I whimpered. All the hangers were empty except for one. A horrid Christmas sweater hung on it. I ripped it off the hanger. The bells jingled and the ribbons waved.
“This is what you left for me to wear?” I barked.
“And that.” She pointed to a plaid skirt on the dresser.
“You left me a Christmas sweater and a plaid skirt!” I bellowed.
“I couldn’t put a Christmas sweater on the floor. It’s not Christmas. And that plaid skirt is just ugly.”
My body shook as I attempted to control the storming fury. A Christmas sweater. A plaid skirt. A ruined floor. A crater in the wall. Drool on my pillow.
Before I could stop myself, I launched at Muffin. One sweep of her arm deflected me, sending me tumbling across the floor into the wall.
“Ouch,” I groaned. The consequence of my less-than-sane action at least knocked sense into me. Don’t attack someone who can pummel you with one fist.
“I should’ve warned you. I have killer reflexes.” She stood with a stretch, padding toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower. Go get breakfast.”
“I have to take a shower. Let me go first.”
“Too late,” she said, swinging the bathroom door closed. “You’ll want to wait at least an hour before coming in here,” she warned through the door.
I hurdled toward my punching bag with clenched teeth and curled fists.
* * *
“Mya,” I spoke to her voicemail. “Where are you? Call me back as soon as you get this message. I’m worried about you, and I need to shop for clothes.”
I ended the call knowing that if Mya listened to the message, I’d hear from her. She can’t pass up a reason to shop.
I looked down at my outfit with a sigh and walked to the car.
“Oh! My!” a feminine voice exclaimed.
I twirled around to find Gwen crossing the parking lot, gawking at my Christmas sweater and plaid skirt.
“Hi, Gwen. What brings you here?”
“Just wondering if you heard from our husband,” she said.
Our husband? She said it as if it wasn’t problem that we were both married to Ian.
“No. I haven’t heard from Ian,” I said. “I spoke to a lawyer to proceed with the annulment.”
She nodded, still stealing glances at my outfit.
“My other clothes are ruined,” I explained. “I’m heading to the store.”
“I try not to judge by appearances, but that outfit is making it difficult.”
“Believe me, I’d rather not wear it. It’s either this or nothing.”
I accidently bumped a button on the sweater and it began playing “Jingle Bells.”
“I’m wondering if you chose wisely.”
I sighed. "Have you heard anything from the Millers?”
“Nothing. I guess I didn’t expect to find Ian. He can be invisible when he wants,” she said. “I’ve decided to head home.”
“Where do you live?”
She laughed. “Where don’t I live?”
* * *
“Do you want to have dinner tonight?” Caleb asked.
I held the phone as I browsed for clothes. “I don’t think I can. I’m shopping right now, and then I have to fix my floors. Tonight I’ll be working at the chapel. We’re getting murdered by Fairytale Chapel. I’m sure Frankie will come up with a plan; he always has something up his sleeve.”
“Do you want help?”
“I’m sure Frankie would love the help.”
“I’m asking you. Not Frankie.”
I warmed. It must be the sweater. I yanked on the suffocating monstrosity. “Jingle Bells” began playing.
“Why do I hear Christmas music?” he asked.
“If you come over to my place in an hour, you can see for yourself.”
"I can’t say no to that.”
* * *
Dropping the shopping bags in the hallway, I glared at the floor. I guess there’s no time like the present, I thought as I dug through the hardware store bag. After many strange looks and questions about how my floors became the consistency of tar, the hardware store employees had suggested a few products that might help. They stressed “might.”
I snapped on a pair of protective gloves and knelt on my favorite jeans near the door. I used a spray to cover the floor and let it sit for a minute before scrubbing. The rag stalled. I yanked to find it adhered to the floor.
“Dammit!”
“That’s a nice look,” Caleb said behind me.
I sat back to look up at Caleb. “It’s the only outfit I had left. Muffin sacrificed my other clothes.”
His eyes crinkled as they scanned. “I was talking about you bent over in a skirt.” He chuckled as I threw a spare rag at him. “Is this what was singing ‘Jingle Bells’?” He pressed the button on my chest. The song began playing, lighting his eyes with mischief. “Kind of catchy, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s horrid. Even Muffin couldn’t bring herself to use it on the floor.”
He pushed the door open wide and looked in.
“Make sure to walk on the clothes. I can’t afford to reimburse you for shoes.”
“Muffin did this?”
“No. Her vengeful victim did.”
“I hope she doesn’t have any more. This guy ruined your floors. They’ll have to be stripped.”
“Crap. How do you strip a floor?”
“I can tell you how to strip a woman.” He smirked.
I crossed my arms, accidentally pressing the song button again.
He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. I expect dinner after this.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, fearing he might not come back.
“I’m going to borrow proper tools. I’ll be back.” He stopped midway down the stairs. “There will be a price . . . not just dinner.”
I gulped as he rounded the corner and went out of sight. Last night he’d ended the night early since I had to work. He didn’t want our physical relationship to escalate past the point of no return. Not when our wager was looming.
I sighed. The price would be the wager. And that’s okay, I decided.
In fact, it was sinfully wonderful.
Glancing through the apartment door, I wondered how many more of Muffin’s victims would take their revenge. She must have pissed off many men in order to make it to the police’s bulletin board.
It sparked an idea. A wicked idea. Oh, this could send me to the black gates.
I bounded downstairs and rapped on Frankie’s door.
“Frankie, I have an idea!” I shouted.
Chapter 12
I listened for slippered feet as I pressed my ear against Frankie’s door. After a moment, the door cracked open. “This better be good,” Frankie muttered, barely able to hold open his dark eyes.
“It is! We’ve been trying to beat the Fairytale Chapel. We can’t beat them. It’s impossible! Like you said; they have more employees and more chapels. They’re better than us.”
“Thank you for repeating what I already said,” he said dryly. “I’m heading back to bed.”
I wedged my foot in front of the door as he was closing it. "We could have them down for the count by tonight with no way for them to reopen for business until next week.”
Frankie slowly brightened. “Which would be after the competition. We could win!” He beamed and hopped in place. “Tell me the plan.”
“Muffin.”
“Muffin?” he asked with an arched brow. His smile fell, and he attempted to close the door again. I shoved through.
“Just hear me out.”
“I don’t see how Muffin can help; all she does is destroy.” He shuffled to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. “Want some?”
“Yes, please.”
He handed me a mug and sipped from his. He sighed. “Do you know I had to reorder my special coffee blend after the last time she was here? They were out of stock. I finally received my orde
r this week.” He took a long sip. “Daddy missed you,” he cooed.
“It’s very nice,” I agreed, though not nearly as infatuated.
He eyed me. “It’s nicer than your outfit. What the hell are you wearing?”
“The remnants of another Muffin rampage.”
He nodded in understanding. “See? She destroys everything. How could she possibly help? Except to force couples down the aisle,” he added. “And I’m even starting to feel guilty about that.”
“This will be better. And you don’t have to feel guilty either . . . well, maybe a little. We’ll aim her natural ability to annihilate at the Fairytale Chapel.”
His face widened with a devious smile. “She destroys and rampages wherever she is. And if she happens to be at Fairytale Chapel . . . destruction galore.”
“Add her angry exes, and we have the power to bring the chapel to its knees.”
“I love it! How do we get her over there without raising suspicion?”
“Well, she fancies herself as a do-it-yourself remodeler. Perhaps a few hints and she’ll head over there. Once she’s in, there’s no way they’ll get her out.”
And I’d get my bed back.
We looked at each other and snickered.
* * *
After Frankie and I had our plan laid out, I returned to my apartment. Hearing noises coming from upstairs, I was sure Muffin was up to no good. I found the door wide open and Muffin standing in the kitchen with her mouth hanging open. I thought she was prowling for food until I saw what she was looking at . . . Caleb. He was shirtless and working the floor with a scraper. His back muscles rippled with each movement. It was mesmerizing.
The work looked as if it came naturally to him; like he had done it all his life instead of sitting at a poker table or chasing skirts.
“How can I help?” I asked, snapping my jaw back into place.
He peered up and wiped a drop of sweat from his brow with his forearm. His really firm forearm. Holy moly! If he asked me about the wager right now, I’d say yes. Not even yes, but hell yes! A please-let-me-lose yes.
Of course, I already planned on saying yes.
Oh, brother. I’m in trouble.
“Are you listening to me?” he asked.
“Huh?” I peeked up from where my eyes had roamed to his chest.
He grinned. “Kitten, I asked for the sander.”
I browsed until I found what I thought was a sander. “This thing?”
“Yes. That thing.” He took the sander from my outstretched hand.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I questioned.
“Afraid I might sand a hole all the way through to Frankie’s apartment?”
“Anything is possible.”
“I promise, whatever I do will turn out better than it is now.”
“I think it would be impossible to make the floor worse. How can I help?”
“You can scrape while I sand behind you.” He winked. “You might want to change. I’m sure you’ll ruin your clothes.”
I eyed my garments. “That would be a blessing.” I took the scraper and knelt on my favorite hoodie.
“Wear these.”
I took the offered gloves and slipped them on. “How do you know how to strip a floor?”
“Usher Flooring and Cabinetry,” he stated. “Marry me and you’ll be the recipient of new floors and cabinets every time you sneeze.”
“You own it?”
“My dad. He commandeered all nights and weekends when I was in school.”
“That explains . . .” I dropped off, contemplating his form.
“Explains what?” he asked, amusement playing in his eyes.
“Your . . .” I waved at his physique.
“My?” He was going to make me say it.
“She’s saying you’re built like a stag,” Muffin called from the kitchen. “What you need is a woman built to complement your strength. Make you work harder. Take me, for instance; I could have you on your back in two minutes. You’d like it too.”
“He’s mine,” I clipped, intending to ward her off from throwing him over her shoulder and stampeding down the aisle, but it sounded rather territorial. “I’m just trying to save your sorry butt from Muffin,” I whispered, attempting to wipe the smirk off his openly amused face. It remained. “Get back to work.”
“I’m afraid you’ll both ravish me while I’m innocently working,” he teased.
“You’re safe,” I said dryly.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Muffin said. It must have been a trick of the lights, but I was sure I saw her teeth glistening with hunger.
“Muffin, Frankie wants to see you,” I said, turning her attention.
“What about? I’m not working extra hours,” she huffed. “My talent only comes in three-to-four-hour bursts.”
“It’s about your stellar remodeling skills.”
“Oh. In that case, I’ll head down now.” She plodded past, nearly toppling Caleb and me into the sticky muck. “I wouldn’t want him to start without me; he has horrible taste.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
As I began scraping, a sticky layer ribboned and glommed. I flicked the scraper, trying to remove the goop. It stuck like gum on a shoe.
“Scrape it off into the bucket,” Caleb instructed, pointing to a bucket on the other side of him. “I’d pass it to you, but it’s stuck for now.”
I stood and stepped over, straddling him as I reached toward the bucket.
“Is all your underwear on the floor?” he asked with a groan.
“Yeah, why?”
“Hard not to notice when you’re standing over me in a skirt.”
I hopped back. How embarrassing. “Sorry,” I muttered.
“You should be. The sight will haunt my dreams for weeks.”
“I’m sorry it was so traumatic,” I bristled.
“Bad choice of words. More like torment. You’re already in my dreams. Now I have an extra vision to keep replaying.”
“You dream of me?” I asked, trying not to beam.
His eyes flicked over. “Yes. You’re always there. Sometimes it’s just your green eyes. Sometimes it’s more,” he grumbled, focusing on a patch of floor, the sander working a little too hard on an already-clean spot.
I began scraping, letting the moment pass. It was safer than reenacting whatever dreams he had and becoming a permanent fixture on the floor.
As we worked, I thought about our wager . . . of course. But I also thought of Mya. She’s been known not to pick up her phone, but with David and Ian missing, it grated against my intuition. I never put too much stock in womanly intuition, but it was there, nagging at me like a ticked-off junkyard dog. Something was wrong . . . terribly wrong.
I yanked off the gloves.
“You don’t think it’s break time already, do you?” Caleb teased.
“I have a bad feeling about Mya. I’m calling Remy to see if he’s found out anything.”
My brief call to Remy left me anxious. He wasn’t any closer to solving the postcard riddle nor was he able to contact any of the missing people or Greyson. No surprise there. I itched to storm Lost City again. Greyson obviously didn’t fix the problem. Fiona was still pulling strings and shielding Greyson from the world.
“You’re a son,” I said, thinking out loud.
Caleb blinked. “That’s a pretty sound conclusion.”
“Who are you afraid of?” I asked.
“Jessica,” he stated. Jessica is his PR manager. I’d have to agree with his choice. She’s like a viper in heels.
“No, who are you afraid of in your personal life?”
“You.”
I gaped. “I’m not scary.”
He chuckled. “All women are scary. But you stepped in the ring with one of the scariest and nearly had her.”
“You heard about that?” I winced.
“I watched it. Well, as much as I could. I think I had my eyes closed for most of it. They had a live feed i
n the high-stakes room.”
I buried my head into my hands. “How much was wagered?”
“I lost a thousand. At first, I was just being supportive, hoping you’d win. But in the second round, your eyes . . .” he paused. “Let’s just say, I feared for the woman’s life. I thought you were going to win.”
“I’m sorry you lost a thousand.”
He shrugged. “I won it back after a few hands.”
And that is why Caleb sits at the high-stakes table and I don’t.
“I don’t really scare you, do I?”
“No. I’m more afraid of myself when I’m around you. However, my mom could scare the pants off me when I was in trouble. She wielded the wooden spoon like she meant business.”
“Did she ever catch you?”
He smiled fondly. “No. I don’t think she would have ever used the spoon. But she threatened like she was going to.”
“Did it stop you from getting into trouble?”
He grinned. “What kind of son would I be if I didn’t keep her on her toes?”
I smiled at the image of Caleb as a child. What a handful he’d be. And if he was a handful, I couldn’t imagine the Miller brothers. What kind of mom raised them? I wondered. Perhaps a woman who could get the job done. Perhaps . . .
* * *
“Does everyone know the plan?” Frankie asked, pacing the parking lot the next day.
“We distract Charming and his freaky fairies. Muffin goes in and does her business,” Lenny said. “We’re in. We’re out. Bim, bam, boom.”
“There’s a little more to it than bim, bam, boom,” Frankie said.
“This is gonna be fun,” Muffin said. “I called in favors from my exes. The castle will be remodeled by nightfall. I’ve got some big plans.”
“That’s great,” Frankie said, appeasing her for the sake of the crackpot charade. She still didn’t know we were using her for her destructive powers. “Nadia, make sure to keep Charming occupied for as long as possible. Once the work starts we don’t want him back on-site. Pull your bodice tighter.” He stepped over and reached for the strings.
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