Right Number, Wrong Girl

CHAPTER ONE – SOPHIE

Fancy Nancy

“Stupid bloody thing! What kind of masochist created dresses with a zipper on the back? I bet it was a man. They just love to watch the world burn!” I twisted and turned in ways I was not ordinarily capable of flexing in.

No matter how hard I tried, this little bugger of a zipper was not going up without a fight.

I was in so much trouble.

This was the only dress in my wardrobe that would be remotely acceptable for a job interview, and since that was what I had in ninety minutes, I had to get my shit together and get this bloody zip done up.

The last thing I needed to do was flash my boobs at the person interviewing me.

I wasn’t interviewing for a position in a strip club, after all.

I doubted that putting my boobs on display would help me get a job as a manager of a nearby clothing store.

I doubted that anything would get me that job.

Given my track record over the past two weeks, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get a job again.

What I really needed to do was fly to New Orleans, hunt down a voodoo queen, and have her work her mojo on my ex-boss.

She deserved it, all right?

So being in jail awaiting a trial for embezzlement was probably enough of a punishment, but I thought a voodoo doll would be fun.

I’d never owned one.

They weren’t readily available in England, despite my best efforts to source one, and I didn’t trust the Internet.

I was quite a vengeful person, okay? Ask my ex how his PlayStation was after I’d thrown it out of a fourth-floor window.

I’m sorry.

After it had slipped out of my grip.

Ahem.

I stepped out of the dress and walked half-naked across the flat I shared with my best friend. I knew there was ribbon somewhere in this place—Cam kept hold of everything, and everything had its place.

Living with a Type-A personality was not the organisational dream I’d hoped it would be.

I’d first met Camilla Hopkins on a rainy day in the park when we were seven. The moment we discovered that we shared a birthday, we decided there and then that we would be best friends. Twenty-one years later, that was still the case.

Not that any of that helped with my current predicament.

I had no idea why there was ribbon in my bathroom, but I wasn’t going to question it. Heck, I didn’t have the time to question it. I was on the verge of running late as it was, and there really was no room for error with London traffic.

I looped the ribbon through the hole in the zipper pull, loosely tied it, and was about to put the dress on once again when the phone rang.

Goddamn it.

That was Cam’s work line.

I had to answer it. I always felt guilty if I didn’t.

Hey, if this interview didn’t work out, I could always become her assistant. God only knew she needed one.