “At least let me help you change your number just in case. I have to start making it up to you somehow.”
AFTER STOPPING AT THE coffee shop, Brit pulled open the door of the club, sipping a giant caffeine-free blended cream drink. She heard voices coming from her father’s office and headed in that direction. Lander was sitting in one of the guest chairs with his dark hands gripping the arm rests.
“I mean, who does that? That’s not professional.” He threw his hand up in the air.
Brit knocked lightly. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you heard from your boy Vincent lately?”
Brit curled her lip. “Absolutely not. He is not my boy. Why, what happened?”
“The dude punked out.”
“What do you mean, he punked out?”
“He disappeared. I got him a gig tonight, and I don’t know if he’s gonna show up.”
“I thought he had other management.”
“We’ve been in talks.”
“So what happens if he doesn’t show up tonight?”
“He’s in breach of contract.”
Brit had never seen Lander worked up. Her father looked vaguely surprised on the other side of the desk too. Brit and Lander both turned to Lonnie for his take.
He had been leaning back in the chair with his fingers stroking his bearded chin, but then he leaned forward and planted his elbows on the desk with a thump.
“Here’s what you need to do. Have your lawyer look over the contract again to make sure there are no loopholes Vincent may have found. Then, give him a reasonable time limit to return your call. Twenty-four hours, forty-eight, no more than that. You have to remember emergencies come up. I didn’t get to where I am by making assumptions and cutting people off without giving them an opportunity to explain. Let the boy have this strike.”
Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1) Page 12