Read Online The Friends We Keep (Mischief Bay) by Susan Mallery - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Mallery
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traditionally handsome, but she had to admit she liked the look of him. Adding to the appeal were broad shoulders and narrow hips.
She blinked, not sure which surprised her more. The sexy package or the lack of black cape and horns.
No, she told herself. This was the manager. He’d come to explain why jerk-off couldn’t make it. He had to be.
She walked over. “Mr. Sterenberg? I’m Nicole and I’m—”
He looked at her, blinked twice, then held up his hands in the shape of a T. “Crap. No way. I can’t believe it. They sent you? Here? Now?”
WTF? Nicole’s warm, fuzzy, girlie feelings faded as quickly as they’d appeared. “Excuse me?”
“Look, this is really bad timing. I’m sure you’re terrific and all.” He glanced away, then returned his attention to her. He actually took a step back. “My friends are great. Assholes, but great. I can’t figure out if this is a joke or what but I’ll take it up with them later. But I have a thing I need to get to.”
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “I can pay you. You want the money, right? Or if they paid you already, I’ll tip you, but you have to go away.”
Words all spoken in English, yet they made absolutely no sense to her. Nada. What on earth was he—
“Oh my God, you think I’m a hooker?”
He stared at her, his eyes widening. Several twenties dangled from his fingers. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m the mom sent to escort you to the event back at the camp.”
His mouth moved, but no words came out. “Y-you can’t be. Look at how you’re dressed. This is not my fault. I saw a couple of my buddies over the weekend. I was bitching, ah, complaining about a long dry spell. They joked about fixing me up with someone. When I saw you—” He waved his hand up and down in front of her. “Look at how you’re dressed. This is not my fault.”
“You already said that.” Nicole raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “I was substitute teaching dance at a senior center,” she told him, using the haughtiest tone she could muster. “Helping a friend who’s on vacation with her family. She likes to dress in a costume because it helps. Today was tango day.”
His gaze dropped to the fairly spectacular amount of cleavage she was showing. No way she was going to tell him that it was mostly fake. Her somewhat meager assets were being pushed up by the wardrobe equivalent of chicken cutlets.
“Costume?” The word came out as a yelp.
“Costume,” she repeated slowly. “Do you know how insulting this is? I have a six-year-old son who worships you.” She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. “Okay, not you but Brad the Dragon. He wrote and rewrote his essay. He didn’t play, barely ate. Because of your books. Do you know how many forms your stupid contest requires? I filled out every one of them. I took time off work to be here. I left senior citizens to be here and you think I’m a hooker?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Like I believe that. I knew you’d be a jerk, but I never expected...” She sucked in a breath. “Fine. Let me show you where you’re supposed to go.” If only it were hell, she thought grimly. She would love to show him that.
“And you’d better be nice to the kids. All of them. Especially mine.”
“You’re mad.”
She started walking toward the camp area of the park. “Wow. A rocket scientist. You’re wasting yourself on kids’ books.”
He kept up with her easily, but then he wasn’t wearing heels. “It was an honest mistake.”
“Prostitution is illegal. I’m not even dressed that sexy. It wasn’t honest. It was sick. What kind of a man assumes a woman is a hooker?” She swung around to face him. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon. In a park. Did you think I was just going to blow you in your car?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think that part through. And, no, I don’t assume every woman is a hooker.”
“Just me?”
He winced. “I’m sorry. Really
She blinked, not sure which surprised her more. The sexy package or the lack of black cape and horns.
No, she told herself. This was the manager. He’d come to explain why jerk-off couldn’t make it. He had to be.
She walked over. “Mr. Sterenberg? I’m Nicole and I’m—”
He looked at her, blinked twice, then held up his hands in the shape of a T. “Crap. No way. I can’t believe it. They sent you? Here? Now?”
WTF? Nicole’s warm, fuzzy, girlie feelings faded as quickly as they’d appeared. “Excuse me?”
“Look, this is really bad timing. I’m sure you’re terrific and all.” He glanced away, then returned his attention to her. He actually took a step back. “My friends are great. Assholes, but great. I can’t figure out if this is a joke or what but I’ll take it up with them later. But I have a thing I need to get to.”
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “I can pay you. You want the money, right? Or if they paid you already, I’ll tip you, but you have to go away.”
Words all spoken in English, yet they made absolutely no sense to her. Nada. What on earth was he—
“Oh my God, you think I’m a hooker?”
He stared at her, his eyes widening. Several twenties dangled from his fingers. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m the mom sent to escort you to the event back at the camp.”
His mouth moved, but no words came out. “Y-you can’t be. Look at how you’re dressed. This is not my fault. I saw a couple of my buddies over the weekend. I was bitching, ah, complaining about a long dry spell. They joked about fixing me up with someone. When I saw you—” He waved his hand up and down in front of her. “Look at how you’re dressed. This is not my fault.”
“You already said that.” Nicole raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “I was substitute teaching dance at a senior center,” she told him, using the haughtiest tone she could muster. “Helping a friend who’s on vacation with her family. She likes to dress in a costume because it helps. Today was tango day.”
His gaze dropped to the fairly spectacular amount of cleavage she was showing. No way she was going to tell him that it was mostly fake. Her somewhat meager assets were being pushed up by the wardrobe equivalent of chicken cutlets.
“Costume?” The word came out as a yelp.
“Costume,” she repeated slowly. “Do you know how insulting this is? I have a six-year-old son who worships you.” She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. “Okay, not you but Brad the Dragon. He wrote and rewrote his essay. He didn’t play, barely ate. Because of your books. Do you know how many forms your stupid contest requires? I filled out every one of them. I took time off work to be here. I left senior citizens to be here and you think I’m a hooker?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Like I believe that. I knew you’d be a jerk, but I never expected...” She sucked in a breath. “Fine. Let me show you where you’re supposed to go.” If only it were hell, she thought grimly. She would love to show him that.
“And you’d better be nice to the kids. All of them. Especially mine.”
“You’re mad.”
She started walking toward the camp area of the park. “Wow. A rocket scientist. You’re wasting yourself on kids’ books.”
He kept up with her easily, but then he wasn’t wearing heels. “It was an honest mistake.”
“Prostitution is illegal. I’m not even dressed that sexy. It wasn’t honest. It was sick. What kind of a man assumes a woman is a hooker?” She swung around to face him. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon. In a park. Did you think I was just going to blow you in your car?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t think that part through. And, no, I don’t assume every woman is a hooker.”
“Just me?”
He winced. “I’m sorry. Really
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