Kassidy’s bedroom door opened, and Mila appeared.
Troy watched as she approached, unable to look away, his emotions hovering at the surface. She was wearing her usual cargo pants, tan colored today. They were topped with an olive-green T-shirt that stretched across her breasts, covering her shoulders in cap sleeves. Her hair was braided, her makeup nonexistent, and her worn leather boots were as serviceable as footwear could be.
She was drop-dead gorgeous.
He had to stop himself from going to her.
“We need to leave for the club in about fifteen minutes,” she told them.
“I’m coming,” said Troy.
She gave a nod, as if she’d expected the decision.
“I’ll take backstage tonight,” Troy stated. “Vegas will be at the door, and Charlie will be outside.”
“What about me?”
He wanted to tell her to stay here, to lie low with Drake and the nanny. As the thought flashed through his mind, he realized Vegas was at least partially right. Troy did want to keep Mila safe.
His feelings for her weren’t just about sex, and they weren’t just professional. He liked her far too much, and he wanted to protect her.
“I’ll mix with the crowd,” she spoke into his silence. Then she looked down at her outfit. “But I’m not going to blend in this.”
“Don’t spook the guy,” said Troy.
She gave him a look of reproach. “I won’t.”
“I want to see him in action, walking, talking.” It was the best plan he’d come up with. “Maybe that’ll jog my memory.”
“I’ll go put on something sexy.”
Troy’s throat went suddenly dry.
“I’m sure Kassidy has an outfit I can borrow. Maybe blazer guy will buy me a drink.”
“No.” Troy didn’t want Mila that close to the guy.
She frowned. “If he uses his credit card, we get his name. If I’m going to have the downsides of being a woman, I might as well have the upsides as well.”
“No,” Troy repeated.
“It’s not a bad plan,” said Vegas.
“Stay out of this.”
“Have I recently resigned as your partner?” asked Vegas. “Because I used to have a say in operations.”
“It’s a dangerous plan.”
“It’s a drink,” said Mila. “And Vegas will be right there. Not to mention you. Come on, Troy. Get a grip.”
“We don’t know who this guy is.”
Even as he said the words, Troy realized he was outdone. Vegas had an equal say in company operations. Troy couldn’t veto him. Besides, they were right. It was a reasonable plan. The danger was minimal. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
“That would be the point,” said Mila, moving closer. “I can clean up. I can look like a girl. I could attract a guy’s attention.”
Troy opened his mouth, about to tell her she’d knock any guy with a pulse off his feet. He caught Vegas’s knowing smirk in his peripheral vision.
“Okay,” he said instead.
The answer seemed to take her by surprise. But she quickly recovered. “Give me ten minutes.” She headed back to Kassidy’s room.
* * *
Mila felt conspicuous dressed in Kassidy’s short kilt skirt. It was deep blue and green tones, pleated and flirty, barely falling to her midthighs. She’d paired it with a cropped black angora sweater, the sleeves pushed up above her elbows.
Kassidy had layered on some dramatic makeup while Mila had brushed out her hair. It was wavy now and looked slightly disheveled from the earlier French braid. She’d never attempted heels this high, but judging by the lingering looks coming her way, the outfit was working.
She hadn’t spotted the blazer guy yet. But she’d had three offers of drinks from other men. Through her discreet earpiece, Vegas surprised her with his sense of humor in response to the pickup lines. Troy seemed less than amused, warning her away from the men. As if she was about to get swept off her feet by: “Hey, girl. This is your lucky day.”
She camouflaged her lips with her hand. “I’ve done this before, Troy.”
“Been picked up in bars?”
Vegas jumped in. “She means been hit on in bars.”
Charlie coughed out a laugh before he obviously switched off his mic.
“That’s what I meant,” she confirmed.
“You go into bars alone?” asked Troy.
“Sure.”
“Dressed like that?”
“It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.”
“Guys are easy,” said Vegas.
“Guys are hound dogs,” said Troy.
“Nice to hear one of you admit it,” said Mila.
“Your two o’clock,” said Vegas, his tone turning serious.
She glanced toward the front door, confirming blazer guy’s location before letting her gaze move onward, pretending to scan for the restroom.
“That’s him,” she said. “How long until Kassidy comes out?”
“Ten minutes,” said Troy.
Mila watched while the blazer guy made his way to the bar. He spoke to the bartender, who poured him an ice water.
“Going in,” she muttered.
“Go get ’im,” said Charlie.
“Enough commentary,” said Troy, his tone clipped.
Mila wanted to tell him to lighten up, but she was pretty sure that would only make matters worse.
She sidled her way up to the bar, setting down her clutch purse and leaning forward. She didn’t have a lot of cleavage, but by strategically placing her arms and letting the V neck of the sweater gape, she made the most of what she had.
The bartender was there in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, blazer guy barely glanced her way.
“Get you something?” asked the bartender.
“Neapolitan martini.”
“Vodka?”
“Yes.”
“Preference on the brand?”
“Give me your best.”
“You got it.” The man smiled as he withdrew.
Mila turned her attention to the blazer guy, staring openly at his profile, waiting for him to turn her way.
He slanted her a glance but didn’t turn, instead taking a sip of his ice water.
She slipped onto the bar stool, watching the bartender work and toying with a cardboard coaster.
“Eight minutes,” said Troy.
“I don’t think that’s helpful,” said Vegas.
“Ask him about his jacket,” offered Charlie. “The designer or whatever.”
Mila inwardly rolled her eyes. She moved her elbow and knocked her purse to the ground. It landed with a clatter, the contents spilling out.
That got his attention.
“My phone,” she cried, clambering down, pretending to stumble and leaning into him.
He quickly grasped her arms, steadying her.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “It’s these heels.”
Predictably, he looked down to see the four-inch strappy black shoes, replete with winking rhinestones.
“Could you?” she asked prettily, gesturing to the mess.
He glanced to the stage, hesitating before answering. “Sure.”
She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you so much.”
Then she bent down with him, exploiting her cleavage.
“Nice,” said Vegas.
“Is that how women do it?” asked Charlie.
“Careful,” said Troy.
Mila wanted to ask why she had to be careful. They were in a crowded bar, and she had three bodyguards. It wasn’t as though the guy could spike her drink.
He gathered up her lipstick, cell phone, wallet and key
s, then rose and handed her the purse.
“Thank you,” she repeated, giving him an overly encouraging smile. “I’m Sandy.” She held out her hand.
Again, he hesitated.
“Jack,” he told her, accepting the handshake.
“Lie,” said Charlie.
Jack’s hand was soft, almost limp. Not a tradesman, she concluded. His skin was pale, so he didn’t work outside. And his shoulders and arms seemed slim. She doubted he had a physical job at all. Maybe he was an accountant or an office manager.
“Three minutes,” said Troy.
The bartender put the drink down in front of her and she quickly took a swallow, then another and another.
“That’s commitment,” said Vegas.
“This is fantastic,” she enthused.
The bartender gave her a smile.
“I wouldn’t mind another,” she mused, finishing the glass.
Jack didn’t pick up on the hint.
Unfortunately, the bartender was quicker on the draw. “Coming up.”
Mila took another tactic, gesturing toward a poster of Kassidy. “I’ve heard she’s a good singer.”
Something came into “Jack’s” eyes—possessiveness, defensiveness and caution. This had to be their guy.
“Have you heard her before?” Mila asked.
“A couple of times.” His tone was flat.
“You like her?”
His glare told Mila he would prefer she shut up and go away.
“Made of frickin’ stone,” Charlie muttered.
“Quiet,” Troy ordered. “One minute.”
The bartender set the fresh drink down in front of her. He looked to Jack. Clearly, he was picking up on the vibes she was sending out.
But Jack ignored him.
“On the house,” the bartender told her.
“Thanks.” But she extracted a twenty from her purse and pushed it toward him.
“I’m coming over to pay for the drink myself,” said Vegas on a note of disgust.
The bartender took the bill. He looked to Jack and gave a pitying shake of his head.
The lights came up on the stage, and the opening bars of Kassidy’s first song rang through the room. Jack immediately vacated his bar stool and made his way forward.
“Got him,” said Vegas.
“Good effort, Mila,” said Charlie.
“Coming up on stage left,” said Vegas.
“Got him,” said Troy.
Mila sighed her defeat and took a sip of the new drink.
“Dumb as a bag of hammers,” said the bartender.
Mila gave a shrug. “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend. Have you seen him in here before?”
“Once that I remember,” said the bartender. “Three weeks ago. Same singer.”
“Yeah?” Mila turned her attention.
“He wasn’t with a girl that time.”
“Did he stick to ice water?”
“Cheap,” said the bartender.
“My take was that he lied about his name.” Mila let the statement hang.
“You ask, and I’ll give you my name, my address and phone number, and the keys to my apartment.” The grin and waggle of his eyebrows turned the statement into a joke.
“You need help?” asked Troy.
“She’s fine,” said Vegas. “Focus on Kassidy.”
Yes, focus on Kassidy. What was Troy’s problem?
“You ever get that guy’s name?” Mila decided to come right out with it.
“Don’t tell me you’re still interested.” The bartender sounded incredulous.
“Only curious,” said Mila. She took another sip of the drink. “Maybe it’s my ego. I’d like to know what went wrong.”
“What went wrong is that he’s a prize idiot. That’s what went wrong.”
“Gotta agree with that,” said Charlie.
“Back off,” said Troy, sounding genuinely ticked off. “Jack’s at the edge of the stage. He’s texting.”
Mila went for her phone. Edison had set it up so that she could intercept Kassidy’s messages.
“Six, six seven,” said the bartender.
“Cute,” said Mila.
She brought up Kassidy’s messages. Sure enough, there was a new one from MeMyHeart.
The bartender moved to serve another customer.
“New message, MeMyHeart,” Mila said in an undertone.
“Can you read it?” asked Edison from the control room back at Pinion.
The bartender returned. “You need another drink?”
“No, thanks. This is fine.” She decided to give it one final try. “So that Jack guy, he never paid for anything with a credit card?”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed, suspicion coming into his expression. “You a cop?”
“Not a cop.” She searched for a cover story. “I have a sister,” she said, then took a drink to buy herself some time. “That guy, well, he lied to her, treated her like crap.”
“You’re looking for payback?”
“I am.”
The bartender shook his head. “Wish I could help you. Believe me, if I could rack up some points with you, I would.”
Mila couldn’t help but smile at his candor. “I’d give you points if you could come up with something. Anything.”
“Drank only water. Watched the show. Left alone. That’s all I can tell you.”
She came to her feet. “Thanks anyway.”
“So, no chance I’m getting your number?”
“No chance,” said Troy.
“Sorry,” said Mila. “But you seem like a good guy.”
“Good guy,” the bartender mocked. “Always the good guy.”
“See you later,” she told him as she moved away.
“I won’t count on that,” he called from behind her.
“Keep right on walking,” Troy said in her ear.
Ten
It was impossible for Troy not to see the way men stared at Mila as she crossed the parking lot at the end of the performance. He was surprised by how many fans stayed back to catch Kassidy leaving through the back door, including the guy who’d called himself Jack.
They didn’t have a whole lot more information from tonight, except to be positive that Jack was Kassidy’s problem fan. He was definitely the guy sending messages as MeMyHeart and BluebellNighthawk.
Troy was also certain he’d seen him before. Vegas didn’t recognize him, nor did anyone else on their staff. But Troy couldn’t shake the impression this had something to do with him and Pinion. Kassidy was somehow a pawn.
They decided that Charlie would tail Jack while Vegas took Kassidy in his car. Mila would debrief with Troy on the ride back to Pinion. They needed to plan their next move. And she needed to accept that it would be Troy’s call, not hers.
She’d done decent foundational work, but real threats were involved. She hadn’t accepted that the situation likely centered on Troy, and he wanted to duke it out with her in private. He couldn’t let her challenge him in front of his staff.
If he used kid gloves, it undermined his authority. And if he fired her...if he fired her, she’d be gone from his life. And he wasn’t ready for that.
She was thirty feet from his vehicle, looking cold without her coat, being stopped by a couple of men. The two guys had obviously been drinking and were leering at her. Why hadn’t she covered up with her coat? It was barely fifty degrees. She had to be freezing.
He rocked away from the SUV, intent on sending the two jerks packing. But her glare warned him off. Was that an order? Had the woman just given him a silent order?
Then she was moving again, coming closer, her little skirt swaying against her smooth, tanned le
gs, her wavy hair rising and falling with her steps. She was graceful, beautiful, stunningly sexy. He wanted to grab her and kiss her, hold her tight and show every man in this parking lot that she belonged to him.
But she didn’t. And he had no right to touch her. And that fact was probably going to kill him before this was all over.
He opened the passenger door. “How are you not freezing?”
She shivered at the suggestion. “My jacket didn’t go with the outfit.”
“You’ve been finished with the barfly act for a while now.” He couldn’t help a glance at the two guys who were still standing in the middle of the parking lot watching her.
He gave them a back the heck off glare, holding it until they looked away.
“It’s in Vegas’s car.”
“Why didn’t you get it? Or ask me to get it? Or ask Vegas to get it?”
“Are you done?”
His grip tightened on the open door. “Done what?”
“Criticizing me? Coddling me? Whatever it is you’re doing. Can we please get in now and start the engine, maybe warm up?”
He swore under his breath and shrugged out of his jacket.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she protested, backing away.
He swiftly wrapped his jacket around her, pulling her toward him.
“I’m one of the guys, remember?”
She was way too close to be one of the guys.
He zipped her in as if it were a straitjacket. “Get in.”
“Is that an order?”
The jacket was roomy enough that she wiggled her arms into the sleeves, pushing them up to reveal her hands.
“It’s an order,” he confirmed.
“Yes, sir.” She gave a mock salute and turned.
He impulsively patted her on the butt. Then he cringed, bracing himself for instant retaliation.
She froze, but didn’t hit him. “Are you suicidal?”
“I may be. Sorry,” he added.
“You can’t do that.”
“I know.” Then the joke all but leaped out of him. “It’s the skirt.”
She made an inarticulate moan of protest. “How can you be like that?”
“This is why women can’t work at Pinion.”
She shifted to face him. “Because you’ll manhandle them?”
The Baby Contract Page 14
