Best Laid Plans - Robyn Kelly (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) 📗

I’ll return it tomorrow. I know where he lives. I’ll address it to The Pervert in 2201. I roll my wet clothes up and leave them by the sink, with my bra buried deep inside. I’m not going to risk flashing any underwear to his smirking smile.

It’s pretty obvious by now that Jackson wasn’t trying to drug Ms. It. She seems quite capable of doing that on her own. They either live together, or they’re dating. He’s probably trying to control her behavior “for her own good.” I’ve seen it before—and lived it before. Trying to protect someone from the consequences of their actions. I could share with him my lifetime of experience, if I wasn’t supposed to be working right now.

I open the door as quietly as possible. Stealth is going to be my best weapon. Lurch is busy cleaning up the worst of the mess, and Ms. It is passed out on the sofa. Her hair has fallen to the side, and now I can see that she is in one of these same black dresses—probably a size two. He must put all his women in it. That’s why it comes in every size. I wonder whether it’s too late to slip back into my wet work dress.

Jackson is at the front door, letting another man in. What did he say to the guard? His head of technology. The guy doesn’t look old enough to shave.

“Sorry it took so long. One of the elevators is out of service.”

Jackson hands the boy wonder my phone. “I haven’t seen one of these since high school,” the kid squeaks.

“Was that this afternoon?” All heads turn toward me, but it’s Jackson who holds my attention. He’s staring at me, and I’m not sure whether he’s imagining me naked, or planning how to dispose of my body. Either way, it’s a dangerous look, and he’s focused on the dress. The uniform for his harem.

“What’s your password?”

His voice jolts me out of my concubine fantasy. “I am not telling you my password.”

Junior doesn’t even look up from the phone. “I don’t need it. There’s not a phone I can’t hack. And this is barely a phone.”

Looking at these three men, I realize that they represent the dating pool in a nutshell. A master of technology. A master of women. And Lurch. The tough choices us single women have to make. If these were the last three men on earth, who would I choose? Right now, I’m leaning toward Lurch. At least he cleans. Unless I was expected to repopulate the planet. Then it would have to be Jackson.

I finally have enough distance to see the whole package, so I take in the view of that man. He’s wearing jeans, and they fit him perfectly. They’re stretched tightly in the thighs and butt yet look loose in the waistband (he probably suffers from washboard abs). He’s wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and a black leather jacket. All that beauty wasted on an arrogant jerk.

The moppet holds my phone up to Jackson. “Is this the picture?”

Jackson nods. “It’s not in the cloud, is it?”

The whiz kid actually snorts! “Not on this phone.” He presses a few keys. “Okay, it’s gone.” He hands my phone to Jackson, who holds it out to me. As much as I want to lunge for it, I approach slowly in case it’s a trap. Before I can reach it, he takes the phone back.

He’s toying with me, and any sympathy I have for his situation disappears. “Is this your idea of fun? It’s very immature.”

He punches something into my phone, and flips it closed.

“I think you’d find my idea of fun much worse than this. Ron—” Lurch drops another bottle into the trash and comes to a stop next to Jackson. “Ron will take you downstairs and hand you the phone when you’re out of camera range.” Ron takes my phone, and Jackson leans into me. “Text me if anyone goes missing.”

I notice Ms. It is lying on her back, so I give him some free advice. “You should turn her over. If she gets sick again, you don’t want her choking on her vomit.” Jackson has a lot to learn about being codependent. “I’ll have your dress cleaned and mail it back to you.”

“Keep it, for all the inconvenience.”

I bristle. “I’d rather return it. I don’t want you to think I have a price.”

Lurch—I mean Ron—leads me to the door. I suddenly remember my wet clothes and slip into the bathroom to grab them. Returning to the living room, I swear I hear Jackson tell the wunderkind, “I want everything you can get.” Is he talking about me? I’m about to confront them when Ron’s paw grabs my arm, leads me into the hall, and onto the waiting elevator.

The ride down is long and silent. I can see my phone in his hand. Barely. He has large hands, too, but they aren’t anything special. It’s so quiet, I decide to start talking. If nothing else, it will annoy Ron. “Have you worked for Jackson long?”

He doesn’t respond, or even turn. He just keeps staring ahead. That doesn’t stop me. “Are you it, or is there a whole security team to protect him from women?” His face is a mask. He could be in the Queen’s Guard with one of those big, black, fuzzy hats. Although the man doesn’t need anything that adds to his height.

When we finally reach the ground floor, Ron grabs me by the arm once again, and guides me (though it feels as if he’s dragging me) out of the elevator. I flash my biggest smile to the security guard. “Thanks for all your help!” Kill them with kindness is my other motto.

Once we’re outside, Ron hands me my phone. As I grab it, he heads back to the building, and I can’t resist one last try. “Ron, what name should I use when I send this dress back?”

He doesn’t turn around. He must think I am going to take his picture. “Send it to Current Occupant.”

Boy, these guys don’t give anything away. Except little black dresses.

I hurry back to the party. I feel awful leaving Robert alone for so long. I flip my phone open to text him, and see my last message was sent to a number I don’t recognize. The message is, “I will ruin you.” What? He wants to ruin me? And then it clicks. He has a message sent from my phone threatening him. If I were to say anything, he could show it to the police.

Oh, this is so not over!

It’s barely eleven, but based on the number of people standing in line at the valet parking, the party must be ending early. It is a Thursday night, and people have to work tomorrow. Still, they don’t usually all leave at once.

I stop at the front bar to stash my wet dress, and receive a very judgmental glare from Kyle. I can explain myself later, after I find Robert. He’s standing by the DJ and has aged a year since I’ve been gone. The fire marshal paid a surprise visit. The ladies’ restroom overflowed. But worst of all, Lois got hold of a long blonde wig, and decided she was going to go Lady Godiva. She wanted Luke to be her horse, but when he hid in the men’s room, Lois decided Kyle would do.

I remember Kyle’s judgmental look. I finish Robert’s story for him. “She went behind the bar barefoot and stepped on some broken glass.”

Robert looks at me. “How did you know?”

I sigh. “Where is she?”

“She’s in the kitchen. And she’s still in her Lady Godiva outfit.”

“You mean her birthday suit.”

“Potato, potata.”

When I open the kitchen door, I find Lois huddled in the corner on a bench, wearing nothing but a cheap nylon wig and some gauze wrapped around her foot. She is sipping champagne directly from the bottle and feeling sorry for herself. I grab a chef’s jacket off the kitchen coat rack.

“You must be cold. Why don’t you put this on?”

She stands up sheepishly, sets the bottle down, and lets me slip the jacket on her. I can’t help but notice that her body is in very good shape. I just don’t think that I should be seeing all of it.

She sits back down. “I made a fool of myself,” she whimpers, taking another swig.

I plop down next to her. “It’s your birthday. What better time?”

Lois is too intelligent a woman to believe that, and the look she gives me lets me know it. She offers me the bottle. I take a swig, and pass it back to her.

She stares at the label. “I’m a middle child. I wasn’t the firstborn and I wasn’t the baby. I was even born on my older sister’s birthday, for God’s sake. All my life I’ve thought, ‘My turn is coming. It’s just around the corner. My special, secret powers are going to blossom and people are going to notice me.’” She takes another gulp.

A sense of humor is the best antidote for self-pity. “I think people noticed you tonight,” I quip as I put my hand out for the bottle.

She laughs and passes it to me. “Careful what you wish for, right? I’m surrounded by younger, smarter, prettier people, and I think my time is over. All that’s left is to put as much money in my retirement account as I can, so I’ll be able to afford a tiny little condo in Palm Springs, early bird discount dinners for one, and cable to watch Lifetime movies all day.”

Lois forgets I’ve seen her home. She doesn’t strike me as someone who’s hurting for money. The bottle is almost empty, so I only take a small swallow before handing it back.

“I just want people to think I’m special. No one’s ever told me I’m special.”

I don’t think I