“Well, the first thing we need to do to make you blend in is wax your chest.”
“Excuse me?”
“You wanted my help. Those dark curls peeking out from your undershirt can be taken care of right now. I have all the equipment right in our spa room.”
His brows furrowed, and he studied her, looking like he was weighing the pros and cons. “What’s the worst that can happen if I let you do that?”
“Well, let’s see. The very worst? Pain, redness around the follicles, but those things are both expected and temporary. I suppose your male ego could be bruised if you cry. But don’t worry. I’ll never tell anyone if you do. It’ll be our little secret.”
“Cry? Over pain that a girl can take? Ha! Bring it on.”
Famous last words, my man.
Rick must have feltas ridiculous as he looked. Dressed up like Cupid, he strolled amongst the participants of the romance convention, with feathery wings and a quiver of arrows on his back. Joell walked behind him, chuckling.
He turned to the side and murmured, “Quit staring at my ass.”
“Why? You volunteered to be ogled, didn’t you? Besides, in that flesh-colored leotard, there’s nothing else to stare at.”
“That’s thanks to your waxing. As soon as the pain and redness go away, I’ll gear down.”
She pretended to enjoy his humiliation, but Crowe thought she was enjoying the view. The man was solid muscle. Women began flirting with him from the moment he stepped off the elevator, and Crowe sensed his discomfort melt away after a few moments of appreciation. Now he was either enjoying the positive attention thoroughly or trying to bug Joell by faking it.I’d vote for the latter.
She was wearing a provocative, low-cut red dress and getting her share of revenge stares. Whenever another male modelappeared, Witchy-poo would squeeze his biceps or run her hand over his chest seductively.
When she took her leave, Rick asked the guy why there weren’t more models around. He said he had been forced to wear someone else’s costume and wished the guy would come back and claim it, so he could be the pirate he was supposed to be.
Joell didn’t even need to linger close by to hear the other models’ answers. Her auditory sense is her sharpest. She has the most powerful hearing of any of the witches. Almost as good as her familiar’s. The built-in bullshit detector, as Crystal called it, seemed quiet so far.
Speaking of Crystal. She was enjoying a drink at the bar with Stan Gold. They were looking pretty enamored with each other, and no, she didn’t come home last night. At some point, Joell would need to check in with her too. Meanwhile, Crowe was enjoying their stroll through the lobby in her Louis Vuitton tote bag/cat carrier.
“Joell, darling!” someone called from across the room.
She faced in the direction of the voice and saw both Sahara and Magda waving madly. The three women made a beeline for each other and hugged like they hadn’t seen each other for years, even though they’d just teleconferenced the other day.
Crowe meowed his complaint about being squished between them and almost jumped out of his ride-along bag. But he’d be taking his last life in his paws amongst this throng. So, he was the filling in a triple-decker sandwich. Thankfully, they backed off before he could leap.
“I thought you were staying in Oz, Magda,” Joell said.
“And miss this? Not bloody likely. Don’t worry, I have the sat phone on me.” She patted her Prada bag.
“What have you found out so far, and how can we help?” Sahara asked.
“There’s not much to go on. One of the models has medication that got left behind. Someone should either come back for it, or call his doctor for an emergency prescription, locally.”
“Has anyone contacted the doctor?”
“Stan Gold had Gabriel’s parents’ phone number as an emergency contact and had to get the prescribing doctor’s name from his father. It was dicey without giving away the fact that Gabriel was in trouble.”
“How did he do it?”
“He said he was thinking of buying a vacation home on Lake Superior but needed a good doctor who could handle his brittle diabetes, and Gabriel couldn’t remember his doctor’s practice name or phone number. Then he went off on a tangent about how people think New York is the center of the universe, yada, yada, yada. I think the dad just gave him the number to shut him up and get his afternoon back.”
“So now what?”
“Now we wait to hear from his doctor. If he gets a call, a couple of us will be waiting at the pharmacy he calls the prescription in to. Oh, shit. I ended a sentence with a preposition.”
“Perfectly understandable under the circumstances, darling,” Magda said. “And what if the perps send someone to his room to get the bottle he left behind?”
