Mischief in Miami Read Online Free PDF

legs.”
    All right. I wouldn’t even feel bad when I drove my knee into that dude’s nads. Maybe stumbling around for a week with ice strapped to his crotch would beat some sense into his thick-head.
    Right before I could deliver knee-to-nads, a voluptuous little thing skidded up beside us. “What the hell, Chad?” she half-shrieked.
    “Shea, calm down,” Chad instructed, lifting his hands.
    Shea didn’t calm down. She pretty much went with the opposite. Lifting her blinged out hand, she slapped Chad across his cheek before turning my way. If the chick tried to slap me, she was going down. I didn’t do girl drama.
    I gave her a warning look and prepared to grab her hand, but she did something I wasn’t expecting. She upended her glass of white wine on my chest.
    “There,” she said, making sure the last drop of wine landed on my dress. “Now I’m calm.” Without another word, she flicked her hair and powered away.
    “Shea!” Chad called out, flashing me an apologetic look before chasing her.
    Muttering a string of curses, I worked my way back into the crowd before Mr. Silva’s gaze could drift my way again and find me a livid, wine-soaked mess. I went to every Greet prepared, but that snafu would take a little time to sort out.
    I’d had a drink dumped on me before. Thankfully Shea’s was only white wine. Let’s just say that white linen spattered with bloody mary is beyond repair.
    The women’s lounge and restroom was at the end of a long, dark hall and was mostly empty. Other than a girl adjusting her cleavage at the long mirror, I was alone. I dug around in my small clutch until I found a mini-spritzer bottle of club soda. Some women didn’t leave home without their lipstick; I didn’t leave home with my spritzer of club soda. To date, save for the white linen/bloody mary fiasco, I hadn’t met a stain club soda couldn’t tackle.
    After spritzing, dabbing, and drying my dress under the hand dryers, I was good to go. Next time, I would kick the offending meathead boyfriend in the balls first and dodge the girlfriend and her drink later.
    Before leaving the restroom, I did a once-over in the mirror. It always took me a few days to get used to my new look. Realizing the person staring back at me in the mirror wasn’t a stranger, at least not in the traditional sense, took a few double takes.
    The stylist had layered my hair with champagne and platinum highlights, woven in a few hair pieces for added length and va-va-voom, and added some long layers. Once the hair team was done, I’d been passed off to the waxer, the bronzer, the facial specialist, the manicurist, the pedicurist, and finally the girl who’d layered lash after precious fake eyelash into my existing ones. I didn’t know what it was about that kind of Look at ME! style that men loved, but the ones I dealt with couldn’t get enough. I felt more like a patina of a woman than a real one.
    After making a slight dress adjustment, I headed for the door. The woman’s lounge had been empty when I’d meandered into the restroom, but it wasn’t anymore. In fact, the whole three’s a crowd adage didn’t seem to apply to the woman’s lounge.
    “And here I thought this was a woman’s lounge,” I said, startling two of the trio. The third couldn’t have looked less startled. The dancer on her knees in front of Mr. Silva stopped pulling at his zipper, and the other, who’d been making out with him in a way that gave new meaning to the term “sucking face,” gave the face sucking a break.
    It wasn’t an ideal first meeting: in the woman’s lounge while the Target was about to be serviced by not one, but two, of his own employees. However, when G had warned me years ago to be prepared for anything, I’d taken that warning seriously.
    I would take these three-way meet-and-greet lemons and make some goddamned lemonade.
    Lowering my lids just enough, I gave Mr. Silva a hint of a smile. When his pupils dilated even more than they already