CoverBoys & Curses Read Online Free PDF

said, “I think you’ll find all
the information you need here.” She tossed a thick manila folder onto Gabri’s
mahogany desk. “I just need you to look the title work over. Stuff like that.”
    “Who’s
the listing agent?”
    “It’s
between me and the seller. I just thought it prudent of me to involve you.
Right? I’ll pay you, of course.”
    And
Gabri agreed. For a fee. She reached her chubby hand over her desk and shook
hands with Carly.
    I’m
going to owe Sterling Falls more than bed linens, Gabri thought, if her rich
friends keep buying all this real estate.
    Gabri
decided it was time to host one of her legendary dinner parties for Sterling
and her circle of affluent friends. She penciled in some names on a legal pad.
    The list
amused her. Sterling proved to be something of a Jekyll and Hyde . A daddy’s girl, for sure, and daddy thought she
was a virgin.
    “In
truth angelic Sterling is a virgin, nine hundred times removed,” Gabri said
aloud to herself while wondering who might be her newest escort.
    Lauren
Visconti had big bucks. More than she figured her for. Old money, Gabri
thought.
    Then
there was Carly Posh to add to the guest list. Odd name. Choppy sounding.   But who cares? Sterling Falls’ referrals, and
Gabri’s ability to keep them loyal were making Gabriella Criscione a very rich
woman.

 
    Chapter Twelve
    It’s
Just a Glass of Wine
    TWO
WEEKS PASSED. It was a stroke of luck that the fifth floor of the office
building I bought sat empty. The executive offices of CoverBoy were available for me to lease until the close of escrow.
    Likewise,
Sukie Fields managed to move her photography studio and lab into the basement.
The existing tenants didn’t seem to mind at all as they watched the endless
stream of gorgeous male models riding the elevators up and down between our two
departments.
    Sukie entered
into contracts with seven young male models. My own computer geek, Geoff Hayes,
would make the debut cover, but only after setting up our online presence.
“Geek above gorgeous,” I told him.
    I
stepped inside Sukie’s photo lab to see her lift off the last of the 8x10
glossies.
    “Damn,
these are good,” I said as I helped her hang the drippy papers. They were the
usual shoots. Hunks in jeans, studs in tuxedos, and lots of almost nudes. Sukie
had a way with the camera. Every ab glistened, every
curve on the thighs fell rich with texture. And then there were the eyes. In
truth, Sukie captured far more depth to the eyes than the models exhibited in
real life.
    “By the
way,” Sukie said, “I grabbed the mail at the PO Box and accidentally opened
something personal of yours.” She grinned. “You’ll like it.”
    We both
knew nothing was too personal in my life that Sukie couldn’t see it. I
succumbed to my own curiosity when I saw the feeble, shaky looking handwriting
on the small pale blue envelope. I could barely make out the words in the short
note.
    Thank
you for returning my wallet. I was beaten up pretty bad by those boys.
    Broke
my hip. The receipt ain’t mine.
    Don’t
want anything that don’t belong to me. The money is your reward.
    I looked
back inside the envelope and pulled out a receipt and the cash. The receipt was
actually a claim check from the Tom Bradley International Bag Service at LAX. I
slipped the ticket into my purse, along with all the cash. My reward was three
worn one-dollar bills.
    I
scoured the junk mail. Opened up a few bills. How did they find me so quickly?
Another envelope caught my eyes. White. Typed with my old address and
forwarded. No return address.
    One
piece of paper. Three little words. Sometimes that’s all it takes. The typed
message read:
                            It wasn’t suicide.

 
    A
LATE LUNCH AT Catrozzi’s was already a single
hedonistic ritual that engulfed my soul. I sat there, unaccompanied, after
ordering the chef’s daily special.
    The
chardonnay smelled of a buttery liquid with a good hint of