I'll Say Anything Read online

  “You know, I'm kind of surprised you didn't say yes. You're the wild one, the rebel. When someone says don't do that, you march over and do it anyway. You never hesitate to do the unexpected and take glee in shunning the rules,” he said.

  The light caught just so on Jasper's eyes, turning the vivid blue a lighter shade. It contrasted with the shadowy ridge of his brow and the darker lashes that had settled at half mast.

  “The only reason it was somewhat easy is because you make such a big deal about saving every penny. Just last week you wouldn't even go out to eat twice, instead of once. I heard about how that 'extra fifteen bucks a week adds up over time' for three straight hours. That's why I didn't just grab the bull by the horns and say...let's do it.” I couldn't believe I was admitting that to Jasper. Then again, we didn't hide things from each other, and I was used to saying exactly what was on my mind at any given second. He was right though; suggesting we go risk a five hundred dollar bet was something I'd do, not him.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He bobbed a nod, raked the loose shank of bangs away from his forehead, and sat straighter in his seat. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he started the engine. Leaving the parking lot, he got on the road for home. The radio blared to life with a hiss and a crackle, forever tuned to a rock station.

  Glad to have things return to familiar footing, I buckled myself in and slouched in the seat. I said, “So, about tomorrow night...”

  *

  “Anything goes wrong, you feel strange or weird or suspicious, you call me, got it?” Jasper glanced across the Camaro, one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel.

  “I will, I will,” I said, unbuckling the seat belt. Then I admitted, “I don't want to get out of the car.” 'Tomorrow night' was here. Pulling down the visor, I checked the layers of make up, applied with a heavier hand than usual. Smoky kohl lined my lids, smudged just so. A shimmery greenish-blue shadow brought out the color in my hazel eyes, which were sometimes more green than brown. I'd gone so far as to brush rouge on my cheeks and streak red lipstick over my lips. Red to match the red in the dress. I'd left my hair long and straight again, hoping it might add a sliver of class, which the outfit clearly lacked.

  I felt like a hooker.

  The location of my demise was an upscale restaurant with hundred dollar plates on the menu and the entire top floor encased in glass. I'd heard the food was to die for, the chef some high-class savant from Paris. All I could think about was my polka-dot dress and red fold-over ankle socks. Someone was going to get a good laugh out of the joke, but it wouldn't be me.

  “Four hundred bucks, Fin. Remember that.” Jasper, decked out in battered jeans and a plain heather gray tee shirt—one of his favorite things in the world—glanced past me to the restaurant. There was an employee at the door in a sharp suit, letting people in. Jasper grunted.

  “I know.” Rubbing my forehead, I followed his gaze. “I should have worn sunglasses at least, to help hide my identity.”

  “That would have just made it worse. Where are you supposed to meet this 'gentleman', anyway?”

  “The instructions said to meet him in the top floor club. Your friend Tyler pointed out that he'd be wearing a red jacket. Shouldn't be hard to find. Then it's a matter of getting through the next three hours.” Gathering a small clutch—I hated purses with a passion, but thought it necessary to hold my phone and some cash—I opened the door and got out. Leaning down once I was on the sidewalk, peering in through the open window, I said, “Don't forget to pick me up.”

  “I won't. I promise.” Jasper winked.

  He'd promised, therefore his word was gold. I smiled, a wry kind of smile, and turned around to head for the door. From the clutch I pulled out my invitation, a small white card that I presented to the employee.

  Behind me, the Camaro's engine revved once, then Jasper pulled away from the curb.

  “Good evening, Miss—are you in the right place?” The doorman accepted the card with a frown and took another look at my attire.

  “Yes. I'm in the right place.”

  He arched his brows, tapped the card against his fingers, then finally opened the door.

  “Thank you.” I was proud of my ability to remain cordial under such duress.

  The doorman muttered something incoherent just before the door closed.

  Ignoring it, I followed the large signs situated on easels through the upscale restaurant. It was the kind with secluded booths and muted lights that shined down from the ceiling. Wood gleamed, crystal glittered. Everything looked rich and expensive. The middle aged couple standing at the shiny silver elevator doors wore clothes fitting for a black-tie affair, the woman's gown a floor length, glittering peach concoction that lapped delicately at her ankles.

  When they heard my heels on the marble floor, they turned to offer me a smile, the expression freezing on their mouths.

  Here we go, I thought to myself.

  “Evening,” I said to the couple, and punched the button even though they already had.

  “Good evening,” the man said. The woman's smile remained on her face but her eyes glimmered with disapproval.

  The doors swooshed open. We all stepped in, and the doors swooshed closed again. A steady hum escorted us to the top floor. No attempts were made at conversation. Already the back of my nape prickled with heat and unease. Without looking over, I knew the woman, at least, was scouring every inch of my attire. Not that I could blame her. I'd had a pretty stark reaction the first time, too.

  The elevator stopped with a ding and the doors swooshed open. Exiting last, relieved to be out from under the intense scrutiny of the woman, I tucked the annoying clutch under my arm and took in the sights. The entire room, which seemed to span a good portion of the building, had floor to ceiling windows with an amazing view of the Strip. Tables dotted the space around a glossy dance floor with a sparkling disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Two mini-bars with tuxedo wearing bartenders flanked long buffet tables laden with all kinds of food. A small podium had been set up at the opposite end, a microphone propped up and ready for use.

  I estimated the crowd to be sixty strong. Tuxedos reigned, as did floor length gowns. Diamonds winked on fingers, wrists and necklines. The politicians stood out like sore thumbs with their plastic smiles and booming voices.

  It didn't take long before people started glancing my way. Their stares stuck, and frowns soon followed. One lady, who'd had no less than eight face-lifts, burst into laughter.

  Four hundred bucks, Fin. Don't lose sight of the goal. I sought a man in a red jacket—not a difficult task with so many black tuxes in attendance—and found him with his back to the room, staring out one of the windows. He looked tall, but not as tall as Jasper, with dark hair that had a tendency to curl. The short style kept the wayward strands in check, all except a stray lock or two. I couldn't see his face from this angle, and he hadn't seen me either despite the murmurs and whispers making their way around the room.

  Taking advantage, I threaded my way through the guests, passing out a smile here or there. The smiles I got in return weren't exactly friendly, as if the richest members of society smelled a rat in their midst.

  Striding up behind the man in the red jacket, I said, “Excuse me. I'm supposed to be meeting you here tonight.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, raked me head to toe, then frowned just like everyone else had. In a condescending voice, he said, “Pardon me?” Under the broad ridge of his brow, his eyes—a striking light brown—rudely made another pass over my outfit. The corners of his mouth quirked, like he was holding back an equally rude comment.

  “I'm your date for tonight,” I said, turning to face him. Any second now, I expected to see a proverbial light bulb go off over his head, and then laughter when he realized Tyler and his ilk were playing a joke on him. “Your friends sent me.”

  His brows dipped low, then arched high. The rocks glass in his hand, half full of an amber liquid, rotated in little circles, sending the liquid slos
hing against the sides. “What friends? I don't have plans for a date tonight, and I'm certainly not about to be seen with you dressed in that.”

  He scanned the room where just about every guest kept shooting furtive—and not so furtive—glances our way.

  “Too late,” I said, suddenly miffed. “Tyler, Joshua, Dalton and Landon sent me. Surprise!”

  “Look. I don't know how you got past security at the door, but I'd suggest you make your way back down there and re-enter your usual reality.” The man switched his attention to me, staring an intimidating stare down his nose. “Because you belong here about as much as oil belongs with water.”

  Whatever diplomacy I had left evaporated in an instant. I couldn't even remember the name on the instruction paper inside the manila envelope Tyler had given me, which was a shame because I would have wielded it like a scalpel. I took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “I'm sorry I don't meet your expectations, but you need to talk to your friends about that. They're the ones that chose this god awful outfit--”

  “Who's talking about the outfit?” he said with a smirk.

  I wanted to sock him right in the teeth. “Hey, they're not paying me enough to deal with this. You can take your childish insults and shove th--”

  “Problem?” another man said.

  Spinning around, expecting to find a member of security prepared to 'escort' me out, I came face to face with a man who took my breath away. In Finley Carson's world, that wasn't an easy feat to accomplish. I'd seen my share of handsome men in Vegas, both residents and foreigners alike. None could compare to the perfection of the stranger's jawline, his startling green eyes, olive skin and appealing, angular features. Jet black hair, slicked away from his face, made his eyes stand out more than they already did. The only word I could think to describe him was captivating. Mesmerizing. Alluring. That was more than one word, but they all fit. Distracted to a disturbing degree, it took all my willpower to swerve my mind back to the topic at hand: the jerk in the red jacket.

  It was then that I realized most of the guests were now openly staring. I needed to get out of there. Fast.

  “No problem. A poorly planned joke for...for...” Unable to remember on my own, I dug through my clutch for Tyler's card. On the back was a name. “...Ramsey. Tyler sent me, see, and Ramsey's being a real ass about it.” I thumbed over my shoulder toward the now named Ramsey.

  The man in the red coat abruptly laughed. Loud and obnoxious. “Well, well, well! Isn't this rich.”

  Finding nothing funny about the situation, not now, after the joke was long since past, I narrowed my eyes and glanced back at Ramsey. Just as I was about to decimate him with the sharp edge of my tongue, the stranger in front of me did something unexpected. He tilted his head back and laughed. A low, rich sound that sent a shiver up my spine.

  “Have you both lost your minds?” I demanded, failing to see the humor. My ire was up, my patience wearing thin.

  The stranger reached a well manicured hand out to gently touch the back of my elbow. He followed the motion, coming to stand at my side. Facing the curious throng of onlookers, he announced, “My date for the evening, compliments of Tyler.”

  My first reaction was to step closer to the stranger, just for a second, to make bodily contact. However brief. Our sides brushed as subdued laughter rippled through the crowd. Apparently, Tyler's joke had finally struck home.

  Then the stranger's words sank in.

  “Wait, your date?” I couldn't remember a time when I'd been so confused.

  “Slow witted as well, I should have known,” the man in the red jacket said. He gestured to the stranger with his rocks glass. “What he's trying to tell you, is that I'm not Ramsey. He is.”

  I glanced aside and up, meeting the stranger's green eyes.

  “Watch your tongue,” Ramsey said to the man in the red jacket, voice calm but laced with clear warning. Then he met my gaze. “I'm who you're here for, not him. I'm Ramsey, and I have no idea who you are.”

  “It's your rep on the line, not mine. Good luck with that,” the rude man said, indicating me with his glass.

  If I hadn't been so distracted by the stranger—the real Ramsey—I might have given the man in the red jacket a suitably condescending reply. Instead, I focused on Ramsey, annoyed at how attracted I was to him. “I'm Finley. Should we just call this a night so I can go home?”

  “Finley. My apologies. Adrian has a coarse nature.” Ramsey gestured after the rude man, but didn't look away from my eyes.

  “To say the least.” What I needed to do was get away from all the prying eyes and Ramsey's good looks. He seemed nice enough on the outside, but this really wasn't my crowd, wasn't my style, and I was itching to get out of the dress.

  “Why don't I buy you a drink and you can tell me how this came about.” Ramsey applied gentle pressure to my elbow and glanced toward one of the bars.

  I stepped forward because it would have been rude not to—although Adrian didn't seem to care about rudeness at all—and walked with Ramsey across the dance floor. Just a few couples were out there now, their attention directed away from the confrontation.

  “This came about thanks to your friends and an apparent joke they wanted to play on you. I had no idea this was the outfit they'd chosen, or trust me, I wouldn't have taken this gig.” I questioned my sanity several times before we reached the bar's edge. What had I been thinking? I hated parties like these and didn't typically mingle well with the 'upper class'. I preferred beer over wine, baseball to soirees, and grease to frills. This was a bad idea, even at four hundred bucks.

  “It was a brilliant joke on their part, if only you'd found me first instead of Adrian.”

  “I'm glad you're amused.” I gave Ramsey as sincere as smile as I could muster. It was strange to care that he saw me like this, as if the dress somehow diminished me. As if I thought I could be more myself in my usual jeans and tee shirts.

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked, releasing my elbow.

  “You know, actually—now that you've had your laugh and the guests are almost done staring, I think I'll be on my way. I'll have to give Tyler back his money, I guess, since I didn't follow through with my end of the deal. You got your surprise, anyway.” The longer I stood there, the more uncomfortable I felt. It was the strangest thing. I didn't want Ramsey to see me in the hideous dress any longer than he had to.

  Ramsey gestured to the bartender to wait, then turned to face me. “How much did he pay you?”

  “Three hundred dollars. Plus a hundred for a taxi, which I didn't use.”

  “I'll pay you another six hundred to stay.”

  I searched Ramsey's eyes. Was he serious? He seemed to be. And now I was in a conundrum of all conundrums. To accept meant that I could be bought off for just about any reason, for any price. Yet turning down such easy money was foolish in itself...wasn't it?

  A faint smile touched the corners of Ramsey's mouth while he waited me out. The hint of a dimple appeared in his clean shaven cheek.

  I said, “That's a really nice offer, Ramsey. Really. But I--”

  “A thousand.”

  My mouth fell open. I could just hear Jasper now, in some alternate dimension, shouting at me to take the money. That would be fourteen hundred bucks to add to the New Business savings. The sooner we could open our mechanic shop and stop working for other people. But at what cost to my pride? He must have detected my inner struggle.

  “Two thousand,” Ramsey said, voice lower, more alluring.

  “I feel like a hooker.” The words came out before I could stop them.

  Ramsey laughed. “Far from it, I suspect. It's the least I can do after the harsh treatment you had to suffer earlier.”

  “I'm tougher than this dress makes me look,” I said, then added, “But all right. That's an offer I just can't turn down.” Despite my inner misgivings, I figured I'd better take the offer before Ramsey came to his senses and withdrew it.

  He extended a hand, never looking
away from my eyes.

  Glancing down, I clasped my palm to his, experiencing a mild jolt at the contact. His skin was warm and slightly calloused, far from what I expected. We shook on the deal, leaving me both relieved and chagrinned at the same time.

  “So, wine?” Ramsey asked after releasing my hand.

  “I'm more of a beer—ah, wine is fine. Red will do.” They probably didn't even serve beer at functions like this, I reminded myself. I wasn't much of a drinker anyway. Alcohol and I had been at odds with each other for years. When I did imbibe, it was always a few swallows and never the hard stuff.

  “If you want beer, you can have beer. What kind?” Ramsey asked.

  “Corona. With lime.” Cringing inside that I hadn't caught my mistake sooner, I tried to sooth myself with the idea that none of these people would ever see me again. Drinking beer in a lollipop dress at a high society soiree wasn't a big deal at all.

  Ramsey ordered the beer in a low voice, then handed me the tall bottle, replete with a lime stuffed in the neck.

  “Thanks.” I stuck my finger in the neck to push the lime all the way down, then tipped the bottle up. Way up. I didn't mean to guzzle like that. When I came up for air, I noticed Ramsey wasn't the only one watching me. The bastard Adrian stood at one of the other bars, smirking. Several couples were also observing Ramsey's 'date for the evening' again, interested in my presence now that I wasn't making a quick escape.

  It was going to be a long night.

  On my second swig, I noticed Ramsey giving Adrian a dark look. It served to turn Adrian's attention somewhere else, and for that I was grateful. Adrian didn't like me, and I didn't exactly like him, either.

  “You know, Tyler got it wrong. He said to look for the guy in the red jacket,” I said to Ramsey.

  “He got it right. That was part of the set up, I just didn't realize it. Tyler sent me the jacket earlier today and I left it down in the reception area. I suspect Adrian didn't bring a coat with him, and decided to hijack the red one for the party.” Ramsey, a glass of wine in hand, escorted me away from the bar. We skirted the dance floor at a sedate pace.