Lori Avocato - Nip, Tuck, Dead

Jagger lifted himself up on his elbows, looked directly into my eyes and said, “Beautiful that you think I should be proud of all your accomplishments when you’ve accosted me like this. Just beautiful.” He groaned and eased himself down. “Sure you are beautiful, Sherlock. A real looker. Okay? Happy?”

The stinging in my eyes was getting way too difficult to contain. So I pulled my shoulders straight-as if that would help-refused to let myself cry and said, “Sure I’m happy with the compliment. Would be happier if it were real. Now I’d like to get some sleep. So if you wouldn’t mind returning to your room-”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and flung it at me. “I’m not budging.”

I caught the key, thank goodness, and looked down at it. There usually was no sense in arguing with Jagger. He always won. So I decided to save face and go sleep in his room.

His room?

Oh…my…God.

All his stuff would be in his room! And if some identity clue happened to fall out of his suitcase…

“Good night. Sorry, and I do hope you feel better.” I grabbed my robe, threw it over my arm and opened the door.

Before I could shut it, I heard, “And I know exactly just where all my stuff is, Pauline.”

When I opened the door to Jagger’s room, I stood in the threshold for a few seconds. The place was bigger, more gorgeous and opulent than mine. Not Jagger-like in the least. But what had me pause so long was that everything in the place was so neat and in order.

Not Jagger-like at all.

Least not what I would have expected after seeing the inside of his SUV. Another thing that held me there a few seconds too long was the scent-the Jagger-scent that wafted across the room.

I’d either never sleep tonight or I’d have the best damn dream of my life.

Telling myself that I was foolish, and still miffed that he would think I might go through his stuff (okay, miffed that he knew I would), I forced my feet to move toward the bed.

Oh…my…God.

I hoped Arlene or someone had changed the sheets because if Jagger pheromones were still on them-I was a goner.

When I pulled the brown and gold brocaded duvet over, the sheets were tucked housekeeper fashion under the mattress. Good. He hadn’t used it since it was changed.

I scurried under the sheets, leaving one side tucked in and feeling as if I were in some kind of linen envelope, but there was no way I was getting up from there no matter how uncomfortable.

Too tempting to snoop.

And I’d never give Jagger the satisfaction of knowing he was right!

When the sunlight warmed my face, I slowly opened my eyes and sat upright. Where the hell?

Jagger’s room.

Oh, yeah. Well, I had to get out of there before, in my sleepy state, I forgot his order not to snoop. No matter how tempting-and believe me it was-I had to keep Jagger’s trust.

That was a gimme.

I could never work with him, or do anything else with him-I cleared my throat-if we didn’t trust each other.

And, admittedly, I wasn’t that good of an investigator to pull one over on Jagger and cover my tracks of rummaging around his room.

Not sure anyone was that good.

So I got up, pulled my robe over my camisole top despite the fact that I still had on my jeans, and went to the door. With one quick look over my shoulder I burned the scene of his room into my mind in case I needed to have some fantasy later on.

I slowly opened the door to my room, realizing I’d never locked it last night, but not worried since I was sure Jagger could take care of himself. This time the urge to gasp was replaced with widened eyes.

The bed was not only empty, it was all made up.

After I’d showered, dressed in my scrubs, and ate breakfast (where I grilled the young housekeeper, Tina, about if she’d seen Jagger-to no avail), I headed out to Highcliff Manor, but not before wondering (maybe wishfully) if Jagger had sneaked into his room and watched me sleeping.

The thought that Olivia Wheaton-Chandler owned it struck me as I turned down the driveway. What the heck was that about and why would it matter?

And, more importantly, did Jagger know something I didn’t?

And how the heck did he know about her anyway?

I figured he’d never tell me about the last part as I opened the door to the front room, to hear shouting.

Ian was standing behind the desk, yelling at some woman who stood with her back to me. How unlike him, I thought as I tried to walk by unnoticed-yet eavesdropping. His face was the color of his crimson shirt.

“The files are in order, ma’am,” he said so loudly I didn’t even have to strain my ears to hear.

“Print me copies and delete that file, Ian Michael James. Or else.” She swung around and glared at me. “Get to work!”

I started to oblige when words came out of my mouth that even surprised me. “Excuse me? Excuse me?”

“Look, Nurse, I’m not in the best of moods and if you want to keep your job here at Highcliff, get to work.” She started to turn toward the door.

I looked at Ian, who was giving me a “Shut up, Pauline, if you know what’s good for you” look. Who was that woman? Some patient? Some doctor? Some bitch?

I decided to go with the last choice as I said, “I am not an employee of Highcliff Manor. I’m doing private duty, Ms.-”

Ian stepped forward. To this day I don’t know if he was trying to be helpful or just shut me up so the bitch would leave. “Pauline Sokol, this is Mrs. Olivia Wheaton-”

“Chandler,” I mumbled, trying to shrink down to the size of an oyster.

Mrs. Wheaton-Chandler, a woman whom I’m sure never apologized, gave me another look with gray eyes of steel. “Then go tend to your patient, Nurse Sokol.”

She pronounced it like “So-called” so I said, “Sokol,” turned and walked onto the elevator-which I’m certain Saint Theresa had sent for me to save myself since I hadn’t even pressed the up button yet.

Once in Goldie’s room, I collapsed onto his bed next to him, because he hadn’t gotten up yet, and told him about last night, Jagger, Ian, the bitch, and what was wrong with the current president of the United States.

Darling Goldie held me, cooed in my ear, and told me not to worry. He said all the right lies to make me feel better.

If my mother wasn’t around for comforting, Goldie was always my first choice.

Finally he got up when his breakfast was brought to the door. I snuck a croissant and half a glass of tea while he went to brush his teeth. “Hey, Gold. Any questions about your surgery?”

“Stop trying to justify your job, Suga. Get going on your case. Now you have more to investigate. The bitch, that is. And why would Ian have the balls to yell at the owner of this place? Interesting.”

It sure was. I knew Ian was the height of manners, and I hadn’t ever heard him be so rude-well, except maybe to me, but there were extenuating Goldie circumstances there.

Goldie and I chatted awhile until lunchtime. He told me all about his plans with Miles that weekend. Miles was arriving on Friday, tomorrow, and had to leave early Sunday since Goldie needed his rest for Monday’s surgery.

“You two will have a blast here,” I said. “Make sure you take him on one of the mansion tours.” I licked the strawberry jam off my finger.

Goldie reached into the top drawer of the bedside table and pulled out two tickets. “For the works.”

We laughed and watched the local news on television before Goldie said he had a spa appointment in a half hour and wanted to shower first. He got up and pushed the tray table with his dishes toward the door. “You gonna wait around here?”

I finished my tea and shook my head. “No. I need a long walk to clear my head. Think I’ll head in the other direction on Cliff Walk. The ocean’s magic should work wonders for me.”