The Accidental Genie Read Online Free PDF

jacket hanging over her hands. “You’d know crazy, now wouldn’t you,
expert
?”
    Sloan threw his hands up in defeat and turned to stomp off to find her car. The faster he got her into it, the faster he could go home.
    But the echo of her slippers stalked his ears. Sloan pivoted on his heel to find her but a couple hundred feet from him.
    Jeannie’s eyes narrowed, glittering in the glow of the lamplight with an I-told-you-so glint to them.
    Rolling his tongue along his cheek, he took a step backward to test her theory.
    As though someone were pushing her from behind, she teetered forward, fighting the unwanted movement of her feet. When she began to stumble, Sloan rushed forward, catching her so she wouldn’t crash to the hard pavement.
    Jeannie slumped in his arms with a growl of frustration, bracing her hands on his forearms. Their bodies pressed closer, making Sloan inhale sharply. He set her from him with a hard glance. “I think we have a problem.”
    “Ya think,
master
?” The fatal word flew from her mouth like a bullet, crashing through her clenched teeth. She screamed then, her face turning a shade of red Sloan couldn’t remember seeing before.
    That was just before she disappeared in a cloud of perfumed, lavender-colored smoke.
    Sloan waved away the smoke, and when it cleared, he was still alone.
    This paranormal incident was brought to you by the words
yes
and
master
.

CHAPTER
    2
    “Is this outfit some kind of pathetic ploy for attention, Jeannie Carlyle?” Betzi, her menu planner and chef for Cee-Gee Catering, drawled the question from her position on Jeannie’s moss green couch.
    The surface was covered in boxes of sales receipts and client orders Jeannie could never find the time to organize. Betzi swung her legs over the arm of the sofa with a yawn, casually flipping through the current issue of
Cosmo
.
    When Jeannie, who was still marveling at the technique with which she’d arrived on her doorstep, Sloan strangely in tow, didn’t answer, Betzi peered over the top of her magazine, a smirk on her face, her light brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Well? Don’t give me the eyeball. Answer the question. Do you need some love or something? Because I have to tell you, boss, I’m kind of tired tonight—it was that damned yoga instructor that did it to me. Well, that and all his downward-facing dog. He has so much energy. Sexy as hell, but phew—much work. Oh, and the twins are in your bedroom—snarling and, I’m sure, taking great pleasure in eating those fluffy stripper thongs you got at the flea market.”
    Jeannie shot Betzi the most infuriated glare her eyeballs would allow without falling out of her head. Tonight was not the night to hear about another of Betzi’s sexual escapades—most especially if it involved downward-facing dog and a sweaty yoga instructor.
    When she’d managed to poof herself back to her brownstone’s front door amidst this new smoke-and-mirrors technique she’d acquired, she’d burst through the door to her friend’s astonished gazes, introduced Sloan, acquiring more astonished gazes, and proceeded to explain her arrival and the preceding nightmare of her bottle captivity.
    So it was an explanation that was just this shy of outlandish? Surely they knew her well enough to know she’d never make something like this up . . .
    Jeannie spread her arms wide, indicating her flimsy ensemble and being extra careful to keep her back to Sloan. “Of course this is a ploy for attention, Betzi Cable. First, there’s my festive fez—what about that doesn’t scream I want attention? Then there’s my harem pants. Because I’m all about absolutely anything that will show off all the cellulite on my ass and how so not firm my abs are.”
    She pushed Sloan’s jacket out of the way and pinched at the small roll of flesh exposed just under her ribs, making a face. “And who doesn’t want to flaunt their miniscule, thirty-four B fun bags in this armor they call a