Flirting Under a Full Moon - By Ashlyn Chase Page 0,3
your apartment?”
“Six would be good.”
“I’ll be there. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find two more upstanding citizens who will vouch for me.”
Konrad rose. “What about me?”
Good God. How can I turn down my brother’s generous offer without offending the hell out of him? My identical twin brother, who got busted for the biggest art heist in history, won’t go a long way toward credibility. Even though he was proven innocent, people will believe what they want to believe.
“I think you’re too close. I mean, really…it’s like getting your mom to say what a good boy you are.”
“Yeah. I can see that. Well, good luck finding any of the fifty pack members who love you to attest to your character.”
Nick smiled. Yeah, there are advantages to being in good stead with one’s werewolf pack—at last. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who believed in my brother’s innocence.
Chapter 2
“One-Night Nick? Was Sadie sober?” Brandee’s bartender-roommate stretched the kinks out of her shoulders after a long shift.
“I think so. I can usually tell when Sadie’s had enough.” Brandee dropped onto the soft sectional in their living room, removed her shoes, and massaged her aching feet.
“Do you think she was dealing from the bottom of the deck?”
“Nope. She was shuffling the cards as she always does.”
It was nice of Angie to attempt to discredit the psychic to make Brandee feel better, but Sadie was never wrong. Never.
“Did she come right out and say it was a prediction?”
“Kinda, sorta, not really.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Something about having a premonition that I’d be meeting Mr. Right soon. Then she said the next man through the door could be the love of my life…and Nick walked in.”
“She said ‘could.’ That means she could be wrong.”
“Have you ever known Sadie to be wrong? I think she just says ‘could’ because she doesn’t want to imply a person has no free will. Maybe she’s afraid of being wrong if a person is determined to prove her wrong.”
Angie gave her a sympathetic look. “Maybe. Or maybe there really aren’t any guarantees. I know she’s constantly been right before, but there’s always a first time to mess up, right?”
“Let’s hope so. I need my heart broken like a nunnery needs a condom dispenser.” Brandee rested her elbows on her knees and dropped her head in her hands. “I thought maybe the jerk-face who dumped me was my ticket out of Boringsville.”
Angie scrutinized her. “What do you mean?”
“You know. Living above the place I work. Struggling to make ends meet and hopefully save a little money for a rainy day. Hell, I thought I might even be able to afford my dream of owning a gallery if he and I…” She let out a long sigh. “Forget it.”
“You’re kidding. You really expect some guy to swoop in and rescue you from a life you don’t like?”
“No! Oh, my female gigolo…no.” Brandee shook her head emphatically. “It’s just damn hard to make it as an artist and support myself at the same time.”
“Did you think he was Mr. Right?”
She shrugged. “Mr. Possible, maybe.” Time to change the subject. “By the way, as soon as you’re ready for bed, can I commandeer the bathroom for the rest of the night?”
“Oh, crap. Did you forget you’re lactose intolerant again?”
Brandee snorted. “No. Do you hear me burping up a lung? And for your information, I don’t forget my condition. I just forget to take my medication with me sometimes and then can’t resist a special treat.
“I want to set up a temporary darkroom in the bathroom. I have to begin selling my work, not just to get a few dollars ahead, but also to build a name for myself.”
“I get that. So what do you have to do to sell your photographs?”
“Create a look or product no one else has. Make my name synonymous with that product. Capitalize on opportunities for publicity, and make everyone who can afford my work want to collect it.”
“That’s all, huh?” Angie gave her a sympathetic look. “I’ll get you a glass of wine.”
“I’ll get it. You do that all day.”
Angie was already walking toward the kitchen. “It’s how I show I care.”
Brandee chuckled. “It’s how you support yourself. Besides, I know you care. Otherwise I wouldn’t have told you what I’m going through.”
“Yes you would,” Angie called from the next room. The refrigerator door opened and clunked shut. A few moments later she strolled back into the living room, holding two glasses of white wine. “You tell me