Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Nonetheless, I take a shower and dress, and then call Laurelin to get some information about my mystery woman. My sister answers on the second ring, sounding rushed. “Hey,” she says. “I don’t have a ton of time to talk right now. I’m about to meet a new client.”
“That’s fine. I’ll make this quick.” I pour myself a glass of orange juice just to have something to do with my hands. “I found my mystery woman last night.”
She chuckles wryly. “I know. You were the talk of the party after you left because everyone saw you hustling a young woman out into your car. Subtle, you think?”
I snort.
“As if I care. But I need your help, Laure.”
She says something to someone in the background, and then comes back on-line.
“What do you mean?”
I take a deep breath.
“I need you to find out who that woman was. She said her name was Trixie, but that’s all I know.”
My sister starts laughing maniacally.
“Really? So big bro had a one-night stand with a nameless female, huh? This is so hysterical! How often does this happen to you?”
I growl.
“Can you get her name from the party planner? There must be a Trixie on the list.”
Laurelin stops laughing for a minute to say, “Huh. Okay, I’ll ask. I’m sure the event company will be able to tell me something.”
“Thanks, Laurie. I owe you.”
While I wait for her to call me back, I down the orange juice in three gulps. I should eat something, but how can I think about food when I’ve lost Trixie? I pace my apartment, unable to focus on anything except locating her again, and when I close my eyes, all I can see is her sweet face as she gasps beneath me, or the naughty look in her eye as she touches herself. We had amazing sex last night, but if this was just about the physical connection, I wouldn’t be so on edge. There was a spark between us, and I have to get my hands on this girl.
It’s ironic. Usually women throw themselves at me, and I can’t rid myself of the female attention fast enough. Yet now, I’m the one who’s acting a fool. I hustled Trixie out of the venue last night, and practically threw her into a car, my intentions obvious. Then I utterly ravished her, delighting in her luscious curves and smooth skin. Holy shit. Magazines have called me New York City’s most elusive bachelor in the past, but where has he gone? I’m like a pet dog, begging for a treat.
My phone beeps in my pocket, and I almost drop it in my haste. Laurelin’s text says that Trixie’s full name is “Trixie Dickson.” I rush to my office and type the name into Google, and fifty profiles come up. Scanning them, I see that there are no matches. There’s a middle-aged realtor in Dallas, a high school girl with too-straight blonde hair, and an old granny who’s deceased according to her obituary. What the hell? I knew this was a fake name.
Suddenly, there’s a blip from the intercom and I take a deep breath before putting the concierge on speaker.
“What is it, Mickey?” I ask.
His voice crackles with a bit of static.
“A Miss Jolene Carson is here to see you, sir,” he replies. “She says she’s your new house cleaner. Shall I send her up?”
I sit back, deflated. Oh, that’s right. On top of everything, I have a new maid who’s starting today. My old one retired and went back to Texas, and now, the agency’s sent me a fresh face. I briefly consider telling her to go home because I am not in the mood, but I really do need a maid, and it took the agency a long time to find me this one. If I don’t want this place to look like a dump, then I better let her in.
I sigh. “Yeah, send her up Mickey,” I grunt, and then hang up.
Distracted, I turn back to my Google search. Who could Trixie Dickson be? Why don’t I know more about her? I try typing “curvy brunette” and “sexy brunette” in the search bar, but that gets me nothing but some porn sites. Then, I try typing “Trixie Dickson New York,” but nothing comes up except a guidance counselor living in Brooklyn. She’s definitely not the woman of my dreams, seeing that she’s been at LaGuardia Middle School at least thirty years.
Moments later, I hear the elevator ping and sigh. I guess the help is here. I miss Maria, but there are some benefits to having a new face around. For one, I specifically requested someone young from the employment agency. Maria was a grandmother of three, and I felt terrible making her clean up my messes. Plus, I was super embarrassed whenever there were condoms in the trash. I tried to hide them sometimes, but there were instances when I know I forgot. With someone young, it’ll be less uncomfortable.