Reckless Read Online Free PDF Page A

for my services. I got a lot of shit from friends, but I always had a fat bankroll, and I never had to worry about dates.”
    I suddenly like José. Imagining him sitting in a small Rio apartment, reading women’s fashion magazines, I smile.  
    He spends the next several hours transforming my face. Trays of teeth whiteners fitted with blue lights are jammed into my mouth. Pens scratch my face and lips. Pads and ointments scorch my cheeks. He finishes by applying faux eyelashes. Like the social outcast transformed during the last half hour of a teen movie, José presents me in front of the mirror. If only I had a prom dress and a baluster staircase to descend.
    José crosses his arms, staring at my reflection. “What do you think?”
    I can barely take it all in. I almost don’t recognize the woman before me. She’s a blonde femme fatale: seductive pin-up girl hair; cat-like eyes, plump wet lips, pearly white teeth. The kind of girl you keep your man away from.
    “Wow. I never knew I could look so . . .”
    I want to say hot or smokin’ or some other adjective denoting glamour, but the words never come.
    “We’re not done yet,” he says. After a long-overdue French manicure, acrylic nails are applied to my fingers. “The heels I’ve picked out for you are closed toe, but I’ll give you a pedicure in case you get lucky.”  
    I nearly kick him in the face.
    My torture doesn’t end there. Just when I think my marathon makeover is complete, José waxes my legs.  
    Shrieks.  
    Burning.  
    Gritting teeth.
    When finished, he brazenly asks, “Do you need a Brazilian wax?”
    “Do you need a bullet in the groin?”
    That shuts him up.
    José opens the closest. Inside, a skimpy cocktail dress hangs. It’s basically a black nightie with lace to cover the cleavage and sternum. He twirls it around to reveal the deep V cut in the back.  
    How scandalous.  
    I hesitate to try on such an opulent dress. My newfound confidence wanes. Aren’t those dresses reserved for prom queens and trophy wives?  
    I check myself in the mirror again. I do look stunning, but maybe it’s all too much. What if I really look like a clown?
    José hands me the dress and tells me to hurry. “I’ve left tape on the counter.”
    It’s a good thing I stay in shape because the dress is tiny. At least I’ve got that going for me. Now to tape the devices to my body so that they aren’t detectable. The sheath style of the dress doesn’t leave me many options. I tape the mic between my breasts so the bulge can’t be seen and the recording device to my inner thigh. I wedge the earpiece as far back into my ear canal as I can. José zips the back of the dress and tells me I look like a million bucks.  
    I can’t disagree.
    And lastly, after a tortured day of being poked, prodded, and stung, the final item is placed before me.  
    The heels.  
    I feel giddy stepping into the black stilettos, and yes, they even have those coveted red bottoms. I don’t care that Louboutins are too expensive for a cocktail waitress to be wearing. If he asks, I’ll say a boyfriend bought them for me.  
    Is he still in the picture? No, Diego, it seems he only knew how to please a woman outside the bedroom.  
    Ha! Listen to me. I sound like such a whore. But I kind of like it. Besides, this is all pretend. Miranda Hill could never pull off an outfit like this or talk to a man like Diego; however, tonight I’m Caroline Davis. And let me tell you, she’s one feisty bitch you don’t want to cross and a girl who always gets what’s she’s after. Girlfriends hate her and boyfriends want to bang her.  
    Yet don’t think she’s an easy lay. Getting her panties to drop requires effort from a refined gentleman who understands the delicacies of a woman’s body and the fine intricacies of her complex mind.  
    Are you that kind of man, Diego?  
    We shall see.  
    A keycard slips into the front door. I hear Nick’s voice. “It’s almost eight, are you guys