Size 12 and Ready to Rock Read Online Free PDF

I’m perspiring too, enough so that tendrils from my blond ponytail are sticking to the back of my neck. But I can feel cold air coming from the apartment behind Christopher. He’s got the air conditioning on full blast in there.
    Skipping the niceties, Cooper asks, “What’s that all over your suit?” He doesn’t mean the sweat stains either. Christopher has dark brown flecks all over his otherwise pure white linen suit. I know I’m not one to talk, with the big glob of Day-Glo paint I have on my back. So far as I know, Christopher wasn’t on either of the paintball war teams downstairs.
    “Oh, this?” he says, swiping at some of the larger stains on his jacket, smiling like it’s nothing. “Well, yes, this is from an unfortunate situation that arose earlier in the evening, but I can assure you that everything is—”
    The female ambulance attendant turns to me and Cooper. “I know when I see blood, and that’s blood,” she says flatly. “Either one of you in charge? ’Cause we got a call about an unconscious woman at this address. This gentleman”—she uses the word “gentleman” sarcastically—“says she’s conscious now, but he’s denying us entry unless we sign some kind of waiver.”
    “Well,” I say, because between the spots on Christopher’s suit and the EMT’s mention of a woman being unconscious, I’m ready to take total charge. Roofies is all I can think. Roofies and blood. “I’m the assistant director of this building. This man doesn’t even live here. He has no authority to require anyone to sign anything. So I say you can go on in.”
    A male voice calls my name from a room in the apartment behind Christopher, apparently having overheard my little speech.
    “Heather? Is that you?”
    Cooper is past the EMTs like a gunshot, shoving Christopher roughly out of the doorway. “ Jordan? ” he says in a tone of disbelief.
    I don’t blame him. Cooper’s little brother Jordan is one of the last people I’d expect to find in a New York College residence hall, even in the president’s cushy apartment, and especially one in which roofies and blood are apparently present. Cooper and Jordan have never exactly been close, and not only because Cooper, unlike Jordan, refused to become a member of Easy Street when their father, Grant Cartwright, CEO of Cartwright Records, thought it up. There’s also the fact that Cooper’s extremely wealthy—and equally eccentric—grandfather, Arthur Cartwright, left Cooper his pink townhouse in the West Village, now estimated to be worth in the high seven figures.
    The way Jordan broke up with me could also be a contributing factor to Cooper’s dislike of him, but I don’t want to make assumptions.
    Still, Cooper practically flattens Christopher in his effort to come to what he believes is his brother’s aid. It’s touching, really, although not everyone finds it so.
    “Do you mind?” Christopher calls testily after Cooper, adjusting his lapels. “This suit is Armani. And this is private property. I could call the cops.”
    “Go ahead,” I say to Christopher as I lead the EMTs past him. “I’ll tell them you’re trespassing. Your parents aren’t here, are they?”
    “They’re in the Hamptons,” Christopher replies sullenly. “But seriously, you guys are disrupting a very important scene. They can check her afterward. She’s feeling better now anyway.”
    “Scene?” I echo, my heart sinking. An unconscious woman, blood, and cameras? Has Christopher talked Jordan into making a porno? The sad part is, it wouldn’t surprise me.
    As I turn the corner from the penthouse’s elegant foyer, I see exactly what Christopher means by scene, however, and also why Cooper has stopped short so abruptly in front of me that I run right into him.
    “Cooper?” Jordan Cartwright is sitting on an overstuffed couch clutching the hand of his new—and extremely pretty—young wife, best-selling recording artist of the year Tania Trace. Jordan looks