Body Movers Books 1-3

He stared at her chest and made a rueful noise. “Too bad.”

“Yes, well, have a nice day.”

He took his time peeling away from the counter, looking back as if he just knew she was going to change her mind. Carlotta averted her gaze and busied herself straightening the counter. What an oaf. Were there any good men left in the world? She smirked, thinking of her friends’ comments about her aversion to men. Would she recognize a good man if he crossed her path?

Then she sighed. Even if a great guy dropped into her life, who would want to sign up to share her problems? Fugitive parents, a delinquent brother, a mountain of debt—it didn’t exactly make her the most eligible woman in Atlanta, not unless the guy had a laundry list of his own problems.

Take Detective Jack Terry, for instance. The man wasn’t bad-looking if one could look past his ghastly taste in clothes. But even dressed in a Paul Smith suit, Jack Terry would still be a swaggering, arrogant, annoying pain in the ass. Oh, sure, he’d tried to help Wesley yesterday in the men’s room, but now she knew it was only because her father’s case had been reopened and he was trying to cozy up to them for information.

In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. Since there weren’t any unattended customers in sight, she pulled out the phone, hoping it was Wesley. She felt horrible about yelling at him this morning. Resentment toward her parents had never been stronger. She waffled between hoping the detective found them so she could tell them all the hateful things she’d been saving up for ten years, and hoping he didn’t find them because their return would wreak so much havoc on Wesley. Better that he romanticize their plight than to know with certainty what she knew: that their parents didn’t give a fig what happened to them.

But the caller ID read Hannah Kizer. Carlotta smiled and punched the call button. “Hi, are you back?”

“Yeah, I’m back. How did things go yesterday in court?”

“He got a fine, community service and probation.”

“Wow, no jail time? His attorney must have been good.”

Carlotta thought of Liz Fischer, frowned and changed the subject. “You’ll be proud of me—I told Wesley he had to get a job.”

“About damn time. Maybe now he’ll be too busy to get into trouble. Have any of his thugs been around?”

Carlotta glanced around to make sure no one could hear her. “A guy forced his way into the house this morning, demanding money.”

“You’re kidding. What did you do?”

“Wesley had a little cash, and I’d gotten an advance on my credit card, so we had enough to pacify him.”

“You should have called the police.”

“Considering my family’s history with the police, I didn’t think that was such a good idea. Besides, the police would only make things worse.”

Hannah sighed. “You’re probably right. But you need something to protect yourself.”

Carlotta pursed her mouth. “You mean a gun or something?”

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Carlotta turn her head. Her general manager stood there, frowning.

Carlotta’s pulse spiked. “Gotta go.”

“No, wait—I called you about a cocktail party tonight at the Four Seasons. Want to crash?”

Lindy was walking away, so Carlotta relaxed a bit. “I told you—I’ve sworn off party-crashing.”

“Oh, come on, I’ll let you in through the kitchen, so you don’t have to worry about a counterfeit ticket. You’re ready to clock out, aren’t you?”

Glancing at her watch, Carlotta said, “Yes, but I really don’t feel like going home to change.”

“It’s one of those business mixers for the upper crust, so the dress is business casual. Come on, it’ll take your mind off things.”

Carlotta wavered. She’d worn a rather conservative black suit and striped button-up shirt, so she would probably blend.

“I’ll meet you at the kitchen entrance in an hour,” Hannah said.

“Okay,” Carlotta relented. “Just this once.”

She disconnected the call and hurried to wait on a customer, who took up the time remaining on her shift. Afterward, she freshened her makeup in the employee break room. Michael Lane came in and removed a brown paper bag from his locker.

“Hot date?” he asked, cracking open a can of diet soda.

She smiled. “No.”

“Hmm, I was hoping the reason you’ve been avoiding me is because you had a secret man in your life.”

A pang of remorse struck her. She’d been avoiding Michael because he’d no doubt read about Wesley’s arrest and she didn’t want to discuss it. She and the gay man were friends, but she wasn’t sure how much she could trust him where the gossip mill was concerned.

“I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

“I understand,” he said, his expression gentle. “Is everything okay at home?”

“It’s getting better,” she said evasively, hoping it was true.

“Let me know if I can help.”

Gratitude swelled in her chest. “I will. And thanks again for the Angela Ashford commission last week.”

He shrugged. “Everyone who works here knows she’s your customer. You deserved it.” Then he frowned. “So what’s the connection between the two of you anyway?”

She married the only man I’ve ever loved. “Uh…we went to high school together.”

“Oh. Was she a bitch then, too?”

Carlotta laughed. “In training.”

“So what are you up to tonight?”

“I’m meeting Hannah at a party.”

He frowned. “The vampire?”

“She’s not a vampire. She just likes to dress…weirdly.”

“Whatever,” he said. “You’ll never land a man if you keep hanging out with the likes of her.”

She closed her locker door and swung her purse to her shoulder. “I’m not trying to land a man.”

“Uh-oh,” he said. “That’s when it happens.”