Bouquet of Lies Part 1

Bouquet of Lies.

Roberta L. Smith.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Many thanks to my wonderful critique group authors and friends: A. B. Fowler (author of The Jesuit Papers and A Game of Bones), Sierra Donovan (author of Love on the Air, Meg's Confession, and No Christmas Like The Present), Marilyn King (author of The Winds of Grace and Isabel's Song) and Liz Pye. This book wouldn't exist without their valuable feedback.

One.

"YOU'RE BREAKING UP with me?" Randy reached for her and pulled her back to bed. Lacey rolled onto his chest and faced him. His playful smile told her he didn't believe it.

He was dazzling. Clean shaven. Dark hair, usually perfectly combed, except for times like this when he made love-and he always called it making love.

The morning light that streamed through the window caused his deep blue eyes to gleam. They were the depth and color of a cobalt sea and expressed profound sincerity when it came to matters of the heart. He probably never had a girl break up with him in his life, except maybe as a young teen when at that awkward stage. That is, if he ever had an awkward stage.

"It's nothing personal." Lacey traced the side of his face with a finger while her other hand played with the hair on his chest. She liked looking at his face. It was almost too beautiful to be a man's. If she were insecure about her looks, she might have broken off their relationship just because of that. But she wasn't. She was a beauty herself. One who didn't have to work at it, and so gave it little thought.

"Nothing personal?" He laughed. "Now I know you're kidding." He wrapped his arms around her and sat up. He kissed her shoulder, the one with the tattoo of a man holding a sheet of just-baked cookies, and worked his way to her neck.

She closed her eyes to savor the sensuous feel of his lips upon her skin and let loose with a core-deep sigh. Then she pulled away and gave him another look before she hopped out of bed. After grabbing her Victoria's Secret underwear from a chair, she made a beeline for the bathroom and glanced back in time to see him heave backward onto the bed.

She closed the door and pulled her panties over her hips.

He called, "When she's had enough, she makes no bones about it!" He paused. "Come back! I need you!"

Lacey slipped into her bra, fastened it. She checked her sun-kissed brown hair in the mirror and drew fingers through to neaten it. "That's what you like about me, remember? My ability to cut through all the-"

"I love you!"

She emerged from the bathroom and joked, "Don't say that. You'll hate me in the morning."

"It is morning."

"Afternoon, then." She s.n.a.t.c.hed her jeans from the floor, stepped into them, and zipped. Looking at him, she sighed again. This time softly. He was probably the most gorgeous guy she'd ever known. That, however, was no reason to stick around. Especially when he had brought up the M word twice. She was only twenty. Much too young to get married. Randy had eye appeal, but she wasn't in love. She couldn't keep dating him if he was looking for a wife. And she had another very good reason for wanting to move on.

"Come here," he said.

She came closer, leaned over, and kissed him. "It's been fun."

His brow furrowed. "You aren't kidding, are you?"

She shook her head, brushing back locks of hair. She found her blouse on the nightstand, drew her arms through each sleeve, and b.u.t.toned it. "We've had a terrific run."

"Run? What? We've crossed some imaginary finish line? It's been four weeks and we haven't had so much as a tiff. I thought everything was great."

"Everything was."

"Then what's going on?"

She couldn't tell him his talk of marriage was a turn off. Or that she felt smothered because he kept close tabs on her, called constantly, and didn't want her to go out with her friends. Apparently he thought obsessive attention should be viewed as true love. She decided to give him a reason that made her look like the one with a character flaw. "Daddy thinks you're wonderful."

"Huh?"

"J. Harper Bouquet. The man whose corporation issues electronic payment each week to the account of Randall C. Barber. He says, and I quote, Randall is an up-and-comer. He's a great a.s.set to the company. For once in your life you've made a wise decision."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"One might a.s.sume."

"Look. If you think I'm just using you to get in good with the boss, you're wrong. I-"

"Low self-esteem is not my problem. Keeping Daddy worried is."

He scrambled to his knees. Close enough to take her into his arms, he gave her a deep, lingering kiss.

She melted for a moment before opening her eyes. "I will miss those."

She pulled away, located her purse, and walked toward the door, pausing for one last gaze. He looked like a wounded puppy. Her heart fluttered slightly. She did like him, but this was no time for guilt. She was doing him a favor by not stringing him along. "Please don't call me."

A disbelieving stare replaced the puppy-dog gaze. She caught a brief glimpse of anger in his creased brow. That was better. Anger was an excellent coping mechanism when it came to breakup pain. He'd be fine. She walked out the door.

The elevator took her to the ground floor and by the time she had zoomed through the lobby and into the sunshine where she quickly donned Dolce & Gabanna sungla.s.ses, her cell phone was rocking out. She checked it. Randy. For a brief moment she thought about answering with an "I told you not to call." But she wasn't necessarily one to follow someone else's directives either, and she had dated him for a month.

She blocked his number. That took care of Mr. Barber. If she knew men, and she thought that she did, he wouldn't call again. His opinion of himself was as big as Donald Trump's. He wasn't the sort to beg more than once. Also, there were certainly more ladies in the sea for someone like him.

She glanced up at his apartment building. It was one of those sleek and expensive high-rises on Wilshire. His unit wasn't the penthouse, but he'd get there one day. Ambitious, young, smart, and too handsome for anyone's own good, he was on the fast-track to success.

A youthful version of her father . . .

She rolled her eyes as she zipped along the sidewalk to her car. If she had known when she met him that he worked for Bouquet Industries, she wouldn't have gone out with him in the first place. She should have ended it when he told her.

It's water under the bridge now. Time to move on. Never dwell on things that can't be changed.

She hopped into her jet blue metallic Audi Spyder convertible, started the motor, and quickly cut someone off when she pulled into the street.

"Sorry," she called. The driver of the BMW jetted full speed around her and flipped the bird. She shrugged a shoulder. "I said I was sorry."

Not even a second later, a red light reflected in the rearview mirror and she saw a motorcycle cop motioning her over. Without so much as a grumble, she parked at the curb and adjusted the side mirror so she could watch the officer climb off his bike.

Tall. Mmm.

He removed his helmet, hung it on the handlebar, and approached the Spyder.

Young. Nice.

It was a clear, heavenly morning and he wasn't wearing a jacket. His beige uniform stretched across his chest and she pictured him in the gym pumping iron.

Bench press, 285 pounds, ten reps. Arm curls, 55 pounds, ten reps each. That sounds about right.

The sun glinted off his dark gla.s.ses when he appeared at the window. He removed his gloves and the gla.s.ses, but not the stoic expression on his face. "Do you know why I stopped you?"

She gave him her best sheepish look. "I know I wasn't speeding. I barely got out of park."

"The way you pulled into traffic you almost caused a wreck."

"Guess I was distracted. I just broke up with my boyfriend and"

"License, registration, and proof of insurance."

So he was going to be a hard-a.s.s. Too bad. She would have liked to chat. She stifled a sigh. It was no biggie. Since purchasing the Spyder, she'd been pulled over three times. Each time the officer had let her off with a warning. This time it appeared her luck had run out. Smiling, she retrieved the items he wanted and handed them over. He read the insurance card and gave it back before he walked to his motorcycle. She watched him in the mirror.

Confident strut, but no real swagger. Bet he can salsa with those hips.

She leaned against the headrest and drummed the steering wheel with her fingers. Her pearl-lacquered nails made a clipping sound. Since she broke up with Randy, the day was wide open. Maybe she would call Courtney. They could go out to lunch, do a little clothes shopping. She needed to get some sort of hooker get-up for that extra job, aka background talent gig, on Monday. And she was out of cat food for the scrawny tabby stray that mewed at the kitchen door. That would fill the daylight hours. As for the night . . . ?

The cop's salsa hips set an idea in motion. Dancing. Her friends would be happy to see her back in circulation. They might razz her about having put them on hold because of a man, which really wasn't her style. She had tried to get Randy to mix. He'd resisted. Quiet romantic dinners and walks on the beach seemed to be all he wanted to do. Well, not all . . .

She grabbed her cell and called Courtney. "Hey, girlfriend. What's going on?"

"Who's this? I don't recognize the voice." Courtney sounded purposely confused.

Let the teasing begin, Lacey thought. But really, Courtney had no room to be annoyed. Her last two relationships had caused her to be missing in action for four months apiece.

"Read your caller ID," Lacey said.

"I deleted you. I thought you were dead."

"Ha. Ha."

"Ha. Ha, yourself. To what do I owe the honor of this call?"

She was carrying the att.i.tude thing a bit too far. Lacey readied her thumb to disconnect. "Never mind. I can always call Alex or Sigmund."

"No. No. No. They're more p.i.s.sed than I am."

"p.i.s.sed? Seriously?"

Courtney finally giggled. "Of course, seriously. Everybody misses you."

"And I miss everybody. What's the plan for tonight?"

Courtney launched into a litany of gossip before she said there were no set plans for this particular Sat.u.r.day night.

"How about some live sounds at the Roxy?" Lacey said. "I feel like a crowd. I feel like dancing."

The officer reappeared at the window.

"All right. Spill," Courtney shouted above the earsplitting rock music. The lights of the Roxy nightclub flickered in her wide eyes.

Lacey laughed. There wasn't much to spill. She leaned across the table and cupped her hand beside her mouth. They should have sat next to each other instead of allowing friends Alex and Sigmund to sit in between.

"I broke up with Randy because he was getting too serious."

"I hate it when that happens."

"He was talking marriage! I mean, I made it clear from the start. I wasn't looking for long term commitment. So I made a clean break."

Sigmund stuck his face in between the two girls, looked at one and then the other. "If you two are gonna shout over the music . . ." He gestured toward the stage where the band played to a standing crowd. He and Alex pushed back their chairs and took off.

Courtney switched seats so she could sit next to Lacey and put her mouth near Lacey's ear. "Now what did you say about making a new friend?"

"After I left Randy's, this motorcycle cop gave me a ticket and I invited him to party with us."

"A cop?"

"Officer Daniel O'Donnell. He's adorable. What can I say?"

Courtney threw her head back and laughed. Lacey took a sip of the champagne she had ordered with an ID that fudged her age.

"Did he say he'd come?"

"Didn't say no. Although I think he mumbled something about ethics."

Courtney nodded. "Oh, I see. He's all about the ethics."

"I said, 'Hey. We've both been ethical. You gave me a ticket and then I asked you out. You're allowed to go out when you're off duty, right?' I saw a hint of a smile so I told him to look for us at a table."

"Hmmm. A guy like that?" Courtney pursed her lips. "He won't come."

"Why not?"

"Ethics." Courtney shrugged and took a drink of her Cosmo.

Lacey scanned the crowd. "You're wrong."

"I'm not."

"You are. He's right there." Lacey trained her eyes on him.