by Holley Trent
“Brace yourselves,” Gretchen warned.
Trinity did exactly that. She took a deep, bolstering breath and leaned onto the top of her empty workbench that was now covered with pamphlets and product information sheets. She tried to put thoughts of Jerry aside. Later. I’ll deal with him later. Her job was to talk to anyone who asked about the natural ingredients, and according to Nikki, the reporters would probably make an immediate beeline for her. “Yay,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes around in their sockets.
“Glad to see you, too,” Jerry said, sneaking up behind her and reaching up the back of her dress for a grope no one else saw.
She yipped, and he smiled as he leaned against the tabletop next to her. “Nice dress,” he said, eyeing her from head to toe.
Her face burned, and she pulled her strapless dress up a bit and tightened the high, wide belt. “Where have you been?” she croaked.
He wore a dark blue button-up oxford tucked into belted black slacks, and black leather flip-flops. Only he could pull off that look—sexy, casual, and yet still rather professional. Wasn’t as nice as the tuxedo, but still damned arousing. He looked good in everything, even his ugly orange camo-print pants.
“Been looking for me?”
“Well, yeah.” She swallowed hard, and turned her face to avoid his dark blue gaze. “Haven’t heard from you since…and I thought…”
He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in close, scooping her closer with an arm around her waist. “Never think, Trinity. Always ask. Ask me.”
Ask him? She struggled for words. Where was old Trinity when she needed her? The one who would have told him to go fuck himself for scolding her? Because all this new Trinity could manage was, “Oh. Okay.”
He placed a gentle hand on her bare right shoulder, and gave her tight muscles a much-needed massage. “Nikki’s been keeping me busy. I’ve been doing surveillance on Frick and Frack, making sure they don’t leave town. And the PR requests through the website have been keeping me in front of my computer a lot more than I’d like. I’m sorry, pixie. I would have rather been at the beach with you. The thought of getting that intern so I can see you more is the only thing keeping me afloat right about now.”
Her plan shattered then and there. She wanted that man, and if it meant two months or two weeks before he’d dump her, it’d be worth it to her. Her stomach felt like a pit of writing snakes, and she put a hand over it, hoping to calm her anxiety. “Oh, well, I didn’t go to the beach over the weekend. Aunt Ginger left for a long trip this morning and we spent the weekend getting ready for that.”
“Yeah?” He rotated the silver ring on his right middle finger and stared off at the people flowing into the door. “How long a trip?”
“Eight to twelve weeks, maybe longer.”
“Jesus.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin, forehead furrowed.
She’d had never seen Jerry unshaven, and from where she stood it didn’t seem to be any sort of experiment, just a factor of not having enough hours in the day. What else he must have been doing in the Jeep to have not shaved as always on the way in to work? Nikki must have been really working the man ragged.
Trinity hoped the boss came through on that promise to get him some help. Although in the past she’d assumed anyone could do Jerry’s job, deep down she’d always known there was no one else who could wear that many hats without dropping any. She certainly couldn’t. She knew how to do one thing well, and everything else…well, everything else sucked.
“Yeah. Hey, listen, can we talk? Later, I mean?” Tell me you want me.
“Of course. We can do other things, too.” He gave her ear lobe a flirtatious pull and strode to where Charlie was waving frantically at him.
She forced a smile, and leaned there on the bench for a while with her chin resting on her fists, staring at Jerry in profile as he and Charlie pretended to be sipping drinks. She could see that they were just barely moving their lips behind them. She kept right on ogling until some woman tottered over in very high heels, and introduced herself as the beauty columnist from some magazine Trinity was sure she should have recognized but didn’t. They traded business cards, and Trinity spouted her rehearsed talking points while the reporter took extensive notes.
After about an hour of presentations, Trinity had become so distracted she nearly missed it when Becky walked in. The only reason she noticed was Gabby had left her place at the manicure station, sidled over to Trinity, and whispered, “Oh my God, she’s trying to look like Nikki.”
Trinity had never seen Becky in the flesh, but she knew immediately whom Gabby referred to. “That’s your mother?” she said through clenched teeth, not taking her eyes off the tall woman in the mini-dress.
“Yes. Hide me while I make a run for it. I don’t want to be near her when there are cameras rolling.”
“But she’s your mother.”
“Don’t you start that crap, too. I get enough of it from everyone else. I thought you’d understand since you chose to live with your aunt.”
“Well, honey, my mother isn’t…” Trinity was about to say “insane” but slammed down her filter just in time. “Get in front of me, and I’ll tail you to the office.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You grew up real nice, Jerry,” Becky said, attempting to coo into his ear.
He held himself a bit away from her and tried to be more of a moving target. Bob and weave, bob and weave. Where did Trinity go?
“I haven’t seen you in, what, fifteen years? You were kinda skinny back then. Kinda reminded me of those little boys from the band Hanson.”
“Yeah. Hanson.” Jerry rolled his eyes. He was about to excuse himself to the bar, when some asshole with a camera guy rolled over and stuck a microphone in his face. Jerry said, “Fuck,” before he could filter himself.
“Folks, this is a where-are-they-now story gone right! I’m standing here in front of Jeremiah Rouse. Ten years ago, you couldn’t crack open a magazine during the spring and summer without seeing his face in a swimwear ad. Here he is today, an employee of a little cosmetics company that’s generating a lot of buzz because of what they don’t put in their products and because of who they’re marketing them to.”
Nikki appeared from out of nowhere and forced herself between Jerry and Becky. She gave a Becky a rude shove to get her out of the frame, and then beamed at the camera. “That’s right, Paul. Jerry handles everything electronic here at N-by-N. If it involves the web or our store, Jerry did it.”
Paul looked from Nikki to Becky and back to Nikki again, probably noting the similarities, what few there were. Nikki was a natural beauty. What she had was the real deal, including the premature, broad gray streak at her right temple. She’d stopped dyeing two years ago because it made her feel like a hypocrite. Took her a while to adjust, but eventually she began to rock her gray like an accessory. Becky, on the other hand, was pumped full of artifice: sliced, diced and dyed to resemble some kind of third-rate, Frankenstein’s monster of a knock-off. No one could do Nikki like Nikki. Even Paul could see that.
He cleared his throat, but obviously decided not to address it. “Nicolette, were you aware of Jerry’s past career when you hired him?”
“Yes, but I didn’t actually care. I hired him because I’ve known him forever, and he’s the smartest guy I know. He’s friggin’ diabolical.”
Uh, thanks?
“So, whose idea was it to put Jerry in the ads with two of America’s most famous drag queens?”
“They’re not drag queens. They’re female impersonators,” she sniped. “But the idea was my style coordinator-slash-trend watcher Beth’s. I believe in using natural resources in my company, and Jerry is one of them. As is my junior chemist Trinity, who seems to have stepped out.”
Becky popped her head back into the frame. “She’s working my little girl like a dog,” she said, screwing her face up, and looking like she was trying to squeeze out a couple of tears.
Nikki sighed.
Too late, the camera was already on Becky.
“Explain,” Paul said, holding the mic toward her. “And who are you, exactly?”
“I’m Becky. Gabby’s mother.”
“Who’s Gabby?”
“My step-daughter,” Nikki said off-camera. “Well, daughter, I guess, seeing as how I adopted her. Remember that, Beck?” They whipped the camera back around to her.
“Is that true, Nikki? Does Gabby work here?”
“Every now and then. She’s fourteen going on forty. She works about eight hours a week helping my chemist and shipping guy. She likes hanging out here ’cause we’re cool.” She snorted.
Truth was, Gabby was a kid with an old soul. She was one of those people who loved observing, and where better than in a cosmetics company?
“That hardly sounds unreasonable. Becky, can you explain why you think…”
Boom!
“What now?” Nikki groaned.
That became apparent, as people in the room hurried toward the door, covering their noses and mouths with their hands and coughing loudly.
Then Jerry smelled it, and then Nikki. They shared a look that could only be described as murderous.
Apparently, someone had rigged a timer onto a stink bomb and left it in the cabinets beneath Trinity’s workstation.
He stood on his toes, scanning over heads in the room in search of Trinity. Where was she?
Becky stuck her face in front of the camera and said, “See? She’s got my baby working in hazardous conditions! What if my baby had been standing there?”
Paul wasn’t paying her any attention, as he’d worked himself into the departing crowd with his mic.
Becky walked toward the door, far too casually, but Nikki woke up from her angry daze, grabbed Becky’s skinny faux-tanned arm, and held her still.
Nikki had come by her tan via DNA. Her father was Lumbee. Can’t buy that in a bottle.
“You stay right there, bitch, or I’ll fix that nose of yours again,” she said through clenched teeth, then dragged Becky back toward the office with a strength Jerry found improbable. Must have been the adrenaline.
The reporter had moved away in search of the cause of the disruption, but Jerry already knew who’d caused it. Of course Becky would try to distract all the major parties while her little bomb-making buddy made the plant and hid to activate it.
Trinity. Where’s Trinity? Jerry followed Charlie’s retreating figure out the double doors on the heels of all the frightened party guests, and saw Preston trying to flee through the sheep pasture.
Idiot.
Jerry kicked off his flip-flops and caught up to Charlie within seconds. Charlie ran like shit in loafers. Together they tackled the big man right over an unfortunately situated deposit of ewe manure.
* * *
Trinity had never seen Charlie speechless. In the two years she’d been in his acquaintance, the man had always had a quick comeback for pretty much every situation that required one…and some that didn’t. But as he stood there at the doorway of Nikki’s office, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, he didn’t have a damned thing to say.
Trinity couldn’t blame him. If one of Jerry’s exes surfaced and showed up with short, unnaturally blonde hair and a nose job resembling the one she was born with, she’d be stunned to silence, too. The fact that Nikki’s only response was to cackle, then excuse herself for a nap, indicated she really didn’t know how to handle the situation, either.
Becky squirmed in her restraints and kicked her legs futilely. She really was stupid. The most she’d do was knock over her chair and then what? Then she’d be stuck on her side and still tied up.
“Becky, I really don’t get you,” Charlie said. “The last time you were here, you claimed you wanted to have a relationship with Gabby.”
Was that before or after Nikki broke her nose?
“Time before that, you swore you were cleaning up your act—that you were going straight, remember? You said you were going to make Gabby proud.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m a work in progress.”
“Work harder, because you seem to be having a hard time understanding that raising hell here to seek revenge on Nikki doesn’t merely annoy me. It’s not harmless fun. The money coming out of this business is the reason Gabby’s college fund currently has more in it than just enough to pay for a six-pack of ramen. How’d you end up hooking up with Rococo, anyway?”
Becky rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and hummed some tune Trinity didn’t recognize.
“All right. It’ll all come out when the sheriff gets here, I guess. Or maybe I can call Ma in. Let her talk to you.”
Becky’s eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare! That woman treats me like a yeast infection that won’t go away.
“You know, that may be the most poignant thing to ever come out of your mouth.”
Trinity backed out of the office then, figuring Charlie could handle the would-be impostor on his own from there. The sheriff had to be near. It’d been almost twenty minutes since Gramma Stacy called.
Preston grew restless tied up near the workbench.
Jerry had gagged him only after the big man sang like a canary and told Charlie the whole plot was Becky’s idea. Then in the same breath, he’d expressed his appreciation for the fitness of Trinity’s rear.
Jerry and Juan had worked together to turn his chair toward the wall.
Jerry was watching the office door, so when Trinity came out he waved her over and patted his lap.
She eyed him warily, and he gave her a cheeky grin. “It’s not a secret. Show up to work with matching hickeys, and people start putting two and two together.”
Trinity slapped a hand up to her neck.
Jerry laughed and patted his lap once more. “You heard Charlie, family business. I don’t think anyone’s going to bat an eyelash over a display of chaste affection. Of course, if it bothers you that much, you can get your own chair. I think you’ll find this email jaw-dropping, however.”
She turned in a full circle, scanning the room, and realized no one was paying them a damn bit of attention. Even if they were, so what? There was this drop-dead gorgeous geek inviting her to sit on his lap. It was almost worth being fired over. She accepted a seat on her flesh and blood throne and Jerry pushed them up closer to the desk edge.
“What is it? More modeling offers?”
“Oh, let’s not even go there. Most of that stuff is being shunted into my spam folder, except for a couple of high-dollar things I may talk myself into. I’ll make nice for the camera if it means I won’t be paying off a mortgage for the next twenty years. Anyhow, remember when we were driving back from Corolla how I told you about that hotel clerk?”
“Yeah.” She craned her neck around and excitedly met his gaze. “You contacted her?”
Jerry shook his head. “No. I was too much of a coward. It just felt weird, you know? So I kept putting it off. Well…”
A few clicks of his mouse positioned the long email message at the top of the first paragraph.
Trinity read silently all the way through, but it wasn’t until the second time she read it the importance of the message hit home.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Clara Thys
I hope this message has reached the right person. We believe you are someone my mother wishes to connect with, although we’re really working off of a guess. It’s either an educated guess or us acting on a painful case of coincidence; we’re not sure which. Anyhow, I am writing this message on her behalf, as her English spelling is not so good.
My name is Benjamin Thys. Clara Thys is my mother. She believes she is your mother as well. I hope this does not frighten you. You were not a recent discovery of ours. Mother and I have been watching and waiting for news for many years.
You see, I am a swimmer. Well, not so much nowadays, but still to some renown here in Belgium. I’ve got the long
arms and legs for the sport. I wasn’t good at much else, being so thin. Mother started me young. Now I mostly coach. Anyway, a certain advertisement caught Mother’s attention about ten years ago. It was in my own sports magazine—a photograph of you modeling swim trunks. It said your name was Jeremiah Rouse. Rouse—she knew that name. She knew your face (you’ll see why in a moment), but the name Jeremiah was a surprise to her. That wasn’t the one she’d given you.
Anyhow, just in case she was wrong she didn’t say anything. She quietly gathered clippings, and then you disappeared. She panicked for a long time thinking something had happened to you, but then you showed back up on the radar. Knowing where you worked, I figured it might now be easy to contact you. What could asking a few questions harm, huh?
She wants you to know she doesn’t want anything. She just wanted you to know she’s been worried about you and what you must think of her…if you think of her at all. I don’t know the story of what happened and why you were taken. She says it’s a story for you alone and maybe someday you’d like to piece it together—hear the other side.
Ben closed with some contact information and an invitation to respond—or not—as Jerry saw fit.
“Wow,” Trinity said, stunned. That damned ad campaign seemed to be bringing a lot of people together. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, first I’m going to open these attachments,” he said, gripping her a bit more tightly around the waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.
“You haven’t opened them yet?”
“Nope. I guess I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“That whoever it is actually looked a little like me. You know? That would make all of that more real.”
“You don’t think it could be? You think it’s a scam?”
“Oh, I think it’s rather probable, actually. But it just feels like if I open those files, I actually have to do something about it.”
