Chapter Four
On Monday morning, Chloe sat at the worktable set up in her dining alcove, a coil of thin silver wire at her left elbow and a plastic tray full of semi-precious gemstones in front of her.
She was working on her third pair of earrings of the morning, a pair of hoops a toddler could put a fist through.
With the bright overhead light illuminating her workspace, she was using the delicate wire to attach fat chunks of amethyst, roughly cut and polished, to the hammered silver of the hoop.
She’d forgotten to turn on music, so the only sound other than the quiet click and tap of her tools was the hum of the heater and the occasional muttered curse when the whisper-thin wire slipped away from her.
And, of course, the banging and clanging and clatter from the demo taking place below.
It had started at seven o’clock sharp, and would’ve woken her if she hadn’t already been up.
She’d dragged herself sleepily into the shower a full two hours before she would have normally cracked an eyelid, then dressed with far more care than was usual for her day off.
Since the aunts had made her the point of contact for the demo, she’d wanted to be presentable in case Knox or Jesse needed something.
Which was why she was making earrings while wearing a pushup bra and mascara.
An uncomfortable pushup bra, she amended—though she wasn’t sure there was any other kind—and tried to wiggle it into a more comfortable position.
“Useless,” she muttered, and with the underwire continuing to take indecent liberties, bent back to the earrings.
Her phone chimed, and she paused to squint at the text from Bailey.
Picking up breakfast and coming over. What do you want?
With her stomach rumbling, Chloe tapped out a reply.
Something with bacon and lots of cheese.
That got a thumbs-up, and Chloe picked up the next little chunk of amethyst.
Bailey must have been already on her way because barely fifteen minutes later she was strolling through Chloe’s front door in black jeans, black boots and a bright red jacket, her blue streaked hair in high pigtails.
A yawning Gwen shuffled in behind her in a puffy white coat, a drink carrier with three coffees in her hand.
“Got you a breakfast biscuit, double bacon, double cheese,” she said, holding up a brown paper bag with a spreading grease stain. “Also coffee.”
“I got the coffee,” Gwen protested and yawned again.
“She got the coffee.” Bailey set the bag down on the counter that separated Chloe’s kitchen from the rest of the open living space and pulled out a wrapped sandwich. “You want this now or later?”
“Now.” Chloe got up from the table and crossed to the kitchen, taking the sandwich. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” Bailey dug into the bag and came up with another sandwich. “Gwen?”
“I can’t eat that this early.” Coffee in hand, Gwen wandered into the living room to curl up on the sofa.
Chloe unwrapped her breakfast. “Ugh, there’s egg on this.”
“It comes with egg,” Bailey pointed out.
“I don’t like it with egg.”
“Then take it off. Do you want the cappuccino or the mocha?”
“Mocha.”
“Damn.” Bailey passed it over, then stripped off her jacket to reveal a black scoop-necked sweater and stepped around the counter into the kitchen. “Where’s your sugar bowl?”
“Counter, left of the fridge.” Chloe peeled the egg off her sandwich and tossed it back in the greasy bag. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“And the coffee,” Gwen chimed in.
“And the coffee.” Picking up both, Chloe shuffled into the living room to curl up on the sofa opposite Gwen. “You okay?”
“Tired,” Gwen said, sipping her coffee without opening her eyes. “Bailey woke me up at six-thirty.”
“Why?”
“Because I had an idea,” Bailey said from the kitchen. “You’re out of ketchup.”
“It’s behind the milk,” Chloe said and bit into her sandwich. The delightful combination of biscuit, bacon, and processed cheese had her sighing in delight. It was absolutely disgusting, and absolutely delicious. “What idea?”
“What?”
Chloe swallowed. “What idea?” she repeated.
“A brilliant one.” Bailey carried her food over to the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Are you wearing a pushup bra?”
“Yes,” Chloe mumbled around a mouthful of food.
“Why?” Gwen wondered.
Bailey rolled her eyes. “Do you have to ask? I assume all that banging means they’re downstairs.”
Chloe sipped her mocha. “And next door.”
“The apartment.” Bailey nodded. “Is she going to take it?”
“I don’t know.” Chloe turned to Gwen. “Are you going to take it?”
Gwen took off her glasses, used the blanket spread across the back of the sofa to polish the lenses, then slid them back on. “I’m thinking about it.”
“She’s going to take it,” Bailey said and, unfolding the paper wrap on her sandwich, squirted a glob of ketchup onto the corner. “She always does that with her glasses when she’s made up her mind but she thinks she hasn’t.”
“I do not,” Gwen protested, then blinked. “Do I?”
“You do,” Bailey confirmed then turned to Chloe. “Anyway, back to my idea.”
“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Chloe asked Gwen.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Gwen said and downed the rest of her coffee. Her glossy brown hair was in a messy pile on top of her head, her glasses were sliding down her nose, and under the puffy white coat she still wore her pajamas.
“That sounds ominous.”
“Actually, it’s a good idea,” Gwen allowed. “I just wish she’d had it about four hours later.”
Bailey dipped her breakfast sandwich into the pile of ketchup. “I can’t help when genius strikes.”
“You can help when genius drags me out of bed,” Gwen countered.
“I wanted to catch her before she drove to Michigan.”
“It’s Monday morning,” Gwen pointed out. “Nobody bangs on Monday morning, even swingers.”
Bailey licked ketchup off the heel of her hand. “I’ve banged on Monday mornings.”
“No reasonable person bangs on Monday mornings.”
Her mouth full of food, Bailey just shot up a middle finger.
“Is someone going to tell me what this idea is?” Chloe asked, wiggling to get comfortable. The bra was pinching again.
Gwen jerked her chin. “Tell it, genius.”
Bailey swallowed, took a gulp of coffee, then wiped her hands on a napkin. “We think you should hire a sex worker.”
“For what?” Chloe asked, clueless.
“For your threesome.”
“Yeah, okay.” Chloe chuckled into her coffee, then lowered the cup. “Wait. You’re serious?”
Gwen reached over to snag Bailey’s coffee off the table. “Why not?”
“Hey, that’s mine,” Bailey protested.
“You got me up at six-thirty on my day off,” Gwen reminded her, then turned back to Chloe with her eyebrows raised expectantly. “Well?”
“For one, it’s illegal.”
Bailey waved that away. “It’s like a third-class misdemeanor. At most you’d do sixty days and pay a five-hundred-dollar fine.”
Chloe stared at her, then at Gwen. “What’d she do, look up the statute?”
“Yep.” Gwen gulped coffee, then choked. “God, Bails, how much sugar did you put in this?”
“As much as I wanted, because it’s my coffee.”
“Six-thirty,” Gwen repeated and sipped defiantly. “What’s second?”
“What?” Chloe asked.
“You said ‘first, it’s illegal’,” Gwen reminded her. “What’s second?”
Chloe struggled to shift her brain back into gear. “I can’t afford it.”
“How do you know?” Bailey wanted to know. “You make good tips.”
“Which I’m using to pay off student loans and buy jewelry supplies,” Chloe said, exasperated. “Half the time what’s in my fridge comes from the pub, and I can’t remember the last time I put a full tank of gas in my car.”
“You’ve got some savings, right?” Bailey prompted.
Chloe raked a hand through her hair. “Yeah. But I can’t spend that money. I need it for this summer, for the fair circuit. Entry fees, gas, marketing. Maybe a new car, if mine finally decides to die.”
Gwen and Bailey exchanged a look. “Would you do it if you had the money?” Bailey asked.
Chloe lifted her hands, then let them fall. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, think about it now.”
Flustered, frustrated, Chloe shoved the rest of her breakfast sandwich in her mouth. “Where would I even find a sex worker?” she mumbled.
“Where you find everything,” Gwen said.
Chloe swallowed. “?”
Bailey grinned. “You know they’ve got a team ready to implement that the minute it’s decriminalized. With free delivery.”
“That’s a very disturbing idea,” Gwen decided. “But likely true.”
“Bet. Anyway,” Bailey said, “we found one for you.”
Chloe reached for the phone Bailey held out. “What’s this?”
“Who,” Bailey corrected. “That’s Sawyer, the answer to your threesome dreams.”
Chloe stared at the screen, where possibly the most beautiful man she’d ever seen stared back.
He was white, with short, dark-brown hair swept back from a high forehead.
He had a neatly trimmed beard covering a square jaw and a straight nose over a wide mouth with a full bottom lip that was curved, ever so slightly, in a soft, secret smile.
And framed by lush eyelashes were eyes the color of fine peridots, sparkling with humor and warmth that even through the two-dimensional phone screen had a flutter stirring in her belly.
“Wow.”
Gwen nodded. “That’s what I said.”
“Hot, right?”
Chloe glanced at Bailey. “How’d you find this guy?”
“I’m just that good,” Bailey said grandly.
“You’re so full of shit. One of her clients recommended him,” Gwen told Chloe.
“You couldn’t let me have my moment?” Bailey demanded.
“We’re trying to convince her to hire a sex worker,” Gwen pointed out. “Do you think she’ll feel more comfortable knowing he came with a personal recommendation, or that you dug him out on a Google search?”
“Okay, that’s a good point,” Bailey allowed.
“One of your clients?” Chloe repeated, horrified. “Please tell me you aren’t going around telling people I’m looking for a threesome.”