The Naughty Ones

CALLIE

Chapter One

The Walk of Shame Game

Callie

The taste of garbage, dead animals, and used toilet paper is what I wake to. For a split second before I can think properly, I wonder why I’m blind, deaf, and sucking on Medusa’s pus-infected tongue.

And then I remember and I want to basically die.

Well, almost. I want to at least be hospitalised when my brain registers that I’m alive, somewhat.

Hangover!

I’m not blind, either. That’s just my eyes refusing to open because they know the minute they do it’s going to be retinal brain scarring on a level I can’t recover from.

I lie frozen for a few seconds and pray that the images flashing through my brain aren’t what actually happened. Please, Jesus, let it be a dream, I beg as the events of last night and this morning begin playing in my head like some sort of freaking horror show.

An X-rated horror show.

I had a one-night stand. Me. The girl who irons her socks and underwear. And it was incendiary. Hot. Everything my thirty-year-old body could have ever hoped for.

But now I have absolutely no idea where I am, or who the man was whom I spent the night with.

I crack an eyelid and immediately regret it. I know where I am and it’s a doozy.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Callie, what the hell is wrong with you?

I look around and feel my heart sink a little when the empty hotel room comes into focus and I realize I’m currently lying in bed, naked, in the Hyatt Hotel, one of the most expensive places in San Fran, and I am alone.

I see a single red rose lying on the pillow beside me.

I look up and into the connecting sitting room and spy a huge vase of complimentary red roses and find myself glowering. Cheap fool.

I know that in about two seconds I’m going to have to do the freaking walk of shame down a hall, an elevator, and through the lobby of the hotel where people know me since I and my team of misfits catered an event here last night.

Oh God.

I slept with someone from the event? Who does that? Why couldn’t I just pick someone who’s poor and has zero influence in a social set I’ve been trying to crack into for the last year to get our catering business up and running?

Just great! Way to make an impression.

Just as I’m about to start freaking out, I hear the distinctive scream of Alice Cooper’s Poison and I dive for the sound, grabbing my phone like a lifeline.

Please tell me this is all just a really bad prank, I wheeze into the mouthpiece, my shame amplified when I look down to see my nudity and my not-so-happy boobs glaring up at me.

Winter in the city is not pleasant.

Callie Alexandria Jacinta Landry, where the fuck are you? We’ve got a breakfast club to cater this morning and you haven’t made any rolls like you said you would. Percy is having a fit, and Dot is just about melting down right now, And Luci, you know she can’t bake for shit, Indie yells by way of greeting.

The screech makes my head shudder and try to leave my body. I grab up the sheet and drop my head into my palm with a moan.

I-I don’t...I’m...what happened last night? I whisper as tears fill my eyes.

The silence on the other end lasts all of two seconds and then my best friend starts howling and I hear her call the others over and switch to speaker.

I think she boned someone last night after she body-slammed the wine in the kitchen.

Callie? Honey?

That’s Dot. She’s the nervous ball of hyped-up energy, the total crackpot who’s so nice that she couldn’t kill a roach if it was shitting on her breakfast plate.

I-I think I did something really bad! But good, but baaaaad. I need help. Where are you? Come to the Hyatt and freaking help me!

They’re all giggling as I stumble-hop from the bed and hustle into the bathroom. God Almighty, the place so nice that I’d live in this one room alone and sleep in the huge tub if I had to.

Tell us what happened first, Mary Magdalene. You get laid? Indie crows, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight.

Shut up and come get me. I need clean clothes and some makeup. I can’t find my dress anywhere, I yell, propping the phone on the vanity and jumping into the shower.

I wash in record time as the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse continue to argue, and make fun of me—except Dotty, bless her heart. Then I dry off and eye myself in the mirror.

Please just bring me some clothes, I beg, wrapping the bath sheet around myself and reaching for the comb I found in a drawer.

Huh. Depends on what you’re gonna bargain for this favor.

Goddammit, India! Just bring me some freaking clothes so I don’t have to walk through the lobby in last night’s underwear and hooker heels. Please.

Her teasing is cut off when a knock at the door echoes through the quiet of the room and I turn toward the sound.

Someone’s at the door, I whisper, my nerves jangling like bells.

The three go quiet, and then I hear Dot squeak when the knocking starts up again.

Go answer it, Percy hisses when the knocking turns to pounding and I see the latch twist.

I’m not going to answer. What if it’s Mr. Bedroom Eyes and Golden Tongue? What if he’s coming back for seconds...wait, thirds? Whatever! I am so not going to make it through an awkward morning-after conversation right now.

I need to pretend I’m not here and maybe preserve some of the dignity I have left, but the choice is taken out of my hands when the door beeps and swings open, revealing Alphonso, the day manager.

Miss Landry, he croons, his sharp little teeth and rat eyes taking me in with relish.

Uh, hi, Alphonso.

Alphonso has been trying to get into my pants since we took the Hyatt job.

His nose actually scrunches at me, like he’s smelling something bad, and I swallow my rising panic when he eventually smiles and waves a hand at the room.

"I’m afraid this room has been checked out already, Miss Landry. The previous occupant left strict instructions that his guest should ‘be taken care of.’ You’ll need to leave immediately."

Smug.

And that son of an ass I boinked...

Er, I just need to wait on my friends to bring me some new clothes.

I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss Landry. Security is on the way up as we speak, he says with enough glee to make my teeth ache.

But, see, I can’t find my dress and—

Not my problem, lady. Move it or I’ll have them toss you out on your ass.

You little prick.

Oh God, Indie, not now, I think, cringing visibly as she starts yelling curses at the man who currently holds my pride, or what’s left of it, in his hands.

Uh...

You know what doing the walk of shame in a towel is like at eight in the morning when the elite have their breakfast in the swanky hotel restaurant?

I’ve just showered and I’m sweating buckets already as the elevator dings and the doors slide open at the lobby, my mortified brain refusing to work as my legs go heavy and threaten to dump me on my ass.

I’m torn between that urge to run like hell and hope no one recognises me, and pulling a Bond move on the little trapdoor above my head. I think I could possibly ninja-kick myself up there and get onto the top of the elevator, shimmy my way up the sides of the shaft and go Mission Impossible to get out of here with my dignity still intact.

Or...

I nix that idea as images of falling on my ass and dropping the towel assault me and I close my eyes tight, trying to pretend that this is not happening.

The four crones are still on the line, though thankfully silent when Alphonso graciously waves a hand for me to precede him out of the little box.

My first step is hesitant, and by the time I’ve taken the second the little bastard loses patience and gives me a shove that sends me staggering out into the packed lobby.

Oh my God. I forgot about the nerd convention. Everywhere I look I see men. Short, thin, fat, skinny, you name it I see them staring back at me through wide eyes when I finally manage to stop the scream of denial building inside me.

Put the camera on. I need to see!

I ignore Indie as I start shaking and take small steps forward, my knees trembling so hard, it’s difficult to walk. People are staring as I wobble in my red heels.

Hey! Are you still there?

Dammit, Indiana, be quiet already, I hiss through gritted teeth, giving an old lady and her dog at the check-in desk a tight smile as I start moving faster toward the door.

I’m almost home free and ready to kiss one of the bellboys who flags me a taxi when Alphonso clears his throat just as the taxi pulls up and holds out his hand to me.

My heart drops and I start shaking my head in a panic. Please Jesus, Budda, whoever’s listening.

My pleas go unanswered and I feel my heart sink when one of the security A-holes sidles up beside the putz with a smirk.

I believe that’s hotel property, Miss Landry.

Dammit.

What’s happening?! Indie screeches and I can almost see her rubbing her hands together in glee when I hesitantly unhook the towel.

He wants the towel, I grit out, changing to phone mode.

Indie starts laughing her ass off, and I can imagine Dot’s horror, but I’m reminded, for once, why I am friends with the cackling foursome when Luci clears her throat and curses.

You listen to me, Callie baby. You do this shit right and hold it together. If you have to degrade yourself in front of all those assholes, you do it with style. Unhook that towel, shove it up his ass, and strut your way out, you hear! she yells, her battle voice and the face I know she’s pulling making a giggle burst free.

Okay, I can do this.

I can so totally do this.

You want your towel back, you sick little pervert? Here, take it and enjoy the view, cause this will be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a little fink like you.

The towel comes off a little easier, and I toss it in his face with flair and a wink to old sour lips, who’s craning her neck through the doors from the reception area. I turn on my heel and strut my way into the cab, high-fiving the bellboy who’s all smiles and compliments for my thong.

Take that, bitches.

Your ass looks great in that black thong. You been doing Pilates or something? Percy asks when the three buttheads stop laughing about five minutes later.

Say what? How do you know what color my thong is?

Some genius just Youtube’d the hell out of your ‘dead woman walking’ moment. Congratulations, Callie Landry, you’re the sixth Kardashian sister. Indie laughs.

Chapter Two

Meet Nan

Callie

The only thing that’s worse than being friends with India, is being blood related to my nanny, Elsa Landry.

For purposes that drive her crazy on a daily basis, we all call her the smallest Billy Goat Gruff—Gruffy for short. She’s a tiny little battle ax who sported a head of carrot-orange hair and hazel eyes in her youth but now has snow-white puffs of cotton wool and a will that would make Stalin stand up straighter with pride.

She’s my mom, dad, and every other family member rolled into one now that Gramps kicked the bucket, and I love her to death. Most days, at least.

Gruffy is and has always been my rock. She was there for me after my mom dumped me on her doorstep and went off to find herself. I just assumed she was tired of having to look at me after once I turned five and started asking her who my dad was.

She gave me four names, three of which I tracked down when I was ten. The fourth, who I believe is actually my dad—I think he’s either dead or still running.

What a dick.

I have three dads who aren’t blood relatives. Bill, the one who colors my hair for free at his salon. Ted, who gives me free cold cuts since he and his wife, Deidre, run a butcher shop. And Murray, the florist, who is also married.

So I have Gruffy, three dads, two stepmoms, and four sisters who make the worst sister look like a freaking dream. And not one has let me live it down in the three days since my walk of shame.

The only consolation to this farce is the number of hits my video got, making me surmise that Percy was right. My ass looked fabulous in that thong.

It’s a travesty, I tell ye. Why every and any pervert can go to that evil spider’s web and look at your wee, ahem, big arse on their laps, Gruffy yells as I continue to scramble eggs for our usual Saturday morning smack-talk session.

It’s been like this since India, that ass, came over here to personally show Gruffy the video. The old bird called me at two this morning to lay into me again.

"Gruffy, it’s called the Net. You know, that Internet thing you hate so much, and so freaking what? The worst that happened after that was that Delights got three new clients and we’re catering something for a celebrity brunch next week. As far as I can tell, something good came out of me doing that shit."

The eggs and bacon are done, as well as the rolls and the croissants she can’t live without by the time she’s chewed a strip off my ass and the others arrive.

Thanks, India. Freaking thanks, I mutter around a mouthful of buttery roll as Gruffy starts in on her food. How she chews is beyond me, but according to the eighty-year-old bat, Teeth are for the lazy.

Who am I to argue?

You’re so totally welcome. Oh come on, Cal! You know those old birds she plays bridge with every Wednesday all have Internet and hip young grandkids. She’d have heard about it eventually. This way, at least, you didn’t have to explain it yourself.

Yeah freaking right. Luci recorded the whole conversation, and as far as I can tell, Indie enjoyed the hell out of breaking the news to Gruffy.

I’d have appreciated not being ambushed by the cane brigade when I came in to drop off her freaking groceries, you asshole! Now shut up and eat your breakfast. Even dead men walking get a last meal, I say, giving her the evil eye when she snorts and tries unsuccessfully to hide a giggle.

So, Gruff, what you and those old birds been up to lately? Dot trills, changing the subject like the superstar she is.

Have I mentioned that I adore Dot? She’s like my own personal Obi-Wan, a tactful peacekeeper to the core.

Gruffy takes the hint with only one derisive snort my way and smiles kindly at Dot. She really likes Dot a lot, and most of us have agreed that being mean to Dot would be like kicking a puppy.

The usual, dearest. I won this week’s pot, and Clifford’s agreed that we should all take up yoga for the elderly. My bonny arse, I say. I couldn’t do that nonsense when I was eighteen, and I sure as all get out will not be doing it at eighty. She’s also gone on some green juice route that makes my short ones want to curl back up into my crotch. Now I remember when I was young and having some padding was all the rage.

Yeah, yeah, and your husbands slept in a twin bed in the same room and wore long johns. I chuckle silently, fondly recalling Gramps’s affinity for the things, no matter the season.

So are you going? Luci laughs when Gruffy sneers and then shrugs resignedly.

I’m thinking I could give it a try now that I have to redeem my granddaughter’s honor in some way. Can’t have people going to yoga in the park and talking about her as if she’s a hoor without being there to defend her. No matter if it’s true, she muses.

I swear, I feel my fillings go molten before I catch her teasing wink to the others and let my lips twitch.

You’re a trial, you know that, you old bat?

True, and yet the five of you always come back for more, huh? Must be something in my water.

Or something. So, how’s Aggy?

Still being a total pain in the arse. She’s a geggy one, that.

Gruffy complains about her nurse Aggy on a constant basis and enjoys insulting the hell out of the middle-aged woman who cares for her five days a week, but the one time the woman was too ill to come to work, you’d have sworn Gruffy was going to die from quick onset depression. Worst three days of my life and the reason I would rather flog an organ than not be able to afford her salary.

You say she’s mouthy, and yet I haven’t met a more vocal person than you, Gruffy. I laugh, getting up to grab the coffeepot and give everyone a refill.

Hmm, and yet it wasn’t me hotfooting it out of a swanky hotel in nothing but my underwear and the last shreds of one’s pride, she points out lazily.

"You know, Gruffy, I’ve suffered enough for that! I can’t go to the store without at least one person smirking at me, and these four wild dogs never stop mentioning it," I huff, going for another roll for the hell of it.

Butter could be my friend.

I’ll get over it eventually, I think. If you explain to me what you were doing walking out of a place like that at eight in the morning when I know full and well you should have been at work hours before.

Dammit, India! You can’t just leave me one freaking bone without throwing my carcass at her feet? I yell, disgusted beyond my limits when Luci and Percy start cackling and Gruffy rolls her eyes as if to say you’d think she knew us by now.

Look, she starting asking questions about it and I didn’t want to lie, okay?

Yeah I’ll bet. I didn’t see her throwing the truth around three years ago when she thought she had crabs, but thankfully discovered an allergy to the new fabric softener she was using. Best two days of my life watching her scratch her crotch raw.

Stop picking on my poor Indie bear and start talking. little girl. Is it true you had a...a....what did you call that thing again, Indie darling?

Darling!

A night flower hookup.

My face hits my palms and I groan when Gruffy cackles and repeats her question, this time using Indie’s words and basically calling me a free hooker.

Look, I was having a bad day. The Dobber called and that PA I was dealing with for the event was making a million last-minute changes and I was just...having a bad day. So I may have celebrated a little too hard in the kitchen while we were packing up and...and I was a little over my limit when I saw him!

Not that I can clearly remember what he looks like right now. I don’t mention that to Gruffy or the others, because hello! I’m facing enough ridicule from the freaking Goon Squad as it is.

I do remember lips—full, kissable, do-naughty-things-to-me lips. And eyes such a clear grey that they almost didn’t seem real.

Damn, there go my clean panties again.

Bad day! Well in my day—

You wore corsets and got around in a carriage drawn by a horse. Yeah, yeah, you can save the Stone Age lecture, old lady. I get where we’re all going with this, and I gotta say, I am not impressed by your lack of support. I had a shitty morning after a one-nighter, which I never do. Oh, and the worst part? Mr. Hotel told them to kick my ass out of the room before noon.

Okay, don’t cry, Callie. The last time you did that The Dobber was balls deep in some other asshole’s junk and you hated yourself afterward for showing your feelings.

Dobber is my ex, who saw nothing wrong with screwing anyone.

I caught him cheating. Well, that’s not true. I suspected for a while that he was cheating on me, and when I mentioned it he made me feel so bad for not trusting him that I took the last of my savings and took him on vacation.

A week after we got back I found him boning one of his college students in my bed. On my favorite sheets! Man, I miss those sheets.

Wait, uh, back that up a mite. Did you just tell your old gran that the man you blessed with your slice of heaven not only ran out after sex, but he also had you kicked out of the room before you were fully ready to leave?

Yes! Here comes the love and sympathy I’ve been needing all week. Just one kind word from my Gruffy will make this all go away, I know it will.

Yeah. Sniffle, sniffle.

Gruffy huffs and shakes her head, her full lips thinning.

Well, girlie, it’s official then, aye? You didn’t listen to a word I said when I gave you girls the sex talk.

No. God, please no.

Now the way you give a decent gam and gobble—

No, Gruffy!

This time it’s not just me yelling but Indie, Percy, Luci, and even Dot as memories of The Talk filter back and cause full-body shudders. See, Gruffy isn’t your average grandmother, and when she decides to do something she does it right and proper (as she says).

Her version of The Talk ended up being a sex education that no fourteen-year-old should ever have.

It scarred us all so deeply, we made it to college without losing our virginities, and that’s saying a lot since the five of us were always wild and nuts when we were together.

Hearing your grandmother calmly educate you not just about the mechanics and dangers of sex, but also the fine techniques that would ensure that we got ours too went a long way in convincing us all that sex was just plain evil.

I’ll never give a blowjob without at least one shiver-inducing flashback to my toothless gran and Gramps cackling in the background.

Ew.

She sniffs at our desperate screams and the way Dot slaps her hands over her ears and shakes her head.

The way you girls carry on, talking about sex isn’t natural.

"It isn’t. Not the way you made it sound. I was terrified to let anyone so much as see it, and that time Dave Brokowski tried to show me his stuff I started screaming and running. The teachers at school thought I was having a fit!"

Percy’s words have her laughing so hard, I take a minute to actually think about her glee and I feel my eye twitch.

You evil, evil woman.

What? You all thought I was going to let you run wild and surround me with a hoard of your demon spawn before you finished your schooling? Give me some credit, girls. My dear old Abel warned me, he did. He said, ‘Elsie, darling, if you don’t do something about those five hooligans, you’ll be bottle-feeding a litter of the whelps’ whelps.’ God save me, I already had my hands full with the lot of you.

Fair point. Fair enough, at least, that not even Indie has a thing to say to that and instead turns back to me with an evil glint in her eye.

Back to the morning in question.

"Did you at least try with this one, Calliopeia Landry? Gruffy asks, rolling her eyes at Indie. Really, girl, a little effort wouldn’t kill you."

What? As if I never tried with The Dobber? What gall. Okay, so maybe it is a teeny tiny bit accuratem, but give me a break. My ex’s idea of good sex apparently did not include anything even resembling a clitoris. Or he was afraid of the poor little thing.

I wonder if his gran also gave him the talk, and if she possessed a heart of brimstone and evil like Gruffy.

Gruffy.

No. Really, Callie darling, touching it every now and then won’t have your hands falling off, and men...well, they need a lot more instruction and incentive than we do.

Not Mr. Hotel. Oh heck no. I may not remember anything of actual note, but I’ve been reliving some of it in my dreams. If I remember correctly, the man knows where my clit is and he knows how to use the thing for maximum output.

God, I still get the shivers just remembering the well-sated feeling I finally registered when I didn’t want to die of embarrassment. I bet if I hadn’t been plastered, I’d be obsessed by now.

"For your information, I did and he did and we did and it was good."

So good.

That has them all giving me looks of disbelief and I find my offended sensibilities rearing their ugly little heads and making my lips loosen to a degree that I know will come back to bite me in the ass.

Oh really?

Yeah, India. Really.

M’kay, then tell us how you produced such an epic night of bliss that the man not only skipped out on you, but also had you kicked out on your spectacular ass the next morning.

Firstly, thanks for the compliment, my ass was spectacular that morning. I guess it’s true what they say, sex does burn calories. As for the rest, how the hell should I know? I’ve never had a one-night stand before, and I certainly have never woken up in a strange place with my ass flapping in the freaking breeze. Forgive me for not knowing what the hell was happening there. I guess I should have asked you for all the ins and outs of hookerdom beforehand, I snarl, my stomach churning with every bite I take of the roll.

India doesn’t even register my insults and waves them away with an airy nonchalance that makes my lips curl.

Well, whatever happened, it’s at least behind you and one step closer in getting Callie Landry back into the game, Percy says, adding in her two pounds of wisdom. Let’s all agree that he was the bicycle moment. You got back on that bitch and you still know how to ride. Pun intended.

She’s got a point. I haven’t so much as gone near a man in so long.

Sure. Okay, could we please just change the subject now? I had sex. I’m still in one piece, and as far as I’m concerned it’s behind me. Why don’t we discuss why I saw a man leaving Indie’s apartment wearing a red dress, worker boots, and a grin?

Chapter Three

Pregnancy

Callie

I hate life.

I don’t quite know what to do or say to convince myself that it’s worth it anymore. I must be the unluckiest fool in creation, and I’m not even counting in the fact that God stuck me with the Good Squad and their woolly-haired billy goat leader, either.

Right now my cosmic gripe comes in the form of me hurling my stomach lining for the fourth morning in a row.

I’m pregnant and I don’t know who the father is.

Callie? Honey, are you alright? Dot asks for the millionth time from outside the bathroom where I’ve been tossing cookies for a good ten minutes with no respite.

How do pregnant women survive this without dying of dehydration and the ew factor?

Poor Dot has been witnessing this spectacle for the last week, wringing her hands whenever I catch her looking at me, so I know that the cat is officially not in the bag anymore.

Dot...

I stop talking and start puking as I tackle the porcelain again. Dot finally loses her legendary patience and I hear the door creak open before a cool washcloth hits the back of my neck, making me groan in gratitude.

This is getting out of hand, Cal. You need to go to the doctor for a test to see if you’re—

Don’t say it. If you don’t say it, it isn’t real.

Another heave hits me and I work through it with a dogged determination that leaves me sweating buckets before the familiar feeling of release sets in and I know this bout is over.

Thank you, Jesus. At the rate I’m going I’ll have abs like Pink before my stomach starts swelling.

That’s ridiculous and you know it. Now come on and get up, Callie. We’re going to the freaking doctor and that’s final.

Great. The one time Dot decides to show off her hairy ones, it’s when I’m trying to doggy-paddle my way back to the boat of denial.

At first I told myself it was just something I ate. When my pants got a little tight I told myself I should lay off the midnight snacking and join Gruffy and her cohorts for morning yoga in the park.

When my nipples started feeling like Dracula was paying me nightly visits and chewing on them, I swore I needed to buy new bras or change the laundry soap we use.

Now...

Don’t tell anyone.

Dot rolls her eyes and drags me to my feet, shoving a loaded toothbrush my way and grabbing a hairbrush to rescue my rat’s nest.

If I was going to tell on you, Cal, I would have spilled when Luci and Percy took me to that club last week. I haven’t told a soul and I won’t, not till you’re ready.

God bless you. Indie would have printed up fliers and put an ad in the paper by now, I say around the toothbrush as Dot assaults my hair with the brush and manages to pull it into a sleek tail on my head.

Indie would have hired a freaking sky writer. She giggles as we walk into my bedroom and she starts pulling out my jeans and a pink tank with a light blue cable-knit sweater and my flat brown suede boots. Get a move on, your appointment is in forty minutes and we still need to grab a cab.

You made an appointment? I mutter, pulling my clothes on with a huff.

Some part of me was hoping I could skip down to the drug store and avoid whatever is about to happen, but apparently the little Mussolini wannabe who’s decided to take charge isn’t going to let this go.

I made it last week but we had those last-minute referrals we got from Mrs. Ives, and Indie and Percy have been over here almost every night for the last week. I rescheduled when we decided to take today off and regroup.

You choose now to stop scampering around and avoiding conflict?

Stop whining and let’s go. By the way, Gruffy and Aggy are going to that Star Trek convention tomorrow night, and she said we’re uninvited after we put that Team Pickard poster up on Facebook.

You know what’s weirder than my old granny dressing up and going to a convention? Walking into her bedroom and seeing the William Shatner shrine.

***

Well, you’re definitely pregnant. Just past two months if you’ve got your dates right, Doctor Sheila muses, making me roll my eyes.

Dot laughs and starts prattling on about not even having a shadow of a doubt since we have the date-stamped video to prove it.

You don’t look too happy, Callie. Want to tell me how the only patient I have who doesn’t come in for a routine weekly STD screening got pregnant on a one-nighter while on birth control?

Eh. I may or may not have gotten hammered and done some stranger in his hotel room. Oh, and as for the pill, I had crab flu a few days before The Incident.

I glare at Dot now because crab flu is code for she fed me something that almost put me in organ failure when my stomach turned and I was weak as a piece of day-old lettuce.

Sheila—we can all call her that since we went to school together and basically snuck our first drink and cigarette as one person—gives me a look and turns to Dot for confirmation.

Straitlaced had a quick flick?

Oh for crying out loud.

Yes. I had a one-night stand with a man I don’t know, and...oh God! I don’t even know his name, I wail suddenly as it all comes crashing down around me.

I don’t even know the name of the father of my child, and here I am, knocked the hell up and two steps away from telling Gruffy.

What the heck am I gonna do? I can’t have a baby in this situation. One day the kid will look at me and ask me who his or her daddy is.

What sort of horrible mom doesn’t even know?

I guess I took after my mother, after all.

By the time I calm down, Dot’s looking green around the gills and Sheila is shaking her head at me in sympathy.

You don’t remember anything?

You know what happens when I drink wine, I mutter self-consciously, my cheeks going scarlet when they both snort and try in vain not to grin.

One time I got a little over the limit and a campus cop caught me streaking. It was a dare, dammit.

You should at least try to find out who he is, Callie. He has a right to know he’s going to be a dad.

You think I don’t know this? One night last week I had another one of those sex dreams and I almost remembered his name. It’s something simple I know it is. I just can’t quite put my finger on it.

And yeah, I am ashamed of the fact that I was more interested in sex than getting to know something as vital as his name, but like Gruffy said weeks ago, once that water passes the bridge, it’s gone and done.

You could call the Hyatt and ask—

Not in this freaking lifetime.

By the time we make it out of Sheila’s office and I’m feeling strong enough to walk on legs that still feel like noodles, it’s past noon and I’m ready to hit the sack and sleep for the next three days.

Instead, I’m on my freaking way to the Hyatt and Dot’s wearing a determined expression that, quite frankly, makes my labia shrivel in fear.

Who knew the little mouse had this shit in her? She’s meaner than Indie now that she’s riled.

This is a bad idea, Dotty. We should go home, eat some cheese, and think about this, I beg when we’re about a block away from our destination.

Nope. We’re going in there, you’re going to hold your head high, and we are definitely getting a name from that idiot, she insists, her steely expression sending shivers of trepidation down my spine.

We pull up to the entrance far sooner than I would like, and I hear her give the cabbie instructions to wait and keep the meter running while she drags me out with a hand clamped on my arm.

Now remember, she whispers, straightening my sweater and flicking at a piece of lint. You look that beefeater in the eye and tell him what you want. Don’t ask, and you sure as hell are not going to be cowering if he says anything about, ahem, you know what.

Said in that sing-song voice of hers, the statement is almost ludicrous, but the claw she clamps tighter on my arm and the strength she uses to drag me along behind her is telling that tone doesn’t matter.

I’ll call Danielle at the desk and beg her to get me a name.

Yeah sure. I saw that video about as many times as Gruffy has. That poop head was just as happy to see your humiliation as Alphonso.

Buttheads. All of them.

I allow her to drag me along, my head held high and pointed directly forward as the nerves and the need to run start jumping through my bones.

We make it to the office where Satan’s minion can usually be found—probably watching porn, the little skeeze. I swallow my bile when Dot just shoves the door open and pulls me in behind her.

Well, well, well, if it isn’t Callie Landry. You here to show your ass again?

Funny, Phonsie, I mutter, curling my lip at him. We need the last guest list from two months ago so we can update our records, I lie, crossing my fingers in hope and a silent apology.

He leans back into his seat and runs a hand through his oily, stringy black hair. I never noticed before, but with those beady little eyes I’d swear his mother must be a ferret. Or weasel.

You want a guest list for a party that took place two months ago? For your records?

Such a little gobbler, as Gruffy would say, and I totally agree. If I could tell him to suck a bag of man flesh right now, I would.

Yes. We never received the official list of RSVPs and our accountant is shitting spades over the lack of transparency in our records.

Oh God, why can’t I lie better? I blame Gruffy for being such a good role model.

Not happening. Hotel policy, and anyway, why the heck would I risk my job just because you’re so pathetic that you don’t know the name of the man you spent the night with? You think I’m dumb enough not to realize what you’re here for, Landry? Puh-lease. Take a walk, lady.

That has Dot bristling visibly and I see her jaw firm before she narrows her eyes.

"Did you know that all of the Hyatts run off the same server, and that all Internet, e-mail, and so on are monitored and stored on a backup that anyone, and I mean anyone who has access to it can look at? I just happen to know the wife of one of the shareholders of this dump. How do you think Delights got this job in the first place? Should I call her, Callie? I think I should call her and let her husband know that some staff members don’t spend their working hours doing their jobs. In fact, I bet he’d love to know what some staff members do with the free Internet."

Al pales and I almost start giggling when he swallows visibly and dives for his keyboard, his fingers flying as he sweats and shakes like a leaf.

When the printer spits out what we need, he all but throws it at us and starts tapping away again, no doubt trying to clear his browser history.

Why thank you so much, Alphonso. That was easy, wasn’t it?

I don’t know who this woman is or what she did with the sweet girl I grew up with, but I like her. I like her a hell of a lot when I slide into the cab and she hands over what may just be the key to saving my ass from single parenthood.

Chapter Four

The Plot Thickens

Callie

So you’ve officially narrowed it down to what? Percy asks from behind an avocado mask as Luci files her toenails and mutters beneath her breath about catching prey with the things.

I look away from her intense blue gaze and look down at the list again, my heart sinking. We’ve eliminated the women and all men over the age of forty from the list, but there are still so many names left. I should have known when the printer spat out three pages that I was in deep trouble, and here it is, staring me in the face.

There were around four hundred guests at the event. I know, since I had to hand-roll enough mini breadsticks to give myself carpal tunnel.

There are sixty men left on this list. Dot got rid of all the men over forty and under twenty-five, and she even managed to get rid of those she remembers seeing who don’t fit the description. But we still have sixty men left, I moan, dropping my head into the sofa back in defeat.

Don’t fret, chickie, this isn’t so bad, Luci says soothingly, her frown at Percy’s toes making me brighten a little. Do you grow these things so thick so you have a weapon at hand?

Oh shut up. I’ve seen your situation, lady. India and I laid those rugs last month to save the hardwood in the apartment from your own caveman tootsies.

Bite me.

Oh, I’d do it, but from what your hookup was roaring last night, he already got that job done.

Luci blushes and starts giggling, her green eyes sparkling mischievously.

He was so good, I’d give him more than one night to do me right.

Gross. Just yuck. Plus I’m jealous and more than a little bitter that my friends are all hunky dory while I’ve spent the last two weeks alone and cursing the fertility of my uterus.

Really, is it really necessary that I have to go through this for one little error in judgement?

Shut up, the both of you, and pay attention. I think Callie’s about to cry again and I want to catch it on camera this time, Indie yells, making my pity go straight to murderous intent.

You shut up. All you have to do is glare at your ovaries and they’d probably pack up shop if you wanted. Me—I get to be knocked up the one lousy time I have sex for fun.

No glove, no love.

No cover, no lover.

No rubber, no...I got nothing. Dot sighs, making me giggle at her sheepish smile.

I know. Stop rubbing it in, and stop being so mean. I need help here. I have sixty names, fifty-nine if I just eliminate this one, since I refuse to believe I could get turned on by a Ralph, and I have no idea how to go about doing what I need to do. I can’t just show up at their doors, if I could even find their addresses, and ask them all whether or not they boinked me.

Besides, I feel dumb enough as it is that asking some random guy if we did the beast with two backs will just strip away my last shred of pride.

I’ve been looking into some of those names and they’re rich enough that it won’t be easy to just get to them, Percy points out, chewing on her third piece of liquorice in ten minutes.

I know she’s doing this on purpose since I can’t eat one of my favorite sweets right now without vomiting.

They all start cackling together and joking around at my expense, the usual occurrence since I was stupid enough to share my angst with them, and I find myself waiting somewhat patiently for them to stop before glaring Indie to silence.

You’re either here to help or you can bounce, loser. I have a problem here, not the joke of the freaking week.

Okay, okay, calm down, she mutters, plopping down beside me for a hug that earns her a shirt full of my tears. We’ll fix this. We just need to put our heads together and think about this.

Oh! Oh, I know. We could go all Nancy Drew and start following our targets and investigating and doing all that cool stuff.

What are we, in the third freaking grade, you freak? Indie yells at Percy. I know you have a lesbian crush on that character, but it’s not happening. Firstly, I’m not putting on some stupid coat and skulking in the shadows. I have style. I also will not be digging through trash or any of that weird stuff you’re thinking about.

I wasn’t.

We all see her blush and look of guilt, though. Poor darling. There goes her dreams.

Plus, just think about how long it would take. The kid’ll be in college by the time we get anything. No go, Percival dear.

Fine, then what’s your plan, huh? You gonna intimidate the Greater San Fran population with your glare?

You’re just sore because I got more wontons than you did.

Because he was afraid of you! I was nice and I got freaking two. Two!

Silence! Luci yells, shoving Percy’s foot away and coming to her feet to pace, her face all kinds of wicked as she starts thinking. It occurs to me that all the names on that list belong to some of the wealthiest men in the country.

Oooo, your baby daddy loaded, Percy coos, getting a glare from us all.

Like I care about that right now. In fact, the thought of having to go to some rich guy who was enough of a dick to have me thrown out of a hotel is not making me happy.

My point being that we should be able to find him if we can land some of the bigger jobs we’ve looked into. There are at least four functions in the next two months that Althea threw our way, and they’re high-end events. The elite will all be there. What I propose is we get all the guest lists ready and start comparing names. If we can get at least half of those guys to one event and you can get a look at them, we should be able to narrow it down considerably.

Okay, I’m liking this plan a lot. It should be simple, right? All I have to do is take a look at the guys, and if they’re not even close to what I remember, I can just eliminate them and move on.

Suddenly I’m excited by the prospect of catering another high-end event and rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. Well, I’m excited that it’s affording me this one ray of hope.

This is good, Indie muses, finally giving up on ragging me as her own wicked anticipation starts bubbling. We can make sure Callie signs everyone in by invitation. You can keep the list under the guest list and go from there. Damn, Luci, where’d you get those brains? I met your mom, dad, and your other siblings. Are you perhaps adopted?

We all crack up and Luci threatens to call her mom, her eyes sparkling when Indie cringes. We all love and adore her family, though it’s a well-known fact that they’re all a little dim. Lib Braxton and her husband, Oliver, are just...easygoing and head-in-the-clouds type of people.

I once asked Aunt Lib why men needed nipples and she was genuinely stumped for a few minutes before she smiled at me and said that maybe God didn’t notice that they don’t have boobs.

We still crack up about that one on a regular basis anytime we see a bare-chested man. When I asked Gruffy, just to mess with her, she scarred me for life by saying that men had erotic zones that make sex more interesting.

No thanks, do not wanna imagine my toothless grandmother licking and biting Gramps’s nipples when they were younger. Gruesome.

Okay, ladies, we have a plan.

***

Thank God I wore the black dress instead of the royal blue one that Indie set out for me earlier or I’d have pit stains. It hasn’t even been half an hour since I took up my station at the door to welcome guests for Althea’s birthday celebration.

She’s one of the few women we went to school with and grew up with who married well but still kept her personality intact instead of turning into a brain-dead A-hole.

She’s been hiring us for these events since we branched out from the food truck after college and started building Delights, and she’s currently helping me in my mission to find the father of my baby.

Some of the other stuff we have coming up in the next few weeks are parties she recommended us for to a friend of her husband. Right now we’re busy, busy, busy—something I’d always prayed and dreamed about since we started with one women’s luncheon and a thing that one of Indie’s old tattoo clients did for the needy in his neighborhood.

We still do that block party, one day every six months. We do it at a reduced rate and Dot even managed to guilt a local supermarket into donating some of the produce we need.

But tonight’s event is nothing near as simple as those events, and for that I am on the verge of a meltdown. I’ve met and welcomed at least ten people so far, and I’ve crossed off three names.

One guy was clearly besotted with his wife and hardly even noticed that I was standing right in front of him. It was so sweet that I got all teary and almost begged them to take me home with them just so I can share in their happy vibes. I need happy vibes right now, all I have is puking and Indie’s amusement at my predicament.

The other two, well one guy had a very unbecoming toupee. I know it wasn’t him, despite the grey eyes, because I remember oral sex at one point in my night of sexy sin and it included a lot of hair pulling on my part. Good-bye, Wig Guy.

The other was hot, seriously freaking hot, and I actually imagined my vagina doing a slow slide down my leg to get at him, but his eyes were a light green and so he had to go.

Hi.

I look up from my list to see a hottie with sandy blond hair and dark blue eyes grinning down at me, and I find myself smiling back at his infectious good mood.

Oh, hi. Sorry, I spaced a little. Blame it on the kid, he’s sucking out my last few brain cells, I say, rubbing affectionately at my tiny bump.

He grins and seems to brighten even more when he gets my meaning.

Oh no, sweetheart, you’re taken? You just broke my heart right down the middle.

My giggle is totally schoolgirlish and I’d be ashamed if I cared that I’m being an idiot. I just can’t seem to, though, because the guy is so cute and sweet and kind that I wish he was the one.

I seriously doubt that, cutie, but I’ll take the compliment and hold it close for when I start looking like a whale.

That naughty grin is back and he shakes his head, his blue eyes taking in the very slight swell of my tummy.

Darling, I doubt seriously that you could be anything but gorgeous, no matter how pregnant you get. In fact, I’d bet a mill easy you’ll be even more gorgeous than you are now.

I like flirtatious men. Playfulness is one of those things that turns me on. Damn me for not seeing this hottie first.

Okay, sugar lips. What’s your name? And don’t you dare tell me you’re the Leonard Basil whom Althea warned me about or I swear my heart will break.

His bark of laughter draws the attention of the people behind him waiting to enter, and I thoroughly enjoy the twinkle in his eyes when he looks back at me.

Freddie Cage at your service, fair maid. And Althie is right, watch out for Basil. The man’s got a wandering eye and grabby hands.

He leaves with one more wink and I’m smiling through the next hour as I cross a good few names off my list. By the time I’m done, I’m down to a cool ten candidates and I feel like life’s definitely looking up.

Good God who was the looker who was flirting with you earlier? Luci demands when I walk into the kitchen to check on the arrangement of mini cakes that Gill ordered on the sly for his wife.

Gosh, to be loved enough that a man actually wants you to eat the things you like instead of calling you fat. My dream.

His name was Freddie Cage and he was, indeed, a looker. And a good personality, too.

Luci looks about ready to start panting with her tongue out of her mouth as we both peep through the kitchen door at the room that is officially over capacity.

I call dibs. I freaking call dibs on that one, Callie. I think I just about set my panties on fire when I saw him smile. Be still, my heart.

It feels good to giggle when her avaricious little eyes scan the room like a puma stalking prey and she finally gives up with a scowl and scrunched nose.

It’s okay, I’ll definitely find my prince later. Whew. He just about had me begging for his babies. Hey! Can I steal your method and get pregnant by him with a one-nighter?

Oh, ha-ha.

***

Jack

I hate parties and hobnobbing with my peers, as my parents like to term those vultures. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of good, honest people within my social set that I would consider donating a kidney to, but most of them are complete idiots.

It’s ironic then that I happen to run my mom’s charities and that I not only have to make sure the parties are a hit, but I also have to attend each and every one of them as the face of the Levins’ charitable organizations.

Like I don’t already have a full enough plate as Dad’s VP while also running my own brokerage firm that Freddie and Woody keep going, thank God.

Many people would look at me, see a billionaire, and think I’m a lazy, silver-spooned little asshole, but the truth is that I work harder than anyone I know.

I’ve always had to as the only child and heir to the Levin fortune, and I know that Mom, Dad and Gramps would never accept anything less than complete commitment from me.

I’m tired, though—so fucking tired of the constant monotony. Every day is the same. I handle the stuff Dad’s too busy to get to, hand off what I can to my two executive assistants, and then do my part in Global, the firm I started with Woody and Freddie right out of college that has not only made me wealthy in my own right, but also does the one thing I could never sacrifice or compromise on. We use a huge chunk of our influence to help drought-ridden countries find a way to sustain agriculture and employ teams of experts to create sustainable programs and green initiatives.

When that’s all done I’m at the damn parties.

Have I said yet that I hate that my life has been reduced to rubbing elbows with these idiots? Well I do. That’s why I feel like shit for being in a foul mood when I finally get to Althea and Gill’s place an hour and a half late.

God, the almighty Jack actually made it? What brings all that sexy black hair and grey eyes to my humble little party? she teases when I manage to squeeze through the crowd to kiss her and wish her happy birthday.

Now, Althie, you know I would never miss one of your shindigs, even if I am running on three hours’ worth of sleep and a late lunch that burned off hours ago.

The little blonde chuckles and looks not at all impressed with my hangdog expression as she kisses my cheek and shakes her head.

You rich boys are all so full of it. Gill was the same before I found him and gave his poor pathetic life meaning.

True. So true. Without my little hellcat, I was nothing but a successful businessman and bachelor playboy. Yuck, the man croons, smiling when her giggles turn into a moan as he plants a hard kiss on her lips.

Forgive a simple rich boy for asking Althie, but what exactly is it that’s so wrong with us?

Althea snorts and rolls her blue eyes, giving me a you’re so stupid that I’m surprised you can tie your own shoes look.

"Boy, you all think your lives will come to a terrible end if you relinquish some of that control you have on your precious companies. Now I don’t know if my little old public school had a different dictionary, but I sure remember what delegate means. As far as I can tell, you could use some of that tonic, boy."

Blasphemy, I gasp, making her giggle with a hand to my heart and a look of horror that’s ruined by my grin. We strong rich boys know no compromise.

Too true. Freddie laughs, coming up to the group with a grin that never seems to leave his face. Why if we let just any old body run our companies and delegate out to the experts we hire, things would go to pot in the blink of an eye.

She snorts at our teasing and just shakes her head at the old argument.

Hey, man. Where’s Woody running around?

Freddie fist-pumps me before looking out over the room with a sad sigh as Althea excuses herself to scuttle back to the kitchen with a greedy gleam in her eye.

He’s around here somewhere.

Noting his lack of concentration, I glance in the direction he’s looking and see a toffee-colored fall of silken hair and a pair of legs that make my mouth drool with lust. Definitely a leg man. And boobs. And ass. Okay, I like it all.

Who’s that?

My interest is definitely peaked now and I feel my boy down south stir with interest when I catch a tiny glimpse of her profile before she walks away with a short redhead with a good rack.

Don’t bother, man, she’s not available, Freddie gripes, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter.

You already staking a claim there, Cage?

Damn, too bad. I could definitely use a good roll in the sack after the two-month drought I’ve been on since I woke in my bed and realized I didn’t have a clue how I got there.

Scared the hell out of me that I’d been so stressed that I obviously had sex and blanked the rest out.

I do, however, remember a tattoo that still makes me laugh, but I have to say that I can only laugh now after I got tested and realized I’d dodged a freaking bullet.

I’ve never fucked without protection, not once since my dad gave me a vomit-inducing sex talk and tossed a box of condoms my way. Till the night I let myself go and did something that could have changed my life forever.