Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,72
some clothes while she waited for the transfer to come through. She wasn’t getting into any office buildings or nice restaurants in Paris dressed in her quasi jammies or the wrinkled, stale travel clothes that she still had with her.
She grabbed her laptop bag and purse and sprinted for the nearest airport boutique.
—
After the world’s most awkward hour-long cab ride with a French driver who wanted to practice his English and then lecture her in “Frenchlish” about the shortcomings of Americans, Taylor entered the Dame Marie headquarters and abruptly found herself being pushed out onto the sidewalk by a very smarmy-looking security guard with a lazy eye and large mustache. Oddly, the man reminded her of that Sebastian man she’d met at Ms. Luci’s house.
“Well, whatever to you, too!” she bellowed back, ignoring the snickers of the nicely dressed professional Parisians flowing in and out of the Renaissance Period office building. Located on Avenue du Maine, near the tower of Montparnasse, which looked like a giant erection defiling the skyline of the historic city (as the cabby had bitterly pointed out), Lady Mary’s offices were supposed be near all of the world-famous tourist attractions like the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. But she hadn’t seen anything she recognized yet, apart from a multitude of mopeds and boulangeries that reminded her of Ratatouille. She so needed to get out more and stop speed-dating these amazing cities.
She looked down at her outfit, wondering what the hell to do. She had to get in to see Bennett—if he was even still there—but she looked like a complete tart in the skintight red dress that showed her cleavage and was far too snug wear for underwear. She’d been in a huge hurry and the options at the airport had been limited. It had been this or a bikini the size of a Post-it with dental floss in the back. And yes, she wore red, glittery spiked heels, but it had been that or her flip-flops. Standing out front, trying to ignore the abundance of catcall action, Taylor’s mind went to work. There had to be a way to get in touch with Bennett before he did himself in with Mary.
She glanced at her phone again. Why hadn’t Bennett called her back?
Shit. Maybe she should call his mother. She’d help, wouldn’t she? Worth a try.
Taylor scrolled through her contacts and passed a name that caught her attention. “Dirtbag.” Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Dirtbag was code for “Chip,” Mary’s son.
She hit Call.
“Well, well, well,” said a deep, entitlement-laced voice that repulsed her. “If it isn’t Taylor Reed.”
“Chiiiip,” she said cheerfully, trying her best to not let her revulsion show. “How are you?”
“A million dollars poorer, but otherwise well, I suppose.”
Taylor wanted to punch him in his man parts—not that he had any, because real men didn’t slither.
She played the innocent card and threw out, “Oh, no. That’s awful. I know a person you can call for gambling addictions. She’s not cheap, but she’s really worth every penny.”
“How can I help you, Taylor?” Chip asked.
“Actually, I’m looking for Benn—Mr. Wade. He’s having dinner with you and your mother tonight, and I’ve been trying to reach him—it’s urgent.”
“What kind of urgent?”
“Oh, you know; complicated business matters involving math. Nothing you’d understand.”
“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you should try calling his assistant. Goodbye, Tay—”
“Wait! I’m sorry.” Not really, you cockroach. “I tried his assistant, but she’s not there. It really is important, and for whatever reason, Bennett’s not answering his cell.”
“Bennett—” he emphasized the fact she’d used his first name “—is not answering for you, perhaps. In which case, it’s none of my business.”
Oh, you little fucker.
“Chip, don’t hang up. I’m standing outside your headquarters, and I really need your help.”
“Really, now? You sound desperate, Taylor. And I think I like it.”
Of course he would.
“You got me. We had a misunderstanding, and I really need to talk to him. Please,” she added in her best Bennett tone.