Roz Fox - Too Many Brothers

“It couldn’t be too bad. You aren’t that old.”

“Part-time jobs have been my downfall,” she muttered with a grimace. “I figured anyone could be a waitress. I’ve certainly encountered some ditzy ones. But my first day on the job, I dumped Caesar salad in the lap of a really big movie star. I guess you could say I got blackballed from working at any local restaurants where there’re decent tips.”

“So, your mistake was in assuming that waitressing’s easy.”

“On my next job, I tried lifeguarding at Santa Monica Beach.”

“Can you swim?” Logan asked carefully.

“Yes, don’t be an idiot. I swim fine. I just couldn’t rescue a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound doofus who almost drowned himself and me. He was drunk out of his gourd, and his buddies thought the way he fought me was really cute.”

“Well, jeez, what do you expect if the guy outweighs you? Cripes, you can’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty.”

“A hundred and twelve to be exact. But the instructor who trained me insists its not a matter of weight but of leverage. So I still got fired.”

“That’s just two jobs. It’s obvious you didn’t give up.”

“No. I applied for and got a job as a dog walker. I screwed up at that, too.” She sighed.

“That job seems like a no-brainer if you don’t mind my saying so. What happened?”

“You won’t believe it,” she responded glumly. “My family still can’t. The agency I signed up with had some high-toned clients. I was assigned to meet dog owners at the valet parking for Rodeo Drive. In a way it was my own fault. My first time out, I was to walk three chows. You’ve seen chows? They’re big and fluffy and red. This particular threesome turned out to be pampered and undisciplined as well. The owner, a star who shall remain nameless, neglected to tell me they had a hankering for a certain French poodle. Her owner operated a ritzy accessory shop on the Drive, where I was told to walk the dogs. I tried my best to hold the chows back when we passed this place. Suffice it to say that before the walk ended, we’d wiped out the awnings of two elite establishments. My dad coughed up for the damages. I won’t even tell you what he had to lay out in cold cash. I am going to pay him back, though.”

“What made you decide to try being a party clown, of all things? That seems like a job with built-in drawbacks. Kids bite, kick and spit. Mothers never believe their rug rats are at fault.”

“Oh, I’m only doing this temporarily while I wait to hear on a job at one of the movie studios. My family talked me into giving college another stab after the last disaster. They weren’t overjoyed when I chose to become a makeup artist. But I’m good at it, and I think it’ll be exciting and rewarding work. No two movies are ever alike. Plus, I’ll meet a lot of interesting people—including single men. But don’t you dare ask about my history in that department. I’ve spilled all of my life story you’re going to hear, Agent Grant. It’s your turn.”

“We’ll have to find a different subject, then. Damn, I see we haven’t lost our shadow. If I’m not mistaken, the next off-ramp is the one you need to take.”

“So it is. Does this mean you’re really coming to my apartment?”

“I’m afraid so,” Logan said slowly. He checked and re-checked the car following them without giving the appearance that he was doing so.

“Then you can tell me all about Logan Grant. Must be a fascinating life you lead, what with criminals chasing you around, driving you into the back bedrooms of virtual strangers.”

“It was my sister’s bedroom. She’s hardly a stranger. And that doesn’t happen often. Agents aren’t supposed to talk about their private lives,” he muttered. “However, I will tell you that drugs aren’t all we suspect these men of trafficking. Don’t worry, though, I’m not planning to trouble you for long. Just until I call my office.”

Daphne exited the freeway and took the surface streets three blocks west to her apartment. Spotting a sports car pulling out of a parking place, she zipped into it, causing Logan to bump his head against the curve of the windshield when she braked fast.

“Sorry. This parking space is directly in front of my entrance. It means we only have to walk a few steps to get inside. I don’t see any other opening. Your friends back there will either have to double-park or wait until someone leaves. This time of the afternoon, when everyone’s coming home from work, chances of that are slim to none.”

“Good. Hey, I didn’t think to ask. Is your main door keyed or do you have a doorman on duty?”

“No doorman. This is a low-budget part of town. Almost anyone who wants to enter the building can get someone to buzz them in. I hate that the people here aren’t more careful, but it’s mostly college kids and artsy people. Either they have lots of company or they’re all in the habit of forgetting their keys.”

“It’s too late to worry about changing neighborhoods now,” he said. “I’ll bring your beach bag. You run ahead and unlock the door. Act like we’ve done this a million times. Pretend this is your Oscar-winning performance.”

She stuck out her tongue. “I’m not a struggling actress. Name me one person who’s ever won an Oscar for makeup. Well, they do, but no one can name them.”

“If we pull off this scam, babe, I’ll give you a gold statue myself.” Logan scrambled out of the cramped space, retrieved Daphne’s bag and actually whistled as he bounded up the steps. When she bent to insert the key, he casually placed a hand on her hip, as if it was habit.

The weight of his palm and the warmth of his long body standing so close sent heat to the pit of Daphne’s stomach. She fumbled her key and would’ve dropped the entire ring had Logan not been agile enough to catch it. Smiling, he kissed her knuckles and left red paint from his mouth smeared across her white glove. Then he opened the door without a hitch.

She refused to meet his eyes, certain she’d encounter a satisfied masculine smirk on his cocky face. Just continue to treat him the way you treat your brothers. She chanted that over and over, even as her brain turned to mush. Damn, she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life. But then, she clearly wasn’t Logan Grant’s type. She knew that instinctively. So at most, she’d have to play hostess for an hour or so. Just until someone from his office figured out how to get here and pick him up.

THE FRONT DOOR CLANGED shut behind them. Daphne ducked out from beneath Logan’s hand without saying a word and raced up the stairs. She’d come inside in stocking feet. Logan was not only grappling with the awkward beach bag, but he still wore the oversize clown slippers.

He stopped on the first landing and pulled off the foam booties that tripped him up on every step. After that he moved better. But the woman leading the charge kept going higher and higher. “Hey,” he finally called, wincing as his voice echoed in the stairwell. “Which floor do you live on?”

“Eighth. It’s the top floor in this building. I started out on third, but I hated having people tramping around overhead. So the minute an apartment opened up on eight, I switched.”

“I can’t believe there’s no elevator.”

“It’s an historic building is why. I think the circular stairs are part of the charm.”

“Great! Who needs historic?”

Daphne had finally reached the last landing. She turned and headed down the hall, where she stopped outside the last door on her left.

Logan paused to check out possible exits. His hostess appeared to have a corner apartment overlooking the front of the building. The minute she opened the door and he walked in behind her, Logan saw with some pleasure that she also had a big corner window. He made a beeline over there to scan the street below.