CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) (3 page)

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, India. Really.”

“M’kay, then tell us how you produced such an epic night of bliss that the man not only skipped out on you, but also had you kicked out on your spectacular ass the next morning.”

“Firstly, thanks for the compliment, my ass was spectacular that morning. I guess it’s true what they say, sex does burn calories. As for the rest, how the hell should I know? I’ve never had a one-night stand before, and I certainly have never woken up in a strange place with my ass flapping in the freaking breeze. Forgive me for not knowing what the hell was happening there. I guess I should have asked you for all the ins and outs of hookerdom beforehand,” I snarl, my stomach churning with every bite I take of the roll.

              India doesn’t even register my insults and waves them away with an airy nonchalance that makes my lips curl.

“Well, whatever happened, it’s at least behind you and one step closer in getting Callie Landry back into the game,” Percy says, adding in her two pounds of wisdom. “Let’s all agree that he was the bicycle moment. You got back on that bitch and you still know how to ride. Pun intended.”

She’s got a point. I haven’t so much as gone near a man in so long.

“Sure. Okay, could we please just change the subject now? I had sex. I’m still in one piece, and as far as I’m concerned it’s behind me. Why don’t we discuss why I saw a man leaving Indie’s apartment wearing a red dress, worker boots, and a grin?”

Pregnancy

Callie

I hate life.

I don’t quite know what to do or say to convince myself that it’s worth it anymore. I must be the unluckiest fool in creation, and I’m not even counting in the fact that God stuck me with the Good Squad and their woolly-haired billy goat leader, either.

Right now my cosmic gripe comes in the form of me hurling my stomach lining for the fourth morning in a row.

I’m pregnant and I don’t know who the father is.

“Callie? Honey, are you alright?” Dot asks for the millionth time from outside the bathroom where I’ve been tossing cookies for a good ten minutes with no respite.

How do pregnant women survive this without dying of dehydration and the “ew” factor?

Poor Dot has been witnessing this spectacle for the last week, wringing her hands whenever I catch her looking at me, so I know that the cat is officially not in the bag anymore.

              “Dot…”

I stop talking and start puking as I tackle the porcelain again. Dot finally loses her legendary patience and I hear the door creak open before a cool washcloth hits the back of my neck, making me groan in gratitude.

“This is getting out of hand, Cal. You need to go to the doctor for a test to see if you’re—”

“Don’t say it. If you don’t say it, it isn’t real.”

Another heave hits me and I work through it with a dogged determination that leaves me sweating buckets before the familiar feeling of release sets in and I know this bout is over.

Thank you, Jesus. At the rate I’m going I’ll have abs like Pink before my stomach starts swelling.

“That’s ridiculous and you know it. Now come on and get up, Callie. We’re going to the freaking doctor and that’s final.”

Great. The one time Dot decides to show off her hairy ones, it’s when I’m trying to doggy-paddle my way back to the boat of denial.

At first I told myself it was just something I ate. When my pants got a little tight I told myself I should lay off the midnight snacking and join Gruffy and her cohorts for morning yoga in the park.

When my nipples started feeling like Dracula was paying me nightly visits and chewing on them, I swore I needed to buy new bras or change the laundry soap we use.

Now…

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Dot rolls her eyes and drags me to my feet, shoving a loaded toothbrush my way and grabbing a hairbrush to rescue my rat’s nest.

“If I was going to tell on you, Cal, I would have spilled when Luci and Percy took me to that club last week. I haven’t told a soul and I won’t, not till you’re ready.”

“God bless you. Indie would have printed up fliers and put an ad in the paper by now,” I say around the toothbrush as Dot assaults my hair with the brush and manages to pull it into a sleek tail on my head.

“Indie would have hired a freaking sky writer.” She giggles as we walk into my bedroom and she starts pulling out my jeans and a pink tank with a light blue cable-knit sweater and my flat brown suede boots. “Get a move on, your appointment is in forty minutes and we still need to grab a cab.”

“You made an appointment?” I mutter, pulling my clothes on with a huff.

Some part of me was hoping I could skip down to the drug store and avoid whatever is about to happen, but apparently the little Mussolini wannabe who’s decided to take charge isn’t going to let this go.

“I made it last week but we had those last-minute referrals we got from Mrs. Ives, and Indie and Percy have been over here almost every night for the last week. I rescheduled when we decided to take today off and regroup.”

“You choose now to stop scampering around and avoiding conflict?”

“Stop whining and let’s go. By the way, Gruffy and Aggy are going to that Star Trek convention tomorrow night, and she said we’re uninvited after we put that Team Pickard poster up on Facebook.”

You know what’s weirder than my old granny dressing up and going to a convention? Walking into her bedroom and seeing the William Shatner shrine.

***

“Well, you’re definitely pregnant. Just past two months if you’ve got your dates right,” Doctor Sheila muses, making me roll my eyes.

Dot laughs and starts prattling on about not even having a shadow of a doubt since we have the date-stamped video to prove it.

“You don’t look too happy, Callie. Want to tell me how the only patient I have who doesn’t come in for a routine weekly STD screening got pregnant on a one-nighter while on birth control?”

“Eh. I may or may not have gotten hammered and done some stranger in his hotel room. Oh, and as for the pill, I had crab flu a few days before The Incident.”

I glare at Dot now because “crab flu” is code for
she fed me something that almost put me in organ failure when my stomach turned and I was weak as a piece of day-old lettuce.

Sheila—we can all call her that since we went to school together and basically snuck our first drink and cigarette as one person—gives me a look and turns to Dot for confirmation.

“Straitlaced had a quick flick?”

Oh for crying out loud.

“Yes. I had a one-night stand with a man I don’t know, and…oh God! I don’t even know his name,” I wail suddenly as it all comes crashing down around me.

I don’t even know the name of the father of my child, and here I am, knocked the hell up and two steps away from telling Gruffy.

What the heck am I gonna do? I can’t have a baby in this situation. One day the kid will look at me and ask me who his or her daddy is.

What sort of horrible mom doesn’t even know?

I guess I took after my mother, after all.

By the time I calm down, Dot’s looking green around the gills and Sheila is shaking her head at me in sympathy.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“You know what happens when I drink wine,” I mutter self-consciously, my cheeks going scarlet when they both snort and try in vain not to grin.

One time I got a little over the limit and a campus cop caught me streaking. It was a dare, dammit.

“You should at least try to find out who he is, Callie. He has a right to know he’s going to be a dad.”

You think I don’t know this? One night last week I had another one of those sex dreams and I almost remembered his name. It’s something simple I know it is. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

And yeah, I am ashamed of the fact that I was more interested in sex than getting to know something as vital as his name, but like Gruffy said weeks ago, once that water passes the bridge, it’s gone and done.

“You could call the Hyatt and ask—”

“Not in this freaking lifetime.”

By the time we make it out of Sheila’s office and I’m feeling strong enough to walk on legs that still feel like noodles, it’s past noon and I’m ready to hit the sack and sleep for the next three days.

Instead, I’m on my freaking way to the Hyatt and Dot’s wearing a determined expression that, quite frankly, makes my labia shrivel in fear.

Who knew the little mouse had this shit in her? She’s meaner than Indie now that she’s riled.

“This is a bad idea, Dotty. We should go home, eat some cheese, and think about this,” I beg when we’re about a block away from our destination.

“Nope. We’re going in there, you’re going to hold your head high, and we are definitely getting a name from that idiot,” she insists, her steely expression sending shivers of trepidation down my spine.

We pull up to the entrance far sooner than I would like, and I hear her give the cabbie instructions to wait and keep the meter running while she drags me out with a hand clamped on my arm.

“Now remember,” she whispers, straightening my sweater and flicking at a piece of lint. “You look that beefeater in the eye and tell him what you want. Don’t ask, and you sure as hell are not going to be cowering if he says anything about, ahem, you know what.”

Said in that sing-song voice of hers, the statement is almost ludicrous, but the claw she clamps tighter on my arm and the strength she uses to drag me along behind her is telling that tone doesn’t matter.

“I’ll call Danielle at the desk and beg her to get me a name.”

“Yeah sure. I saw that video about as many times as Gruffy has. That poop head was just as happy to see your humiliation as Alphonso.”

Buttheads. All of them.

I allow her to drag me along, my head held high and pointed directly forward as the nerves and the need to run start jumping through my bones.

We make it to the office where Satan’s minion can usually be found—probably watching porn, the little skeeze. I swallow my bile when Dot just shoves the door open and pulls me in behind her.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Callie Landry. You here to show your ass again?”

“Funny, Phonsie,” I mutter, curling my lip at him. “We need the last guest list from two months ago so we can update our records,” I lie, crossing my fingers in hope and a silent apology.

He leans back into his seat and runs a hand through his oily, stringy black hair. I never noticed before, but with those beady little eyes I’d swear his mother must be a ferret. Or weasel.

“You want a guest list for a party that took place two months ago? For your records?”

Such a little gobbler, as Gruffy would say, and I totally agree. If I could tell him to suck a bag of man flesh right now, I would.

“Yes. We never received the official list of RSVPs and our accountant is shitting spades over the lack of transparency in our records.”

Oh God, why can’t I lie better? I blame Gruffy for being such a good role model.

“Not happening. Hotel policy, and anyway, why the heck would I risk my job just because you’re so pathetic that you don’t know the name of the man you spent the night with? You think I’m dumb enough not to realize what you’re here for, Landry? Puh-lease. Take a walk, lady.”

That has Dot bristling visibly and I see her jaw firm before she narrows her eyes.

“Did you know that all of the Hyatts run off the same server, and that all Internet, e-mail, and so on are monitored and stored on a backup that anyone, and I mean
anyone
who has access to it can look at? I just happen to know the wife of one of the shareholders of this dump. How do you think Delights got this job in the first place? Should I call her, Callie? I think I should call her and let her husband know that some staff members don’t spend their working hours doing their jobs. In fact, I bet he’d love to know what some staff members do with the free Internet.”

              Al pales and I almost start giggling when he swallows visibly and dives for his keyboard, his fingers flying as he sweats and shakes like a leaf.

When the printer spits out what we need, he all but throws it at us and starts tapping away again, no doubt trying to clear his browser history.

“Why thank you so much, Alphonso. That was easy, wasn’t it?”

I don’t know who this woman is or what she did with the sweet girl I grew up with, but I like her. I like her a hell of a lot when I slide into the cab and she hands over what may just be the key to saving my ass from single parenthood.

The Plot Thickens

Callie

“So you’ve officially narrowed it down to what?” Percy asks from behind an avocado mask as Luci files her toenails and mutters beneath her breath about catching prey with the things.

I look away from her intense blue gaze and look down at the list again, my heart sinking. We’ve eliminated the women and all men over the age of forty from the list, but there are still so many names left. I should have known when the printer spat out three pages that I was in deep trouble, and here it is, staring me in the face.

There were around four hundred guests at the event. I know, since I had to hand-roll enough mini breadsticks to give myself carpal tunnel.

“There are sixty men left on this list. Dot got rid of all the men over forty and under twenty-five, and she even managed to get rid of those she remembers seeing who don’t fit the description. But we still have sixty men left,” I moan, dropping my head into the sofa back in defeat.

“Don’t fret, chickie, this isn’t so bad,” Luci says soothingly, her frown at Percy’s toes making me brighten a little. “Do you grow these things so thick so you have a weapon at hand?”

“Oh shut up. I’ve seen your situation, lady. India and I laid those rugs last month to save the hardwood in the apartment from your own caveman tootsies.”

“Bite me.”

“Oh, I’d do it, but from what your hookup was roaring last night, he already got that job done.”

Luci blushes and starts giggling, her green eyes sparkling mischievously.

“He was so good, I’d give him more than one night to do me right.”

Gross. Just yuck. Plus I’m jealous and more than a little bitter that my friends are all hunky dory while I’ve spent the last two weeks alone and cursing the fertility of my uterus.

Really, is it really necessary that I have to go through this for one little error in judgement?

“Shut up, the both of you, and pay attention. I think Callie’s about to cry again and I want to catch it on camera this time,” Indie yells, making my pity go straight to murderous intent.

“You shut up. All you have to do is glare at your ovaries and they’d probably pack up shop if you wanted. Me—I get to be knocked up the one lousy time I have sex for fun.”

“No glove, no love.”

“No cover, no lover.”

“No rubber, no…I got nothing.” Dot sighs, making me giggle at her sheepish smile.

“I know. Stop rubbing it in, and stop being so mean. I need help here. I have sixty names, fifty-nine if I just eliminate this one, since I refuse to believe I could get turned on by a Ralph, and I have no idea how to go about doing what I need to do. I can’t just show up at their doors, if I could even find their addresses, and ask them all whether or not they boinked me.”

Besides, I feel dumb enough as it is that asking some random guy if we did the beast with two backs will just strip away my last shred of pride.

“I’ve been looking into some of those names and they’re rich enough that it won’t be easy to just get to them,” Percy points out, chewing on her third piece of liquorice in ten minutes.

I know she’s doing this on purpose since I can’t eat one of my favorite sweets right now without vomiting.

They all start cackling together and joking around at my expense, the usual occurrence since I was stupid enough to share my angst with them, and I find myself waiting somewhat patiently for them to stop before glaring Indie to silence.

“You’re either here to help or you can bounce, loser. I have a problem here, not the joke of the freaking week.”

              “Okay, okay, calm down,” she mutters, plopping down beside me for a hug that earns her a shirt full of my tears. “We’ll fix this. We just need to put our heads together and think about this.”

“Oh! Oh, I know. We could go all Nancy Drew and start following our targets and investigating and doing all that cool stuff.”

“What are we, in the third freaking grade, you freak?” Indie yells at Percy. “I know you have a lesbian crush on that character, but it’s not happening. Firstly, I’m not putting on some stupid coat and skulking in the shadows. I have style. I also will not be digging through trash or any of that weird stuff you’re thinking about.”

“I wasn’t.”

We all see her blush and look of guilt, though. Poor darling. There goes her dreams.

“Plus, just think about how long it would take. The kid’ll be in college by the time we get anything. No go, Percival dear.”

“Fine, then what’s your plan, huh? You gonna intimidate the Greater San Fran population with your glare?”

“You’re just sore because I got more wontons than you did.”

“Because he was afraid of you! I was nice and I got freaking two. Two!”

“Silence!” Luci yells, shoving Percy’s foot away and coming to her feet to pace, her face all kinds of wicked as she starts thinking. “It occurs to me that all the names on that list belong to some of the wealthiest men in the country.”

“Oooo, your baby daddy loaded,” Percy coos, getting a glare from us all.

Like I care about that right now. In fact, the thought of having to go to some rich guy who was enough of a dick to have me thrown out of a hotel is not making me happy.

“My point being that we should be able to find him if we can land some of the bigger jobs we’ve looked into. There are at least four functions in the next two months that Althea threw our way, and they’re high-end events. The elite will all be there. What I propose is we get all the guest lists ready and start comparing names. If we can get at least half of those guys to one event and you can get a look at them, we should be able to narrow it down considerably.”

Okay, I’m liking this plan a lot. It should be simple, right? All I have to do is take a look at the guys, and if they’re not even close to what I remember, I can just eliminate them and move on.

Suddenly I’m excited by the prospect of catering another high-end event and rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. Well, I’m excited that it’s affording me this one ray of hope.

“This is good,” Indie muses, finally giving up on ragging me as her own wicked anticipation starts bubbling. “We can make sure Callie signs everyone in by invitation. You can keep the list under the guest list and go from there. Damn, Luci, where’d you get those brains? I met your mom, dad, and your other siblings. Are you perhaps adopted?”

We all crack up and Luci threatens to call her mom, her eyes sparkling when Indie cringes. We all love and adore her family, though it’s a well-known fact that they’re all a little dim. Lib Braxton and her husband, Oliver, are just…easygoing and head-in-the-clouds type of people.

I once asked Aunt Lib why men needed nipples and she was genuinely stumped for a few minutes before she smiled at me and said that maybe God didn’t notice that they don’t have boobs.

We still crack up about that one on a regular basis anytime we see a bare-chested man. When I asked Gruffy, just to mess with her, she scarred me for life by saying that men had erotic zones that make sex more interesting.

No thanks, do not wanna imagine my toothless grandmother licking and biting Gramps’s nipples when they were younger. Gruesome.

“Okay, ladies, we have a plan.”

***

Thank God I wore the black dress instead of the royal blue one that Indie set out for me earlier or I’d have pit stains. It hasn’t even been half an hour since I took up my station at the door to welcome guests for Althea’s birthday celebration.

She’s one of the few women we went to school with and grew up with who married well but still kept her personality intact instead of turning into a brain-dead A-hole.

She’s been hiring us for these events since we branched out from the food truck after college and started building Delights, and she’s currently helping me in my mission to find the father of my baby.

Some of the other stuff we have coming up in the next few weeks are parties she recommended us for to a friend of her husband. Right now we’re busy, busy, busy—something I’d always prayed and dreamed about since we started with one women’s luncheon and a thing that one of Indie’s old tattoo clients did for the needy in his neighborhood.

We still do that block party, one day every six months. We do it at a reduced rate and Dot even managed to guilt a local supermarket into donating some of the produce we need.

But tonight’s event is nothing near as simple as those events, and for that I am on the verge of a meltdown. I’ve met and welcomed at least ten people so far, and I’ve crossed off three names.

One guy was clearly besotted with his wife and hardly even noticed that I was standing right in front of him. It was so sweet that I got all teary and almost begged them to take me home with them just so I can share in their happy vibes. I need happy vibes right now, all I have is puking and Indie’s amusement at my predicament.

The other two, well one guy had a very unbecoming toupee. I know it wasn’t him, despite the grey eyes, because I remember oral sex at one point in my night of sexy sin and it included a lot of hair pulling on my part. Good-bye, Wig Guy.

The other was hot, seriously freaking hot, and I actually imagined my vagina doing a slow slide down my leg to get at him, but his eyes were a light green and so he had to go.

              “Hi.”

I look up from my list to see a hottie with sandy blond hair and dark blue eyes grinning down at me, and I find myself smiling back at his infectious good mood.

“Oh, hi. Sorry, I spaced a little. Blame it on the kid, he’s sucking out my last few brain cells,” I say, rubbing affectionately at my tiny bump.

He grins and seems to brighten even more when he gets my meaning.

“Oh no, sweetheart, you’re taken? You just broke my heart right down the middle.”

My giggle is totally schoolgirlish and I’d be ashamed if I cared that I’m being an idiot. I just can’t seem to, though, because the guy is so cute and sweet and kind that I wish he was the one.

“I seriously doubt that, cutie, but I’ll take the compliment and hold it close for when I start looking like a whale.”

That naughty grin is back and he shakes his head, his blue eyes taking in the very slight swell of my tummy.

“Darling, I doubt seriously that you could be anything but gorgeous, no matter how pregnant you get. In fact, I’d bet a mill easy you’ll be even more gorgeous than you are now.”

I like flirtatious men. Playfulness is one of those things that turns me on. Damn me for not seeing this hottie first.

“Okay, sugar lips. What’s your name? And don’t you dare tell me you’re the Leonard Basil whom Althea warned me about or I swear my heart will break.”

His bark of laughter draws the attention of the people behind him waiting to enter, and I thoroughly enjoy the twinkle in his eyes when he looks back at me.

“Freddie Cage at your service, fair maid. And Althie is right, watch out for Basil. The man’s got a wandering eye and grabby hands.”

He leaves with one more wink and I’m smiling through the next hour as I cross a good few names off my list. By the time I’m done, I’m down to a cool ten candidates and I feel like life’s definitely looking up.

“Good God who was the looker who was flirting with you earlier?” Luci demands when I walk into the kitchen to check on the arrangement of mini cakes that Gill ordered on the sly for his wife.

Gosh, to be loved enough that a man actually wants you to eat the things you like instead of calling you fat. My dream.

“His name was Freddie Cage and he was, indeed, a looker. And a good personality, too.”

Luci looks about ready to start panting with her tongue out of her mouth as we both peep through the kitchen door at the room that is officially over capacity.

“I call dibs. I freaking call dibs on that one, Callie. I think I just about set my panties on fire when I saw him smile. Be still, my heart.”

It feels good to giggle when her avaricious little eyes scan the room like a puma stalking prey and she finally gives up with a scowl and scrunched nose.

“It’s okay, I’ll definitely find my prince later. Whew. He just about had me begging for his babies. Hey! Can I steal your method and get pregnant by him with a one-nighter?”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

***

Jack

I hate parties and hobnobbing with “my peers,” as my parents like to term those vultures. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of good, honest people within my social set that I would consider donating a kidney to, but most of them are complete idiots.

It’s ironic then that I happen to run my mom’s charities and that I not only have to make sure the parties are a hit, but I also have to attend each and every one of them as the face of the Levins’ charitable organizations.

Like I don’t already have a full enough plate as Dad’s VP while also running my own brokerage firm that Freddie and Woody keep going, thank God.

Many people would look at me, see a billionaire, and think I’m a lazy, silver-spooned little asshole, but the truth is that I work harder than anyone I know.

I’ve always had to as the only child and heir to the Levin fortune, and I know that Mom, Dad and Gramps would never accept anything less than complete commitment from me.