Bait & Switch Read Online Free PDF

molding and double-tiered porch overlooked sailboat-dotted Charleston Harbor.
    Mitch approached the house, which was probably a classic example of some sort or architecture or other, feeling good about the way things were going.
    He’d spent the entire day living as Cary, and so far nobody was the wiser. Admittedly, he hadn’t covered himself in glory during the Tennis for Tots class. And, sure, he’d needed to tell Cary’s rec department co-workers he was suffering from the effects of a late night to explain his ineptitude.
    But he’d figured out where Peyton lived with relative ease by tailing her home after work when he hadn’t been able to reach Cary to ask him her address. He’d also found an elegant tuxedo in his brother’s closet. A shock considering the state of Cary’s finances, but at least Mitch didn’t have to rent one.
    Yeah, Mitch thought as he rang the doorbell, things were definitely looking up.
    The salty breeze off the Charleston Harbor blew through his hair and the bouquet of lilies he’d brought for Peyton. As he waited, he admired his ritzy surroundings. It was a bit disconcerting that Peyton still lived in her childhood home, but who could blame her for continuing to enjoy the high life?  
    The door started to swing open. Mitch smiled, anticipating the sight of Peyton dressed for the ball.
    A tall, broad man he assumed was her father filled the door frame, his posture so erect it put a ruler to shame. Mitch remembered Cary saying he was a solicitor, but he seemed more like a military man. Mitch resisted the urge to salute.  
    “What do you want?” the man asked gruffly.
    “Hello, Mr. McDowell.” Mitch held out his hand. “I’m Cary Mitchell, but you can call me Mitch.”
    The man’s gaze swept Mitch up and down. His brown eyes narrowed. He neither smiled nor took Mitch’s hand.
    “So you’re the smooth operator who stood up my daughter last night?” His unfriendly Southern drawl had the ring of aristocracy, as did the white bowtie and white waistcoat he wore with an elegantly cut black dress coat. Mitch dropped his hand.
    “If we were better acquainted, you’d know I’m about as smooth as a gravel road.” Mitch tried a smile Mr. McDowell didn’t return. Suspicion lurked in his flinty eyes. “Okay, maybe I am smoother than gravel. Would you believe asphalt?”
    “Who is that at the door, dear?”
    A petite woman with frosted blonde hair appeared at the man’s side. She was immaculately decked out in a shimmering gold gown that probably cost as much as Mitch made in a week. Peyton’s mother, Mitch presumed.  
    “Some joker comparing himself to highway surfaces,” Mr. McDowell said.
    “How charming.” The woman beamed at Mitch, showing teeth so blindingly white Mitch almost shielded his eyes to protect his corneas. “Are those flowers for me? I absolutely adore lilies.”“Then I guessed right, Mrs. McDowell.” Mitch held out the bouquet. “I’m Cary Mitchell. The flowers are an apology for last night. Something came up and I couldn’t get to a phone. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
    She brought the flowers to her face, sniffed and sighed. “Of course I will, Cary dear.”
    “Please call me Mitch.”
    “Certainly,” she said, “and you can call me Amelia.”
    “Call me sir,” Peyton’s father intoned.
    Amelia McDowell smiled at her husband as though he’d told Mitch to call him lucky to make his acquaintance. She cocked her expertly coifed head and peered around Mitch’s shoulder at the red Miata parked at the curb. “Where’s Peyton?”
    “Isn’t she inside the house?” Mitch asked.
    Mr. McDowell frowned. “Why would she be?”
    Mitch swallowed a groan. That could only mean Peyton didn’t live with her parents, after all.
    He’d never been good at improvisation, but gave it a shot. “I thought she was meeting me here.”
    “Asphalt, schmasphalt,” Mr. McDowell growled. “First you stand her up. Then you don’t pick her up. You’re no