by sibelhodge
‘And Brad? You haven’t got me back,’ I told him, hoping he couldn’t see the pulse that was booming away at the base of my throat. Just when I thought I was going to have to do something to make him back off, he slowly leaned past me and opened his office door.
‘We’ll see about that,’ he drawled as he pushed away from me and went out the door, beckoning for me to follow him to meet Hacker.
A few minutes later, I rushed to the restroom. Cold water by the bucket load was in order. I leaned on the sink, staring into the mirror at my flushed face. My heart was still banging out a tribal drum beat. I hoped Brad hadn’t seen it through my T-shirt.
OK, so this probably wasn’t a good idea, working for my ex, but then I hadn’t exactly had many job offers in the last six months. No, scratch that. I’d had zilch, and I still had to pay my mortgage, so I didn’t have a choice, really. The sensible part of me thought it was a positive and productive sign that Brad Beckett didn’t affect me in the slightest anymore. By ‘affect’ I mean I’d managed to get through a whole half-hour conversation with Brad without crying, fainting, or molesting him. Then again, maybe it was the crazy part of me who thought this was progress. It was definitely one of the two. I just hadn’t worked out which was which yet.
OK, Amber, this could work. I’d be professional about my job and just solve this one case for him before I found a new job. I wouldn’t be here long enough to fall in love with him again. Anyway, my curiosity had been piqued so I couldn’t quit straight away. I just hoped that curiosity didn’t kill the Fox.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. Right, here we go then. Onward and upward, and all that rubbish.
I turned on the cold water to splash onto my face, expecting a trickle. I shrieked with surprise as the water gushed out, tsunami style, splashing up and soaking the front of my T-shirt.
‘Great!’ I looked for some paper towels, but the restroom only had dryers. Before I could move to it, the door opened and closed behind me and I glanced up in the mirror. Brad was standing behind me, examining the reflection of my wet chest with great interest. I could feel my nipples straining through the tight fabric. And even worse, judging from Brad’s smile, I knew he could see it happening.
‘Nice look,’ he said, a husky note entering his voice.
I rushed to the dryer, frantically flapping my top underneath it. ‘What are you doing in the women’s bathroom?’ I hissed.
‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? This building has unisex toilets.’ He shot me an overly innocent grin.
A searing hot tingle rippled through me. How the hell was a girl supposed to have any secrets around here, if even the bathrooms weren’t safe havens from his presence?
Brad winked at me. ‘There aren’t any secrets around here.’
It wasn’t until I’d barged out of the restroom that I realized I hadn’t actually said it out loud. So how did Brad know exactly what I was thinking?
****
The home of the Fandango Empire was a converted flour mill in Ware, Hertfordshire. According to the file, Umberto had a pretty impressive set of offices that took up the whole of the building, which included a runway for the models to practice on.
I cruised down Ware High Street in my blend-in-with-the-rest-of-the-world silver Toyota, silently rehearsing my fake spiel about how I needed to check and make certain his insurance coverage was meeting his needs, which was a laugh. What I knew about insurance could fit on the head of one of the pens Brad wanted me to leave. Still, I could BS with the best of them, and I promised myself that if I pulled this off, I’d be having a super-duper celebratory lunch afterwards – ooh, maybe I’d even throw in a monster chocolate muffin, too. My stomach gurgled loudly, although I couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or hunger.
Squaring my shoulders, I pushed open the front door and stopped cold in the reception area. I looked around, soaking in the crazy decor. The theme seemed to be ‘If it didn’t move, leopard skin it.’ Don’t get me wrong, I love leopard skin. I’m a real leopard skin kind of girl – as long as it’s fake, of course – but a leopard skin reception desk, sofa, chairs, rug, curtains, and phone were a tad overkill.
Trying to act casual, I wandered over to the receptionist. ‘Hi, I’m here to see Umberto Fandango. I’m from Hi-Tec Insurance.’ With my hand in my pocket, I tried to look calm as I felt for the pens. Grabbing one, I covertly clicked the top to activate it and waited for my moment.
The receptionist looked around her computer screen at me, forehead pinched in a harassed frown. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and was attractive in a subtle way that probably went unnoticed in this kind of industry where obvious beauty takes center stage. ‘Do you have an appointment? I didn’t see one for you in the book.’ She ran a finger down the page of a leather bound diary in front of her.
‘No, unfortunately not.’
She glanced up at me again, the frown looking more harassed. ‘London Fashion Week is next week, and we’re all very busy. Mr Fandango is rushed off his feet.’
‘Look, I’m sorry to just turn up like this, but I really need to talk to him about his insurance. We wouldn’t want to find out he didn’t have the coverage he needed for something, would we? It’ll just take a few minutes.’ I flashed her a conspiratorial smile and placed my hand face down on the desk, willing her to turn her head for a second.
She sighed, seeing I wasn’t going to give up. ‘Let me just buzz him, then. Hang on a sec.’
Her momentary glance at the leopard phone was all it took for me to deposit the pen under the bottom of her monitor.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
While she spoke to someone on the other end of the line, I gazed toward the glass doors off the reception area, where an echoing male voice shouted out instructions. I followed the sound and moved to peer through the door to get a better look. Some female models with scary wigs stalked up and down the runway, covered in very spangly, glittery creations, as a tall woman stood yelling at them. On second thought, maybe the male voice I’d heard wasn’t really male. Maybe it was just a giant woman wearing size-thirteen stilettos with a gruff voice. It was hard to tell. In the background, a woman who looked to be about five times over the required model weight limit of three stone sat at a desk, hot-fixing rhinestones to a white swimsuit.
A tall, blonde woman, so thin she looked like she’d been photocopied, clicked her spiky heels in my direction. She eyed me from head to toe with disdain, studying my usual uniform of khaki combats, black T-shirt, and very comfy sneakers. ‘You’re obviously not one of the models,’ she said as she tilted her head back. Her cheek bones were so sharp, they looked like they could put out an eye, and I had to stop myself from leaning backward, just in case.
‘Hi, I’m Amber, from Hi-Tec Insurance.’ I held out my hand to shake hers.
She ignored it and crossed her arms in front of her. Was it me, or was the atmosphere getting noticeably colder? I glanced over at the receptionist who was chewing on the end of her pencil, a sympathetic look on her face.
‘And?’ the blonde woman said through lips painted a shade that Dracula would have been proud of.
‘That’s it, just Hi-Tec Insurance. There’s no “and” after it,’ I said.
The woman rolled her eyes. ‘What do you want?’ Her voice sharpened, and she frowned at me; the really wicked, twitchy-eye, wrinkly forehead kind, except her forehead didn’t wrinkle when she did it.
‘Hey, you’re fun! Isn’t Botox amazing?’ I asked, fascinated by her un-wrinkly forehead.
This earned me something eerily close to a snarl. ‘What do you want? We’re very busy.’
Properly chastised, I answered. ‘I just need a few moments with Umberto Fandango. It’s about his insurance.’
‘What about it?’
Good question. Here comes the BS.
I cleared my throat. ‘I’m just checking out the business premises for security reasons. Obviously, you have some very expensive and high-profile merchandise here, so I nee
d to have a look around the entire area, as well as inspect your alarm system to make sure there’s no possible breach of security. Don’t worry, it’s just routine information for our files.’ I gave her my most sincere smile, pulling out my camera to make my claim look authentic.
She weighed my words with an icy stare. ‘Hmm.’ A pause. Then: ‘Follow me.’ And off she clicked toward a corridor at the far end of the reception area.
I made use of my trigger finger, snapping off a few pictures as I followed behind her. We stopped when she paused outside a door at the end and punched in a sequence of numbers on a keypad.
The door clicked. ‘Wait here,’ she said. She slipped inside the room, returning a few seconds later. ‘Mr. Fandango will see you now.’
I followed her into the ultra-modern office, which was decked out with a chrome and glass desk, chrome and leather chairs, a chrome lamp, chrome pen tidy, and a silver leather sofa. Wow, when this guy liked something, he really went to town. I quickly sneaked a peek at the pen tidy, crammed full of biros, as a man dressed in a purple smoking jacket stood behind his desk and pumped my hand. I didn’t think smoking jackets existed in real life, I thought it was just a myth, but no, they were alive and well and living in Hertfordshire. And this guy had to be in his fifties, far too young for a smoking jacket, in my opinion.
‘I’m Umberto. What can I do for you, honey?’ he asked in a weird, Lloyd Grossman mix of an American and English accent. He was on the short side, with thick, dark brown hair that was swept back with a touch of gel, dark brown eyes, and a spray-on tan that bordered on the Tango variety. Although he was clean shaven, he had a hint of five o’clock shadow, and I suspected he would have to shave more than once a day to keep his beard in check.
I went through my spiel again and gave him a dazzling smile for good luck, all the while casually gripping one of the bug pens in my pocket.
‘Knock yourself out. Just make sure you don’t get in the models’ way, or I’ll have one hell of a cat fight on my hands. Actually, I’ve got a few spare minutes, so why don’t I show you around?’ He flashed me a bleached-tooth grin and led the way out of his office.
In a split second, pen number two was secretly stashed in his pen tidy, and I was following behind him. The Ice Queen bared her teeth in an imitation of a smile, examining me like I was a piece of road kill stuck to her thousand pound shoes as she sat down at the desk opposite Fandango’s.
I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out.
As Umberto led me through the offices and the huge storage area upstairs which housed his fashion collection, I took notes and photos galore.
‘So, waddaya think?’ he asked as we entered the runway area, where the stiletto-heeled He-She was busy screeching at one of the models.
‘I think I need to see the bags before I make my mind up,’ I told him. Maybe he’d give me a freebie while I was here.
‘Beg pardon?’
‘You know – those gorgeous handbags you make. Can I have a little peek at them? They’re so cool. I love the ones with–’
‘Sorry, honey, we don’t make the bags here, they’re all sent in from the States.’
‘Oh,’ I muttered with disappointment. Well, it had been worth a try.
‘Waddaya think of the security then?’ he asked.
‘It looks pretty secure to me.’
‘Aw, shit!’ Fandango looked across the sea of prancing female models toward a dark-haired man in a crisp blue shirt and an expensive-looking suit. He was pretty hot, too. In fact, if I had to rate him out of ten, he’d be a nine and three-quarters. The man wore an air of expectation, and I watched as Fandango’s demeanor changed abruptly. ‘OK, that’s your lot, honey. You need to leave now.’ As he made his way over to Mr. Hottie, I took the opportunity to drop a pen to the floor, casually kicking it under the runway. Based on the way Fandango had reacted, I assumed the man in the suit was a model.
A Kodak moment of a yummy model and a famous fashion designer seemed too good to miss, so I snapped a few pictures while I studied them through the viewfinder. They seemed to be involved in a heated argument about something. Maybe someone had forgotten to put all-white lilies in Mr. Hottie’s dressing room, or the blue M&M’s had been left in his chocolate selection by mistake. Oh, well, I thought, it’s not my problem. Operation Bug was complete, which was all that mattered to me. I smiled as I headed out of the building. Way to go, Amber. Bring on the chocolate muffins. My first assignment had been a success. Nothing could possibly go wrong now.
Could it?
Be Careful What You Wish For
For fans of Janet Evanovich, Kate Johnson, and Gemma Halliday…
Armed with cool sarcasm and uncontrollable hair, feisty insurance investigator Amber Fox is back in a new mystery combining murder and mayhem with romance and chick lit…
Three deaths.
A safety deposit box robbery.
The boxing heavyweight champion of the world.
Somehow, they’re all related, and Amber has to solve a four year old crime to find out why.
As she stumbles across a trail of dead bodies and a web of lies spanning both sides of the social divide, it’s starting to get personal. Someone thinks Amber’s poking her nose in where it’s not wanted, sparking off a game of fox and mouse – only this time, Amber’s the mouse.
Amber’s forced to take refuge in the home of her ex-fiancé, Brad Beckett, and now it’s not just the case that’s hotting up. So is the bedroom…
All Levi Carter wanted to be was the boxing heavyweight champion of the world, but at what cost?
All Carl Thomas wanted was to be rich, but would his greed be his downfall?
All Brad Beckett wants is to get Amber back, but there’s a reason for the ex word.
Be careful what you wish for…you might just get it.
Chapter One
When I was about five, I always loved losing myself in fairytales where the handsome prince would come charging up on his white horse and save the fair maiden. I frequently imagined that I was Rapunzel, although there were two problems with this daydream. 1) I wasn’t into heights in a big way; and 2) My hair was destined to be more flyaway than flaxen.
Fast-forward thirty years, and now I had an even bigger problem. I had two handsome princes in my life, and I didn’t know what to do about either of them. I know, I know – be careful what you wish for, right?
In my thirty-five-year-old-daydream, there was Romeo, my boyfriend and all-round Mr. Nice Guy. Then there was Brad, my boss and ex-fiancé. There was a reason for the “ex” word, though.
I sprawled on my sofa, staring at the ceiling and contemplating this little conundrum. Marmalade, my ginger cat, lay next to me. He purred away, mirroring my ceiling stare. I absent-mindedly stroked his head, wondering whether he was contemplating a two-pussy scenario.
I know what you’re thinking – two gorgeous men after little old moi. Lucky me. I wish! It wasn’t lucky, it was way more complicated than you can imagine. In fact, it was as complicated as trying to assemble flat-pack furniture with a stupid amount of screws and no instructions. Not that I couldn’t assemble flat-pack stuff, you understand. I’m a very practical kind of girl. But, you know, flat-pack can beat even the most enthusiastic DIYers. Or is it just me who ends up with a big bag of screws left over, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with them?
I was so deep in thought that I didn’t hear my mobile ringing straight away. When it finally registered in my conscious, I tumbled off the sofa, dislodging Marmalade in the process, and grabbed it from the wooden floorboards.
I glanced at the caller ID.
Think of the Devil. The last person I wanted to talk to when I was doing my contemplation thing was Brad. He might sway my decision about things, and I was pretty easily swayed at the moment.
‘Hey, Brad. What’s up?’
‘Foxy,’ Brad said, his Australian twang sounding more pronounced tonight. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Stroking my pussy.�
��
‘Mmm. Don’t give me ideas.’ I heard the smile in his voice.
‘You don’t need any ideas,’ I said. He probably heard the smile in mine, too.
‘No Romeo tonight, then?’
I rolled my eyes. Even though he couldn’t see it, he’d know I’d done it. ‘Stop fishing for information.’ I grabbed a fluffy cushion from the sofa and hugged it to my stomach, as if somehow that could put more distance between us.
His voice lowered. Deep and slow, he said, ‘I need you.’
A tingling sensation worked its way through my spine, not to mention other parts. I tried to ignore it. I didn’t really trust myself to speak so I gnawed on my lip for a moment, thinking of something witty to say. My wit had suddenly upped and vanished for some reason, so I just chose to ignore his words instead and pretended to be huffy.
I cleared my throat. ‘What do you want, Brad? It’s Saturday night, and I’m a very busy girl.’ My voice came out huskier than I intended as I glanced around my empty, poky apartment, which was very unbusy at this moment in time.
Yeah, right, Amber. Since when did thinking about Brad constitute being busy?
‘I need you for a job,’ he said.
I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. ‘Why do you need an insurance claim investigation done on a Saturday night?’ Was he just trying to lure me around to his place for some other, totally un-work-related reason? And if so, how much will-power did I have to resist it? ‘Can’t it wait until Monday?’
‘I’m afraid not, Foxy.’ More serious this time.
‘OK, what sort of a job?’
‘Have you ever heard of Levi Carter?’
I thought for a moment. ‘He’s a boxer, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. He’s the world heavyweight boxing champion,’ he said. ‘He’s also one of our clients.’
Brad owned Hi-Tec Insurance. He wasn’t just a successful business owner, though: he had a mysterious SAS past, too.
