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On her hands and knees scrubbing the toilet bowl, Lenny’s decision to meet with Halsey in her apartment felt like a rocky start to their fake partnership. Both of them were too busy to put the time aside during the day, which meant Operation Green with Envy planning had to be done after hours, and the glossy, respectable, prosperous offices of Sherwood Venture Capital had reminded Lenny too much of Dad’s office for her to want to hang out there.
On top of that, with Mom visiting her sister in Florida—indefinitely—Lenny felt she should be home for Mallory in case Mal thought she had an invitation to stay out late on a school night.
If Halsey showed up early, he’d get a shock. She wore bleach-stained track pants and a T-shirt she told herself had shrunk in the wash. Not that this was a date. She wasn’t going to dress up for him, but it would be useful to give him the impression she was professional no matter the setting.
And he’d no doubt come straight from the office where he’d looked so fine behind his Great Gatsby desk in his shirtsleeves, buttoned-up waistcoat with a hot pink tie, and a mop-top angel she’d mistaken for his daughter on his lap. She’d never seen him wearing glasses—they were half-moon and gave him a scholarly look—or expected him to be such a natural with a child.
None of that helped with the continual thoughts of wanting to kiss him. Wanting to ruffle his hair and hear him groan in her ear, and that was before she caught him with Amelia on his lap and got hit with a power shot of dopamine. When this sting was over, she had to get a hobby. Hopefully man-shaped with a preruffled and ready-to-get-laid feature. No knitting required.
“Damn you, Excel Boy,” she said to the toilet bowl, fist raised in a sad cartoon parody.
The fun part about her impromptu trip to Sherwoods’ office had been shocking Halsey rigid about her decision to partner up. And why not, when she could do a good deed and serve her own need to be seen at appropriate events around town.
It was a boost to know PowerPoint Girl could surprise her dastardly partner in crime.
She got off her knees and flushed. As far as Mal was concerned, Halsey was her accountant, not some guy who’d made her momentarily not sad by being a decent dancer, saved her from a mugging, and offered her the opportunity for soul-soothing vengeance and social status rehab.
She had time to shower and dress, put a cheese plate together, and worry that wanting to work with Halsey was her worst decision since losing her virginity to Gavin Rochford in his single sleeping bag at summer camp.
Gavin was a water sports jock who was into beach volleyball, wake boarding, and kite surfing and couldn’t remember her name or what they’d done on the beach. She spent the rest of the camp suffering him calling her Louise, telling everyone it was their in-joke, and pretending not to care.
She was the same age then as Mallory was now.
Back then, Dad was running a legitimate investment firm. Easton was at college. Mallory was a cute preschooler with gappy front teeth. Mom was the charity event hostess of the moment. Lenny wasn’t staying out late and lying about it. She was taking dance classes and lusting after the poet, musician, actor friends who hung around with her bestie, Fin, and too scared to act on any of that hormonal surge because of the bad taste for sex her sandy sleeping bag encounter with Gavin had left.
She wanted more for Mal than a muscle-bound dude drunk enough to not care beyond a half-warm start and connecting parts A and B, and drooling in his sleep.
Maybe her sister could have a series of fake boyfriends who looked the part like Halsey did but never touched her. That would solve the problem. Mal had probably already done the deed, despite not admitting to it. She should find out what Mal knew about contraceptives, because Mom had never done a thing to prepare Lenny for Gavin or anyone who’d followed him, right up to and including her newest fake beau.
Who she knew practically nothing about.
He had no social media profile. None. He was a ghost online and not exactly chatty about himself.
With his CIA-level research capability, Halsey probably knew her ovulation cycle, and she didn’t know the first thing about him, except that he was a well-dressed criminal who could duck a missile, dance a waltz, throw a punch, dandle a child convincingly, and possibly had magic fingers. How did he do that thing with the buttons and the cup?
She got in the shower and tried not to think about Halsey’s magic fingers while she soaped up. Then she stood in front of her wardrobe looking for something to wear that wouldn’t squeeze her waistline or pinch under her arms or require the Spanks she’d squirmed out of earlier. If she had to be uncomfortable around Halsey, she was going to make it metaphorical not physical.
Wearing comfy undies, she stared into the morass of her wardrobe. Clothing options for every conceivable occasion and nothing to wear to plot a con. Every time she’d seen Halsey he was suited up, the whole crisp shirt, glorious cut fabric, perfect tailoring, paired with the right tie, shoes, and cufflinks.
She went for a pair of wide-leg black pants and a white shirt and shoved her feet in ballet flats. The unhelpful full-length mirror read the look as trying too hard. Jeans would be better with this shirt. She was still sifting through looks fifteen minutes later for no good reason.
She didn’t need to impress Halsey. That made the plain pale blue, drapey, knee-length T-shirt dress just right. She swapped to red ballet flats and slung on a red resin necklace and its matching chunky bangle and was in the kitchen looking for the cheese board when Mal came in and dumped her satchel on the counter.
“Don’t leave that there,” she said and then grimaced, and followed up with, “How was your day?”
“No one followed me home or spat on me.”
Lenny winced. “Better than average, then.”
That got a grudging smile. “Who is this guy you’re meeting?” Mal said.
“Just the accountant.”
“Are you having a pajama party?”
“Why would we be having a pajama party?”
“Because you’re basically wearing your pajamas with jewelry.”
