That sounded bitter. And she was not bitter. Relieved was more like it. She’d tried to make the whole commitment thing work, in spite of Jeff leaving much to be desired in the bedroom. In her bedroom, anyway. As she learned two months ago, he’d made his way through plenty of other beds during their time together.
“Maybe you should try this out. It’ll find the spot.” Amy picked up the translucent pink vibrator and held it to her cheek. “It’s waterproof too. And you don’t even need a man. Really, you should give it a trial run.”
Don’t need a man. Yep, that’ll fit the bill.
“Maybe I should.” Colette laughed. Heck, maybe a pink, rainbow, light-up G-spot finder was what she needed to get her out of this funk. Twenty-nine-and-knocking-on-thirty, she was still searching for a guy who could carry on an intelligent conversation, had at least some semblance of a career plan and—wonder of wonders—could make her toes curl as much as one of Amy’s toys. She was beginning to think she might have to let go of one of the three qualities. But if anything had to fly out the window, it would not be curling toes.
Amy lowered the vibrator and focused on the phone perched against her sister’s ear. “Hey, Colette, you dialed the number, didn’t you?”
Colette’s laughter lodged in her throat. She hadn’t heard the answering machine pick up. But there’d definitely been a ring on the other end.
Hadn’t there?
Yeah, she’d heard a ring. When had it stopped? More importantly, how much of their sisterly conversation had been recorded?
Dang.
A path of heat blazed from her throat to her face. She’d have to do major damage control at the office tomorrow for this faux pas. How do you explain leaving a message about sex toys on a customer’s voice mail?
But she couldn’t hang up. She’d used the cellular provided by My Alibi, and the fictitious name Amy’s friend had chosen for her company would be displayed on the caller ID.
She gathered her wits. So this wouldn’t be her best performance as a My Alibi representative; it’d be okay. She’d simply apologize and begin her regular spiel.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared to start the process of prevarication via the uncle’s answering machine.
Then she heard a responding exhalation on the other end.
No. Way. There was not a living, breathing person listening to her now. Hearing her discuss G-spots, no less, when she supposedly represented a computer-graphics training company. Certainly Erika’s uncle hadn’t answered the phone, heard her talking and eavesdropped on that steamy little conversation with Amy. Had he?
Only one way to find out. Tossing a wary glance to her sister, she mustered up her courage. “Hello?”
“Well, hello.”
CHAPTER 2
Colette’s eyes bugged at Amy, while Amy mouthed a shocked, “Oh. No.”
Erika had placed a big checkmark beside the best time to call, when her uncle wouldn’t be home. She’d even handwritten that My Alibi could simply leave a message letting him know she’d arrived safely at her destination and be done with it. Simple as pie.
Not. Because the sexy hello sending a shiver down Colette’s spine definitely didn’t come from a machine. Flustered, she couldn’t remember the name of the fake company.
Time to stall . . .
Scanning the data sheet, Colette fumbled over the conversation. “Please accept my apologies. This is Colette Campbell with”—her eyes struggled to find the name—“Integrated Solutions in Tampa. I was talking to a coworker, and I’m afraid I didn’t hear you pick up.”
“Obviously not.” Muffled laughter echoed through the phone.
“Right. Well, I was calling to inform you that”—she pulled her finger across the page and read the full name—“Erika Collins arrived safely and has already started her training seminars. She asked that I call and inform you everything is going according to schedule. Also, if you need to get in touch with her at any point throughout the week, you can contact her at this number.” Colette recited the toll-free number established by My Alibi, the one that would ring directly to her cellular. If he did call, she would field the message and notify his niece.
“I appreciate your help, but I’ll call her cell phone when I need her.”
A usual response. And one Colette was prepared for. “I’m afraid the conference center rarely picks up cellular signals, but I will be happy to relay your messages, Mr.”—another glance at the form, “Brannon.”
Her brain clicked madly as she read the name again.