“Really?” I scrunch my nose at her as I settle back against the cushions. “You sure about that?”
“I…I…” Twin spots of red appear on her cheekbones. “I’m calling security.”
“Go right ahead,” I say, searching for a magazine on the end table beside me. They’re all boring business crap — TIME, The New Yorker, The Economist. I glance back at the receptionist briefly and find she’s glaring at me.
I sigh. “You’ll just have to track me down after security escorts me out. Because, as I said before… You’re going to be having some computer problems very shortly, and I have a feeling Mr. West will want to chat with me about them.”
Miss Perfect is practically quivering with outrage at my brazen disregard for her orders. “I’m calling security, now,” she repeats in a haughty tone.
I smile blandly. “You do that. I’ll just sit here and wait. And in precisely…” I glance at my watch. “Two minutes, without lifting a finger, I’m going to make your CEO appear right here in this lobby, like magic.” I sweep my arms through the air like a magician preforming on stage in Las Vegas.
She huffs, pivots on her Louboutins, and struts back to her desk. I have to fight off laughter as I watch her snatch her phone from its cradle with righteous indignation.
Turning back to the magazines, I spy a flash of pink amidst all the black and blue bindings, and pull it from the bottom of the stack. The glossy cover proclaims LUSTER in magenta — one of those terrible girly rags full of articles like “ZUMBA YOUR WAY TO A BETTER BOD!” — and I wonder what it’s doing amidst the snore-worthy business magazines.
My eyes move to the name in the address box.
PHOEBE WEST
I snort. I should’ve known.
I’ve barely flipped past the first page when the elevator doors chime open. Moe and Curly both barrel out, eyes wild and slightly paler than normal. When they catch sight of me on the couch, they slam to a halt and gape with a mixture of shock and fear.
“Hi, boys!” I call, waggling my fingers at them.
“You!” Moe hisses, staring at me. “What did you do to our system?”
“Little old moi?” I ask, batting my lashes. “Why, nothing, of course. I was busy playing Solitaire.”
The receptionist is on her feet, gaze swiveling from me to Moe to Curly with varying levels of alarm. “What’s going on?”
“We need to speak to Mr. West right away.” Curly is wringing his hands and looks like he’s about to revisit his breakfast. “There’s an issue with our computer network. It’s somehow been… crippled.”
The receptionist’s gaze slides to me. Her expression is not a friendly one.
“Ta-da!” I exclaim, making jazz-hands — as any good magician would, in this scenario. Rising to my feet, I drop my words to a whisper. “And now, for my next trick…”
“Patricia, why am I locked out of my computer?” a familiar voice carries from the wide hallway to the left of the reception area. All four of us turn to watch as the tall, golden-haired CEO strides into the room, his features set in a frown. “It won’t recognize my password and—”
Parker’s words dry up when he catches sight of his secretary on her feet. I see his face morph from frustrated to puzzled as he takes in Moe and Curly, who are practically falling over themselves in their haste to apologize.
“Mr. West, we take full responsibility—”
“We had no idea she was going to—”
By the time those hazel eyes finally lock on mine, my heart is pounding so hard inside my chest I’m sure it’s audible twenty floors beneath us. I see a flash of recognition in his stare as he takes me in, from the top of my head all the way down to my cheap-ass heels.
“You,” he says, cutting off Moe and Curly’s rambles with a single word. His voice is low with amusement and something else — something that makes my pulse quicken.
I clear my throat. “Me.”
His mouth twitches. “I had a feeling you’d be showing up.”
My eyes narrow. “You took something of mine. Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”
“Darling…” He shakes his head. “There’s always a choice.”
Not in the mood to deconstruct that comment, I tear my eyes away from him and glance over at Patricia, the receptionist, who is staring at me with open hostility.
“Like magic, right?” I stage-whisper just to piss her off. “Tickets are available at the box office. I’m here till next week.”
“Mr. West.” Moe takes a hesitant step toward Parker. “I can explain.” He jabs a finger in my direction. “This woman is an imposter! A deceiver!”
“Moe, this isn’t an episode of Game of Thrones.” I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. “You can just say she tricked us into helping her.”
“We didn’t help you!” Curly looks queasier than ever. “Sir, I promise you, we were in no way a part of her schemes—”
“Could you two be more dramatic?” I roll my eyes. “Schemes. As if flirting with you for two seconds until you folded like a lawn chair and gave me access to the secure network took any brain power at all.”