Lucky for me, I’m not entirely out of sorts.
I knew from observing the scene last night I should probably step up my fashion game. And that’s exactly why I’ve donned an emerald green satin number I was forced to wear in my cousin’s wedding about eight years ago. It’s a little too tight, and took two tries to get the zipper up, but the important thing is it’s on. I’m basically hermetically sealed in this deal until the end of the night when I’ll have to cut it off with a seam ripper.
The dress is a mermaid design that forces me to do an odd little waddle. It’s low-cut, incredibly so—my cousin wasn’t afraid of flaunting what the Baker girls had going on up front. And in the back there’s a keyhole cutout just above my rear. Macy called it the peep show dress, and she wasn’t that far off with the analogy. And believe me, I plan on changing well before my late night dinner with Jasper since I’m guessing I’ll have to sit for the occasion. It’s bad enough I lost feeling from the waist down on the drive over.
A tall man with glowing green eyes and a greedy grin is the first to greet me as I make my way to the bar.
“Hey, hot stuff.” He leans in and rubs his shoulder over mine. “You buying?”
“Ugh, no.” I stumble past him as fast as my mermaid waddle will allow. Even if he did hold the keys to the Collective kingdom, I’d rather pass on all the knowledge in the world than have him pawing all over me for the night.
Although it didn’t get past me that he asked if I was buying. I bet he’s a part of that skeezy scam artist ring.
And it’s no wonder those three women all ended up missing. They hung out in hovels like this.
I give a quick glance around the rather glitzy digs and shake my head because it doesn’t look anything like a hovel. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice calls from my left and I turn that way to find a comely, tall, sinewy man in a suit. His head is shaved bald and he has a trimmed goatee, and dark eyes that seem to brighten as he takes me in. “This is quite some place, isn’t it?”
A dull laugh bounces through me. “I was just thinking that myself.”
Okay, if he asks me to buy him a drink, he’ll be my mark for the evening. He doesn’t look too sleezy, and considering he hasn’t tried to touch me once, I don’t have to feel as if I’m stepping out on Jasper.
It’s all for the greater cause, though. I’m sure Jasper would understand. Thankfully, I don’t plan on explaining it to him.
The tall goatee man sucks in his lower lip as he glances to the ground a moment. If I had to guess, he’s gauging whether he should stay or go.
She looks too nice. I don’t think I have the heart to do this to her.
Ha! I knew it. He’s sizing me up. I bet he’s already zapped the numbers off all my credit cards with some doohickey he’s got in his pocket.
Jerk.
But I can’t let him get away. I don’t want to wade any deeper into the troll-filled waters than I have to. This is one thief I plan to hold onto until he spills everything he knows—either verbally or mentally.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I offer a prideful smile because it feels as if I’ve just called out his crooked organization. But I’m one step ahead of him. I plan on handing my credit card right to the bartender and keeping an eye on it the entire time.
He gives a slight frown.
Just when I thought there were some decent girls left in the world.
“Okay,” he says almost reluctantly.
Decent girls? Since when can’t a woman buy a man a drink? Sure, I like things the other way around, too, but I’m not sexist about it.
Am I?
I cringe because I’m probably not that far off.
He chuckles to himself. Knew it. That’s a clear look of regret on her face.
The bartender comes up, and the man with the goatee orders a whiskey neat and I do the same. Lord knows I’m not drinking, but I’ll need something to keep up the ruse.
He nods my way. “So what’s your name, pretty girl?”
Pretty girl?
Gag me. I guess there’s no escaping the cheesiness this place has to offer.
“It’s B—” I’m not really going to tell him my name, am I? “Macy.” I shrug, knowing full well Macy would feel honored to be dragged into this debacle.
“And yours?” I lift my shoulders his way and gasp in horror because I think I may have accidentally on purpose flirted with this gentleman—felon in the making is more like it.
“Damien.” He gives a slight wink, and oddly enough, it doesn’t feel at all cheesy. Too bad I couldn’t tell her the real deal. But the higher-ups said to stick to the script. Apparently, these chicks dig a name they can really sink their teeth into and something as mundane as Dan just doesn’t cut it.
I frown over at him. That’s too bad. He looks much more like a Dan than a Damien. I’m beginning to think he’s the one that’s too nice to be around here.
The bartender, a woman with short red hair and crimson lipstick, looks this way and I hand over my card.
“You sure?” She waves it at me with a stern look and I nod as if I’ve done this a thousand times. I watch as she runs it through the register. “Bizzy Baker.” She grins as she hands the card back to me. “Catchy name. I like that.”
I snatch up the card and quickly bury it in my purse as I
