Reading His Mind (6 page)

“Yes, but do you know anything about the case? At all?”

“Oh, Lyric.” Nothing about his scoff enchanted me. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a quick study.” He shot me one of those leering gawks, making my skin try to slither its way off my skeleton.

Mr. Charles sighed. “I suppose we could discuss it with the client.”

It infuriated me no one seemed to know her name. “I’m sure
Greta
would appreciate that.” Michael might not have been her favorite person—or even a very good lawyer—but Wyatt was the very last thing her case needed.

Lunch provided an exercise in patience—of which I almost ran out. Mr. Charles insisted I demonstrate my skill at reading people while I fended off under-the-table gropes from Wyatt. When Mr. Charles excused himself to speak with the mayor, Wyatt leaned close, setting his hand on my thigh. I picked it up the way I would spoiled chicken, placing it on the table.

“Tell me again why we broke up because I just can’t remember.”

I rolled my eyes. “Was it Macy? Or was her name Marley?”

He chuckled. “Baby, they were flings, one-night distractions to keep my mind off you being too busy for me.”

“Oh”—I slapped my palm against my forehead—“it’s
my
fault you cheated. That fixes everything, unless of course I should apologize to you.”

He laughed. “You could. It made me feel awful.”

“Dream on, Wyatt.” I injected as much disdain in my tone as possible.

“Oh, come on. People change. Give me another chance.” He could not believe I hadn’t fallen at his feet with wanting to be with him again.

I pretended to think about it. “Nah. I’m good.”

I didn’t have any memories of him that made me cringe in horror, except the one where I found out he cheated. I also had none inducing joy or happiness. They, for the most part, cancelled each other out, leaving behind the pain when I’d discovered he’d been born a cheating man-whore. That one trumped all.

“At least let me try to convince you.” His delivery missed only a whined
pretty please
.

“Forget it. It’s not gonna happen for you.” Wyatt was nothing if not persistent. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, baby. You should have learned long ago to never doubt me.” He winked as his father returned to the table. “I might surprise you.”

Lunch wound down after the hundredth time I checked my watch. I only had to endure after-dinner drinks before being released from my forced testing. I took a cab to the apartment and found a note from Jace.

I hope you have a wonderful day. I will be smiling my way through whatever the next hours bring, thanks to you. I cannot wait until tonight.

J.

I frowned at his reference to our “date.” I didn’t have a chance in hell of facing it without a drink in my hand and a few more in my system before I arrived. The guest list for tonight’s soiree included my parents, who, on discovering my special gifts, had tried to use me in their greedy shame game of Steal From the Poor; my grandmother, who thought I embodied some sort of religious abomination; and my sister, the perfectly perfect counterpart to my evil self, all gathered in one place. My only buffer would be a guy who had chosen me by default but had fallen in true love with my sister. This promised to be quite the night.

My phone tinkled to life in my pocket, signaling a text message.

Jace:
Pick you up at seven?

I typed with fingers swiping over the screen at Mach IV.

Lyric:
Are you sure you still want me to go?

Jace:
I’m not letting you welch out of it. You already agreed.

Yeah. Like I needed him to remind me I had been so easily swayed by his pretty face and soft lips, by his too pretty smile and oh, that body. I sighed at my phone.

Lyric:
I know, but you’ll have more fun without me
.

Jace:
I don’t see how
.

Before I could type a reply, my screen flashed his new message.

Jace:
Come on, Lyric. I might need a little help getting through tonight, too, you know?

Lyric:
I plan to call on my other old friend, Jack Daniels. I highly recommend his soothing nature and have found him very helpful on many occasions
.

Jace:
So, I’ll pick you up at six and we can get an early start.

Lyric:
I’ll meet you there at seven
.

Jace:
Would have saved a lot of time if you’d just said yes in the beginning
.

I laughed, tossing the phone onto the sofa next to me. As though sensing I needed some emotional support, George strolled in the front door, loaded down with bags of groceries. “Now, here sits a girl who is in quite a quandary.”

“Why don’t you ever talk like a normal human? You always talk like you ate the professor.”

He laughed. “I sometimes forget my big words don’t impress you.”

“Aw, Georgie, everything about you impresses me.”

“You flatter me and I think your lover boy might have impressed you a bit more than I ever will, from what I heard rumbling through the walls last night.”

“You heard us?” The hits kept on coming. Heat crawled up my cheeks. Because of the rarity of men in my bedroom, it hadn’t occurred to me to tamp down my erotic enthusiasm. I probably couldn’t have anyway. Jace had skills.

“Just you, love. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He laughed. “Well, from the sound of it, you did, but—”

“Aren’t you a laugh riot today?” I filled him in on the details of my day and the previous night—including having agreed to a visit with the family. “So, either pull out the wine you have hidden in the bottom of that bag or I’m going out to get my own.”

“Mummy and Daddy, too?” His British accent coated every word with a sexiness only he refused to acknowledge. “I won’t even ask for a fair share. You need it all.”

I twisted the cap off then swigged from the bottle. What I adored about George was his lack of pretentiousness. He loved twist-cap wine, ham in a can, and he treated ramen noodle soup as though it was better than a steak dinner.

“Yup, can’t wait.” I spent the next few minutes wishing for the earth to open up and suck me down into whatever lay beneath, but no such luck.

“Well, before you drink too much of my wine, you’d probably better get changed.” He knew my pattern for avoidance. I drank until I gave up caring what I looked like.

“Well, what does one wear to see parents she hasn’t seen since they tried to force her into servitude and a grandmother who thinks demon blood runs through her veins and a sister who will undoubtedly—even though we are
identical
twins—make me look like I just tumbled through the gutter in my clothes?”

George hauled me off the couch toward my bedroom. “Something so deliciously sexy that even if you have a rotten time, you look exquisite doing it.”

“Do I own anything like that?” In fairness, I had already swigged half the bottle, and I’d barely been able to touch my lunch for all the assessing taking place. I’d drunk on an almost empty stomach, already leaning toward the tipsy side.

“You let me handle that and, I promise, you’ll have their eyes popping out at first glance.”

“I don’t want to look like one of those streetwalkers we all pretend are your dates.”

“You insult me, love. I never have to pay for it.” He chuckled. “I couldn’t afford it anyway.”

I pushed him into my room. “Get on with the dressing me up.”

By the time he finished, I didn’t recognize myself. He’d picked a cream three-quarter sleeve sweater with a cowl neckline and a caramel-colored brushed-suede floor-length skirt then handed me a pair of ankle boots that matched the skirt perfectly and made my legs look longer than I’d ever seen them. He pinned my hair into place. “How do you know how to do hair?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He spoke in muted tones as though I’d disappointed him. “I have taken enough hairpins out to know how to put them back in.” He grinned, cocky and sure of his talents. “You’re a vision.” He stepped back to admire his work then turned me to face the mirror. “What do you think?”

Touching one of the auburn curls he had left hanging around my face, I smiled at my own reflection. “I guess it’s true what they say. The more wine I drink, the better I look.”

“Not quite the quote.” He chuckled. “Plus, you have an amazing personal style consultant.”

“You, my friend, missed your calling.” I punched his arm. “Are you sure you aren’t gay?”

“Time and place, love. I’m more than willing to prove it to you.”

I’d enjoyed an entertaining—to me, anyway—chat with the cab driver on the way, and my mood had improved from barely hanging on to a divine inner peace by the time I arrived. For safety’s sake, also because I decided I would likely feel the need to make a hasty exit, I was meeting Jace at the bar beneath the restaurant my sister had selected for her pre-wedding dinner. I chose a spot close to the door and slid onto an empty stool then ordered a Jack and Coke.

I’d been here before, but only to the shopping center on the main floor. I’d never been to the basement casino, the top floor restaurant, or any of the hotel rooms between. With its brass rail and granite bar top, this place exuded elegance. I watched a few people I recognized from the courthouse sitting a few stools down, not preparing to have the most dysfunctional dinner of their lives. Jealousy spidered a big sticky web in my stomach. “Lyric.”

Rounding toward the person who’d called my name, I stared in total surprise. I hadn’t ventured far enough into the bar’s sitting area to discover my parents also waiting for my sister, and I bristled as dear old Mommy came up beside me.

“What a surprise.” My mother’s voice had grown breathy, deeper from years of smoking. Her eyes raked over my outfit from sweater to boot. “Sit up straight, darling. You can’t afford to grow a hunched back.”

Nothing like an impromptu parental visit to ruin a very good buzz. My mind swam inside my alcohol-soaked frontal lobe—minus my previous wine-induced happiness—and I had to look twice, but my mother hadn’t changed a bit. Seriously, she looked like a plastic mannequin of herself, stretched and plumped to dispel any telltale wrinkle of age.

“Oh, my sweetheart!” My father joined in the anything-but-happy reunion. “You look wonderful.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Her phone-sex voice was a new addition to her repertoire. She was Gucci’d from head to toe, while my father could have been a walking ad for Armani for men. The evangelical business must have been booming if they could afford those fine threads.

I wondered if, somehow, karma had grown a sense of humor and decided to punish me for agreeing to this ill-fated date. “How you have been?” My words slurred across the air at them. I shook it off, trying once more to put the words in the right order. “I mean, how have you been?”

“Have you been drinking?” My mother’s disapproval made her voice deeper. “The Lord says your body is your temple, Lyric. Alcohol is the devil’s poison.”

“Well, tell me…how does the Lord feel about pot, Susan?” I asked, hating that my mother, of all people, had taken the moral high ground. When she failed to answer, I elaborated. “Marijuana? Wacky weed?”

She narrowed her eyes, but her stiff, Botoxed face didn’t change.

“I don’t like the implications you’re making to your mother, Lyric.” My father’s voice carried just enough Ward Cleaver reproach I had the urge to hurl.

Jace walked in, and I cringed as his eyes searched and then met mine.

I turned my attention back to the problem at hand. “Well, Richard, it’s a damn good thing I don’t give a
holy
crap what you like, or we would both be upset.” No truer words had ever been spoken. “This way, it’s just you, and I’m okay with that.” I nodded. “Yeah. Still okay.”

“I would think, after all these years and all we have done for you”—he dragged each word out to stress its importance—“you would be somewhat welcoming to your parents.” The Lord might not have been a fan of alcohol, but apparently, their God had no problems with the embellishment of truth.

“All you have done for me?” I parroted. “Didn’t God do something with lightning and liars? No, it wasn’t God, it was like Mother Goose or something.” I looked out through the giant picture windows that formed the bar’s backdrop. Stars twinkled in a cloud-free sky. I wondered if there had to be a storm for bolts of electricity to shoot out of the heavens to punish liars. “Probably won’t happen inside a building, but I wouldn’t walk outside if I were you.”

“Come, Susan.” My father’s feet stomped across the tile floor, away from me. “She’s had too much to drink to be civilized.”

I would have flipped him off but couldn’t remember which bird to fly, so I settled for making a face. My parents, without another word, walked away. Jace, who’d arrived in time to see the entire thing, laced his fingers through mine. “That was pretty.”

“You like that? Then dinner should be like a real party for you.” I sucked down my drink and slammed the glass down with attitude. “We should get hats.”

“For the record, I don’t think it was Mother Goose.”

I smiled though my heart weighed heavy. “I can’t do this, Jace. I want to go home.”

He nodded and followed me to the elevator. We waited, neither of us speaking or moving. When I stepped inside, he stood at my elbow. “What’re you doing?”

“Making sure you get home.”

“Yeah.” I nodded then shook my head. “No. That’ll make you late for dinner.” I almost laughed. “Nobody likes to be late for dinner. I can get home. As a matter of fact, I got here no problem all by myself. Well, with the help of a lovely cab driver named Andre.”

“Such a brave girl.”

“Don’t mock me.” I didn’t own an ounce of courage to spare at the moment. In fact, I was one short second from crumbling before his very eyes. It pissed me off. “Listen, I know we were supposed to do this dinner thing and then go have a good time tonight, but I just…I don’t think I can.”