Hook Me Up (Business Of Love Book 3)

by Ali Parker

  I don’t want to. “Maybe tomorrow,” I said.

  “I can look with you.” Hannah lifted the lid of her crock pot which lived in the corner of the kitchen between her fancy napkin holder and fruit bowl. Steam poured out of the thing and Hannah had to step back, fanning her face. Moisture built up on the cupboards, and after Hannah removed the chicken from the pot and placed it in the stir-fry pan, she wiped the cupboards dry with a dish towel.

  The smell of the chicken smacked me in the face like I owed it money.

  “Hannah!” I covered my mouth and nose with one hand. “That smells awful. Is it bad?”

  Hannah blinked at me with an appalled expression. “What? No. It smells delicious. I make this for you all the time and you love it. What’s going on with your snout?”

  “My what?”

  “Your sniffer. Your beak.”

  I shook my head, puzzled. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Your nose, dumb dumb. Are you all congested or something?”

  I frowned. “No, I feel fine.”

  Hannah grinned. “Because I mean, you normally smell kinda funny, but it sounds like now you’re literally smelling funny. Like you’re smelling the wrong way.”

  I rolled my eyes and went over to the kitchen island so I could stand in front of the fresh-linen-scented candle. It helped drown out the stench of the meal but not entirely. “I’m fine, Hannah. Seriously. Maybe my taste is just changing.”

  Hannah used a fork to pull the chicken breasts apart in the pan. She poured the sauce mixture over the meat and veggies. It popped and sizzled upon contact and the house was flooded with the sweet, burnt scent of teriyaki.

  My stomach rolled. “Oh God.”

  Hannah looked up from the pan. “What?”

  I shut my mouth and suppressed a gag, which made me sound a bit like a circus seal. There was no time to be embarrassed, though. I pushed off the kitchen counter and raced down the hallway to the closest bathroom. I barreled through the door and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet just in time.

  What happened next wasn’t fit for polite conversation, but I was surprised Hannah didn’t call an exorcist, considering the ruckus I made.

  I flushed the toilet to wash away my sins and sat back on my heels, out of breath. My skin was chilled and sweaty and my hands were shaking.

  I felt the same way I had that morning at Jackson’s.

  Hannah appeared in the doorway with a dish towel in front of her face. “Are you done? I don’t want to get splashed.”

  I chuckled weakly. “Keep laughing. It was the smell of your cooking that did this.”

  “Um, I don’t think so,” she said, crossing her arms. “My cooking is divine. I think you might have the flu or something.”

  “Yeah, something is off,” I said. Even though my skin felt cold and clammy, I felt hot. “Can I get a glass of water?”

  I fanned my face while Hannah filled a cup of water and handed it to me. I drank greedily and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand when I was done.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I said. “I felt fine. Then all of a sudden, I just had to get to the bathroom. I’ve never had such little warning before.”

  Hannah leaned her shoulder up against the doorframe and folded her arms. She gave me a lopsided little smirk. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  Hannah didn’t say anything. She stared at me, and I stared right back at her, and the word hung in the air between us like a stale fart.

  My sister swallowed. “Hailey, is it possible that you might be?”

  I shook my head. “No. No, I couldn’t be. I’ve only had sex with Jackson and we were safe…” I trailed off.

  Safe didn’t always mean immune.

  No. No. No.

  There was no way I was pregnant. No way. This was just a stomach bug. It would pass. Unless it was a different kind of little stomach bug, the adorable kind that grows in your tummy and you have to name and send to college.

  Hannah crouched down in front of me. “Food aversions? Loss of energy? Feeling overwhelmed and stressed? And now sudden bursts of nausea?” She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder. “I think I’m going to run down to the corner store and pick up a test. Just in case he forgot to wear a raincoat.”

  I searched my sister’s eyes as panic bloomed inside me. “I can’t be pregnant, Hannah. I can’t be.”

  Hannah gave me a classic reassuring big-sister smile. “You probably aren’t, you little harlot. But let’s just nip it in the bud and make sure, okay? No harm can come from peeing on a stick.”

  “It depends on the stick.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “You just relax. Try not to get sick on the rug.”

  I laughed. “I’m not a dog.”

  “Good, then I won’t have to rub your nose in it.” She smiled. “I’ll bring back some Ginger ale or something with me too. Do you need anything else?”

  I shook my head. Pregnant?

  Absolutely not. I could hardly take care of myself. How could I be trusted to take care of a baby?

  Jackson’s baby. My stomach rolled again.

  “Here comes part two.” I hunched over the toilet to be sick again.

  Hannah got to her feet and hurried back a step. “Maybe I’ll get you some soda crackers too,” Hannah said. “Just in case.”

  I groaned into the bowl like a sad ghost. “Please hurry.”

  Hannah shot out of the bathroom. I heard her collect her keys and she shouted down the hall to me that she’d turned the crockpot and the stove off and that she would be back soon.

  Please hurry. Please hurry. Please hurry.

  I stayed where I was, my knees rooted to the cold tiles of Hannah’s bathroom, playing through all the scenarios in my head of what might have caused this sickness.

  For some reason, every time I circled back to pregnancy, my stomach rolled as if to tell me, yes, that’s it.

  “It can’t be,” I whispered to myself.

  It just couldn’t.

  Chapter 24

  Jackson

  The twenty-year-old lanky valet driver looked from me to the car keys I’d just tossed in his hands. He blinked, straightened his posture, and gave me what I assumed was supposed to be a confident nod.

  He handed me a chip with the number twenty-three on it. I tucked it in my pocket and joked with him not to dent my car.

  “Oh, I won’t, sir. It’s in good hands with me.”

  “I’m just pulling your leg,” I said. “Take it out around the block if you want.”

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Take it out around the block. I’m going to be inside for at least two hours.”

  He let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “My boss would kill me. You know, insurance issues and liability and stuff.”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  I left him standing at the curb staring at the keys in his hand and moved up to step through the front doors of the restaurant. I was greeted by two smiling hostesses who took my name. One of them escorted me to my table by the window. I told her my companion would be arriving shortly and that I would wait to order any drinks until then.

  I sat and waited for about fifteen minutes before my date arrived.

  Her name was Lacy Cameron. She reminded me of a gazelle as she strode purposefully through the restaurant. She kept her chin up and she walked like she knew every man in the place was watching her pass.

  Which they were.

  Wives and girlfriends scowled at the men sitting across the table from them and skewered their salads resentfully when Lacy passed. When she arrived at my table, I got to my feet and greeted her with a hug.

  She smelled like peppermint and sage.

  Lacy flicked her long black hair over one shoulder and thanked me when I pulled her chair out for her. She lowered herself down into it and I tucked her in. As I took my seat across from her, she set her dainty gold clutch on the tabl
e and leaned back in her chair to cross one long leg over the other.

  “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” Lacy said. “I got caught up in traffic. I always have the best intentions of arriving on time but it never seems to go according to plan when you’re in New York city, does it?”

  I couldn’t say I agreed, seeing as how I’d shown up on time. “Well, you’re here now.” I smiled.

  “That I am.”

  I flagged down our server and ordered a bottle of wine to the table. Lacy took the first sip from a splash poured into her glass and nodded her agreement. “It’s lovely,” she said.

  We spent the next ten minutes making small talk while we studied the menus. We talked about the nonstop rain we’d been having and about the traffic and how nice the restaurant was. By the time we covered a range of generic topics neither of us really cared about, the server returned and we put in our orders. I ordered a steak and Lacy ordered a salad.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  As I sat across from the beautiful young woman, I found myself wishing I was with Hailey. She’d have ordered something with substance. Something she would genuinely enjoy, considering the price tags at this place. Like a salmon filet or something more adventurous like a spicy curry dish.

  But not Lacy.

  She was as predictable as the other women I’d met online.

  “Tell me about yourself, Jackson.” Lacy studied me from beneath her dramatic dark eyebrows and swirled her wine in her glass. “What is this matchmaking business of yours?”

  Great. We were going to kick things off by talking about work.

  In my experience, that was never a good sign.

  “Well it’s pretty self-explanatory,” I said. “I have a large client base that is continually growing, and when I have two people I know will be a good match, I put them together. Sometimes, based on the circumstances of course, I will play a role in how they get to know each other. For example, I’ll give them starting material to discuss to get the ball rolling and have a quick connection. Or I’ll select the location for the first date. Stuff like that.”

  “A matchmaker who’s single. Should I be worried that you’re a womanizer, sugar?”

  I arched an eyebrow. Who was she calling sugar?

  “No, it’s just hard to make time for my own love life when I’m busy working on everyone else’s.”

  “Charming.”

  I wished I could say the same thing about her.

  She was gorgeous, but this mysterious act she was putting on wasn’t my cup of tea. I knew some clients who might like the dark-featured mystery girl, but I preferred someone who was open and honest and a bit silly. Someone who could laugh at themselves and not take things too seriously even if we were sitting in an exceptionally glamorous restaurant.

  “What do you do for work?” I asked. It seemed rude not to show interest.

  “I’m a realtor,” she practically purred. “I have several listings in Manhattan and I work with upper-class clients to find them their dream homes. I bet you and I could share business, you know?”

  I worked hard to stop myself from frowning. Talking about sharing business on a first date? Red flag.

  “I can see how there might be some crossover,” I said, not giving her an inch. The woman was a shark. I could see it now. She was already looking for what she could gain from this relationship, not whether we would be compatible in our daily lives.

  “Do you rent or own?”

  I sipped my wine to buy myself time before I answered. She was incredibly rude. Did she think just because she looked like a supermodel she could get away with such personal and obviously fishing questions?

  I considered telling her I didn’t want to discuss business, but I decided to change courses. “I own. And I trust you would be an exceptional realtor, but I have a realtor in the family whose business I support.”

  She gave me a rehearsed smile. “Of course, sugar. I respect when someone supports the businesses of their family and friends. Not everyone is like that, you know? I had to climb the ladder and prove myself before anyone would see me as anything other than a pretty face.”

  “Sounds rough,” I said dryly.

  “You have no idea. I was constantly underestimated everywhere I went. But now?” She giggled softly. Her eyes glittered and she drummed her long red nails on the table. “Well, I’m not hurting for business. Let’s just say that.”

  All she was hurting for was a good personality.

  Our food arrived right before she started telling me about her history of work prior to pursuing real estate. I’d hoped naively that the disruption would stop the conversation dead in its tracks, but I wasn’t that lucky.

  “I hopped around from retail job to retail job for a long time. I liked working with the public but I didn’t like the wages. Naturally, a girl like me can’t get by on minimum wage. My lifestyle is a little too—what’s the word?”

  Vain? Self-involved? Indulgent?

  “Luxurious,” she said. “I like the finer things in life. Like nice jewelry and fast cars and good-looking men who know how to make money and keep it.” She winked at me.

  “I’m flattered.”

  Lacy drew her hair over one shoulder and leaned forward. “You should be. All these men can’t keep their eyes off me.” A soft but somewhat villainous laugh left her lips. “Their poor wives.”

  Their poor wives? Ha!

  Poor wives nothing. Poor me. I was the one stuck sitting across from her listening to her petty dialogue. This was the kind of woman who wanted so badly to be someone—anyone—so long as those around her knew who she was. I bet she dreamed of having her own reality show someday.

  She could call it Lacy’s Lavish Lifestyle.

  The appalling thing was that people would watch her.

  “How’s your steak?” Lacy asked.

  “Delicious.”

  She licked her lips, twirled her fork, and reached across the table to eat off my plate. I’d had women do this plenty of times. In fact, Hailey and I did this all the time. Sometimes, we would intentionally order things we’d know the other person would enjoy because we knew full well we’d be eating off each other’s plates.

  But Lacy had not earned that privilege.

  She closed her eyes while she chewed and made sexual sounds in appreciation of the flavor. When her eyes opened, she fixed her deep brown gaze on me. “Delicious. But that’s all I can have. I’m watching my figure.”

  If she was fishing for me to say, “but why? You’re perfect the way you are,” she was barking up the wrong tree. I was more likely to say, “you should be watching your ego, not your figure.” But I wasn’t going to say that either. I was going to endure this date and get the hell out of there as soon as I possibly could.

  Too bad Hailey was in Nashville. She would’ve come to bail me out if I needed her. She owed me one.

  But with everything so tense and weird between us, I wondered if she would come if I could call her. Or would she leave me to sweat it out with this creature?

  Maybe I deserved this.

  I watched Lacy eat her salad. She took dainty bites and wielded her fork like a barbarian. Someone had never taught her proper table manners and the contrast with her beauty was strange. As the night wore on, she drank more wine and became more and more obnoxious, and by nine o’clock, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was doomed to sit there and listen until she exhausted herself.

  As I listened, I thought of Hailey. I thought of how much I missed her and how easy things were with her. Things were simple. Comfortable. Passionate. Electric.

  Wasn’t that what it was supposed to be? Wasn’t it supposed to be something you didn’t have to force?

  Something that made you feel like you were home.

  Lacy nudged my shin under the table with the toe of her shoe and held out her glass of wine. “Top me off, sugar?”

  I held in my sigh and filled up her lipstick-stained wine glass.

  It
was going to be a very long night indeed.

  Chapter 25

  Hailey

  The nausea had passed by the time Hannah returned from the convenience store down the block. She found me curled up on the sofa under one of her fleece blankets, staring aimlessly at the fireplace and contemplating the mistakes I’d made over the last few weeks.

  And the possible consequences.

  She set the plastic bag down on the coffee table and leaned over to peer inside. She pulled out a bottle of ginger ale like she promised she’d buy, as well as a roll of soda crackers. She handed both to me. “Here. Get something in your stomach.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Don’t be a baby.”

  I didn’t have the energy to protest so I tore open the crackers and took two. They were crumbly and dry when they first went into my mouth but promptly turned into mush upon my tongue. I washed it down with a sip of bubbly soda.

  Hannah pulled out three pregnancy tests. “I didn’t know what kind to get, so I bought all three. Two are early response, and this one? Well…” She paused and held up a blue box. “This is the real deal. I say we take it last.”

  “We?” I asked sharply. “Are you the one who has to pee on all these?”

  “You can pee in a cup. Then we’ll dip the tests into the cup.”

  “You’re suddenly an expert on taking pregnancy tests?”

  “No, I just like peeing in cups,” Hannah said.

  I burst out laughing. Somehow, even at a stressful time like this, she could make me laugh. I loved her so much for that.

  She grinned at me. “Obviously, I’ve taken a few tests.”

  “I knew you were a slut,” I said, giggling.

  “Well, I’m not the one who might have gotten myself knocked up by my best friend, so you don’t get to judge.” She was joking, but her words reminded me that this was serious business.