Uncovered (14 page)

I felt myself relax completely as soon as
we stepped out onto the floor and I moved my hips to the sound of Halestorm’s
rendition of The Beatles’ “I Want You.” Spotting Linc, who was already on his
phone, I gave him a little wave and turned my back to him. “Thank you,” I told
Pen, widening my eyes in relief.

Swinging her hair over one shoulder, she
gave me a pointed look. “Alright, spill it. You came in earlier looking like
someone mugged you after pissing on your shoes. What happened?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. I showed up to
work to find that Margaret wasn’t who called me this morning, and—”

Her eyes bulging, Pen’s slim fingers
cupped both of my shoulders. “Hold on,
what
?”

“I’m pretty sure Oliver’s ex-girlfriend
was who called.” I still hadn’t figured out what to do about Finley, but there
was no way I was letting it go. No matter who she was. At Pen’s disgusted face,
I danced around her, whispering in her ear, “And then a picture of Oliver and
me made the front page of a lifestyle website.”

She caught my hand and looked over her
shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you were with Mr. Sex-In-A-Suit last night.”

“I wasn’t
with
him, I just
bumped
into him and we talked for a few minutes.” During which he proceeded to drive
my body absolutely crazy with his mouth and fingers, but that was beside the
point. “So, of course, Margaret flipped out and let me know how she feels about
me being around her son.”

For close to a minute, Pen was quiet,
letting the guitar solo in the middle of the song play. She bobbed her head to
the music, but I knew she was absorbing what I’d told her so far. When the
vocals resumed, she questioned, “And, let me guess, the stepmonster had
something to say about that?”

I felt my phone vibrate in its spot
between my breasts, but I ignored it. “She doesn’t want gold-diggers like the
Russian
whore
my dad used to be married to sinking their claws into
Oliver.” Saying those words aloud sent acid rushing to the back of my throat,
and I swallowed it down and blinked hard.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that Pen’s
mouth was parted, and she had a horrified look on her face.

“She said that to you?” Her voice was
lowered to an angry growl. “She actually sat in front of you and
said
that?”

“And she didn’t even flinch.”

Her nostrils flared, and she was about to
say something else, but a hand on my shoulder made her pause. I looked behind
me to see a perfectly-coiffed blond man—the type of guy who
used to be
my type—and yet, I felt nothing as I smiled at him politely.

He moved his mouth close to my ear. “I
was watching you—”

“She’d love to,” Pen practically shouted,
shoving me against him.

Although I kept dancing, I glowered at my
best friend, who responded with a shit-eating grin. “It’s your birthday,” she
leaned forward and whispered. “You deserve a little fun.”

And as I danced with the good-looking
blond and my best friend, letting the sexy, repetitive lyrics move through my
body, I realized she was right. I needed to escape being Lizzie for one night.

I needed to be Gemma instead.

When the Halestorm song faded away to
Theory of a Deadman’s “Gentleman,” my partner gave me a questioning look, but I
shook my head.

“Sorry, bathroom break,” I shouted over
the music, even though I didn’t have to go. With a suggestive roll of my eyes,
I jabbed my finger over my shoulder at Pen. He cast his megawatt smile on her
and danced against her as I swiftly departed the floor. 

Avoiding our table and the imminent
heart-to-heart with Linc in favor of the restroom, I fished my phone from the
front of my halter-top. When I saw the message was from Oliver, my hands
clenched around my phone for a moment before I slackened my grip.

I waited until I was behind a bathroom
stall and sitting on a closed toilet to check the text, feeling my heart
hammering in my throat as I read it slowly.

Well after midnight here, and I can’t get
you out of my head. Your smell, your taste, and your body—I’m counting down the
days until that’s all mine.

Holding my phone close to my chest, I
released a tremulous sigh. Just when I made up my mind to put everything about
Lizzie out of my head for the night, he had to send me a message and remind me
that it was impossible to escape the way he made me feel. And after a day like
today, I savored everything about his words. I allowed them to penetrate my
veins and warm me before I wrote a reply.

You’re not out tonight? What kind of
Bad-Boy-Next-Door are you? Also, I never gave you an answer.

As I waited with, I hated to admit,
baited breath, I flushed the unused commode and stepped out to check my
appearance in the mirror. Every few seconds, I glanced down at my phone screen.
When a new text showed up, I let out a tiny noise from the back of my throat
that caught the attention of the woman looking at herself in the mirror next to
me.

“You sound whipped,” she pointed out
drunkenly and grabbed her cocktail from the quartz countertop, dancing away to
the end of the song straining through the bathroom vents.

When I opened Oliver’s text, my breath
caught at the photo he shared. It was of the TV in his hotel room, and it was paused
on a particularly epic Lagertha and Ragnar scene from
the first season
of
Vikings
—the show I’d suggested he watch when we had lunch in his
office. Below the picture, his message sped up my pulse.

Spent the day in meetings and am too
tired to go out, so I started season one. You were right about it. Also, I WILL
see you. It’s inevitable.

Inevitable. What a beautiful, tragic
word.

Sighing tremulously, I tucked my phone
back in its spot in my bra and left the restroom in search of Linc and Pen.

“Happy birthday, Gemma,” I whispered
softly to myself.

“I’ll
probably be back next month,” Linc told me first thing Monday as he walked to
my front door carrying his duffle bag.

Making sure my bathrobe was secured
around my body, I slid onto the leather armchair on the other side of the open
room and tucked one of my feet under my butt.  “Next month?” I tapped my
fingers on my thighs. “Why so soon?”

He rocked forward on the balls of his
feet and cast a meaningful look behind me toward the dining room table. If Pen
were around this morning, she’d probably have her ass planted in the seat
closest to the kitchen entrance, furiously pecking away at her laptop. Except
Pen wasn’t around.

“I’m putting a down payment on a Jeep
from a private owner in Santa Monica, and I’ll be picking it up then,” he said.

This was the first time he’d said
anything about buying a car that would bring him back to L.A., and I bit the
inside of my lip until I tasted copper. It was obvious what he was doing, but I
wasn’t going to let him know that him being around bothered me. Taking a quick
peek down at my phone to see that it was eight fifteen, I saw I had a new text
from Margaret—
I need you to stop by my house to pick up the McQueen suit
hanging in the laundry room. Be here no later than ten.

Thank
God
. She’d just given me a
way to return the court documents to her home office, and my expression was
full of relief when I looked at Linc. “We’ll definitely have to do something
fun when you come back.”

Sighing heavily, he sagged his shoulders.
“Gem … are you sure there’s nothing up with my sister?”

It was the fourth time he’d asked me that
question since Friday night, and it was starting to wear on me. Pen had been
out of the apartment most of Saturday and part of yesterday, leaving me to
entertain her brother while she did God knew what.

And once again, this morning she was
nowhere to be found.

Personally, I was at the point where I
was worried, and I never pried into the parts of her life she chose not to tell
me about.

Twisting the sash of my white terry cloth
robe between my fingers, I swallowed my unease. “She’s been working her ass
off. You should be proud of her, not breathing down her neck,” I reprimanded
softly.

“I’m very proud of my sister.” He dropped
his head back to stare at the ceiling. I watched his Adam’s apple bob a few
times before he lowered his attention to me. “But I’m worried about her. I’m
also worried about
you
.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Dropping his bag in the foyer, he was in
the living room in a matter of seconds, sitting on the ottoman near the
armchair. He leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs and glowered at me,
openly frustrated. Linc Connelly had the whole law enforcement glare
perfected—and with him looking at me like that, all I wanted to do was confess.

Knowing what a disaster coming clean
would be, I lifted my chin high, attempting to seem undaunted. “Yes?” I asked
icily—my best Margaret Manning-Emerson impersonation.

“Next time, use more Febreze,” he told me
loudly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The scent of bullshit is all over the
place. Between Pen leaving every five seconds and you rushing into the other
room every time your phone rings, I’m wondering what’s going on here.”

Gripping the sides of my chair, I
straightened my spine. “Pen hacks her company’s software for a living and I’m
an escort, Linc.” When he flinched at my wording, I continued, “I don’t know
how else to explain it to you without going into details you don’t want to
hear.”

Even when I was a phone sex operator—when
I would actually get up from the table in the middle of dinner to take a
call—I’d always been upfront with Linc and Pen about my job. No point in trying
to sugarcoat it now, especially when I needed him to leave so I could get ready
for the other job he was clueless I even had.

Shaking his head, he released a laugh
overflowing with exasperation. “You two are up to something.” When I started to
speak, he jerked his head from side to side. “Dammit, Gemma, I know—”

“Do you want me to ask Pen to go back to
Vegas?”

Throwing up his hands, he stood up and
crossed his arms over his chest. “She’d fucking kill me for having you ask her,
you know that.”

Scrunching my nose, I held my thumb and
forefinger a couple centimeters apart. “Maybe just maim you a little.” I tapped
the home button on my phone again to illuminate the screen, gritting my teeth
when I saw that it was now eight twenty. Luckily, I’d already taken a shower,
because I was running out of time and I still needed to get dressed.

Placing the phone face down on the side
table, I twisted my lip inquisitively. “Didn’t you tell me last night at dinner
you had to be back in Vegas by twelve thirty? You’re cutting it a little close,
aren’t you?”

He looked at the time on the cable box
several feet away and scrubbed his palm over his face. “Shit, I am,” he
muttered.  “Listen, can you tell Pen—whenever she gets in—I had to go?” 

“Of course.” Coming to my feet, I walked
over to him, letting him pull me in for a side hug. As he ruffled my damp blond
hair, I gave his unkempt beard the stink eye. “You should get rid of that,” I
complained, and he stepped away from me wearing a smirk.

“It’s No-Shave-November.”

Snorting, I clutched my robe together.
“It’s a good thing I’m not home, then. I’d have to break into your apartment to
shear you.”

Walking backward toward the door, he
pointed his finger at me. “By the way, Gemma, I still don’t buy half of what
you or Pen have told me this weekend.” But regardless of his words, each step
lightened the pressure I’d felt the last few days. “Actually, I don’t buy any
of it.”

He wouldn’t, and I felt like crap for
lying to him, but what the hell was I supposed to say?

Oh, remember that evil beyotch I told you
about— the one who was married to my dad? Well, I’m working for her now because
your sister hacked me into her company’s security system.

Curling my toes into the paisley-print area
rug, I scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be harassing your sister instead?”

“Yeah, I could, but the thing is—”
Bending, he scooped up his bag and slung it over his body. He yawned and turned
around to look me square in the eye. “—your lies are obvious, and she’s not
here for me to harass. See you in a couple weeks, Gemma.”

With my fist pressed to my mouth, I
nibbled anxiously on my fingernail, pacing from the couch to the armchair for
close to a minute to make sure he didn’t come back. Finally, after checking the
peephole only to see one of my neighbors leaving his apartment for work, I went
into my bedroom to get dressed.

Fifteen minutes later, I raced out the
front door, sliding the stack of stolen paperwork into my purse. I’d read over
the legal documents, but the language was so thick I couldn’t understand the
importance of what I had trudged through. I’d turned it over to Pen.

*

Locking
my car door with the key fob, the first thing I noticed was the Jaguar F-type
coupe—the same cherry red as my Mini Cooper—parked in front of the garage at
Margaret’s place. It boasted temporary decals, and I couldn’t resist giving it
a second glance over my shoulder when I walked up the steps as quickly as my
plaid pencil skirt would allow.

If there was one thing I was drawn
to—aside from men I had no business wanting—it was a sexy car, and that Jaguar
was an orgasm on four wheels.

Turning the dials on the lockbox, I
reached for the key, but before I was able to unlock the door, it flung open.
Finley, looking like she’d just stepped out of the dressing room at Neiman
Marcus, stood in the doorway.

“Lizzie, what a—”

“Good to see you again,” I interrupted
sharply. When I’d received Margaret’s text, I hadn’t even considered that she
might still be here—I was too excited at the prospect of getting back inside
the house. As the tall brunette stepped aside to let me in, my chest tightened.
“Margaret asked me to stop by and grab some things for her.”

The front door closed, and I faced her.
Resting her shoulders to the stained-glass behind her, she looked at me
expectantly, her short hair falling perfectly without her trying, just like
that damn Bruno Mars song Pen was obsessed with.

Was she waiting on me to say something
about her calling me last week?

Or did she think I was too stupid to
figure out it was her?

“How’s the apartment search going?” No
matter how much Margaret adored this woman, I couldn’t see the stepmonster
allowing her to stay very much longer.

“I’m actually on my way out now to do a
walkthrough of a townhouse in Brentwood.” Fluffing her sleek mahogany bob, she
lifted her hazel eyes to the ceiling in what I guess was supposed to be cute
exasperation. “Daddy and Mason went on a camping trip over the weekend.”

“How exciting,” I said dryly, instantly
feeling sorry for her brother.

She smoothed her hands over the ruched midsection
of her black cap-sleeve jumpsuit and lifted her shoulders until they touched
the diamonds winking in her ears. “Oliver suggested the place—said one of his
friends lived there—so it must be fantastic.” She fingered her left ear,
intentionally drawing my attention to her earring, and I could almost guess
what she was going to say before the words even left her mouth. “Obviously, he
has good taste.”

“Obviously,” I said, my voice
emotionless. “Good luck with the apartment search, Finley.”

Stalking to the laundry room located near
the back of the house, I heard Finley’s brown suede platform wedges clacking on
the floor right behind me. “I know when I mentioned Ollie’s party to you last
week, you seemed surprised. I took the liberty of telling Margaret I have no
trouble planning the entire thing. I’d hate to take you away from your work.”

"Perfect.” I turned the corner,
letting my childhood memories of this place guide me in the right direction.
“I’m sure you’ll do a much better job.” If I stopped moving, there was a good
chance she’d get the reaction out of me she was hoping for when she called last
week, and I’d lose my job.

I strode into the state-of-the-art
laundry room, discovering it was more organized than most people’s closets with
the Fisher & Paykel washer and dryer stacked in the center of a massive
shelving unit complete with wardrobe racks.  Immediately, I spotted the
Alexander McQueen suit Margaret had sent me for.

Snatching the garment bag from the rack,
I twisted around to see Finley waiting in the hallway outside the laundry room,
fussing with one of the earrings that were, without a doubt, a gift from
Oliver.

She was blatantly throwing it in my face,
and if I hadn’t disliked her after the phone trick, she had definitely cemented
her place on my shit list.

“Is there something the matter?” she
asked innocently, staring into my brown eyes, and though I tried, I couldn’t
help but narrow them.

“You called me last Friday, pretending to
be Margaret,” I said between my teeth, “I’d say we’ve got a pretty big issue.”

Her mouth fell open and for a moment I
thought she’d deny it, but then she shook her head indifferently, her cap of
mahogany hair swinging around her face. “It was a little joke, I figured you’d
pick up on it because of the forced accent.” She picked at a piece of lint on
the front of her jumpsuit, raising both eyebrows. “
Apparently
, you
didn’t.”

I tossed the garment bag over my arm and
walked by her, clenching my fingers as I continued down the hallway. “I don’t
joke when it comes to my job. And I sure as hell don’t find a high school-esque
prank amusing. I’m—” I took a deep breath in order to separate Lizzie from
Gemma. “—I’m twenty-five. Not fifteen.” And she was thirty-one, which made it
even more unnerving.

Once again, she was right on my heels,
and my nostrils flared. “No, and that was so wrong of me, I—”

Spinning around to face her in the foyer,
my neck and shoulders tensed. “When I was a kid, my dad always told me I
shouldn’t apologize for things I wasn’t sorry for. That I was better off not
saying anything.”

Unintentionally, my attention flicked to
the family room, pushing the memory of the time I smeared finger-paints all
over the cream-colored walls to the front of my mind. I’d found my antics
funny—I was five, after all—and when I’d given my father the obligatory “sorry”
he had knelt down beside me and shook his blond head, telling me the same thing
I just said to Oliver’s ex.

Studying Finley’s triumphant expression,
I smiled and reached for the doorknob. “Since we both know your intention was
to get me in trouble, I’m just glad it didn’t pan out the way you hoped.”

“Ollie was my first love,” she blurted
out. “I’ve loved him since I was fifteen, and I panicked when I saw him
disappear with you to the balcony.”

She’d seen us? Keeping my grip on the
knob, I looked back to see her leaning against the bannister, her long legs
crossed at the ankles. “Whatever you thought you saw, I hate to disappoint you,
but—”