Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2) (6 page)

Peeling off a large sticky note, I scribbled the names of a couple of escort services that catered to his crowd and handed it to him as I stood.
 

“These will be more helpful to you in your search. Make sure to let them know I sent you.”

He briefly looked at it and shook his head, anger boiling beneath the surface if the under-the-collar flush was anything to go by. “Unfuckingbelievable. Is Val here? She’s going to have your ass when she hears about this.”

“Val is out of the office for the day, but I’ll be sure to give her that message.”

“The hell you will. I’ll be giving her a call now, so you might want to start packing your desk, Red.”

“That won’t be necessary. You see, our company caters to those looking for long-term relationships, not casual sex. I was going to invite you to come back once you’d decided you were ready for more than a fling, but I’ve just changed my mind. Now, you can exit the way you came, or I can have our security guard escort you out.” I gave a nonchalant shrug. “Your choice.”

He crumpled the paper in his hands and then thought better of it, sticking it in his pocket instead. I stood there, unblinking as he turned on his heel, muttering obscenities. Once I heard the front door slam, I made my way to Nicole’s desk.

She was chatting with what sounded like a friend on the main line—a stark difference to her demeanor than when I’d come in earlier—so I reached around her and hit the button to end the call.
 

“Hey!” She whirled around in her chair.
 

I bent down and placed my hands on her armrests, my voice low. I hadn’t worked for a no-nonsense boss like Val for years and not learned anything, even if my ballsy side rarely came out.

“You are not irreplaceable. You pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll make sure the only job you can get is scrubbing the loos at Taco Bell. You got that?”

She nodded, eyes wide.
 

“Filter. The. Applications. Say ‘Yes, Shayne’ if you understand.”

“Yes, Shayne.”

“Are there any other whack jobs coming in today that I should know about?”

She shook her head.
 

“And if by some chance there was, you’d go ahead and cancel them or risk Val’s wrath?”

She lifted her chin. “Of course.”
 

“Glad we understand each other.” I straightened up and headed back to my desk, not even bothering to stop when I heard her mutter “bitch
.
”
 

* * *

THE REST OF the day passed uneventfully compared to the first interview.

My second prospect was a sweet woman in her mid-thirties looking for a decent guy who could not only keep a job but keep his pants zipped. Easy enough.

My one thirty went a little something like this:

“Mr. Fisher, you wrote that you enjoy photography, collecting rare coins, and taphophilia.” I furrowed my brow. “I’m not familiar with what that is. Could you tell me a bit about it?”

“It’s a term for those of us who enjoy and are passionate about cemeteries and graveyards. We call ourselves ‘tombstone tourists.’ I’ve got a website devoted to the gravesites of all the famous celebrities buried in Los Angeles for the last sixty years if you wanna check it out. Gets about ten thousand hits a day.”

I blinked.

“And you would like to find someone who shares those interests…?”

And my three o’clock:

“What I’m really looking for is someone outside of the entertainment industry. And preferably not a lawyer, either. I’ve had bad experiences with those.” The woman flipped her platinum locks and pulled the strap of her brand-name purse back onto her shoulder. “Someone with a respectable job. But not anyone in the medical field, since they work too many hours. Not a cop, either, that’s too dangerous; I don’t want to worry every day like that. Oh, and no army guys. I don’t want to relocate anywhere, and I’ve heard they have a girlfriend on every continent from what my friends have said…”

By the time six thirty came around, I was beat. I’d made complete profiles for all the candidates (bar the Hamburger), put together a few potential matches for each, and even scheduled a first meeting for taphophilia guy with a woman I’d met that worked at her family’s funeral home.
 

So there you go—a successful day in the life of a full-time matchmaker. Glamorous, I know. Are you starting to see why being a single girl in the city is the smart idea?

CHAPTER FOUR

Meals for One

THURSDAY NIGHT AND there I was again. It wasn’t like I planned these things. They just…happened. Just happened four weeks in a row now, so this was starting to border on pathetic. Actually, pathetic would be having to escape my cramped apartment to avoid the rich-bitch reality show marathon my twin roommate pains in the ass had blaring in the living room.
 

After my longtime roomie had moved in with her boyfriend a couple of years ago, I’d been desperate to find someone to make up the other half of the rent, and damn if I didn’t get a two-for-one deal straight from Miami. Just out of high school, super mouthy, and with a wardrobe that consisted solely of glitter bikinis—you can probably guess I couldn’t wait to get the hell away from the Doublemint twins.
 

Unfortunately, my tight financial situation had me stuck, although if Val landed an Ace in the hole and I got promoted…surely that would mean a giant bump of a raise too…
 

And then—freedom.

But for now, my situation consisted sadly of three little words that were grating on my nerves. I glared at the little red sign hanging in the aisle. The ultimate bane of my existence.
 

Meals for One

That stupid sign was designed to make single people feel bad about themselves. Specifically those shopping in a deserted Target on a Thursday night.
 

Ugh.
Target was an asshole.
 

As I browsed the choices behind the meals-for-one refrigerated doors, a blaring, unfamiliar ringtone went off, and it seemed to be coming from my purse. After the realization earlier in the week that I’d left my phone in my pants, and therefore sure to be crushed on the train tracks, I’d had to get a new one.
 

“Hey hey, almost birthday girl,” I said, when I answered Paige’s call.
 

“So there’s been a change of plans.”
 

Uh oh. Knowing Paige, it meant her low-key birthday shindig planned for tomorrow was about to turn into something massive. “You mean you’ve decided against spending all day at the beach followed by a night of strip club hopping? What could possibly top that?”

And then she said the word I’d been dreading.

“Vegas.”

My eyes closed as my head lolled forward.
Fuck me.
There was no way I could afford Vegas right no—

“And before you stroke out about it—because I know you will—the room is covered, the drinks are free all night, and we’re taking my car. Which means be at my place by nine and make sure to get your beauty sleep tonight. Oh, and bring your damn heels this time, and also that dress you wasted on ze faux-French loser.”

“Paige—”

“Don’t start with me, Shayne. It’s my fucking birthday, and I’ll do what I want, spank you. I’m not going without you, and I
am
going, so that means too damn bad if you’d rather spend a night at home with Netflix and
The Shining
twins.”

I suppressed a groan. They were why I was trolling the grocery aisle in the first place. There was no way I could fight her on this, since she was always such a stubborn pain in the ass, and honestly, a weekend away with the girls sounded like exactly what I needed.
 

“Like I could say no to you,” I said finally, and I could almost see the self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Right answer. See you mañana, hooker.”

The call disconnected, and a small smile crossed my lips. Quick and to the point and refused to take no for an answer—that was my Paige.
 

Okay, so I needed to grab and go so I could get home and pack a bag.
Let’s see…lasagna for one…southwestern egg rolls…spinach and mushroom pizza…bingo. Yep, that sounds healthy.
 

After yanking the door open, I grabbed two of those bad boys. On second thought, I needed enough for another workweek. I’d hate to miss my weekly Target date, but them’s the breaks. I reached back in and loaded up three more.
 

“I see you decided to wear pants this time.”

I froze at the male voice behind me.
Wait. I know that voice… Oh please let me not actually know that voice.
Slowly, I turned on my heel, my arms full of pizzas.
 

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach then, because, what were the odds, it was fully pantsed Mr. Gorgeous. Nate Ryan. In a white button-up shirt and black pants with matching suspenders, he looked almost as good as he had without pants on. Or maybe he looked better. Just wow…suspenders.
 

The effect was beyond hot. Hot and boyishly charming and completely unwanted at this particular moment, especially with him staring at me all amused and holier than thou.
 

And yes, it was a holier-than-thou face—I mean, I would know.
 

The arched brow, his lips listing up on one side, which only showcased one of his sexy-as-hell dimples.
Oh bloody hell. Is this really my life?
 

“Hi,” I managed to say.

He nodded toward my legs. “Your pants are making me hungry.”

Aaaand that was the point where I stopped breathing. Except to say, “What?”

His eyes trailed down my body and rested on my thighs. Self-conscious, I looked down, almost sighing with relief when I realized my lower half was indeed covered this time, but that feeling went away pretty fucking fast when I saw the ice cream cones on my pajama pants practically flinging themselves at him.
 

Yes, I’d gone out in public in pajamas, so sue me. I hadn’t counted on running into…well, anybody.
 

“Oh. Oh yeah, um…I like ice cream,” I mumbled. “Especially from Licked, my friend Ryleigh’s store, although I have to say, her boozy shakes are unreal, especially the Make Me Quake Shake, which has these amazing pieces of those Ferrero Rocher balls in them, and they just give it the perfect amount of crunch so that you—” I stopped and took a breath when I noticed his grin getting wider. I swallowed and then said, “Not that I go there all the time or anything. Because I don’t. I mean, I’ve only been once or twice. You know…to taste test. Actually, I never eat sweets.”

He laughed then, and those penetrating eyes, tinged with more green than brown today, made their way up my body once more, pausing with what looked like amusement at my full hands. Then his gaze was on me and those dimples were out in full force.
 

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I’ve got a helluva sweet tooth.”

Wait…was he
flirting
with me? Was that a come-on? Or just stating a fact?

“Yeah, well, in that case your dentist probably hates you,” I said, readjusting the cold-ass meals in my arms. I’d be damned if I let those suckers go now. I’d tied my jacket around my waist, and my thin tank top would reveal a tit-bit more than I needed him to see.
 

He chuckled at that.
Hmm
. He had a nice chuckle. And a husky laugh. Both of which made my eyes zoom in on his throat. I wondered if it was as warm as it looked. He must’ve caught me staring, because he coughed, bringing my attention back to his face. His eyes were twinkling something wicked.
 

“You might be right about that,” he said. “Maybe I don’t like people telling me what to do. Or dictating what I can and can’t put in my mouth.”

My mouth dropped open, but I quickly snapped it shut. This guy was obviously a charmer, and after dealing with guys like him all day, the last thing I would do was fall prey to another arrogant playboy. Nope. Not me. Not gonna happen.
 

“So do you come here often?” I asked, throwing out the first thing that came to mind that wasn’t sexual in nature.
 

He pinched his eyebrows together at me a bit and looked around. Guess my badass conversation style caught him off guard. Oh, who the hell was I kidding? I was so off my game with this guy I shouldn’t be allowed on the court.
 

“Sorry, I was just checking to make sure I didn’t stumble into a bar. Yeah, I find the store pretty essential for keeping my fridge stocked. And occasionally I do laundry too, so detergent comes in handy. You?”

“Yeah, I do laundry.”

“Any more sexy pajama pants where those came from?” he asked with a wink. At least I thought it was a wink. He could have an eye twitch. But I was so annoyed at myself for looking like a slob that—once again—I snapped at him.
 

“That’s a personal question. I don’t think I invited you to snoop into my underwear drawer.”

“I wasn’t asking about your underwear. I barely know your name, Shayne Callahan.”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t know the name of someone whose underwear you inquired about.”
 

Immediately I wanted to slap myself, but seeing as my hands were full, I had to settle for an inner kick in the pants.
What the hell is wrong with me? Shut up, Shayne.
But something about the guy made me want to fight with him, and as any of my friends could tell you, I’m a lover, not a fighter.
 

I couldn’t pinpoint what it was…his self-assured smile? The way he’d caught me at my worst on both occasions I’d met him? The fact that he looked so damn good in those suspenders that my mind could only visualize him using those to tie me up?
Wait…what?

Dammit, why did I have to come to Target in my freaking pajamas?

His head cocked to the side. “Are you always this combative?”

“Are you always this arrogant?”

“I just came over to say hi.”

“And inquire about my panties.”