Teach Me (27 page)
Relax,
regroup, and finally meet Mary Kate’s mysterious beau, too.
We’ve only had a handful of conversations with this Malcolm,
but so far he strikes me as quiet, serious, and completely devoted to
her. So, as her resident BFF, I suppose I provisionally approve,
given his good behavior continues in this vein.
“Can
I at least get a hint?” Jack catches my eye, and with the late
afternoon sun flashing in his eyes, that shock of hair falling across
his forehead again in the way that drives me crazy (in a good way),
all I can think, yet again, for the hundredth time since I stepped
off the plane from Philadelphia back here again a month ago, is
how
did I get so lucky?
“Nope.”
I smirk, though I at least stop to let him catch up. When he reaches
my side, his hand runs through my hair, just before he draws me into
another kiss, a slow, deep kiss that melts me from the inside out.
“You’re a jerk, Harper Reed. A beautiful, amazing,
wonderful jerk.”
I
grin at him as we join hands and trail after our friends, up the path
toward the picnic I’m sure they’ve already unveiled.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Professor.”
They
say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, the same thing can be
said about writing a book, and I’m
lucky enough to have a fabulous village.
Special
thanks go out to:
Heather
Lynne, my friend, beta reader, filthy-mouthed soul mate. I love you,
Petals. SO MUCH. Thank you for your honest opinions, your shared love
of all things Outlander and your love and support of yours truly.
R,
my mentor, my snuggle bunny and partner in crime. Thank you for
helping make Teach Me the best it could be. And for teaching me the
ropes. I love you.
To
Nina and Jen at The Literary Gossip, Angie at Angie’s
Dreamy Reads, Candi at The Dirty Laundry Review, Samantha at Books,
Wine and Lots of Time, Hilary with The Read Report, and the countless
bloggers who have given me a chance. THANK YOU. Your love for romance
and the authors who write it shines through each and every day in
your posts and reviews. I’m
grateful to know each and every one of you and call you friends.
To
the ladies at Social Butterfly PR. You guys kick so much ass it’s
not even funny. Thank you for all you do to make my books sparkle and
shine.
Michele
Catalano for the gorgeous cover. You are amazing and I can’t
thank you enough.
E,
for being my shoulder to lean on, my cheerleader, my biggest fan.
Love you lots.
My
readers — I’d
be nothing without you. Thank you for picking up this book, for your
sweet emails and messages and for your shared love of all things
naughty. YOU ROCK my socks off.
xo
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“I
look like a slut.” I
stare at my reflection in horror – and
a little awe.
“You’re
the prettiest slut I’ve
ever seen.” My cousin
Callie gives a wink in the mirror, working a flat iron through my
hair.
“I
don’t
know…” My
stomach is already in knots thinking about the night ahead of me.
Callie
squirts hair shine on her hands and rubs it between her palms. It
smells like coconut and expensive salon. “Just
trust me, Juliet,” she
says, then coughs with enough force to produce a loud wheeze.
“Go
lie down,” I order her,
then give her a gentle nudge towards her bed. Our other roommate,
Emily, enters with a steaming mug of something.
“Drink
this,” she adds,
handing Callie the mug.
Callie
sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “What
is it?”
“My
grandmother’s
recipe. It’ll
make you feel better, I promise.”
Callie
collapses with a groan – which
quickly turns into another round of hacking coughs. Emily pulls me
back, worried.
“Don’t
get Juliet sick! She starts her internship tomorrow.”
Just
the mention of it makes me even more nervous. How I landed an
internship placement at the most prestigious historic hotel in
Chicago is still surreal. I start tomorrow…
After
I go play hooker tonight.
Not
hooker, I correct myself quickly.
Bait
.
Nerves
start a dance inside my stomach. My face must betray something
because Emily claps her hands together. “You
have nothing to worry about. You look amazing. Your hair…
It’s
so
shiny
!”
I
touch it again, smoothing my fingers down the long strands and my
mouth hangs open a little bit. Because,
damn
.
My hair is never straight, or smooth, or anything but a hot mess. I
blame my Irish ancestors. The women in my lineage weren’t
the sleek, dark and sexy Celts you always see in movies, but rather,
the ‘carry water and
build stone walls’ kind
that gifted me with a head of coarse, thick and unruly auburn hair.
Usually, I could care less: I just pull it back in a braid or
ponytail and forget about it.
But
not tonight. Tonight, I’m
full on shampoo-model, because-I’m-worth-it
hot.
And
I need to be, thanks to Miss Sick Day currently hacking her lungs up
in bed. Callie works as a decoy for a private investigator. She gets
people to talk, incriminate themselves or otherwise display some kind
of asshole behavior that can be caught on tape and used in court. She
loves the excitement of it, and she’s
cut out for it with a svelte body and the sleek beauty that promises
seduction. Small talk and flirting come naturally to her. And while
she’s
working her magic, a hidden photographer takes pictures or video of
the whole thing.
I’m
the woman who’s
been so invested in earning her hospitality management degree, she
forgets to put on deodorant some days. But with Callie laid up in
bed, she needs someone to fill in on a job tonight. And since she’s
been letting me stay here on a way reduced rent while I work my way
through school, I couldn’t
really turn her down.
I
check my reflection again, nervous. Callie has turned me into a
pretty slut, just like she said. Smoky makeup sets off the green in
my hazel eyes, the shimmer pink on my cheeks accentuating my heart
shaped face. My lips are glossy red and look plumper than usual.
“Now
put on the dress,” Callie
orders, still bossy even from bed.
“I
told you, blue isn’t
my color…” I
hesitate.
“And
I told you, it’s
peacock, not blue.”
“Big
difference.”
“Here.”
Emily hold it up eagerly. “I
picked out shoes and jewelry too.”
I
take them with a sigh. “I
don’t
know why you couldn’t
do this instead of me.”
Emily’s
eyes widen in horror. “Go
flirt with some strange guy in a bar? No way!” She
shudders. “Besides,
they would never hit on me in the first place.”
“That’s
a lie and you know it,” I
tell her, but Emily shakes her head stubbornly. She’s
the sweetest girl in the world, but not exactly giving Kanye a run
for his money in the confidence game. She prefers to spend her nights
working late at her jewelry studio, creating amazing designs.
But
Emily isn’t
the only one worried about attracting men tonight. I’ve
got serious doubts about my ability as bait. I’m
not anti-social. I’m
just not good at flirting. Or handling myself around sleazy men
without biting their heads off. In my mind, the guy I’m
targeting tonight is just another grease ball, out to find the first
hot, willing chick he can get his dick into. In order for the gig to
work, that chick has to be me.
Only
with no dick-sticking.
I
shed my sweats and tee-shirt and reach for the dress. “Not
so fast,” Callie
stops me and points to the chair beneath the window. A brand new bra
and panty set are laid out, both a pretty cream color, the bra with
lacy cups and satin straps. The bra is push up, not that I need it.
I’ve
been blessed with a lot going on up top, but when I ditch my old bra
for the new one, I’m
immediately glad it has the little gel support pads inside.
Because,
damn again.
“Don’t
look at my ass,” I warn
them as I change into the panties, and then step into the dress.
Callie whistles behind me before I’ve
finished smoothing the satiny fabric and I twirl because I can’t
help it. The V-neck top is deep, showing off the inside swell of my
breasts and creating a sexy valley of cleavage. The wrap top snugs my
waist while the skirt shimmies over my full hips, the hem swishing
mid-thigh. It’s
perfect for an hourglass figure like mine.
Emily
squeals. “You
look hot.”
And
with their help, I do. The dress is conforming and revealing and…
well, the sexiest thing I’ve
had on in forever. I wear jeans and baggy shirts to class. Pretty
much the same on the weekends.
Except
tonight.
Oh,
God.
Callie’s
phone buzzes. “Okay,
Jules, you’re
up. The target checked in at The Drake a half hour ago.”
She throws off the covers and comes
over, gripping my shoulders in her hands. I give her a dubious look,
hoping she isn’t
spreading her germs all over me. She eyes me like a coach about to
give a pep talk.
“Listen,
Juliet. It’ll
be easy; I swear. Text Rob when you get there and he’ll
tell you where to meet, and where to intercept the target. Make small
talk. One look and he’ll
be interested, I promise—you
look
so good
—he’ll
make a couple passes at you, Rob will snap a few pics and you’ll
be done. Easy.”
Panic
sets in. I’m
a confident woman, sure. I’m
smart. I read, a lot. Put me in a classroom and I can talk my way
through a debate like no one’s
business. But this?
“You’re
doing me a huge favor,” Callie
says, like she’s
reading my mind – and
the fact that I want to bolt. “I
can’t
lose this job, and I promise I’ll
owe you forever.”
She
coughs and I can’t
tell if it’s
real or if it’s
a guilt-cough. Either way, her face is pale but her cheeks are
flushed and her eyes have that glossy-fever glaze. I soften. She’s
done enough favors for me in our time, the least I can do is help her
out with this.
I
tuck a limp lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve
got it, Callie. No worries. Just get better.”
Emily
pushes me out the door with a final good luck hug, and then I’m
on my own. Luckily The Drake isn’t
far, and double luck it’s
one of my favorite hotels in the city.
My
dad always had a thing for Chicago’s
early architecture, and when I was younger we’d
spend countless hours touring remnants of the city’s
past. From the time I could first appreciate Chicago School style and
pick out the neo-classic revival scattered throughout the city, he
and I bonded while poring over old photos and documents showcasing
early buildings. Now that he’s gone, visiting some of our
favorite cornices and columns helps me feel like a part of him is
still here, watching over me.
It’s
no wonder I followed my heart into hospitality management. Stepping
through the doors of a luxurious hotel is like stepping into another
time, another place, where you can be anyone and nothing is out of
reach. I always wanted to be a part of creating that fantasy, and
tomorrow morning, I finally get my chance. After months of class work
and papers, I’ll
be starting an internship at one of the best hotels in the city. It’s
a competitive course, and I beat out dozens of applicants to make the
grade. I know my dad would be proud.
The
cab pulls up to the hotel. A valet greets me immediately, forcing my
trepidation away as I get out and wrap my fingers around my gold
clutch, and pray, pray, pray that I don’t
trip and fall on my face or something equally ridiculous. My phone
beeps with a message from Rob to meet just inside the lobby. I’ve
met him once before, and he seems like a decent guy considering his
sole job is to hang around taking incriminating
photos.
I
step beneath The Drake’s
famous illuminated banner canopy and through the gleaming glass
doors. People mill about the marble lobby, and I take a second to
breathe the opulence in. Goosebumps prickle my forearms. I can’t
help it. The rich blue carpet beneath my feet sets the stage for a
room glittering with elegance.
“Juliet,
darling.”
Someone
touches my back. Rob smiles, his tanned skin highlighting the perfect
white of his teeth. He leans close as if we’re
well acquainted, part of the act, I suppose, and I follow along,
leaning into him and putting a smile on my face.
“You
look lovely. Just perfect. Here’s
how we do this. The target is in Coq d’Or.”
He leads me in the direction of the
famous whiskey bar, and I’m
so nervous I have to concentrate to hear Rob over the rush of my own
pulse in my ears.
“Second
stool to the last on the right. Gray Armani suit. Brown hair.”
Rob continues, nodding across the
room. “Get cozy. As
cozy as you’re
comfortable with. A kiss seals the deal, usually, so…
Callie does her best to get him to
attempt it, anyway.”
