Susan Elizabeth Phillips - Call Me Irresistible

Even though he was three years younger, he was already a hugely successful financial whiz. Her mind tended to wander when he talked about what he did, but she knew he did it extremely well. Since he refused to give her his work number, she called his cell. “Hey, Dyl, call me right away. It’s an emergency. I mean it. You have to call me back right now.”

It was useless to call Clay, who was Dylan’s twin. Clay was still a starving actor, barely making the rent, although that wouldn’t last much longer, since he had a degree from Yale drama school, a growing list of off-Broadway credits, and the talent to back up the last name of Koranda. Unlike herself, neither of her brothers had taken anything from their parents since they’d graduated from college.

She snatched up her phone as it rang.

“The only reason I’m calling you back,” Dylan said, “is curiosity. Why did Lucy bail on her wedding? My secretary told me an online gossip site is saying you’re the one who talked her out of getting married. What’s going on down there?”

“Nothing good. Dyl, I need a loan.”

“Mom said this would happen. The answer’s no.”

“Dyl, I’m not kidding. I’m in a jam. They took my credit card, and—”

“Grow up, Meg. You’re thirty years old. It’s sink-or-swim time.”

“I know. And I’m going to make some changes. But—”

“Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, you can get yourself out of. You’re a lot smarter than you think. I have faith in you, even if you don’t.”

“I appreciate that, but I need help now. Really. You have to help me.”

“Jesus, Meg. Don’t you have any pride?”

“That’s a shitty thing to say.”

“Then don’t make me say it. You’re capable of handling your own life. Get a job. You know what that is, right?”

“Dyl—”

“You’re my sister, and I love you, and because I love you, I’m hanging up now.”

She stared at the dead phone, angry but not surprised at this evidence of a family conspiracy. Her parents were in China, and they’d made it blazingly clear they wouldn’t rescue her again. Her creepy grandmother Belinda didn’t give out freebies. She’d force Meg to enroll in acting classes or something equally insidious. As for her uncle Michel . . . The last time they’d visited, he’d delivered a biting lecture on personal responsibility. With Lucy on the run, that left Meg’s three other close friends, all of whom were rich and any one of whom would lend her money.

Or would they? That was the thing about them. Georgie, April, and Sasha were all independent, unpredictable women who’d been telling Meg for years that she needed to stop screwing around and commit to something. Still, if she explained how desperate she was . . .

Don’t you have any pride?

Did she really want to give her accomplished friends more evidence of her worthlessness? On the other hand, what were her options? She had barely a hundred dollars in her wallet, no credit cards, an empty checking account, less than half a tank of gas, and a car that could break down at any moment. Dylan was right. However much she might hate it, she needed to get a job . . . and fast.

She thought it over. As the town bad guy, she could never get a job here, but both San Antonio and Austin were less than two hours away, just about reachable on half a tank of gas. Surely she could find work in one of those places. It would mean skipping out on her bill, something she’d never done in her life, but she’d run out of options.

Her palms were sweaty on the steering wheel as she pulled slowly out of the parking lot. The roar of the bad muffler made her long for the hybrid Nissan Ultima she’d had to give up when her father stopped making the payments. She had only the clothes on her back and the contents of her purse. Leaving her suitcase behind made her crazy, but since she owed the Wynette Country Inn for three nights, well over four hundred dollars, there wasn’t much she could do about it. She’d pay them back with interest as soon as she found a job. What that job would be, she had no idea. Something temporary and, hopefully, well paying, until she figured out what to do next.

A woman pushing a stroller stopped to stare at the brown Buick as it belched a cloud of oily smoke. That, combined with her bellowing muffler, hardly made the Rustmobile an ideal getaway car, and she tried to sink lower in the seat. She passed the limestone courthouse and the fenced-off public library as she edged toward the town’s outskirts. Finally, she spotted the city limits sign.

YOU ARE LEAVING

WYNETTE, TEXAS

Theodore Beaudine, Mayor

She hadn’t seen Ted since their awful encounter in the church parking lot, and now she wouldn’t have to. She’d bet anything that women all over the country had already lined up to take Lucy’s place.

A siren shrieked behind her. Her eyes shot to the rearview mirror, and she saw the flashing red light of a police cruiser. Her fingers clenched the steering wheel. She pulled to the shoulder of the road, praying her noisy muffler was to blame and cursing herself for not having had it fixed before she left L.A.

Dread pooled in her stomach as she waited for the two officers to check out her plates. Finally, the officer behind the wheel emerged and ambled toward her, his beer belly hanging over his belt. He had ruddy skin, a big nose, and steel wool hair sprouting from beneath his hat.

She rolled down her window and plastered on a smile. “Hello, Officer.” Please, God, let this be about my bad muffler and not skipping out on my bill. She handed over her license and registration before he asked for it. “Is there a problem?”

He studied her license, then took in her felt cloche. She thought about telling him Ginger Rogers had once worn it, but he didn’t look like much of an old film buff. “Ma’am, we have a report that you left the inn without paying your bill.”

Her stomach dipped. “Me? That’s ridiculous.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement in the outside mirror as his backup decided to join the party. Except his backup wore jeans and a black T-shirt instead of a uniform. And his backup—

She stared more closely into the mirror. No!

Shoes crunched in the gravel. A shadow fell over the side of the car. She lifted her gaze and found herself staring into the impassive amber eyes of Ted Beaudine.

“Hello, Meg.”

“Ted!” she tried to act as though he was the person she most wanted to see instead of her worst nightmare. “Have you joined the police force?”

“Doing a ride-along.” He propped his elbow on the roof of her car. As he took in her appearance, she got the impression that he didn’t like her cloche either—or anything else about her. “My schedule for the next two weeks suddenly opened up.”

“Ah.”

“So I hear you skipped out on your bill at the inn.”

“Me? No. A mistake. I didn’t—I was just taking a ride. Beautiful day. Skip out? No. They have my suitcase. How could I skip out?”

“I guess by getting in your car and driving off,” Ted said, as if he were the cop. “Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere. Exploring. I like to do that when I visit new places.”

“Best to pay your bill before you go off exploring.”

“You’re absolutely right. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll take care of it right away.” Except she couldn’t do that.

A truck roared by, heading into town, and another trickle of perspiration slipped between her breasts. She needed to throw herself on someone’s mercy, and it didn’t take long to make her choice. “Officer, could I talk to you privately?”