Lucky In Love Read Online Free

you are Ms. Salter?”
    She took my hand in her long, thin cool one. I hoped my palms weren’t sweaty. “A pleasure. This is lovely. Thank you.”
    I dipped my head and then motioned to Miss P. “This is my assistant, Miss Patterson. I can assure you, she is the oil in this machine. All of this is her doing. We both are at your service.”
    Veronica Salter shook Miss P’s hand as well. So, she had manners to match the uniform. Done with the preliminaries, she turned to me as she worked off the other glove. “A manager who casts the glow on her employees. You and I will get along just fine, Ms. O’Toole.”
    “Lucky.”
    “Lucky, is it?” She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow, and her lips curled into a grin. She was warmly pretty when she smiled. “Then you must call me Vera.”
    “I can’t make any promises—generally such familiarity with our guests is frowned upon.”
    “Honey, I am no guest. I’m a paid contestant in this dog-and-pony show.”
    “Vera, where do you want all your shit?” The voice was masculine, but with a whiny quality that sent a shiver of distaste through me. “I mean, what?” he continued. “Am I one of those Roman slaves or something? What are they called?”
    “Cretins?” Vera asked sweetly, a hint of honey dripping nicely from the two syllables.
    I had to turn away and bite my lip. The man in question looked like Malibu Ken: blond hair, golden tan, buff bod, white shirt open one button too many, fitted slacks, and worn loafers with no socks. Well dressed, but lacking the polish of the well heeled. With his blue eyes, comfortable face, and broadness where he should be broad, he was male pulchritude at its finest—except for the pouty mouth.
    “Cretins?” The man stretched out the word and scowled like a first grader struggling with phonics. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”
    “Don’t think, honey, just put the stuff in the bedroom.” Vera glanced at me, a question in her eyes.
    “Back there, through the double doors.” I pointed to the far end of the room. We both watched the man I assumed was Guy shoulder two trunks and head for the bedroom. I guess he’d beaten back the army of valets we had waiting in order to do his lady’s bidding.
    “Don’t ask,” Vera said, turning her attention back to me. “I have a habit of picking poorly.” She glanced again at Guy as he maneuvered the luggage and his bulk through the double doors. The man-and-luggage mountain barely fit through the doublewide opening. “He is sweet, but not the right one.”
    “You and I have more in common than meets the eye.”
    “Really?” Her mask slipped a little, revealing the lonely lady underneath—she sounded wistful and a bit sad. “You are kind to say so.”
    Somehow, squeezing her in a hug seemed inappropriate, so, fresh out of ideas or words, I remained mute where I stood.
    “Mr. Handy is an actor—the latest in a long line,” Vera explained. She shrugged out of her suit jacket and handed it to the butler who had been lurking outside the door and who now rushed to her side. “He’s not even a very good thespian, but he can remember his lines. We had no idea we’d get this far.”
    I wondered what she would do if she actually won.
     
    * * *
     
    M iss P and I left Vera and Guy to work out their arrangements—with the help of their personal butler and two bellmen. We hurried to check the last bungalow before the guests arrived. Bungalow Four was a mirror image of Vera’s bungalow, but with vases of riotous orange tulips instead of the roses.
    I took a quick turn around the space while Miss P waited just inside the doorway. “Tell me about this couple.”
    “Couple Number Four.” Miss P consulted her clipboard. “John Farenthall and Melina Douglas. He’s a plastic surgeon, and she is a newscast producer at the abc affiliate in Houston.”
    “Plastic surgeon? Interesting.” I plucked a leaf that had turned brown from the stem of a day lily. “And Melina, what a