I let my forehead fall to the bar as she continued to ramble.
“We say we’re going to audit him and then we kidnap him. Julian has this spare room where we could keep him.”
“Jo. Jo. Jo,” I groaned, rocking my head back and forth across the bar. This was a complete waste of time and money.
“I’m not good at this sort of thing. Remember when the theater teacher, Mr. Finch, kicked me out of The Wizard of Oz in the 7th grade because I didn’t act with enough soul?”
Oh Jesus.
I sat up and motioned to the bartender, prepared to scrap the plan all together, but then I smelled Hunter’s spicy cologne. He approached the empty chair beside Jo and I froze.
“What’s a girl like you doing sitting up here alone on a night like this at a bar?” he asked.
I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. He’d just jumbled about fourteen pickup lines together, hoping one of them would stick. I reached into the front pocket of my hoodie and pressed play on my tape recorder.
“Oh, uh…” Josephine fidgeted in her chair, unable to think of something charming to respond with. I kicked her foot and she giggled. “Just enjoying a drink.”
“Is this your friend?” he asked, pointing to me.
I turned away so quickly that I nearly broke my neck. My blonde hair was tucked up under my beanie, but if he saw my face, he’d recognize me right away.
“Oh, her?” Josephine asked with a high-pitched voice. “She’s just a, uh, a…one of those ladies from the local convent or something. She goes around to the bars to try to save souls.”
“Is that so? Well I hope I don’t see her at my bar, at the restaurant I own.”
“Wow, you own a restaurant? That’s so exciting!”
“It sure is sweetie. Hunter Smith, nice to meet ya,” he oozed. “What are you drinking?”
She flinched back and her elbow collided with my spine.
“Ouch,” I hissed, only loud enough for her to hear.
“Just a martini. Nothing special.”
“Well I think a special lady like yourself deserves special attention. Why don’t you come over to the booth with me and some friends? We have bottle service.”
Yes. YES. This is what I needed.
She hesitated, fumbling for an excuse not to follow him, but then I delivered a highly discreet message through a series of coughs, sneezes, and sniffles. “Go.” Cough. “With.” Cough. “Him.”
“What? Did the nun just say something?” Hunter asked.
Jo scooted her barstool back. “She’s been saying it all night, ‘go with him’, meaning Jesus I guess. Let’s get away from her.”
I peered over my shoulder just in time to watch him lead her back to his corner of the bar. He put his hand on her lower back and she sidestepped away from him with a laugh. Oh god. I could only imagine the sort of drivel coming out of his mouth. Hopefully she’d managed to turn on her recorder before he dragged her off.
“You look like the president of the Dead Poets Society.”
Motherfucker. I would have recognized that deep voice anywhere.
I turned to my left just as Dean took a seat at the bar beside me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, peering behind him for Julian. If he stomped over and punched Hunter in the face for flirting with Jo, my whole plan would be ruined.
“Josephine can’t keep a secret,” he said, waving down the bartender so he could order a drink.
That two-timing whoreface. She deserved to be Hunter’s bait for the night.
“And?” I asked, scooting closer to him.
His brown eyes cut over to me and his lips curled up into a smirk. “And I’m going to help.”
My jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait. You’re not going to make me sit through some chastising speech about how I should have let you handle it?”
He laughed and turned to me. His knee brushed mine and his hand dropped to my thigh. I stared there as he continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other day. I’ve tried handling it my way and it didn’t work. I’m willing to try your way now.”
I nodded, completely in shock that he was on board with my plan. If I’d been a betting person, I’d have put a million dollars on Dean sabotaging the scheme. “So then where’s your disguise?” I asked with a smirk.
“Ah,” he said, dipping his free hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and extracting a small brown mustache.
I burst out laughing as he pressed it on above his upper lip. Beneath it, he was still as suave as ever: smooth, wavy hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and a fitted black suit. However, with the mustache in place, it was completely impossible to take him seriously.
“How do I look?” he asked.
I laughed. “You look like Tom Selleck.”
He smiled, causing the mustache’s cheap adhesive to fail on one side. “Did you come up with code names for the night?”
“Hmm, we could be Bonnie and Clyde,” I suggested.
“A little too obvious.”
I tapped my finger on the bar. “What about Sam and Frodo?”