Fast & Loose

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Slowly, she nodded. But she didn’t say anything in reply.

  “The other night, when you and Bree and I were out, people didn’t bother me the way they do when I’m alone. And the only reason I can figure why they left me alone when I was with you and Bree was because I was with you and Bree. You two were a nice”—there was no way around the word, so Cole just spit it out—“buffer for me.” He paused to see what her reaction would be. Mostly, he noted, it was just a slight squinting of her eyes that could have meant anything. “So that’s what I’d like to hire you to be for the rest of the time that I’m in town,” he concluded. “A buffer. Any chance you’d be interested?”

  LULU WAS HAVING TROUBLE HEARING IN THE LOUD, crowded coffee shop. Because first, she could have sworn Cole Early said he wanted to pay her to go out with him for a week. Then she thought she heard him say he wanted her to be a buffer for him.

  Just to be sure, she repeated, “A buffer?”

  Instead of laughing and saying, Oh, God, no, of course he hadn’t asked her to be that, that wouldn’t exactly be flattering, would it? No, what he wanted was for her to go golfing with him and be a duffer. Or maybe he wanted her to play charades with him and be a bluffer. Perhaps he needed a pillow fluffer. Or a turkey stuffer. Or maybe he wanted her to be gruffer, or rougher, or tougher.

  Because what woman would want to be told she’d make a great buffer keeping sexy, beautiful women away from a guy, something that suggested—no, designated—that the guy didn’t think she was particularly sexy or beautiful herself? Especially if the guy telling a woman that was Cole? The only thing worse would be if he offered to pay her money to be a buffer.

  Just to reassure herself that that wasn’t what he was asking, she hurried on before he could reply, “You want to pay me money to be a buffer?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I want.”

  Ah. Well, then. Good that they had that cleared up.

  She lifted a hand to her forehead to rub away a headache that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Okay, I think I’m having a little trouble here grasping certain, ah…nuances of what you’re saying.”

  He looked nonplussed. “Which nuances?”

  “The nuance about you wanting to pay me money to be a buffer.”

  He looked even more nonplussed at that. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  Lulu wasn’t surprised. It was hard to follow someone who had no idea where this was going. She tried again. “Although I get the part about wanting a buffer—”

  “Needing a buffer,” he interjected.

  “Needing a buffer,” she conceded, “I don’t understand why you feel like you have to pay someone to go out with you. Unless you’re expecting way more than someone to just, you know, go out with you.”

  “See, I knew you were going to think that,” he said.

  Oh, good, she thought. Because it would make things so much easier if he was trying to solicit sex from her. She could just throw her scalding tea in his face, stomp on his foot with her steel-toed work boot, call him something that wasn’t fit to print and be on her merry way.

  “There are actually several reasons for why I need to pay someone for that,” he told her.

  Hey, Lulu wasn’t greedy. She’d settle for one.

  “First,” he began, “because I don’t know anyone in town except you. And Bree. But I feel like I know you better, since I met you first.”

  For now, though, she only said, “I understand. But considering the way women flock to you when you’re out, I can’t see that being a situation that will last very long.”

  “And that’s reason number two,” he said. “Those women who come up to me when I’m out are the reason I need someone else. Those are the women I need to keep away. Because they’re all…” He blew out a restless breath. “Well, they’re all…gorgeous. And built. And hot. And way, way too distracting.”

  “And that’s not what you want,” Lulu said.

  “Right.”

  “So you’re asking me to go out with you, because I’m not gorgeous, built, hot, or distracting.”

  “Right,” he said. Then, “No!” He quickly backpedaled when he realized what he’d just implied. Implied hell, Lulu thought. He’d flat out told her she was unattractive and off-putting. Then she reminded herself that she was sitting in front of him wearing filthy overalls and a worn-out bandanna, and that she was probably, ah, redolent of her day’s work. That was beside the point. The point was she wasn’t gorgeous, built, hot, or distracting even when she was at her best. And that wasn’t something a woman liked to be reminded of. Especially by a guy who was gorgeous, built, hot, and distracting.

  “That’s not what I meant at all,” Cole assured her. And although Lulu told herself it wasn’t possible, two faint spots of pink appeared on his cheeks. He was embarrassed, she marveled. Or maybe it was just the heat from his coffee. Yeah, that had to be it. “You’re…you’re lovely,” he added.

  Uh-huh.

  “Really.”

  Yeah.

  “You’re just not…”

  Go on.

  No way was Lulu going to help him out of the hole he’d dug for himself. She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her midsection, and raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry.

  He expelled another frustrated sound. “You’re just not the type of woman I usually go out with,” he finally said. “And I’m not your type, either,” he hastily added. “You’ve made that clear.”

  She had?

  “That’s why I think this could be a perfect situation,” he told her. “You and I can go out and enjoy ourselves, and neither of us will risk being distracted by the other. Naturally, though, what I’m asking you to do will take up a lot of your time. So it makes sense that I would compensate you for it.”

  Well, when he put it that way…

  He wasn’t her type, Lulu told herself. That didn’t mean he wasn’t gorgeous and built and hot. It just meant he wasn’t the type of guy she went for. So there was no reason she should feel insulted by anything he’d just said. If she were looking to ward off an unwanted romantic entanglement—or, as was Cole’s case, a sexual entanglement, because she couldn’t imagine a guy like him even being capable of romance—what he was proposing would be what she would do, too, she told herself. She’d avoid the kind of guys she usually went for—bookish, gentle, quiet, safe—and find a guy who was arrogant, mouthy, brash, and dangerous. Just like Cole Early.

  So why was she thinking it would be a bad idea to go out with Cole Early for money she could put to good use on her house or business when he was perfectly right—there would be no chance of anything happening between them? More to the point, why was she thinking she’d do it, even if he didn’t offer to pay her?

  “How much?” she heard herself ask, surprising herself. She honestly hadn’t even meant to consider it. Even if she was no longer insulted by Cole’s offer—well, not much—there was no reason for her to accept it. She had a busy week coming up, too. And she wasn’t the partying, socializing type. On the contrary, she was the sort of person who always showed up late for functions, stayed only as long as it took to say hello to everyone so they would remember she’d been there when the host or hostess asked where she was, then left early to go home. She wasn’t comfortable in crowds.

  Then again, if he paid her enough, she wouldn’t have to worry about finishing her last few pieces on time for the show…

  She told herself if he offered her as much as it would cost to put a new roof on her house, she’d take him up on it. The reason she’d agreed to Eddie’s request to rent her house out for Derby in the first place was because she’d sunk so much more into refurbishing the place than she’d originally planned, and she’d needed to recoup some of it. The money she would make from the rental was going to pretty much do that, but she still needed a new roof, and that was going to run her another three thousand dollars. She couldn’t believe Cole Early would pay that much for someone to go out with him a few
times, even if he could afford it—and then some. But she couldn’t deny that she was curious about what he might potentially offer.

  He looked as surprised at hearing the question as she’d been to voice it. “Are you serious?” he asked, sounding almost hopeful.

  She hesitated. Weird, but she actually was. “Maybe. Depends on how much you’re willing to pay.”

  He hesitated, too, and she could tell he was going to low-ball her. “A hundred dollars.”

  She laughed out loud. “Don’t you think you’ve insulted me enough for one night?”

  He had the decency to look contrite. “Okay. A hundred dollars per function.”

  “How many functions?”

  “I have something going on almost every night this week. And then there’s the Derby itself.”

  She shook her head. “Not worth it.”

  “Oh, come on,” he said. “There are a lot of women who would jump at the chance to go to some of the things I’m going to need a date for.”

  This time Lulu nodded. “Yes, there are. But they’re the ones you’re trying to avoid, remember? Gorgeous, built, hot women are a dime a dozen. If you want plain, graceless, and ordinary, it’s gonna cost you.”

  She thought he was going to argue with her over the price, but what he said, very softly, was, “You’re not plain, graceless, or ordinary, Lulu.” And then, before she could respond, he said, “Name your price.”

  Her heart was hammering hard in her chest, but she told herself it was because she was about to get a new roof for her house, not because of the way he’d told her she wasn’t any of the things she’d always felt like she was. “Three thousand dollars,” she told him.

  He hesitated not at all this time. “Done.”

  Fifteen

  LULU REALIZED THERE WAS A SLIGHT PROBLEM with agreeing to Cole’s offer of employment less than twenty-four hours after conceding to it. In fact, she’d realized there was a problem within minutes of agreeing to it, but it was only now, as she stood in Bree’s bedroom looking at the clothes she’d brought with her from home, that it wasn’t actually a slight problem. It was, in fact, a great, hulking, gargantuan problem that was roughly the size of Canada. He’d told her as they’d parted ways last night that most of the events for which he’d need her to join him this week would require the sort of attire Lulu hadn’t brought with her. More to the point, it was the sort of attire she didn’t even own. Which meant one thing.

  She was going to have to borrow something to wear from Bree.

  Hence the great, hulking, gargantuan problem—even though the two of them wore the same size, and even though Bree had a number of cocktail dresses she’d collected over the years, due in large part to her frequenting events where she trawled for rich men. But because she was always trawling for rich men, Bree’s dresses were all brief, snug, and low-cut, in colors bright enough to blind, and a lot of them had sequins, beads, and God knew what else sewn on them to make them sparkle even more.

  And, okay, so Lulu liked bright colors and sparkly things. She used lots of both when she made her glass—then mixed them together to make even more colors and sparkles—and she gravitated toward them whenever she shopped for clothes. And on those occasions when Bree dragged her into Sephora or Ulta, Lulu couldn’t help admiring the pots, compacts, and cylinders filled with glittery shadows, powders, and glosses, and she could never quite resist buying a couple for herself. Of course, then she got the clothes and cosmetics home and realized she’d never be able to muster the nerve to wear them for fear that they might draw attention to her. So all of them hung or sat neglected in her closets while she donned her trusty jeans and T-shirt and went out barefaced to greet the world, never drawing a single eye.

  That was beside the point.

  The point was she needed something to wear to the Trainers’ Reception tonight. And since Cole had said the invitation read Formal, which she was reasonably certain translated into Not the Ratty Stuff Lulu Flannery Usually Wears that She Bought on Sale at Value City Like Ten Years Ago, she didn’t think her Levi’s and Timberlands were going to cut it, even if they were—sort of—designer names.

  “This one will look fab on you,” Bree was saying as she pulled a fourth dress out of her closet after Lulu nixed the first three.

  “Redheads aren’t supposed to wear red,” Lulu said. Which was actually her very diplomatic way of saying, But, Bree, you always look like a ’ho in that dress.

  “Oh, please,” Bree retorted. “That just goes to show how little you know about fashion.”

  Lulu nodded. “And your point is?”

  Bree made a face at her. “That rule is so five years ago. Redheads look great in red. I’m telling you, Lulu, this”—she shook the brief, beaded little number at her—“is your style. Not…” She waved a dismissive hand at Lulu’s jeans and black T-shirt. “That.”

  “No, Bree, I really think this”—she struck a pose like a Price Is Right model—“is the real me.”

  Bree shook her head at her friend. “I don’t know what Cole Early was thinking to hire you for this when I’m clearly a better qualified applicant.”

  There was nothing malicious or demeaning in Bree’s tone—or even her statement. It was simply a statement of fact, one that had crossed Lulu’s mind more than once since yesterday. Cole had met both her and Bree, had spent time with both her and Bree. Bree had been far more interesting a conversationalist and far more dazzling a woman than Lulu. Bree had made clear her interest in getting to know him better.

  Which, okay, was probably why Cole had offered the position to Lulu instead of Bree. Because Bree was the sort of woman he was trying to avoid—gorgeous, built, hot, and distracting.

  Lulu pushed the thought away. She also pushed the dress away. “Not that one,” she told Bree. “I just wouldn’t be comfortable in it.”

  Bree blew out an exasperated sound. “Lulu, the only way you’re going to be comfortable tonight is to wait out in the car.”

  She had a point.

  “So as long as you’re going to be uncomfortable,” her friend continued, “you might as well look smokin’ hot, babe. And this dress”—she shook the garment at Lulu again—“will do exactly that.”

  Of the four Bree had pulled out of the closet, the red one was, without question, the last one Lulu wanted to wear. She looked at the other three that her friend had tossed onto the bed. The first was a hot pink strapless number with a wide skirt that reminded Lulu of a tutu. Lulu in a tutu was not going to happen. The second was a sapphire blue sequined thing that might be comfortable because it was stretchy, if it weren’t for the fact that it was stretchy because it was the size of an electron. The third was an emerald green, off-the-shoulder creation made of a matte-finish satin that was actually very pretty, but its wraparound cut promised to fit pretty snugly.

  Nevertheless, it was that dress that Lulu picked up. “This one,” she said. “I’ll wear this one.”

  Bree smiled. “Excellent choice. I have some great shoes and jewelry to go with that you will absolutely love.” She tilted her head at Lulu and narrowed her eyes in a way that Lulu had seen some of her artist friends do when they were studying an especially problematic piece they were working on.

  “What?” Lulu said. She lifted her hands to her face. “Do I have a big zit?”

  “Worse,” Bree told her.

  Lulu’s eyes went wide. “Poison ivy?”

  “Worse.”

  She ran her hands over her face, but her skin felt as smooth and unblemished as ever. Her hair then. Well, hell, that was always a problem. So what was Bree so worried about?

  “What, Bree?” she asked.

  Bree sighed and tossed the red dress onto the bed with the others, then took Lulu by the hand and led her to the cheval mirror in the corner of the room. She turned her so she was facing it, then went back for the green dress, which she held up in front of Lulu on the return trip. Lulu saw the problem immediately. The dress was gorgeous. So gorgeous, that Lulu was nearly in
visible standing behind it. The addition of great shoes and jewelry would doubtless make her disappearance complete.

  “It’s okay,” Bree said. “I have hair product and lip gloss, and I’m not afraid to use it. Even on you. When I get through with you, Lulu, the dress is going to be incidental.”

  Lulu doubted that. Still, she had just enough pride to not want to be shown up by a bit of fabric—even if it was pretty incredible fabric. She squared her shoulders as she turned to look at Bree. And her voice only trembled a little when she said, “Do your worst.”

  COLE SLUNG HIS EMERALD SILK TIE THROUGH A second loop to finish the perfect double-Windsor, a knot he’d completed so often, and did so well, that he didn’t even have to look in a mirror anymore to complete it. As he leaned over the bed in Lulu’s tiny bedroom, reading the Daily Race Form he’d opened on it, he absently—and perfectly—adjusted the collar of his black dress shirt until it completely covered the tie. The jockey silks of Susannah’s stables were emerald and black, and Cole wanted to be sure he dressed in those colors tonight, for the Trainers’ Reception. And he breathed a mental sigh of relief that Susannah Pennington, although a girly girl in many ways, was a woman of bold fashion taste. Although he was a man who liked color in his clothing, Cole didn’t think he could have done Pennington Stables justice if he’d had to go out in Barbie pink and My Pretty Pony lavender. Bad enough he even knew what Barbie and My Pretty Pony were—though that was thanks to Susannah’s niece Madison, who was an even bigger girly girl than Susannah was.

  He finished reading the latest odds for all the Derby entries and reached for the black suit jacket he’d tossed over the desk chair, shrugging it on and arranging the emerald silk handkerchief in the breast pocket just so. When he turned to head out, his eye fell on the photograph of the five women he’d moved from the dresser to the nightstand. He now recognized not only Lulu among the women, but Bree as well. The white string bikini was still a mystery—he made a mental note to ask Lulu about her at some point, simply to assuage his curiosity—but his gaze no longer strayed to the blonde. As always since discovering Lulu was the owner of the house, Cole’s gaze always fixed immediately on her. The one in the long T-shirt and hat. Squinting into the sun. Looking like she wasn’t having a good time.