In Bed with the Beast (Naughty Princess Club 2)

Getting a full night’s sleep in such a comfortable bed went a long way towards helping me erase the memory of my first blind date the night before. Being able to wake up and immediately take a shower in Vincent’s luxurious bathroom also helped.

I can’t keep the smile off of my face as I make my way down the hall, pausing in the doorway when I hear Vincent’s low voice. I peek around the corner and find him pacing back and forth in the kitchen with his back to me, sounding more than a little agitated as he speaks to someone on his cell phone.

“I told you this was a stupid idea,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair as he continues walking a hole in the floor.

He doesn’t talk for a few minutes while he listens to the person on the other end of the line. I should probably move into the room and clear my throat or say his name so he knows I’m here, but something keeps my feet firmly rooted in place. And it’s not just how nice his rear end looks in those jeans he’s wearing.

“It’s not going to work . . . because! It’s just not. I’m going to explain everything and then—”

He pauses, still with his back to me, and I watch his head drop forward and his shoulders droop. I have the urge to walk up behind him, slide my arms around his waist and hug him, telling him that whatever is bothering him, it will be okay.

“Christ, why did I ever let you talk me into this?” he says with a deep sigh. “No, you aren’t a genius, you’re a fucking idiot, and I should have known better than to jump into this shit without thinking it through. Someone’s going to end up getting hurt and—”

Vincent turns around and spots me hovering in the doorway like some sort of creeper, and immediately stops talking. I give him a big smile and a dorky wave, walking into the room like nothing is amiss and I didn’t just stand there for five minutes eavesdropping on his private conversation.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you at work.”

He ends the call and tosses his phone onto the counter.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup, figuring there’s no point in pretending I didn’t hear him talking.

“It’s fine. That was Eric. Just talking about work stuff,” he mumbles as I turn around to face him, bringing the coffee cup up to my lips and taking a sip.

Eric Sailor is part owner of Charming’s along with Cindy’s boyfriend, PJ. He’s handsome and funny and I think he might have a thing for Ariel, but she can’t stand him for some reason. It’s a shame, really. They seem like they’d be a perfect couple.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

He quickly changes the subject as he looks me up and down with one of his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“I have to meet with the board today at the library and present them with some new ideas for . . . you know, just some new ideas,” I tell him, figuring if he’s not going to talk to me about his problem, neither am I.

He doesn’t need to know that I am literally running out of ideas to present them, and my meeting with them today could be my last chance to convince them to keep the library open. I just need them to give me a few more months. By that point, I’m hoping I’ll be able to save up enough money from stripping to make a generous donation that will appease them and show them how serious I am about keeping the place open.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I thought having Dress Like an Idiom day once a month would be so much fun!”

I’m suddenly regretting this idea that woke me up in the middle of the night. I got so excited about it, I jotted it down in my notebook on my bedside table, and it took me an hour to fall back asleep. The longer Vincent stares at my outfit with a confused expression on his face, the more I’m starting to realize this is never going to work.

Wearing a long, see-through plastic raincoat with pictures of cats and dogs taped on it that I cut out of magazines, as well as an elastic band around my head with a small, multicolored umbrella attached to it, I feel ridiculous.

“An idiom is a commonly used expression whose meaning does not relate to the literal meaning of its words,” I explain to him with an exasperated eye roll.

“I know what an idiom is.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment when his eyes narrow and his words come out clipped and ticked off, and I realize I just insulted him.