Mischief at Midnight
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About this ebook
Madelyn Murphy isn't your typical spoiled rich girl. She only has one household drone, and she does her own cooking. There are exceptions, of course. When Madelyn's service drone breaks just before a dinner party, she calls Triple D Drones for help. When the new "Dallas" prototype shows up to lend a hand, Madelyn finds she needs help with more than serving dinner.
Triple D Drones' owner, Dallas Dyson, has made a fortune in the service drone industry. He'll even lend a helping hand himself if someone's in a pinch.
Isn't service what a Triple D drone does best?
_*_*_*_
"Triple D Drones. May I help you?"
Dark hair, dark eyes, the pale complexion of someone who took care not to allow sun damage to her skin, and a smudge of…Was that a parsley leaf on her otherwise perfect nose? Dallas discretely zoomed in for a closer look.
It was a basil leaf on her nose and olive oil in her hair. This didn't bode well for the condition of her drone. The GDR upgrade involved Hazel's cooking protocols.
Her full lower lip quivered. A drop of olive oil broke free and dripped from her bangs. Her eyes rounded in horror as she swiped her hand over her face.
"Oh, dear. I must look a fright," she murmured. "I guess it's a good thing you're a drone."
Drone? Not the last time he checked, he wasn't. Last night, he'd been flesh and blood man as he sweated through his workout at the gym. His shoulders and thighs still ached from the punishment he inflicted on his body to keep it in shape. He checked her account.
She didn't own a Triple D personal pleasure drone, but that didn't mean some of her friends didn't, which would explain why she thought him a drone. Not for the first time, he cursed his vast stupidity in basing the appearance of the Trent personal pleasure model on his own features.
Dallas quickly gave her the good and bad on her drone, his mind racing as it tried to come up with a temporary replacement for her.
"Ms. Murphy, we have isolated the problem with the Hazel I model with the most recent food preparation upgrade. However, we're waiting for the repair part to become available."
Her lovely face carefully arranged itself into a bland expression. She blinked rapidly, several times, her long, thick eyelashes dampened.
Dallas knew from experience to choose his next words carefully else he'd fall into the bottomless pit of feminine desperation. A woman's tears sent him to his knees, every time, and this one hovered on the verge of major flooding.
"However, I'm available to assist you in any capacity necessary."
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Mischief at Midnight - Rayne Forrest
About Mischief at Midnight
Madelyn Murphy isn’t your typical spoiled rich girl. She only has one household drone, and she does her own cooking. There are exceptions, of course. When Madelyn’s service drone breaks just before a dinner party, she calls Triple D Drones for help. When the new Dallas
prototype shows up to lend a hand, Madelyn finds she needs help with more than serving dinner.
Triple D Drones’ owner, Dallas Dyson, has made a fortune in the service drone industry. He’ll even lend a helping hand himself if someone’s in a pinch.
Isn’t service what a Triple D drone does best?
Chapter 1
Madelyn Murphy did not normally allow herself the luxury of indulging in panic. Panic kept a girl from thinking clearly, and she desperately needed clarity. A plan was necessary—now—only her mind had shut down.
She stared at the clock and decided that maybe, just this once, she’d forgive herself for the sheer, unadulterated panic she currently suffered. In five hours and seventeen minutes, her guests would arrive, and Hazel was on the fritz. Triple D Drones were supposed to be more reliable.
Hazel, please go clean the bathroom,
she instructed, speaking through clenched teeth. The drone looked at her, a confused expression on its face.
I know you cleaned it, but I made another mess. Please do as I say.
Yes, ma’am.
Hazel walked off, her right foot dragging. That had been the first indication of trouble, that dragging foot. It had been downhill from there. Madelyn knew she should have called for service the second she noticed that foot.
More than a drone, Hazel’s programming allowed her to perform every aspect of domestic work. She cleaned, did the laundry, grocery shopped, and most importantly, she cooked. She also had an extensive database covering everything from the history of Machu Picchu to how many pitches were thrown in every World Series, to the private phone numbers of every fashion stylist and artist in New York City from Soho to the Bronx.
Friend, companion, and confidant, capable of making modest decisions on her own, Madelyn made sure Hazel received all her scheduled maintenance and every upgrade as they became available. She’d hoped Hazel had just a small glitch and would make it through the evening, but obviously, the malfunction had cascaded through her circuitry.
Madelyn enjoyed preparing her own meals and rarely used Hazel’s cooking program, but with a dinner party for her fellow board members of the local chapter of the Mystery, Mayhem, and Murder Tours scheduled for tonight, she needed Hazel’s expertise. She slipped in the data card and hoped for the best as Hazel went to work on the bathroom.
Now her ambitious menu of crostini with white truffle oil, tomato-crab bisque, arugula salad with her own olive oil, basil vinaigrette and home baked bread, baked lobster tail with a butter sauce, fresh asparagus with a homemade hollandaise sauce, white and dark chocolate amaretto swirled cheesecake, and old-fashioned caffeinated coffee brewed from freshly ground beans imported from the Pacific hydroponics platform was in serious jeopardy.
Yes, a little panic was definitely in order.
Well, a little thinking was in order, too. She marched to the bathroom and pulled Hazel’s cooking chip. She’d do a little reprogramming so Hazel could still do the simple things like tear up the salad greens. Thirty minutes later, she snapped the chip back into place and told her drone the bathroom had never looked better.
She sent Hazel to the kitchen with orders not to deviate from her cooking instructions and said a little prayer she wouldn’t. Madelyn needed to call in the wine order and couldn’t watch Hazel and talk to the drone at the wine shop at the same time. Thank goodness the finished cheesecake sat safely on its serving plate in the refrigerator. A resounding crash sent her running to the kitchen. Hazel stood in the middle of the room, confused, a mixing bowl lying on the floor.
Madelyn picked it up and examined the small dent in the copper. It wasn’t too bad. She’d still be able to whip egg whites in it. She rinsed the bowl and quickly added the ingredients for her vinaigrette and handed the bowl and a wire whisk to Hazel.
I want you to gently whisk that for two full minutes, then pour it into the crystal cruet, seal it tightly, and put it in the refrigerator. Do you understand?
The drone nodded, a blank look on her face, and began stirring, her strokes executed at uneven speeds. Madelyn crossed her fingers and hoped for the best. Maybe trusting Hazel with the crystal wasn’t a good idea.
She opened the oven and checked her bread. The loaves were rising nicely. As she stood sniffing the heavenly, yeasty fragrance wafting out of her oven, another crash sounded behind her and something wet hit the top of her head. She whirled around. Her heart sank to the vicinity of her knees. Her carefully planned evening was in serious jeopardy.
Oily vinaigrette dripped from the counter to the floor, coating Hazel as she knelt on her hands and knees in the middle of the mess trying to wipe it up with her bare hands.
Stop!
Hazel kept right on wiping.
Hazel, I said stop! Stop!
she yelled frantically, waving her hands. The drone appeared not to hear her. Madelyn skidded into the mess and did what she’d never done before. She hit Hazel’s off switch, freezing the drone in mid swipe.
Oh, heavens,