Wicked & Willing: Bad Girls by Leslie Kelly Page B

stomach. She could already picture a forty-foot-long dining-room table, each place set with a dozen metal torture devices masquerading as silverware. There’d probably be an obsequious waiter standing behind every diner, ready to swoop down on anyone who dared to lick a little drop of gravy off her finger or, heaven forbid, sneeze into a pressed linen napkin.
    “I feel sick,” she whispered.
    Though she was speaking more to herself, she realized Troy had heard when his hand touched hers. The contact was fleeting, over so quickly, she almost suspected she’d imagined it. But when she saw his warmly concerned expression, she knew she hadn’t. “You’ll be fine, Venus. It’s just a house.”
    She shook her head. “I know that,” she said, trying to sound confident. “I just don’t particularly care for the highbrow set.”
    He looked like he didn’t believe her, as if he’d seen the moment of panic she’d tried to hide.
    She laughed lightly. “Believe me, this is no sweat. But I am much happier slinging beer at Flanagan’s, and I should be pounding the pavement to find a new job.”
    “Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”
    She shot him a glare and crossed her arms. “I should have known better than to accept a free trip from a guy I knew was too smarmy to be legit from the minute I laid eyes on him last week. Because this free vacation obviously came with a whole bunch of pricey strings attached.”
    He stared at her intently. “You just met Leo last week?”
    She nodded, glancing back at the house. “Last Wednesday. And I knew from the minute I saw him he was up to something.”
    “Yet here you are.”
    She shrugged. She wasn’t about to explain to this man, who already thought so badly of her, that she’d accepted Leo’s five thousand dollars for this trip. Whether she’d taken the money to help Maureen and the kids and to keep a roof over her own head or not, he’d still think her an opportunistic money-grubber, especially if she admitted she really did not believe she was this old guy’s long-lost grandchild.
    Who cares what Mr. Stuffed Shirt thinks?
    As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Venus did care. That was a strange feeling for her, considering she seldom gave a rat’s ass what other people thought of her. She’d long ago decided she was comfortable in her own skin, happy with the person she’d turned out to be. Maybe a little loud. Maybe a little too friendly with too many guys. But still, a smart, hardworking, loyal woman who, until right now, had never been intimidated by anything as silly as a big ol’ house in an unfamiliar city—which probably had diamond-studded chandeliers and gold-plated toilets.
    “I need a drink,” she muttered.
    “Good, you can make us both one,” Troy answered as he opened his door to step out. “Let’s see how good you are at your job.”
    “It’s just a night job,” she clarified as she got out, not waiting for him to open the car door, though he’d come around to do so. “A temporary one until I can find something more permanent again.” Then she thought about what he’d said. “You’re staying for a while, then?” She nibbled her lip, glancing back and forth between Troy, who was at least somewhat familiar, and this house, populated probably by a bunch of absolute strangers.
    He answered with a secretive smile, “Oh, yes, I’m staying.”
    “Suit yourself,” she murmured, trying not to let him know she was pleased at not being dumped at the door.
    Max Longotti had obviously phoned home and informed his housekeeper, Mrs. Harris, of Venus’s arrival. The woman was welcoming and professional, greeting Troy with familiarity and Venus with unexpected warmth. Venus managed to keep her mouth closed and her eyes in her head as they walked through the huge tiled foyer. Fancy sculptures stood on tiny tables. Even fancier pictures hung on the walls. The predominant color seemed to be bluish-purple, even right down to