Chapter 7 #2
I need to call Jett and let him know about this situation. Soon. But before I tell him how much money it’s going to cost, I want to have the solution to the problem all ironed out.
And that means I need to wait until after we talk to the showgirl and find out what the story is about the wedding band.
“I’m in a hurry, Bigelow. I need to make the game’s face-off. Can you check the security videos now?”
“I’ll get right on it.” He disappears down the hall and I check my watch. I only have an hour before I need to get to the game to catch the introductions. Maybe an hour and a half for the opening face-off. What are my chances of finding and talking to the showgirl by then?
I don’t know, but I’m not waiting in my hotel room wearing a hole in the carpet from pacing in circles. Leaving the room, I head straight for the elevator and push the down arrow. I need some air. And some coffee.
Almost immediately, the door opens and I jump back, stunned.
It’s her—the showgirl from last night. I almost don’t recognize her because she’s wearing sunglasses and is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She’s no less gorgeous with her tall slim bikini-model figure showing to perfection. I find my speech box and she smiles in recognition.
“It’s you,” I say. Not my most poised greeting. “I mean, who are you?”
“I’m looking for Brody,” she says. “Have you seen him?” She gives me a sly smile as if she knows I’ve seen him—all of him, every last glorious naked speck of him.
“Yes, but he’s not here.” I grab her arm. “I need to talk to you. It’s important. Brody wants me to ask you a few questions.” Her look tells me she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“I don’t know,” she hesitates. But I take her arm and guide her a few steps in the direction of my room. “Brody’s room is that way.” She turns to the other end of the hallway.
“He’s not there. Who are you?”
She huffs. “My name is Tammi Morrow.”
“Why did you put a wedding band on Brody’s hand?”
Her eyes go wide and she glances up at what looks like a light, but I’m pretty sure it’s a hotel security camera.
“Let’s talk in your room.”
When we get to my room, as soon as we’re inside, she says, “I need my ring back.”
I collapse into a chair, more confused than ever, but confident that she’s not going to bolt. Also, I’m optimistic that I may actually make it to the game in time with the mystery of the showgirl resolved.
Before I can respond, the room phone rings. Bigelow.
I pick up the receiver and face away from the still unidentified woman. “Yes?”
“It’s Bigelow. I got a picture of the woman in question and I know her. Your hunch that she’s a showgirl was correct.”
His news is anticlimactic now that the woman is standing here in my room, but I try to muster some appreciation. “Great. Come up to my room right away.”
I hang up the phone and turn to her.
“Who was that? I don’t want any trouble—”
“Don’t worry. It’s the hotel concierge. Ironically, he was trying to help me find you.”
“Well, here I am. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like my ring back.”
“What makes you think I have it?”
She gives me a smirk like we have some kind of inside joke. “You were all over him last night. If I didn’t snag him first, you would have been the one spending the night with him.”
My face heats up and I know it’s crimson, so I turn toward the door as if I can see through it. I don’t know what to say to her that would convince her she’s wrong, and what I really want to do is ask her if she was serious about the offer of a threesome, but I don’t.
A knock at the door rescues me from having to defend my honor, and I leap to answer it.
It’s Bigelow. “What’s she doing here?” he whispers.
I pull him aside, halfway into the bathroom. “What’s her name?”
“Tammi Morrow. How did you--”
“I ran into her and invited her in.”
“I’m surprised she’s the one because I’ve seen her at the hotel before with her boyfriend.”
“He’s her fiancée. It was his ring that she put on Brody’s finger. Her fiancée gave it to her when they were supposed to get married, and they broke up instead.”
He nods as if he’s following the story, and I’m not so sure, but it doesn’t matter. I pull him into the room where she’s sitting, waiting for us.
“This is Bigelow. He works at—”
“I know,” she says. “Can I get my ring and get out of here now?”
I finally get to ask her the million-dollar question.
“One more question. Why did you put the ring on Brody’s finger?”
“We were playing games.” She shrugs.
“More importantly,” Bigelow asks, “Why did you take his clothes?”
Bigelow has his arms folded, staring at her, and that makes my job easy.
“I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t get the ring off his finger, so I took his clothes and wallet as collateral.”
I arch a brow. “You took his clothes for collateral?”
She laughs. “No, that was strictly personal. He’s this gorgeous specimen, and he knows it. I thought he needed to be knocked down a peg, so I took his clothes.” She laughs again. “I wish I was there this morning when he found they were missing.”
“Where are they?”
“Don’t worry about it. All his clothes are packed away in his luggage downstairs with the valet.”
I hold out my hand for her to give me the wallet, and she complies silently.
As she slaps the worn leather billfold into my hand, I breathe a deep sigh of relief.
Then I look through it to make sure, as best I can, that nothing’s missing.
Without being told, Bigelow goes to the phone and calls the valet about Brody’s luggage.
“I don’t get you,” I say after finding a wad of cash, several credit cards, and Brody’s ID all intact. “You were ready to get married yesterday afternoon, and last night you decided to play games with a stranger.”
She shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “I… I’d been drinking, and maybe I was a little high.” She lifts her chin. “You would be too if you’d been ditched.”
“Believe me, honey. I’ve been ditched. And I handled it nothing like you did.” Then I work up my nerve to ask her one more question as my tummy pirouettes like the ballerina I never was.
“Did you drug him?”
She aims her eyes at the floor, and I have my answer.
“Shit. What did you give him?”
“Nothing serious. It was harmless really. Just—”
“No wonder he was so hazy about everything this morning. He couldn’t remember how the ring got on his finger.”
“He’ll be fine, I swear. His memory will all come back.”
“It better, Lady, or we’ll be bringing authorities in—”
Tammi’s eyes widen, and she bursts into tears, crumpling to the bed and holding her face in her hands.
Shit. Am I being too hard on her? She returned everything she took, apparently only holding Brody’s things as collateral for her wedding band.
Maybe she’s telling the truth that whatever she gave him was harmless.
He had started remembering things. And she had just been ditched by her fiancée.
I soften up. I can’t help myself when my damn empathy kicks in.
“Look, as long as Brody’s okay, you’ll get your ring back and—”
“Then let’s go.” She stands, her tears gone in an instant.
“Not now. He’s not here.”
“I don’t care. Just give me the ring and let’s get this done with.”
I hesitate and exchange a glance with Bigelow. “He’s wearing the ring.”
“He’s still wearing it?” Her voice rises with panic. “I can’t let my fiancée find out—”
“We’ll get it off him as soon as we can get to a jeweler.”
Bigelow nods. “I’ll arrange an appointment for immediately after the game—”
“Shit,” I mutter. “He has an appearance after the game. Maybe we can get it taken care of in between. It should be quick and private.”
“I need the ring right away. I can’t go back home without it.”
“Then you stay here. With Bigelow. He’ll take care of you. I need to get to the game.”
“The NHL All-Star game?”
“Yes. Didn’t you know—”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t exchange names or details. The only reason I know his name is Brody Holden is because I had his wallet.”
“Thank you for returning it.”
She hesitates a few beats. “You’d better get my ring back immediately after the game.”
I want to ask her or what? But I don’t dare tempt fate.
“Of course. And we need to keep this whole…” I wave my hands. “Affair... strictly confidential.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can’t let my fiancée find out.”
Checking my watch, I mutter to myself. “I have to get going if I want to make the opening face-off—which I do.”
“I’ll manage things here,” Bigelow says. “I’ll arrange a private appointment with a discreet jeweler and keep Tammi company—here in your room if you don’t mind. Maybe we can watch the game on TV.”
“Swell,” the showgirl says without enthusiasm.
“Don’t you have to work?” I ask Bigelow.
“My shift ended an hour ago.” He smiles, and I know I’m in trouble because I’ll need to compensate him extra for working after hours.
My insides tumble around a little more because I’m banking on the agency paying for all this, but there’s no guarantee that Jett won’t make me pay, or that he won’t fire me as soon as he finds out. ”
“I’ll call you when we’re on our way back from the game.”
Leaving them in my room with only a slight cringe of concern owing to my optimistic view of humanity, I rush down the hallway, not wanting to spend another minute in Tammi’s company.
I hit the stairwell, ready to ramble down fifteen flights in order to avoid waiting for the elevator—I’m not sure why.
My unease with Tammi grows with every flight of stairs because all I can think about is her laughing and naked with Brody, playing games, as she put it, after she drugged him—and I don’t care how harmless she claims it was.
Plus, the worst is that she was engaged to another man hours before her game-playing, and now she’s apparently re-engaged.
Besides, I wonder as I clatter down more flights of stairs than I normally see in a month, what kind of woman steals a man’s clothes for the fun of it?
It’s no wonder I don’t like her. There—I admit it.
I swear on my late grandma’s soul it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s tall and gorgeous and spent a decadent night with Brody.
Because he’s only my client who I’m supposed to be looking out for.
There is not even a hint of an element of jealousy.
I’m a professional, not a jealous girl with a stupid crush.
I’m smart and successful and independent. I never aspired to be someone’s arm-candy, and not just because I’d never qualify in a million years. I’m happy to be who I am. I should be, because I’m special. I’m The Bomb, on my way to the top in my profession.
As long as I can get through this weekend without running into any more problems.