The Good Girl's Guide to Bad Men (9 page)

"But you have your final dress fitting that Saturday!" Sophie protested, and then immediately thought twice about it and shrank back in her seat. "I mean, I'm sure we can move it," she offered.

I laughed endearingly at her. "Don't worry. I'll call the tailor myself and reschedule."

"Just don't eat too many carne asada tacos down there," she warned me. "That dress cannot be let out. It can only be taken in."

I reached out and laid my hand tenderly on her shoulder. "I won't."

She took hold of it and pulled it up to her face. "It's a beautiful ring," she finally conceded.

Then I waited for the screams, the jumping up and down, the perfectly timed simultaneous gasps. But there was none of it. They all just stared at me, their faces still blanketed with shock.

"I just can't believe this," John said dazedly. "With you two gone away to live in Coupleville, I guess it's just me and Zo left." He threw his arm around Zoë's neck, and she quickly pulled away with a horrified look on her face.

"Great, you two are getting hitched and I'm gonna be stuck with the young, the gay, and the restless over here."

"I resent that," John said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am
not
restless. I'll have you know, I am getting plenty from my new boyfriend, Danny. And he is oh so—"

"Okay, we get the point," Zoë interrupted. "You're getting laid. Congratulations."

John squinted suspiciously at Zoë. "More importantly, it sounds like someone is not getting
any."

"I get plenty," Zoë shot back defensively.

And just like that, the subject was changed. But I didn't protest. A part of me actually felt relieved.

"From who?" John challenged.

"No one in particular," she replied.

Sophie's face brightened. "That's
great
news!" she exclaimed with a bit too much enthusiasm. We all shot her a questioning look.

"Jeez, Soph, you act like I was on a three-year dry spell or something." Zoë frowned disapprovingly.

Sophie giggled. "No, I mean that's not why I'm excited. I mean, I
am
excited that you're . . . you know, having sex. It's just that this means you'll have a date for my wedding. You finally have a plus one!"

Zoë thought about that for a second. Sophie's statement seemed to perplex her, as if she had been caught in an awkward dilemma. "But I already RSVP'd for just one."

Sophie waved this away with her hand. "I know, but I marked you down for two anyway. I knew you'd eventually find a date. So what's his name? We can make him a place card right now!" She reached across the coffee table and pulled a blank card from the stack. She popped the cap off her silver paint pen, like an Old Wild West bandit on the trigger, and sat poised and ready to write.

All eyes were on Zoë, and for the first time in her life, she actually looked
uncomfortable.
I had known this girl for years, and never had I seen such a distraught look on her face. She was always so sharp, so quick with a comeback, so seemingly immune to typical girly drama. She always knew what to say, and she was always comfortable saying it. And now she looked as if she had just walked into a surprise party thrown three and a half months
before
her birthday.

"What's the matter, Zo?" I asked. "Do we know him or something? Is it someone's ex-boyfriend?"

John's eyes lit up. "I knew it. It's that guy I dated last year. That Byron guy. I totally knew he was straight!"

Zoë shook her head. "No . . . it's not that," she stuttered. "It's just . . ."

Sophie gestured exasperatedly with her paint pen. "So just tell me the name already."

"I'm not taking him to the wedding," she finally declared.

"Why not?" Sophie sounded insulted.

"I . . . um . . . I just don't think we're ready for that." Zoë reached forward and grabbed her half-eaten slice of cold pizza and took an oversize bite.

I studied her, intrigued. This was definitely not the Zoë I knew. Something was up. She was never one to follow any sort of society-accepted dating rules. That was much more Sophie's department. When Zoë wanted to sleep with a guy, she slept with him. When she wanted to say "I love you," she said it. And when she wanted to take him to a wedding, she took him. There were no games in Zoë's world. It just wasn't her style.

"You do realize that
she's
the one walking down the aisle," John commented, pointing conspicuously at the top of Sophie's head. "All you have to do with the guy is dance to a few slow songs and share a piece of cake. It's not a lifelong commitment or anything."

Zoë shrugged, swallowing her mouthful of pizza. "No, I know. I just don't want to bring him, okay? Can we drop it now?"

Sophie frowned in confusion as she slipped the top back on the pen and threw it into her shopping bag. "Okay, whatever you say. But if you change your mind, you can always—"

"I won't," Zoë stated firmly, and we all took that as a sign to change subjects yet again.

The night eventually wound down, and one by one, my friends offered me a hug and another round of stunned congratulations and then drifted out the front door. Sophie with her one hundred and sixty perfectly (or close enough) glued place cards, Zoë with the last piece of pizza and apparently some kind of chip on her shoulder, and John with his stories about the size of his new boyfriend's package. Until it was just me . . . left alone with my big shiny ring.

Jamie was staying at his own place tonight, and it felt almost surreal sitting alone in my living room, staring down at my finger, and imagining what my life would be like from here on out, all because of a little piece of jewelry.

I sat on the couch, admiring it for a moment. I had never actually looked that closely at it before. I mean,
really
looked at it. I had no idea how many carats it was, because frankly, I knew nothing about that kind of stuff. But I did know it was beautiful. No, beautiful didn't quite do it justice.
Spectacular
was closer. Perfectly square and seated on a thin, gleaming band of platinum. Just looking at it made me want to run out and get a manicure.

With a sigh, I pulled myself off the couch and began to clean up the living room. I ran the empty pizza box out into the hallway and threw it down the trash chute. Then I crumpled up all the newspaper that was lining the coffee table and tossed it into the recycle bin. Finally, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, shut off all the lights in the house, and climbed into bed. For some reason, I half expected these everyday, mundane little chores to feel different, maybe even novel. Because now I was doing them as an
engaged
person. As a soon-to-be
married
person. But they felt exactly the same. Brushing my teeth was still just brushing my teeth. Even with the massive diamond that flashed brilliantly in the mirror with every stroke.

Despite everything that had happened in the past day, it all kind of felt like a dream somehow. As if I were living someone else's life. Someone who was, apparently, engaged to a beautiful man, with a beautiful ring on her finger. I figured I just needed more time to let the whole thing sink in. It was a big adjustment. I'd spent the last few years of my life convinced that marriage wasn't for me. That's not something you can just flip a switch and change. You have to ease into it.

That's why I didn't really blame my friends for not believing me. If someone had told me a year ago that right now I would be engaged, I probably would have laughed, too.

I guess a lot can change in a year.

I tapped the next stack of crimson folders against the conference room table to kick off the Tuesday staff meeting. "Good morning, everyone. We have a busy week this week. So let's get started."

I had been engaged for exactly seven days now, and it still didn't feel any more real. I had spent the past week playing hide the engagement ring. I'd wear it around the house and out to dinner when I was with Jamie, and then in the mornings, as soon as I got within a block of the office, I'd slide it off my finger and hide it in the interior compartment of my purse or briefcase. I'd keep it off all day when I was at work and then slide it back on again as soon as I returned home.

Yes, it was something of a hassle pretending to be one person during the day and someone else entirely at night. But what could I do? I wasn't about to let the five people in this room know that I was engaged to be married.

"Lauren?" I turned toward my technical guru. "How'd it go last weekend with the recently engaged software developer in Minneapolis?"

Lauren pulled her attention away from a small PDA device that sat in front of her, half-dismantled, and replied, "Fine. The assignment went smoothly. I approached him at the cocktail party after the sales conference ended and just commended him on his speech. He seemed apprehensive of my attention at first, but he continued to lead the conversation, and the more beers he consumed, the less apprehensive he became. He asked me to join him for dinner, and afterward he asked if I wanted to see a beta version of his new Web project. I said yes and followed him up to his suite. He wasn't extremely bold or assertive. I think he was waiting to make sure I would reciprocate an advance before he made any. He took me through the basic foundation of the software on his laptop, and the more I reacted to the programming, the more aroused he seemed to become. And then he eventually asked to kiss me."

I noted this down on my legal pad. "Interesting that he asked. What time did you finally leave the room?"

With lightning speed, she reassembled the device in front of her and tapped on the screen a few times. "One oh-two
A.M.
I met him in the conference center at six-thirty, so it was a fairly long night."

"All right, then," I said, continuing to scribble on the page. "I'm sure his fiancée will find this information useful, since she was about to put down a hefty deposit on the venue rental for the wedding."

I picked up the folder on the top of the stack and flipped it open. "How much do you know about an online role-playing game called . . ." I squinted at my notes. "Intergalactic Battle Quest?"

Lauren shrugged casually. "It's all right. Graphics need some updating and the interface has several bugs, but it's very popular among the young twenty-somethings."

"And apparently a few thirty-somethings as well." I handed her the file. "Jarod Cunning. He's an avid player. His avatar is 'Quelth Commander.' According to his girlfriend of five years, he's a bit obsessed."

Lauren nodded understandingly. "It's easy to do. Especially if you're bored with your life."

"Find him online," I instructed her, "and build up a rapport. Make sure you set up a player profile with your photo and a location in Seattle, so that he thinks you're local. Wait for him to request a meeting."

"No problem," Lauren confirmed, flipping through the contents of the folder. "I'll even set up a few dummy sites with my alias and photo and index them through Google. Just in case he searches for me online."

I flashed her an approving smile. "That's why I hired you."

She grinned back and then set off on disassembling her device again.

"God, you're a dork," Katie said jokingly, picking at her fingernail. "I can't even figure out how to pimp my MySpace profile."

"Well," I said, turning to Katie and moving on with the meeting, "fortunately, for your next assignment there is no computer knowledge necessary. Although I must ask, do you have any experience with children?"

Katie shot me a befuddled look. "No. Um . . . why?"

"I need you to go on a long-term undercover assignment . . . as a nanny."

After a few instants, the entire room (minus Teresa, whose nose was buried in the latest issue of
Vogue)
cracked up laughing. I fought hard to keep my composure. I suppose it was a bit funny, the thought of Katie running around after two small children. But she was the best associate for the job. After all, she was the one with the acting experience. If anyone could handle a long-term cover like this one, it was Katie. The most difficult part was the fact that I didn't have any idea how long this assignment would take. If Mr. Stanton really was sleeping with his nannies, who knew how long he usually waited to make a move. Did he get to know them first, build a relationship, and throw in some harmless flirtation for a few weeks? Or did he just go for it the first week on the job? And if he didn't show any signs of inappropriate behavior, then it was only a matter of how long Mrs. Stanton wanted to wait (and pay) before she felt confident that he was, in fact, trustworthy.

"You want me to do what?" Katie repeated, dumbstruck.

I smiled patiently. "I know you're probably not much of a kid person, but with your acting skills, you're the best person for this job. You could be there for a while, and I need someone who's capable of pulling off a lengthy cover."

My flattery seemed to persuade her somewhat, but she still looked hesitant. "Don't you have a nice little poker game or a trip to the track you could send me on?"

I walked the file over to Katie and placed it on the table in front of her. Then I gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry. The client knows that child care is not your primary responsibility. She assured me that you will never actually be alone with the children."

Katie reluctantly flipped open the folder and studied the picture clipped to the inside cover. It was a family portrait supplied by the client: Mr. and Mrs. Dean Stanton and their two twin sons. "How old are they?" she asked, scrunching up her nose as if she had just taken a whiff of bad cheese.

I referred to my notes. "Nine." And then for good measure, I threw in, "A really fun age." Not that I knew anything about boys at the age of nine. Or any boys under the age of eighteen, for that matter.

Katie took a deep breath, and I tried once again to ease her mind. "Don't focus on the kids. Focus on the husband. That's who you're there for. You'll be posing as a twenty-two-year-old college student who's taking time off of school to figure out which direction she wants to go. Dean Stanton, the husband, is a high-profile movie studio exec. He runs New Edge Cinema. Pretty big deal. Just pretend you've been hired to play the role of the nanny on a popular sitcom or something. You don't
really
have to take care of the kids. You just have to
act
like you can."

She considered this and finally surrendered a weak shrug. "Fine. Whatever. Bring on the little demon children."

"That's the spirit," I offered back with an amicable grin. "I'll need updates twice a week. To be safe, you and I will only make contact via e-mail. But keep your phone on just in case."

"No problem," she muttered.

After Teresa and Cameron had reported that both their subjects had, in fact, expected happy endings—in Teresa's case from his Asian masseuse and in Cameron's case from her new pool boy—and I handed them each new assignments for the week, I finally landed on Shawna Miller, the beautiful blond bombshell seated to my right. "Shawna, how did it go at the strip club in West L.A. this weekend?"

Shawna shook her head. "He didn't keep his word."

"So he went for the lap dance?" I confirmed.

"Yes. When I came around to the table, his friends offered to buy one for him, and he didn't hesitate for a second. And he didn't exactly want to stop there, either."

I noted this down. "I see. So what was your exit?"

"I told him it was against club policy for me to sleep with the customers, and then he just kind of smirked and said, 'So when do you get off work?' It was pretty slimy, actually."

"Well," I replied, exhaling, "I guess the client will get some use out of
that
information." Then I picked up the final two files on the stack. "I'm afraid I had to double-book you on Saturday night," I explained as I passed her the folders. "With Katie out for at least a week, we're gonna be a little short-staffed around here. Fortunately they're both in Vegas, so you shouldn't have any problem with timing. The first one is a bachelor party at the MGM Grand. Ken Littrell is getting married in a few weeks, and . . . well, you know the drill. They're going to a Halloween party at Tabú. Hadley is working on getting you a costume."

"No fair. I want to dress up," Katie pouted with her arms crossed.

"You are," Cameron pointed out, clearly mocking her. "You're going as Mary Poppins. I'm sure you'll be able to find an umbrella in the prop closet."

Katie scowled back at him. "Very funny, pool boy."

I cleared my throat. "And the second assignment is Benjamin Connors, who often comes into town by himself to play blackjack. He's staying at the Palazzo."

Shawna listened, taking diligent notes as I spoke.

"I would have postponed this one, but it's a bit of an unusual situation. The client came to see me yesterday. She and her husband are trying to adopt a baby. They've been on the waiting list for almost two years now, and they're finally meeting an interested birth mother next week. But apparently the client's sister claims that she saw the husband try to make a pass at someone at a neighborhood party after he'd drunk too much. Now the client is freaking out and doesn't know if she can trust him. And she doesn't want to bring a baby into the equation until she's sure."

"Wow," Lauren mused. "That's pretty intense."

I nodded my agreement. "It is. And a very worthy cause. Shawna, I'm going to book you a suite at the Palazzo. You can get ready there and then head over to the MGM to meet Ken Littrell, who should be in the club by nine, nine-thirty. Afterwards, you can head back to the Palazzo to play blackjack with Benjamin Connors. His wife says he often plays until four or five in the morning when he comes to Vegas. So you should have plenty of time. Find him at the tables and let him teach you how to play. Call me if you have any questions."

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting at my desk when I heard a knock on my office door. "Come in!" I called with my head bent over a mountain of paperwork.

I heard the door creak open, but when no sound followed, I looked up to see Hadley standing timidly in the doorway with an unsettled look on her face.

"Yes?"

"Um," she began hesitantly, her eyes blinking at an unusually rapid pace. "Lexi Garrett, your first appointment, is here."

I eyed her warily. "Is she all right?"

Hadley's face softened. "Oh, yes. No. I mean, she's fine."

I nodded. "Okay, then go ahead and send her in."

But she didn't move. This is the part when she usually moves. Nods her head, smiles graciously, and then ducks out to finish whatever it was she was doing before she was interrupted. But instead, she just kind of stood there in the doorway, staring at me with a blank expression on her face.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

Hadley stammered slightly, shifting her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "The client," she began, her big brown eyes barely meeting mine. "She's young."

I laughed at her endearing naïveté. "Oh, that's all right, Hadley. Sometimes we get younger women in here. In fact, Lauren took a case just a few months ago where the client was a college student. I think she was only about twenty."

"No." She shook her head adamantly, and I could have sworn I heard a chill seep into her voice. "I mean, she's a
child."