Strikes Again!
You won’t believe what your mom just found on our doorstep: Two dozen pink roses. The card said, “Happy Valentine’s Day from Your Secret Admirer.”
Well, we all know who that is. The gasbag Romeo has struck again! If he thinks I’m going to sit by quietly as he flirts with your mother, he’s got another think coming!
Your outraged,
Daddy
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: My Secret Admirer
Omigosh, honey. Somebody just left two dozen of the most glorious pink roses on our doorstep. The card was signed, “From Your Secret Admirer.” There was no florist’s name on the card, so we have no way of finding out who sent them. Daddy’s convinced they’re from Lester Pinkus.
Oh, heavens. Could Daddy possibly be right?
Does Lester Pinkus have a secret crush on me?
Love and XXX
From your very rattled,
Mom
Chapter 7
I must admit I was a tad shocked to read my parents’ e-mails the next morning. I’d thought for sure Lester Pinkus’s “crush” on Mom was all a figment of Daddy’s imagination. But now I had my doubts.
Did Lester actually send Mom those two dozen roses? Was he her Secret Admirer? Would Daddy make it through the day without challenging him to a duel?
Only time—and the next couple of chapters—will tell.
All thoughts of my parents’ love triangle vanished into the ether, however, when I showed up at the office and found Joy in the middle of a major meltdown.
It seems her sapphire earrings, the ones I’d seen her wearing at Simon’s the other night, had gone missing. And now Joy was stomping around the office, curses flying, ready to call in Scotland Yard to nab the thieves. If you asked me, she probably misplaced them. But Joy was only too happy to pin the blame on someone else. Anyone else. The plumbers who’d come to her condo to fix a leak. Her weekly maid service. Even poor Travis came under suspicion, having been unlucky enough to have delivered some dry cleaning to her condo the previous afternoon.
After much deliberation, she decided the culprits were the gals at Mighty Maids Maid Service.
“I’m going to sue those bastards for every cent they’re worth!” she said, getting on the phone with her attorney.
I wisely spent the day trying to stay under her radarscope, working on fictitious dating profiles. At around five p.m. I made a break for it, whispering my good-byes to Cassie and Travis.
Out in the hallway I sprinted for the elevator and waited impatiently for it to come. It finally showed up, and I was just about to step inside when I heard Joy’s familiar screech:
“Yoo hoo, Jaine! Hold that elevator!”
Oh, groan. For an instant I debated pretending I didn’t hear her. But, coward that I was, I didn’t have the nerve. So I held open the elevator doors as she came puffing to join me. I rode down with her, listening to her blather about the evil vixens at Mighty Maids, all the while inhaling the asphyxiating scent of her designer perfume.
When at last the doors opened and we made our way to the small parking lot out back, I gulped the fresh air gratefully.
“Those thieving maids will rot in hell when I’m through with them!” Joy was ranting when suddenly an older-model Mercedes came roaring into the lot and, with a squeal of brakes, lurched to a stop in front of us.
A tall, raven-haired gal emerged from the car, her animal-print dress pulled tight around her stick-thin frame. She tossed her great mane of ebony tresses—most of which I suspected were extensions—and planted herself in front of us.
Up close I could see her skin had been pulled tauter than a snare drum, her eyebrows immovable as Mount Rushmore. Clearly she’d put some lucky plastic surgeon’s kids through college, and probably grad school.
“Why the hell haven’t you returned my calls?” she asked Joy, her eyes flashing anger.
“Do I know you?” Joy replied in her snootiest Queen Mum voice.
“Yes, you know me. I’m
You won’t believe what your mom just found on our doorstep: Two dozen pink roses. The card said, “Happy Valentine’s Day from Your Secret Admirer.”
Well, we all know who that is. The gasbag Romeo has struck again! If he thinks I’m going to sit by quietly as he flirts with your mother, he’s got another think coming!
Your outraged,
Daddy
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: My Secret Admirer
Omigosh, honey. Somebody just left two dozen of the most glorious pink roses on our doorstep. The card was signed, “From Your Secret Admirer.” There was no florist’s name on the card, so we have no way of finding out who sent them. Daddy’s convinced they’re from Lester Pinkus.
Oh, heavens. Could Daddy possibly be right?
Does Lester Pinkus have a secret crush on me?
Love and XXX
From your very rattled,
Mom
Chapter 7
I must admit I was a tad shocked to read my parents’ e-mails the next morning. I’d thought for sure Lester Pinkus’s “crush” on Mom was all a figment of Daddy’s imagination. But now I had my doubts.
Did Lester actually send Mom those two dozen roses? Was he her Secret Admirer? Would Daddy make it through the day without challenging him to a duel?
Only time—and the next couple of chapters—will tell.
All thoughts of my parents’ love triangle vanished into the ether, however, when I showed up at the office and found Joy in the middle of a major meltdown.
It seems her sapphire earrings, the ones I’d seen her wearing at Simon’s the other night, had gone missing. And now Joy was stomping around the office, curses flying, ready to call in Scotland Yard to nab the thieves. If you asked me, she probably misplaced them. But Joy was only too happy to pin the blame on someone else. Anyone else. The plumbers who’d come to her condo to fix a leak. Her weekly maid service. Even poor Travis came under suspicion, having been unlucky enough to have delivered some dry cleaning to her condo the previous afternoon.
After much deliberation, she decided the culprits were the gals at Mighty Maids Maid Service.
“I’m going to sue those bastards for every cent they’re worth!” she said, getting on the phone with her attorney.
I wisely spent the day trying to stay under her radarscope, working on fictitious dating profiles. At around five p.m. I made a break for it, whispering my good-byes to Cassie and Travis.
Out in the hallway I sprinted for the elevator and waited impatiently for it to come. It finally showed up, and I was just about to step inside when I heard Joy’s familiar screech:
“Yoo hoo, Jaine! Hold that elevator!”
Oh, groan. For an instant I debated pretending I didn’t hear her. But, coward that I was, I didn’t have the nerve. So I held open the elevator doors as she came puffing to join me. I rode down with her, listening to her blather about the evil vixens at Mighty Maids, all the while inhaling the asphyxiating scent of her designer perfume.
When at last the doors opened and we made our way to the small parking lot out back, I gulped the fresh air gratefully.
“Those thieving maids will rot in hell when I’m through with them!” Joy was ranting when suddenly an older-model Mercedes came roaring into the lot and, with a squeal of brakes, lurched to a stop in front of us.
A tall, raven-haired gal emerged from the car, her animal-print dress pulled tight around her stick-thin frame. She tossed her great mane of ebony tresses—most of which I suspected were extensions—and planted herself in front of us.
Up close I could see her skin had been pulled tauter than a snare drum, her eyebrows immovable as Mount Rushmore. Clearly she’d put some lucky plastic surgeon’s kids through college, and probably grad school.
“Why the hell haven’t you returned my calls?” she asked Joy, her eyes flashing anger.
“Do I know you?” Joy replied in her snootiest Queen Mum voice.
“Yes, you know me. I’m
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