Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,74

ta-tas than your average runway model.”

I glanced down at my own cleavage. “Um, yeah, I’d be happy to, but I won’t fit in model sizes.”

“Oh, no,” Everly said. “Lulu makes clothes for all sizes and the models are all volunteers—just normal people like us, not actual runway models. They plan for that and bring tons of clothes in different sizes so everyone can find something that fits.”

“I’m so into this.” Nora got out her phone and started typing. “I’m texting my boss to see if I can do a write-up on Lulu for my column.”

“I’ll be there,” Hazel said.

Everly’s gaze moved to me. I really wanted to help, but walking a runway? And with dogs underfoot? It sounded like a recipe for a Sophie disaster.

But I knew I’d wind up feeling left out if I didn’t go.

“I can come, too,” I said. “And I’ll try not to trip over my own feet.”

Nora put her hand on my arm. “You’ll do great, Soph.”

“Thanks.”

We got back to the parking lot and stretched. Normally we got drinks after our runs, but today I had a few errands to take care of, so I hugged my friends goodbye.

“Are we still on for tonight?” Nora asked.

“Definitely.”

“Okay, I’ll see you around nine.”

“Perfect. And thanks again. I really appreciate your help.”

She smiled. “It’s absolutely my pleasure. This will be fun.”

Cox had talked to Althea, and she’d given him a reasonable explanation as to why she’d been with Dominic that day. But I still had a weird feeling about her. I’d seen her a few times when I’d stopped by Cox’s office—usually just in passing—and I was always left with a bad taste in my mouth. She never said or did anything overtly suspicious. And maybe it was just her coolness toward me that rubbed me wrong. But I wanted to be sure.

The last few Sundays, Nora and I had staked out the restaurant where I’d seen her with Dominic. But we hadn’t seen either of them, so we’d decided we needed to try a different tactic. Nora had asked Jensen if he could talk to his lady friend at the PR firm that Dominic had hired. Maybe she could find something we could use—and she had. She’d told him that Dominic—who was supposed to be sober after his stay in rehab—had been spending his Saturday nights at the Base Lounge, a bar and dance club downtown. So tonight, we were going to be there, too.

We had a plan. And he wasn’t going to see Nora Lakes coming.

“Well, at least he doesn’t have terrible taste in bars.” Nora put her hands on her hips and gazed at the neon Base Lounge sign. She gave new meaning to the phrase dressed to kill in a silver minidress with a plunging neckline. “I’ve been here before. It’s not bad.”

My outfit wasn’t nearly as provocative—just a black dress and red heels. Short heels, because me. Although Cox had certainly liked it. When I’d asked him for help with my zipper, my dress had wound up on the floor—and I’d wound up on the bed. He’d almost made me late.

Not that I was complaining.

“They do make a nice martini here,” Oliver said. He looked dapper as usual in a button-down shirt, herringbone vest, and slacks. When I’d asked him for his help, he’d jumped at the chance to get dirt on Althea and pinkie promised not to tell Cox.

“Are we ready?” I asked. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Nora said. “All you have to do is listen.”

Our plan was simple. Nora and I each wore a Bluetooth earpiece, mostly hidden by our hair. We’d keep our phones connected on a call so I could hear while she engaged Dominic in some not-so-innocent conversation. She’d get him talking about his career and see what we could find out.

It wasn’t a perfect plan, but I was an executive assistant, not a spy.

I was so glad Nora had volunteered to do this. She was amazing when it came to talking to men, always making it look effortless. Unlike me, who tended to spill things or accidentally hit them—or myself—in the face with something.

She turned to Oliver. “Is there anything else I need to know about this guy before we go in?”

“Cox only took him on as a partner about a year ago, but I do know he’s been married, and divorced, twice.”

“That probably had something to do with the hookers,” I said.

Oliver nodded. “Indeed. His father was a hotel mogul, and he should be quite wealthy