Party Crashers

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Party Crashers Page 29

by Stephanie Bond


  Jolie looked up to see Carlotta striding toward her wearing her trademark gapped grin. “Hey yourself.”

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving us to go back to Realtor Barbie.”

  Jolie gave her a wry smile. “Well, she did save my life.”

  “Is that all?”

  “And I’m better at selling houses than I am at selling shoes.”

  Carlotta nodded. “As long as it’s what you truly want.”

  A little laugh escaped Jolie’s throat. “Who gets what they truly want?”

  Carlotta studied her for a few seconds. “Are you okay?”

  Jolie nodded. “Just a little sad, I suppose, about leaving.” About returning to her previous life.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I came to tell you that you’ve inspired me.”

  Jolie frowned. “How?”

  Carlotta’s hands fluttered with excitement. “I don’t have all the kinks worked out yet, but I want to start a business to place products at high-class functions. I’m calling it Product Impressions. A designer would come to me with, say, a fabulous coat, then I’d hire a model to wear the coat to important places.”

  Jolie grinned. “And to crash parties?”

  A sly smile crawled over Carlotta’s face. “Let’s just say I would take advantage of any advertising venue that presented itself.”

  “I’m sure it will be a raging success,” Jolie said, then lowered her voice. “How’s the other…situation?”

  Carlotta’s smile faded. “Don’t worry—my brother and I will work it out.” Then she winked. “Call me Monday and we’ll have lunch next week, okay?”

  Jolie nodded and waved goodbye, glad to have one good relationship to show for her ordeal. She crossed the showroom floor to clean up a few cardboard fillers and stray boxes. Time to clock out and go home.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, turning. “My shift…just…ended.” Her mouth went dry. Beck, looking much the same as a few days ago, but so good to her eyes that she was embarrassed for herself.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She swallowed painfully. “Hi.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” Desperate for something to do with her hands, she gestured vaguely toward the showroom. “This is my last day.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “I’m going back to work at the Sanders Agency, except this time it will be Sanders and Goodman.”

  He grinned. “That’s great. I’m…happy for you…if that’s what you want.”

  Why did everyone keep saying that? She nodded cheerfully, pleased that she at least could share that news before she never saw him again, but wishing she could be as enthusiastic about going back to the agency as she rightfully should be. Jolie manufactured a smile, trying to steel herself against the physical sway he still commanded over her. “Are you shoe shopping?” she asked.

  “Actually, yes.” He shifted his big body from foot to foot and glanced around at the displays. “I’m going to be needing a couple of pairs of rugged shoes to take back with me.”

  Her heart jerked sideways. “You’re returning to Costa Rica?”

  He nodded. “Della is doing great, and she always was much more interested in the family business than I was. I’m just not cut out for Atlanta, at least not at this phase in my life.”

  She nodded. The not-ready-to-settle-down phase. “Well…congratulations.” Talking was the best distraction for her stupid heart. She swept her arm out like a game-show hostess. “Perhaps you’d like to see our Gortex boots?”

  “Sure…how about two pair?”

  “Okay.”

  He captured her hand. “One pair of men’s and one pair of women’s.”

  Jolie startled at the bolt of desire that his mere touch summoned. “I don’t understand.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Jolie, I was wondering if you might like to…come with me.”

  Her eyes widened. “To visit Costa Rica?”

  “No…to live there…with me.”

  She blinked. “Live there…with you?”

  He nodded, then entwined their fingers. “Oh, I know it’s not a partnership in a brokerage company, but I was thinking of a different kind of partnership: Underwood and Goodman.”

  She was struck mute.

  “Jolie,” he said softly, “do you remember when you said that people like me don’t need anything?”

  “I think you’re paraphrasing.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, you were right—partially. I’ve lived a charmed life, and I’ve never known what it felt like to need something.” He pressed his lips together. “To need…someone.” A flush rose on his cheeks. “The truth is, you were also right when you accused me of viewing you as a project.”

  Jolie’s heart dipped to her stomach.

  He squeezed her hand. “I’m ashamed to say that you were a project to fill a void in my heart. I was selfishly trying to force my affection on you when your life was crazy. Now, I’m being selfish again, but I want to take you away from the bad memories where we can learn everything about each other in a beautiful, exotic land.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Come with me. Think of what an adventure we’ll have.”

  Her heart vaulted to her throat. “What if I say no?”

  “Then I’ll have to stay in Atlanta and pester you until you say yes.”

  “But…what would I do in Costa Rica?”

  He shrugged. “Sell real estate, sell shoes, sell coffee beans.” He pulled her closer. “You can start over…We can start over. The truth is, Jolie, I’m crazy in love with you.”

  “You are?”

  “Since the day you crashed into me.” He lowered his mouth to hers for a slow, sensuous kiss, and Jolie felt herself crumbling, wanting, hoping. Her mind reeled at the possibilities…and the risk.

  When he pulled back, he squinted. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  “I…don’t have a passport.”

  His mouth quirked. “That we can fix. Is that all?”

  “I…don’t have boots.”

  “Good thing we’re in the middle of the shoe department.”

  Jolie felt engorged with emotion, yet paralyzed with uncertainty. The words were shouting in her heart, but cowering on her tongue. Could she dare say them? Snatches of scenes from the past few days flashed in her mind. Life was so fragile, so random…she had nothing to lose, except everything. She could stay in Atlanta and live comfortably and quietly.

  Then something Carlotta had said came floating back to her. “You’re too young to be comfortable.”

  “Jolie,” he said, his eyes questioning. “Is that all?”

  “No.” She wet her lips. “I…I love you too, Beck.” She said the words on a long breath that left her lungs empty.

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “Since the day you crashed into me.”

  He whooped and lowered another kiss to her mouth. She poured all her hopes and dreams into the kiss. Beck seemed to understand the leap of faith she was taking and his mouth promised she wouldn’t be sorry.

  “Get a room!” someone shouted.

  Beck lifted his head and grinned at her, his dark eyes shining. “What do you say? My room is five minutes away.”

  Jolie laughed. “I say…let’s go crash.”

  Epilogue

  “Take these for sure,” Beck said, holding up a pair of miniscule pink lace panties and wagging his eyebrows.

  Jolie bounced a rolled-up pair of socks off his arm. “I’ll sort through my underwear drawer, thank you very much.” Then she looked around and sighed. Her bedroom floor was covered with cardboard boxes and crates bound for Goodwill. “Besides, I won’t have room in my suitcase for something so impractical.”

  Beck tucked the panties into the pocket of his T-shirt and gave it a pat. “I got you covered.” He grinned and swooped in for a kiss. “In fact, I wi
ll personally see to the safe arrival of any sexy underwear you want to take to Costa Rica.”

  She lifted her arms around his neck and leaned into him for a slow, rocking kiss. She could scarcely wait until they were in Costa Rica together. Long, warm nights lying heart to heart. She couldn’t have hoped to be this happy.

  “The Goodwill truck will be here soon,” he said. “I’m going to start carrying boxes to the curb.”

  Jolie nodded. “I just have a few more things to sort through.” She watched with bittersweet excitement as he hoisted a box of her former life to his shoulder and maneuvered his way through her bedroom door. She turned and caught sight of herself in the mirror of the bureau that was bound for storage. Wild, blonde curls, wide eyes, pink cheeks—she’d never looked or felt so alive.

  The past week had been a flurry of packing and planning. Sammy had told Jolie she would have a job at the Sanders Agency if things didn’t work out in Costa Rica, and while Jolie was grateful for the offer, she had no doubt that she and Beck would be together always. Since the day he’d come to the department store to ask her to go with him, they had scarcely been apart. After the first couple of days of marathon lovemaking and nonstop talking, she had prepared herself for Beck to take an emotional step back, but instead, to her heart’s joy, had discovered that Beck reveled in sharing details of his thoughts and experiences now that he had found someone like-minded. They were two people who had held themselves in check emotionally until each found the person who had the same bone-lonely look in their eyes. Jolie had felt herself unfolding more every day, like a party dress that had been left in a drawer, waiting for the special occasion that had finally arrived.

  With a smile on her face, she sorted through her underwear drawer, and, remembering the gleam in Beck’s eyes, threw out the sensible in favor of the sensual. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of their physical chemistry, how Beck was able to stir her senses with a look or a murmured word. At first she had to keep reminding herself that she deserved this chance at happiness, but the affirmation seemed to be working, because she had relaxed into the idea of accepting Beck’s love.

  Having exhausted the drawers in her bureau, Jolie turned to the bookshelf that made up the headboard of her bed. She pulled out The Magic of Thinking Big and a rueful smile played over her face at the book that Gary had insisted would change her life. In hindsight, it had: The book had given her confidence to quit the Sanders agency and try her hand at something new, and she wouldn’t have met Carlotta or Beck otherwise. On her nightstand lay a padded envelope containing a new pink leather-bound journal that she was going to mail to Carlotta—perhaps she would send her Gary’s favorite book as well to encourage her to pursue her idea for a product placement business.

  Jolie thumbed through the book, and halfway through the pages stopped to reveal a white envelope simply marked “Jolie.” Frowning, she removed the fat envelope and slid her finger beneath the flap. She gasped at the stack of cash inside—all large bills. Folded sheets of notebook paper cradled the money. Jolie withdrew the sheets, hands trembling. It was a handwritten letter from Gary.

  Dear Jolie,

  I’m leaving this letter in case something terrible happens to me. I’m sorry I got you involved in the mess of my personal life and the mess of my business dealings. Since you didn’t get the envelope I sent earlier, these notes explain the crimes that were planned. I’m innocent of murder, but I’m not an innocent man—I figure if I die young, it’s payment for other things I’ve gotten away with in my lifetime.

  You see, Jolie, I really loved you…or maybe it was the thought of you. You reminded me that there are people in the world who are truly good, and I wanted to feed on your goodness. Unfortunately, I’m in too much trouble to extricate myself. I should have told you that your friend Leann Renaldi is a former girlfriend of mine with obsessive tendencies, although I don’t think she’d ever hurt anyone, except maybe me. And if she does, I probably deserve it for the way I dumped her. I can be a real jerk, even though I tried hard not to let you see that part of my personality. You made me want to be a better person, Jolie.

  Enclosed is repayment for your car I took the night Janet LeMon was killed, and a little extra for all the trouble I caused you. I hope you can put it to good use. I wish I had met you sooner, Jolie. I hope your life is long and full of happiness.

  Gary

  Jolie wiped at her eyes, grateful to have some explanation of why Gary had become involved with her in the first place, and what motivated his secretive behavior toward her. He must have entered her apartment and planted the envelope some time after he had talked to her from the backseat of her rental car…which explained the finger marks in the dust that she’d found, and the indications that someone had climbed through her bedroom window. She scanned the notes he’d left and decided they would go to Detective Salyers immediately to help fill any holes in the case against Roger LeMon. Then she counted the cash with growing wonder—fifteen thousand dollars. Since her car had been returned to her, the cash Gary had left seemed extraneous.

  Then an idea occurred to her. Jolie picked up the padded envelope containing the leather journal she was sending to Carlotta, and tucked two thousand dollars inside—enough to get the threatening collector off her friend’s back. The rest she bundled into another envelope and addressed it to Rebecca Renaldi. A posthumous gift from Gary, Jolie explained, to put toward Leann’s treatment. She sealed the envelope with mixed feelings pulling at her—incredulity over the randomness of how people’s lives crossed and changed each other, remorse that the same human dramas seemed to play out over and over—greed, ambition, love and hate—with unpredictable results.

  “Everything okay in here?” Beck asked from the doorway.

  Jolie looked up and felt a rush of love for this amazing man. She set the envelopes aside and crossed the room to slip into his embrace. Tilting her head she smiled up at him. “Yes, everything is okay.”

  A little scoff escaped him and his eyes darkened with sudden desire before he lowered a kiss to her neck. “We have a few minutes before the truck gets here—what do you say we bypass okay and shoot for spectacular?”

  Jolie arched into him and grinned. “Wow me.”

  Acknowledgments

  The opening, closing, and merging of various department stores in Atlanta caused me grief in writing my previous book, Kill the Competition, and again in Party Crashers, because some of the scenes reference or take place in department stores that were defunct by the time I turned in the manuscripts. But simply changing the names of the department stores can create other problems. In the store originally featured in Party Crashers, the men’s and women’s shoe departments were together. When that store announced it was closing, I changed the setting to Neiman Marcus. If you’re a customer of Neiman Marcus, you know that the men’s and women’s shoe departments are in separate areas of the store, but I left the shoe departments in proximity to each other. I hope you don’t mind the liberty I took for the sake of the story.

  With every book there are people to whom I turn for answers to obscure questions. For Party Crashers, I’d like to thank Tim Logsdon, Steve Grantham, and Chris Hauck for their unblinking resourcefulness. Many thanks also to my wonderful agent, Kimberly Whalen of Trident Media Group. And there aren’t words to thank my editor, Lyssa Keusch, for allowing me to run with my ideas and providing insightful feedback to make my stories better. Lyssa, your trust is humbling.

  Also, many thanks to my readers who send notes of encouragement just when I’m ready to throw my hands in the air—you help me to muddle through. I hope I’m keeping you entertained.

  Stephanie Bond

  E-Book Extra

  Confessions of a Shoe Salesperson (a note from Stephanie Bond)

  When I sat down to plan the story of Party Crashers, I wanted to put Jolie in a dire situation—her boyfriend is missing, and she’s implicated in his disappearance. To heighten her personal stress, I wanted to strip away her support system, which in m
ost cases means coworkers. So when we first meet Jolie, she has quit her safe, secure job and it’s her first day selling shoes at Neiman Marcus.

  The choice for her to sell shoes was an easy one for me because I used to be a shoe salesperson myself. Working retail is hard enough, but dealing with people’s feet all day…well, it ain’t sweet. People are finicky about having their feet touched.

  I started working in a shoe store in my small hometown when I was a senior in high school. Very quickly I was indoctrinated into the intricacies of getting a proper fit. (Did you know, for instance, that if you’re right handed, your left foot is probably a tad bigger, and vice versa? That’s because when you stand, you tend to lean on the foot opposite of the hand you gesture with when you speak.) The shoe store I worked in was a family shoe store, so I dealt with men buying work boots (“Do you have this in pull-on steel-toe extra wide?”), women buying career shoes (“Do you have this in black, mid-heel, comfy insole?”), girls buying prom shoes (“Can you dye this pump periwinkle?”), and kids buying sneakers (“Do you have the kind that light up/talk/play music when I walk?”) I sold western boots to cowboys, galoshes to old men, nurse shoes to beauticians, church shoes to old women. I ordered basketball shoes for the local school teams, Mary-Janes for the local tappers, ballet shoes for the local Teeny Ballereenies. At times it seemed that the shoe store was the hub of the community…and I loved it.

  I loved it so much, in fact, that when my boss decided to go out of business, I bought the shoe store and changed the name to “Boots and Britches.” (I was a sophomore in college by this time, and knew the business.) I still carried a family shoe selection, but I specialized in handmade boots and introduced Levi’s to the inventory mix. The upside? I met so many cowboys! The downside? Did I mention that people are finicky about having their feet touched? Plus, by this time, I had a serious shoe obsession…can we talk about the ten pairs of exotic-skinned high-heeled boots that I still own?

 

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