A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,35
humiliation washed over her.
“Mr. Beale explained that the car is a hobby project of his, and I quite understand. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.” The Realtor looked like she was trying hard not to laugh. Lizzie felt like slapping her.
“It is a shame that your family removed all the furniture already. Houses show so much better when they’re occupied, but I know the family has been in a rather difficult situation. It would be advantageous to turn the electric back on and get the landscape service to do more than mow. I’m doing my best to sell it, but the market is rather slow now that we’re into the off-season—”
“I need to use the bathroom, excuse me.” Lizzie pushed past the woman and heading for the stairs.
“Isn’t the electricity turned off?” the reedy voice called after her.
“It flushes just fine with a bucket of pool water,” hissed Lizzie, her face still burning.
“Anyway, thanks for stopping by,” said Con. “I’ll make sure the place looks neat.”
“So sorry to make a fuss, but obviously this property is rather a challenge anyway, what with the notoriety…”
Lizzie slammed the bathroom door, blocking out the noise. There was no bucket of pool water because they always used the downstairs bathroom. Just a window to stare out at the tree-fuzzed horizon. Make it all go away.
“Lizzie.” She heard Con coming up the stairs. She rubbed her face in her hands, then remembered her makeup. She was wiping smudged eyeliner off with a fingertip when he flung the bathroom door open.
“Do you mind? I’m in the bathroom.”
“I know you aren’t really using it. What did you make all that fuss for? Did you think I was…” He stopped and let a smile creep across his mouth.
“What was I supposed to think? You’re here alone, and a woman comes out of the bedroom?” Irritation pricked at her.
“I couldn’t get rid of her. She kept saying she needed to check on stuff. I was just getting cleaned up when she showed up.”
“You were in the pool?”
“No, I’d gotten out, thank God,” he grinned. “I had a towel on, but I had to come up here to get my clothes. She followed me. Came in to check out the bedroom after I got dressed.”
“Probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to her all year.” Lizzie couldn’t help smiling. She didn’t mind that snotty Realtor thinking she and Con were an item. He was impressively gorgeous. Let her go back to her cronies at the agency and blab about the hunk in the towel at the Hathaway place.
That line of thought stopped her in her tracks. She and Con were not an item. Not any more. He was only here at because she’d roped him into her TV-show scheme. Was she doing this whole phony wedding thing because she wanted the world to see her with Con? To admire and envy her because he was, well, hot?
She felt a blush creeping back.
“What?” Con lifted an eyebrow.
“Nothing. I’m starving, do you have money?”
Gee, that sounded great.
Con smiled. “Yup. Car’s not running though, I’m in media res with the transmission.”
“You are the only person in the known world who would speak Latin while referring to engine repair.”
“I’m a one-off.”
“Thank God for that. We can walk to Main Street and get something to eat there.”
“Sure, I just need to get the car in neutral and push it into the garage. Don’t want the place looking scruffy.”
“Screw her. Leave it right where it is.”
“Okay.”
An extended massage by Con had her feeling almost relaxed the next morning. Her shoulders kinked right up again when Maisie charged at her as she entered the Celebrity Access offices.
“Cajun or Creole?” Maise fired the question at her then looked down at her clipboard, pencil poised as if ready to grade the answer.
“What?”
“Con’s heritage, I know it’s French, but is he Cajun, or Creole? It matters, you know. The food. We’re choosing the menu today.”
“What’s the difference?”
Maisie glanced down at her clipboard. “One is based on French cuisine, and the other is…based on French cuisine.” She raised an eyebrow. “But they’re different.”
“Hmm. How about a bit of both?”
“Why don’t I call Conroy and ask?” Maisie raised an eyebrow.
Lizzie’s pulse jumped. “Cajun. Mudbug Flats is the heart of Cajun country.” Wasn’t that what he said?
“Good. We’re going to bring the chef with us from New York, and I had three lined up to choose from—all native Louisianans—until I found out about this Cajun and Creole thing. This narrows it down to