Beauty Bites (6 page)

Now Camille, a top lieutenant, was here. The game had turned deadly.

“So…” Aiden drank off his whiskey. “What did Nosferatu’s bitch want?”

“Bitch?” Ric pursed his lips. “What do you call people you don’t like?”

“Dead.”

“Ah. She wanted marketing advice, if you can believe it. She didn’t mention my past—didn’t even seem to know you exist.” Ric paused. “Maybe Nosferatu didn’t send her.”

“Please. He doesn’t let any of his puppets off their strings. He sent her, all right. But he hasn’t trusted her with the full story.” Aiden held out his glass.

Ric covered the glass with a palm and leaned closer to his friend. “What’s eating you?”

Aiden’s eyes held Ric’s. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Ric’s shoulders tightened. Aiden’s bad feelings were never inconsequential, and never wrong. “Damn it.” He picked up the bottle and poured. “I don’t suppose it’s telling you anything specific?”

“No.”

“Well then. Shut the fuck up. I have enough to worry about.”

“Your wish is my command.” Aiden sipped, seemingly nonchalant, but Ric’s shoulders tensed even more. With the assassin you never saw the killing stroke coming. Sure enough, Aiden said, “So, you kissed Camille to annoy Beautiful?”

“Other way around. But you knew that.”

“Hmm.” A mischievous almost-smile flirted with Aiden’s lips. “Then aren’t you worried Camille will do a Wicked Queen on Sleeping Beauty?”

“Fuck me.” Ric threw his glass into a paneled wall. He took a couple controlled breaths before turning back to Aiden. “Camille’s too self-absorbed to consider any woman could measure up to her, much less beat her. Still…well.”

“Do you want me to make sure Beautiful is all right?”

“Her name’s Synnove. It means sun gift.” Ric took another controlled breath. “Like your name means annoying wiseass. If she’s threatened, it’s my fault. I’ll take care of it.” It wouldn’t hurt to make sure that Synnove had made it out of his building all right. That she was safe.

The thought of going after her, of
seeing her again
, blew all his careful breaths out the window. He inhaled sharply, oxygen drilling his chest.

“Okay, then,” Aiden said with a chuckle. “See you later.”

Ric was already out the door.

Chapter Four

I ducked Little’s grab—only to get snared by his second. His hands cinched a tourniquet on my arm, his eyes were daggers and his wattle was shaking. If that weren’t clue enough to his mood, his teeth were grinding so hard he was doing his own root canals.

I wanted to leave, but I wanted to do it without triggering Chickengeddon. “Excuse me,” I said politely. “Please let me by.” I tried to edge past him.

He stalked off, dragging me with him.

I could have twisted out of his hold, but my body was still trembling from Holiday’s kiss and I wanted to resolve this civilly. Besides, the skyscraper shoes and clutching at Holiday’s jacket hobbled my technique.

Chicken Little yanked me into a small room with washer, dryer and wire wall racks. He spun me inside and released me to slam the door shut, then leaned against it.

Briefly I pinched the bridge of my nose. Trying to help my cousin, I’d gotten this. Yep. No good deed goes unpunished.

“I can get you what you want, baby.” Little’s snarl rasped with a disturbing lecherousness. “You want Ric, I can get him.”

Hard to believe. Holiday didn’t seem like a man to bow to pressure. “You don’t even know what I need him to do.”

Little laughed, not nice. “Women only want two things from Ric, advertising or sex. Usually both.”

My face heated. “I came for the advertising.” What else I’d gotten, well, Little didn’t need to hear. “Why would Holiday do what you want?”

Little puffed out his scrawny chest. “I’m his partner.”

“Please.” I barely managed to keep my disbelief from extending the word into a derogatory two syllables. “Holiday Buzz isn’t a partnership.”

“Not in the papers of incorporation sense, but I’m Ric’s senior VP. I’m in on all the decisions. I’ll be CEO soon. I already run the company when he’s away.”

“He doesn’t seem to be away a lot.”

“What are you talking about? Ric travels all over the world for clients.”

My turn to stare. “Then why won’t he come to Meiers Corners?”

“My-ers what?”

I shook my head impatiently. “A city near Chicago.”

“Oh, that.” Little rolled his eyes. “He has a thing about Chicago. Won’t go within a hundred miles of the place.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Who knows? Who cares?”

“I do, because that’s the job. Since you can’t make him do it, I might as well leave.” I reached past him for the knob.

He grabbed my wrist and used it to push me back three steps. I barely kept myself from responding sharply—with a knee. Hadn’t he learned anything from the incident with the Piggies? He said, “Not so fast, baby. I can get him to take you on, don’t you worry about that. Worry about how you’ll pay me.”

“Money? That’s the usual way.” I shook my wrist gently, trying to make him let go. I really didn’t want to turn the guy’s testicles black and blue.

“When the other person looks like you? Please. You’ve got other things of much greater value.”

I searched his face and did not like what I saw. I said softly, “Don’t go there.”

He smirked. “You want Ric to take your job. I’ll get him to.
If
.” He raised himself on the balls of his feet, until we were nose-to-nose, the wash of alcohol breath almost overpowering. “You and I do the horizontal boogie.”

Well. I guess that was better than the horizontal line dance.

In case the alcohol fumes were as bad inside his skull as on the outside, I spelled it out. “I don’t sleep with every man I meet. I’m not that kind of woman.”

He laughed. “Of course you are. Look at you!”

I huffed. Dammit, there it was again. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Sure they can. But not in your case, baby. You’re built for lovin’. How about a down payment?”

He thrust fingers into my hair and laid one on me.

My lips were still tingling from Ric’s, and at first the pressure and heat revved an already idling motor.

Then he thrust his whiskey-saturated tongue down my throat. My motor cut off like a switch,
click
.

“Stop,” I said, or more like “shlah” because he was a sloppy kisser and really getting into it. I let go of Holiday’s coat and wedged my hand between our mouths. “I said
stop
.”

He nibbled my hand, with enough tongue to slime my fingers. Yuck. I yanked away and wiped my hand on my skirt; the instant I got it home, it was going into hot water and bleach.

“You want it, baby.” He shoved the coat off my shoulders. “And I’m the man who can give it to you.” He snatched at my breast, thumbing the nipple through the thin lace of Twyla’s bra. Shocked, the poor thing leaped to attention.

I was shocked too. But I was also trained, and enough was enough. I needed him to stop, and not start up again. Which meant significantly altering his impression of my “wanting it, baby”. But his fingers were still tangled in my hair, so I couldn’t yank bodily away without tearing out a chunk.

My brain went into overdrive, ala Downey’s Sherlock Holmes.

Grab Little’s wrist to control distance.

Fake a groin shot to open a gap.

Make my point.

Go
. Grab, fake. He hopped back, still hanging onto my hair. It raised his upper arm, giving me the opening. I jabbed a spear hand into a pressure point in his armpit. The armpit shot was dangerous (don’t try this at home!) but I’d done it soft to minimize damage.

He yelped and let go instantly. “What the fuck?”

I snatched up Holiday’s coat and whipped it around me. “I said, I’m not that kind of woman. Whatever you think I’m built for, it isn’t
you
.”

“You think it’s Ric?” Little sneered it, but he cupped his pit protectively. “Ric already screws tons of sluts like you every day. You’re nothing special, baby.”

I hadn’t done anything to bring this on except exist. Not fair, but being achingly plain until puberty hadn’t been fair either. I ratcheted myself to my full height and glared down at him. “Let me make this crystal clear. If you can influence Ric I’m open to talking terms. But sex isn’t part of the offer.”

“This isn’t over.” Glaring, Little flung open the door and stalked out.

My neck tightened. I didn’t like making enemies and Charles Little struck me as the worst kind—backstabbing. I pinched Holiday’s coat closed and left as quickly as my cousin’s high heels let me, hyperaware all the way to the elevator. I punched the down button. A trilling ring from below said I’d have a wait; the elevator was being held.

While I waited, I stewed. Dress up, Twyla said. Flirt a little, get us some information. Easy. Yeah, right. I took out my phone and hit redial.

Twyla panted, “Hello?”

“I don’t care what the mayor thinks. We can get someone else for the advertising campaign.
Anyone
other than Holiday.” I may have spit the name.

“Whoa, wait. Calm down and tell me what happened.”

“I am calm,” I said through teeth grinding their way to a dental appointment every bit as expensive as Charles Little’s. The elevator finally dinged its arrival. I ignored it. “I talked to Holiday. He said no. I talked to you. You said Holiday or nothing. Then in waltzes Naughty Vamprietta in a spaghetti noodle’s idea of a dress. Honestly, there was more material in that teeny top Holiday gave me.”

“The top Holiday gave—Wait, what?”

“Nothing.” My cheeks heated. I plowed on. “Holiday glides in after her and shuts the door with a very I-want-to-be-alone click. She’s all
dahling
this and
dahling
that, but I was there first so it wasn’t my fault Camille’s two’s company became a crowd.”

Twyla hissed. “Camille? Skewer me with a palette knife.”

“You know her?”

“She’s a rat in a people’s suit. What did she want?”

“To make us the Midwest’s Vegas.” I outlined Camille’s plan.

Twyla started swearing—in Greek. She once told me Nikos was so taciturn she had to speak for both of them. At the time I’d thought it was exaggeration. Apparently not. Underneath her cussing was a low, ominous growl, more animal than human. Nikos got a little feral when his protective side came out, another thing that made me think v-thoughts.

“This changes things,” Twyla said when she’d finally run out of cuss words. “We can’t let Camille get her red-nailed hookers into Holiday. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to ruin Meiers Corners, but while she’s only semi-competent on her own, Holiday is frighteningly good. With him as her tool, she could do it.”

I pictured Holiday as a tool…a long and thick one…and tamped down a lusty shudder. “How are you going to keep her from hooking him?”

There was a telling silence on her end.

“No. Oh, no.”

“Synnove, we’re desperate here.”

“No, I tell you. I do not live by the accident of genetics and nutrition that makes my body. I am not saving Ric Holiday’s skin from Camille’s hookers by sinking my own short and sassies in. And in case that’s not plain enough—I am not sleeping with him!”

“You don’t have to sleep with him. Just…seduce him a little.”

“Seduce him a
little
? Is that like being a little bit pregnant? Dammit, Twyla, I’m a doctor, not a hooker!”

She sighed. “You’ve changed since The Incident. Become all mistrusting.”

“The Incident only clarified the truth.”

“You say potato, I say mistrusting. Tell you what. Drive to the cabin and we’ll talk. Together we’ll think of something else.”

Tension released. “Thanks. Especially if thinking includes alcohol.” I hit the down button with less force. The elevator dinged and started to open, not having gone anywhere. “How do I get there?”

“Take I-94 east. Exit 24, turn north, then follow the signs for Chipmunk Lake Cabins. Call me if you get lost.”

I tucked away my phone, stepped forward—and bounced, breasts-first, off a powerful, dark-suited arm barring my way.

“What is The Incident?” Ric Holiday said.

My mouth hung open but no words came out. My DDs tingled from where they’d air-bagged against his arm. Either he worked out a lot or he was built of granite. My nipples poked up for a look-see; yep, granite, mmm-mmm. “Did you know breasts are composed of terminal duct lobular units covered in subcutaneous adipose tissue?”

I slapped a hand over my mouth.

A tiny smile warmed his face. “Do you always quote
Gray’s Anatomy
when you’re nervous?”

“I’m not n…nervous.” Damn. “Let me pass.”

“It’s cute, you know.” He dropped his arm and schooled his face into an expression of serious inquiry. “What is The Incident, please?”

“Direct, persistent and polite. You’re a trifecta of virtues, aren’t you?”

“Why do I get the feeling that was sarcasm?”