Richard sighed. “All right. Fine. I’ll get my stylist on it.”
“Try to get it as close to my color as possible. So people might mistake us for siblings.” Margot ran her fingers through his thick hair, uncharacteristically playful as she deliberately tousled his perfectly gelled waves.
Scowling, he pulled away and stood, quickly smoothing back his hair as he crossed the room. He picked up two boxes from his desk and returned, handing her one.
Margot’s eyes widened the slightest bit. “I do love gifts.” She popped open the box and pulled out a card.
“Scan that. It will load an encrypted app to your phone that works like FaceTime. Then, it’s just a quick click to communicate with me through these.” He opened the other box and pulled out a pair of titanium-framed glasses, then slid them on.
“Oh, I like those. They make you look even less like yourself.”
He frowned. “Nice. And I love how looking less like myself somehow became the goal. After spending the better part of a decade honing my image, I thought I’d be seizing the day in style. But, for what’s on the line, consider it done.”
“And one last thing, Richard.” Margot’s usually stoic demeanor turned cheery. “No lies.”
Confused, he cocked his head, wondering how she’d missed the gist of the entire conversation. “Uh, that might be an issue, Margot.”
Her lips twitched with the smallest of smirks. “You can only take this game so far, and every sport has rules. Your name will be a mystery, and your makeover will be epic, but absolutely no lies. Nothing that can ever be used against you later—in a court of law or otherwise. Lies are too hard to keep up with, and nine times out of ten, they’ll bite you in that Adonis backside of yours. You’ll look and act the part of an altar boy, but that devil in you will swear to tell the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but nothing but the truth.”
She lifted her bottle for a toast. “Deal?”
He grabbed his water bottle, removed the cap, and clinked it against hers. “Deal. To the future.”
“The future.”
Two
Three guys walked into a bar . . . It had all the makings of a lame joke.
From her perch on her stool, Jaclyn used the art deco mirror hidden behind the mountain range of booze to inconspicuously spy. People-watching, she loved. Having them watch her back, not so much.
A recovering insomniac, she’d made her way down to the basement tavern at the Joule Hotel desperately needing to unwind enough to get a few hours of sleep. A nightcap wrapped in the soothing ambience of peace and quiet gave her room to breathe. Sneaking in at 1:00 a.m., not long before closing time, usually gave her all the privacy in the world, but not tonight. The inebriated band of makeshift brothers who’d just walked in promised to interrupt her laid-back plans.
She studied the trio as they found a nearby table to ogle her from. By their middle-school glances and huddled and hushed chatting, something was brewing, and it smelled all too familiar. She’d suddenly become the grand prize at the end of a pickup line.
Her thick, wavy jet-black hair that trailed clear to her ass always had a knack for catching wandering gazes. Never accused of being rail thin, Jaclyn had ample assets and voluptuous curves with a magnetic pull all their own. Add to that her bulging bank account and seductive spontaneity, only three types of men ever seemed to plow into her life.
First, there were the money-hungry, status-chasing Ivy Leaguers who pursued her like an Olympic gold medal—as if their years of hard work pinnacled in such a worthy award. These trophy hunters loved the chase, not only to capture and keep such an exotic specimen of woman, but to cage her as well. Like with all confident, capable women, captivity clashed with her charisma.
Taking second place were the uninteresting, unintelligible, garden-variety Neanderthals who traveled in packs and swarmed her in droves. They were less interested in her money and more drawn to her milkshake. Brainlessly so. Despite her best efforts to bind those babies down, her double Ds always brought the wrong sorts of boys to the yard. And this band of bar boozers plopped squarely into this bucket.
But option number three was her weakness. The consummate looks-so-good, feels-even-better bad boy. The edgy kind of guy who wasn’t the right fit, but it never deterred her from forcing that puzzle piece in. Deep, deep in.
Ideal for the occasional tawdry and tantalizing tryst, they were perfect in the heat of the moment. It was those disappointing minutes afterward that always burst her bubble. For these good-time guys, both their heads had the attention span of an egg timer.
Even if she could grab their focus, she could never keep it. Sure, the sex was smoking hot. But after spending ten or twenty minutes satisfying his, um, ego, what more was there to do? Even if the owner of the down-and-dirty hot body could carry on a conversation, they rarely did. She’d succumb to the eventual boredom, and they’d be on to their next Betty. The blazing-hot boy-toy trail had become one buzzkill after another.
She watched in the mirror as the men across the room metaphorically drew straws for who would belly up to the bar beside her first.
Feeling frisky, she set her sights on a good time. Her way. And not in an annoying, pissed-off sort of spirit where her bitch face preceded her words. She had way more creativity than to waste her energy on irritation. After a long couple of days at work, a round of lighthearted entertainment seemed just the ticket to blow off a little steam.
These guys were overpreparing to the nth degree, and her mind and mood were ready to roll out the welcome mat. Between their clustered discussion and round of locker-room fist bumps, these chumps promised a few rounds of priceless stress relief.
The first of the three, who’d be the alpha if he could spell it, strolled over with his slicked-back hair, chiseled good looks, and smug grin. “Hi, sexy. Can I buy you a drink?”
God, if there was one thing Jaclyn loved, it was when d-bags didn’t disappoint. She smiled adoringly, fully sizing up every arrogant inch of him.
“Well, I was just drinking water.” She walked her fingers across the lacquered wood before smoothing her hand over the back of his. Her thick, come-hither lashes batted as she peered through them. “Can I ask you a question?”
He tucked his index finger under her chin, using the opportunity to flex his bicep in a shirt that was clearly two sizes too small. “Anything, sexy.”
She was sure the octave of his voice just lowered. I guess his balls just dropped.
With a coy smile, she wrapped her hands around his taut arm. “You’re so strong. I’ll bet you play sports, right?”
He nodded, daring to brush her hair off her shoulder, caressing her arm with his rather rough hand.
Dammit, this gorilla is snagging my blouse. She wriggled out of his grasp but leaned forward, knowing the length of his stay, like his manhood, wouldn’t be long.
“Well, I was thinking you’d be the perfect man. I mean, for my kids. I have five.”
His face fell as he leaned back. But he wasn’t getting away just yet.
She grabbed one of his grubby paws, yanking it to palm her stomach. “And one on the way!”
It was like watching a tug-of-war as he tried to get his hand back from her two-fisted grip.
“Hey, what are you doing now?” she asked innocently. “Would you like to meet them? And maybe stay till breakfast? My babysitter is about to bail, and you look like you’d be great with them. Especially the twins. Their sleep pattern is all kinds of off, and I really need some z’s.”