Homewrecker Incorporated (2 page)

Fantastic, really?

We lay in awkward silence for a few moments. Ty chewed his lip, no doubt trying to come up with an excuse to kick me out.

"So, um, you want me to autograph something for you before you go?"

Smooth, dude.

"Really? That would be so great!" I feigned excitement in the saccharine tone I'd adopted for the job. It was a little trick I'd learned from Lydia who handled most of our professional athletes. I'd only gotten stuck with
Mr. Fantastic
because she was busy tailing a golfer on the PGA tour in North Carolina that week.

"Can you sign my ticket stub from the game?" I got up from the bed and crossed the room to dig the Dolphins ticket stub out of my purse.

Athletes, particularly football players, were easy targets. Like shooting fish in a barrel. All wives had to do was slip their lawyers a couple of hundreds and ironclad infidelity clauses magically appeared in their prenups. Jocks like Ty were either too self-involved to notice or too arrogant to think they could get caught cheating. That was where I came along.

"For sure." He took off the condom, got up, and walked past the trash can to flush the evidence down the toilet.

At least he'd learned that much, although I had no intention of stealing his little swimmers. I had everything I needed thanks to the camera hidden in my purse. The time-stamped and dated ticket he signed--on tape, I might add--was a bonus. He was going to have a hard time pulling out the pathetic "it wasn't me" defense in the divorce proceedings thanks to that extra tidbit.

I shimmied into my panties and then into my skintight tube of teal spandex Lydia claimed was a dress, taking care to retie the halter neck as my breasts stretched the fabric of the neckline, before I slipped on a pair of black stilettos. I fluffed my hair in the dresser mirror until I looked like a slutty hot mess. The corporate men I usually worked tended to prefer a more sophisticated look, but this was a job and when in Rome...

He passed me the signed ticket and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

"Thank you so much!" I tossed my long blonde hair over my shoulder.

"So, um, maybe we can hook up again next time I'm in town," he suggested. 

Not likely because we'd met at a yacht party that night and he didn't have my number. He probably didn't even remember my name, which was as fake as my screams.

"Sure." I smiled as I tucked the ticket into my purse.

"You need me to call you a cab or something?" He opened the door.

Mr. Fantastic's sad attempt at being a gentleman, I see.

"No, I'm good. Thanks again, this was fun."

"All right, good night, then."

When the door closed, I pulled out my phone and started walking toward the elevators.

"I got everything we need and more," I said as soon as Patty picked up. "I'm sending it to you now."

❖

"How was your flight?" I smiled up at Grace as she stepped into my office.

It was good to finally see her in the flesh after playing phone tag and travel roulette for the past few weeks.

"Long." She pulled me in for a quick hug before crumpling into the chair on the other side of my desk.

I knew all too well how taxing the two hour time difference between L.A. and Chicago was on a late-night flight. I'd made the journey several times over the years for various engagements, including the one right before Mr. Fantastic. Coming back from Florida was definitely easier because I gained an hour.

"I'm glad to be home. Mr. Jackson was a tough nut to crack, but once I got him to open up"--Grace paused to let the drama grow thicker--"he was a complete freak!"

"Really?" I grimaced at the thought. 

"Uh-huh. I'm telling you the old white dudes love a little brown sugar." She turned in her chair and slapped her ass for emphasis.

"I'll take your word for it." We both laughed, and I went back to work answering an e-mail when Grace started fidgeting with her hair. "What?"

"So I talked to Patty on the ride over." She gave me a look. "According to her, that video of you and Eric Bennett was something else."

She smirked.

Fucking Patty. She was supposed to set us up with clients, walk them and their attorneys through the evidence we gathered, and cut us our checks. Gossiping about what we did to get that evidence wasn't in her job description. Too bad all the contracts and nondisclosure agreements we signed for our clients didn't apply when she was talking to us; us being me, Grace, Lydia and Bridget, the co-owners of Homewrecker Incorporated. Yes, the name was right on the nose, a sort of joke amongst us girls since we didn't exactly pass out business cards or have a storefront. Our work was by referral only but for official purposes, like our tax returns, we were Mason, Dawson, & Associates, LLP Private Investigators.

"Well?" Grace fished some more for details about my time with Alaina Bennett's husband.

It wasn't as though we weren't constantly talking about what we saw and did with our marks. The topic was standard when we got together, but the Bennett case was one I preferred to forget.

"It wasn't that bad, just some handcuffs and a leather strap or two." I hoped it would be enough to sate her curiosity.

"Oh shit! Eric Bennett is even kinkier than old Mr. Jackson!"

Kinky wasn't the word I would have used to describe it. He was something much, much darker.

"Welcome back, Grace," Bridget Hall said, popping her head in the open doorway. Grace and I jolted at the unexpected interruption.

"Damn it, Bridget! Are you trying to give us heart attacks?" I half-teased, glad for the distraction from the conversation about Eric Bennett.

She was quick on her feet and replied, "I thought stealth was a job requirement around here, boss lady."

"Touché," I said. Bridget was right, after all. "I hate it when you call me boss lady. You own just as much of this place as I do."

I shifted my stern stare from her to Grace, who was just as guilty of treating me as if I was in a position of power over her and the rest of the girls.

"That's only because you're too nice for your own good." The petite redhead shrugged as she looked to Grace for any sign of solidarity.

Grace obliged with a nod. Sure, I'd put up my inheritance money to start the venture, but Grace was the one who'd ultimately talked me into getting into the home-wrecking business in the first place.

"I can think of a few men who would disagree with that statement." I smirked.

One thing was certain: I was very good at my job. Not to say the other girls weren't good. Lydia and Grace were both great, and they were willing to do whatever it took to get the job done, but they favored an investigative approach. Investigation took time. I was more hands on, so to speak. I closed most cases in record time and just happened to satisfy some of my own needs in the process. 

"Hey, Bridge, while you're here, can you take a look at my laptop?" Grace grabbed her bag from the floor.

"Not a problem." 

Bridget took the computer and set it down on my desk to start working her IT magic. The girl was a technology genius and drop-dead gorgeous to boot. It was impossible to understand how she'd made it to the ripe age of twenty-six with her virginity intact. Granted, she was cripplingly shy around strangers and dressed to hide what I happened to know was a stellar body, but she'd been a computer science major in college for God's sake. A self-conscious hot girl in that field was like an injured seal swimming in a cove of killer, albeit nerdy, whales.

Being technologically illiterate, I zoned out when Bridget started talking about firewalls and virus scans. I intended to catch up on e-mails while I waited, but instead only stared at the screen as, despite my best efforts, my thoughts turned back to Eric Bennett. 

The hair on the back of my neck stood, and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. As hard as I tried to forget about him, Grace bringing up that video made my former mark an unwelcome presence in the front of my mind. When I'd bumped into him under the alias of Cynthia Matthews in the lobby of his firm's newest L.A. hotel, he'd been polite and charming. A facade he maintained for several weeks before his true colors bled through. It was fitting I'd posed as an aspiring actress. I'd put on a great show for him and the camera despite the warning bells blaring in my head--the ones I should have listened to. 

"Well, that should take care of the problem," Bridget said, pulling me from my thoughts. "I'm going to head out. I just stopped by to get the burners from your last jobs."

Grace rifled through her bag while I retrieved two phones from the desk drawer. I glanced down at the older one, internally cringing as I recalled the last conversation I'd had on it. I felt lighter the instant Bridget took the only connection Eric Bennett had to me from my hand.

"Farewell, Cynthia Matthews and Gloria Drake," I said, wiping my hands clean of my bogus identity. 

We liked to keep our real initials in our aliases, C.M. for Claudia Mason, G.D. for Grace Dawson, and L.D. for Lydia Davis. The consistency made them easier to remember out in the field.

Bridget didn't work marks because she was ridiculously shy, and a virgin, so no fake names were necessary for her. Not that the rest of us had sex with all of our marks, at least Grace and Lydia didn't, but it was always a possibility if we couldn't get the evidence otherwise.

"So are you going to give me the details on that hunky football player or what?" Grace leaned forward and placed her elbows on my desk.

"Not without a few drinks in me." I smiled as I pulled a bottle of our favorite brandy from the cabinet at the back of my office.

Grace shook her head in disapproval, tapping her finger on the nonexistent watch on her wrist.

"None of that; it's five o'clock somewhere. Besides, this is a tradition." I poured two glasses of brandy and passed one to her. "You and I have shared a glass of this after every one of our Homewrecker Incorporated engagements, and since we both just finished jobs, that means two glasses each. You wouldn't want to jinx our 100 percent success rate after all these years, now would you?"

She let out a dramatic sigh as I raised my glass.

"To Homewrecker Incorporated: conquering the world one cheating asshole at a time."

She lifted her glass to mine with the other hand perched on her hip. "And getting paid in the process!"

We shot the brown liquid as though we were back in college.

"Do you remember when Elizabeth gave us our first bottle of this stuff?" Grace grabbed the bottle to pour our second glasses. "I nearly shit when I looked up how much it cost!"

"Yes, but I think the check she slipped in the card was far more shocking," I said, recalling the large commission she'd paid us after her divorce settlement was finalized.

When we'd agreed to help our friend get proof her abusive husband was cheating, we had no intention of getting paid for the favor. Nor did I intend to go as far as I did to get it, but after weeks of following Joseph Perry and seeing him in countless compromising positions with more than one woman, we could never get the definitive proof of intercourse Elizabeth's lawyer insisted she needed to trigger the infidelity clause in their prenuptial agreement. Under normal circumstances, sleeping with a friend's husband wasn't something I would have ever considered, but Elizabeth was desperate for a way out.

Earning that much money for just a few weeks of work right out of college was far better than the lousy salaries we were making, so Grace did some research and found Patty's firm, which specialized in placing women with our newly discovered skill set with clients.

"Speaking of getting paid, Patty wants a call with us this afternoon," Grace said, picking up her bag.

"That was fast." I turned off the lights as we stepped out of my office. We'd both been home less than twenty-four hours, and we typically had at least a few weeks off between cases, if not more. The home-wrecking business wasn't exactly predictable.

"She wouldn't give any details, but she made it sound as if this job was a pretty big deal, like great-white-whale big."

I raised my eyebrows at her use of the phrase. An engagement that big meant financial security; it was the one we all dreamed of. The one that could send us on our way to retirement.

For me that was the little vineyard I'd been dreaming of buying since my mom took us on a spontaneous trip to Tuscany the summer before my seventeenth birthday. That trip was the last great memory I had of my mom. It was also the spark that ignited my rather intense passion for wine. My thirty-second birthday was right around the corner, and while I might still have a few good years left in my current business, by its nature, it was a young woman's game.

Sure, I could continue running Homewrecker Incorporated, recruit young new talent and serve as more of an agent like Patty. After all, she'd started out just like me who knows how long ago, but that wasn't for me. I liked my work with our marks. It gave me an escape I'd come to crave, but I recognized there were less complicated ways for me to scratch that itch. When my time out in the field was over, I intended to live a much simpler life.

"There was
one
detail she shared I know you're not going to like, but I told her we'd hear her out," Grace continued cautiously as we stepped onto the elevator.

I turned to face her, crossing my arms over my chest.

"The client is local," she blurted out, stepping back out of the elevator just as the doors closed me in alone.