Read Online Austensibly Ordinary by Alyssa Goodnight - Free Book Online

space, my gaze panning over the spotlit walls decorated with Hitchcock movie scenes. It was like the sets from a year’s worth of high school drama productions: Mount Rushmore, a cramped city apartment building, the roof of a French villa high above a glittering party, an apartment with a desk in the foreground holding an old-timey phone and pair of sewing scissors, and a bell tower. And hanging suspended above it all were cables dangling those creepy black birds.
    â€œMs. Kendall has arrived!” I swiveled to see Sydney bearing down on me in a catsuit that left nothing to the imagination. “Should I call you Cate, or would you prefer Eve for tonight?” Her grin was edged out by surprise as she looked me over. “Holy crap, you’re a fox! But you’ve still got your brainy school—”
    â€œDon’t say it,” I interrupted, whipping off my glasses, which I sometimes used for night driving, not wanting to jinx what I had going here. “Tonight I want to be someone different. Not Eve or Cate. I created a whole new identity . . . just for one night.” The rest of my plans weren’t quite fully baked yet. “Tonight I’m Cat Kennedy, Hitchcock blonde, woman of mystery.”
    â€œAnd sexy as hell! If I didn’t know you’d be going back to life as a schoolteacher tomorrow, I’d be coming on to you myself.” She winked and commenced a full perusal all over again.
    Beyond the dress, which was smokin’, I’d slipped on my highest heels, slicked on my reddest lipstick, and lined my eyes with sultry black, layering on the mascara at the end. I was minus a cape, but I felt totally transformed . . . sort of like a superhero. Except without a project—a regular Mr. Incredible.
    â€œOli and Will are in our little makeshift kitchen, but they’ll be out in a minute. You are gonna blow their minds. Hell, you’re gonna blow everyone’s mind. And Cary Grant, if he shows, will be in the palm of your hand.”
    I looked around us. Tables were scattered, draped in black, each with a movie-themed centerpiece. And in between, a trio of partygoers mingled, all of them in stark black, with maybe a sparkle or two. I might just be a standout, and that was fine with me.
    Within fifteen minutes the place was packed, and I wasn’t the only one in costume. One woman had shown up with her own birds attached to her head, complete with blood spots, and believe it or not, a guy in baby blue pj’s and full leg cast rolled through the door in a wheelchair with a floaty Grace Kelly companion. No more than ten minutes later he stood beside me, the evening’s signature drink, a limoncello, in hand, his look-alike companion nowhere in sight.
    Judging by the look in his eye and the amused quirk of his lips, I got the impression that this was the Cary Grant of the evening. Tonight though, he was disguised as Jimmy Stewart and hampered by a couple feet of gauze and Mod Podge.
    â€œYou’re not Grace Kelly or Tippi Hedren. . . .” He tipped his head, seeming to study me closely for clues, but I wasn’t fooled. “Eva Marie Saint . . . the sexy spy who handled the inestimable Cary Grant.” It wasn’t a question.
    â€œWhat gave me away?” I’d briefly considered shifting my voice to be throaty or breathless, but decided I didn’t have the follow-through to carry that out beyond the introductions. I tried for flirty, though.
    â€œYou have an obvious backbone . . . a very attractive one. And you look dangerously capable.” Damn, he was good. I sidled right into the picture he was painting.
    â€œYou have a good eye. I’m Cat Kennedy,” I told him, extending my hand, daring him to expose me as a wannabe.
    â€œCat, hmm? Very nice. Jake Tielman.” His grip was cool and smooth but for a few calluses. It gave me chills.
    â€œYou lost your wheelchair,” I said, glancing down at the bandaged leg that now