I decided to call the only expert I knew, Beverly Franklin, a redheaded bombshell who had popped my sex-party cherry eight months earlier. I locked myself in my office and dialed her number.
When she answered, my opening greeting was awkward, my words tripping out, no good way to introduce myself. There was an initial pause, but then warm sincerity flowed through the phone.
“You’re that gorgeous brunette who came with Brad to Masked Innocence! Of course I remember. I’ve heard you tied that man down with an engagement.” The admiration rang clearly through her voice.
“Well, someone had to do it.”
She laughed coquettishly. “I missed seeing you at the Christmas party; Brad said you guys went up to Aspen. How was the snow?”
Aspen. The day after my parents left, we locked down the house and flew west, locking ourselves into a chalet and f**king for three days straight before coming home. Snow? I hadn’t even noticed. “It was great, though I hated missing the party. But Beverly, the reason I called is that Brad’s birthday is Friday.” I explained my predicament, hoping that she didn’t take the question the wrong way.
She thought for a moment. “Honestly, Julia, if you’re trying to find a single woman yourself, you’re probably best going to The Montley House.”
I repeated the name, drawing a blank, my naïve mind trying to find something familiar in the words.
She laughed. “Why don’t I take you there tonight? It’s a place easier shown than explained; plus, they won’t accept you without a referral.”
I blushed. “That would be great, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Let’s meet for drinks first. I need to give you the lay of the land before you make your selection.”
We made plans to meet at seven-thirty. I hung up my cell and Googled ‘The Montley House,’ finding zero results. Any place that successfully hid from the internet could only mean trouble. My stomach flip-flopping, I returned to my files and dove back into work.
♥♥♥
I almost forgot about the damn chicken. I was mid-dial into a call to Brad when I remembered the baked chicken br**sts. Martha lightly battered them in flour, mixed with some type of crack, before slow-baking them, and they tasted out-of-this-world amazing. There were few things in life better than her chicken, and I wasn’t missing it for anything. I hung up on Brad, his hello cut off by my thumb, and I thought for a moment before dialing him back.
“Yes?”
“Sorry about that, forgot I was getting on the elevator. Martha’s making baked chicken tonight.”
“I know. I’m on my way home now. Are you leaving the office?”
“Yeah, but I can’t stay long. I was just going to grab dinner and then go; I’ve got plans with the girls.”
“Why don’t they come by the house for dinner? You know Martha will have plenty.”
“I think they have other stuff to do, but I’ll ask.”
“All right. See you soon. Love you.”
“I love you, too, babe.” I hung up the phone with a smile, grateful that he hadn’t pushed any more. My lies tended to fall into a million pieces at about question three. Anything before that, I held up pretty well. I let out a breath, walking through the plan in my mind. I would go to Brad’s house, gorge on Martha’s cooking, change into something worthy of a mysterious outing, then go and meet with Beverly. I grinned, embracing the delicious secret. I was, basically, James Bond in stilettos.
Chapter 39
Julia was lying. There was something in their earlier conversation on the phone, something off. And now she was nervous, eating but fidgeting, glancing at the clock too often for practical purposes. Deception was never good, it was an evil snake that planted doubt in the mind of others, and he could feel it stealing over his body. He stood, grabbing his plate and paused on his way to the sink, kissing her neck and flashing her a smile. She flushed, looking down.
He continued to the sink, scraping his plate and glancing at her. “Where are you guys going?”
She hesitated. “Olives. Becca heard it was good.”
Yes, Olives was good, if you didn’t mind paying thirty dollars a drink. A little rich for college student blood. Brad headed to the den, a headache growing.
♥♥♥
I changed, and then changed again, my first outfit looking like a cat burglar’s. Frustrated with my lack of knowledge about Montley’s, I finally decided on a simple black dress, choosing one that was more daring than conservative, hoping it would fit the vibe of whatever mousetrap Beverly was leading me into. I slid on Jimmy Choos and a cropped leather jacket, then headed downstairs, calling for Brad.
He was in the den, a t-shirt and sweatpants on, baseball playing on the television, and he glanced up at my entrance, his eyes taking in my outfit in one, slow scan. He stood, walking over and stopped before me, his hands on his hips. I looked up at him quizzically. “What?”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean no?”
“You look way too good.” He let his eyes drop, and he trailed a finger along and up my side, the contact causing my breath to hitch, his finger crossing over my br**sts and down the dip in my neckline.
I reached out and grabbed his finger, wrapping my hand around it. “Stop. Stop that or else I won’t be able to think straight.”
“Go change.”
“What? I’m not changing! Besides, Olives is fancy, so what’s wrong with this?” I looked down at my outfit in dismay, his finger catching my chin and pulling it up until our eyes met. He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine and I stared back defiantly. He grinned suddenly and pulled me to him, his mouth taking mine, a long kiss that stole my breath. He squeezed my ass as we separated and turned, heading back to the couch and settling in. I stared at him, baffled. “So ... the outfit is okay?”
“Yeah. Very ... Hot,” he drawled, picking up the remote. “You coming back here tonight or staying at your house?” He seemed utterly unconcerned with my response.
“I was gonna stay here,” I said slowly.
“Call me if you end up drinking and need a ride.” He flashed me a gorgeous smile and leaned forward, watching the game closely.
I turned, checking that I had my phone and headed for the back door, sending one final glance backward at the den.
“Love you, babe,” he called as I opened the door and stepped out.