Undressed

Lia yelped and scuttled back to the computer. She shook it upside down some more and then tried to reboot.

Nothing.

Okay. No time to panic. She’d just plug into one of the sales associates’ units.

Did that work? Of course not. That would have been too easy.

“Oh, come on!” She blew on the keyboard and then got one of the portable fans they used when the salon became too warm.

Women experiencing high emotion were hot and she didn’t mean sexually. Not to mention most of the mothers were of the hot-flash age. Small fans were in all the dressing rooms. Sometimes more than one.

After turning on the fan, Lia propped the laptop next to it. And stared. And waited. And hoped.

She was going to have to call Zhin. It was far easier for Lia to place an international call than it was for Zhin to get permission to do so. It wasn’t easy to actually get Zhin, herself, to the phone, but it was possible. Sometimes. Depending on who answered the phone and how well they spoke English and how well Lia could garble out the Mandarin Chinese phrase Zhin had taught her and she’d written out phonetically.

Yeah, the phrase she’d carefully stored in a flagged file—in her dead laptop.

With a sick feeling, she saw the recharging units the staff had used to record their orders and remembered that she’d erased their contents after she’d downloaded to the laptop propped next to the fan. No backups on fancy, expensive paper. And she’d stopped Zhin from accessing the network because she’d wanted to discuss the pinks first.

“I hate pink,” she said savagely.

“What did that poor sweet color ever do to you?” came from the dressing room.

“It’s not what it did, it’s what you did,” she shouted. “And stop listening. Don’t you have cleaning to do?”

“Nope.”

Lia marched over to the back dressing room and spoke next to the wall. “What are you doing in there?”

“Playin’ my guitar.” He strummed as he spoke.

Lia still didn’t recognize his voice. She would have remembered that voice. “Are you part of the cleaning crew?”

“Nope.” He plinked out a phrase, repeated it, and then changed a couple of notes.

“Who are you? Does anybody know you’re there?”

He chuckled. “You do.” Strum, strum.

She did not have time for this. “Give me a reason not to call the police.”

“You’re not a poker player, are you? You should have told me you’d already called the police. Now I know I’ve got plenty of time to get away or, even worse, come over there and tie you up…empty the till…steal a few wedding gowns…I could get up to all sorts of mischief.”

Lia felt no threat from him based on nothing more than his voice and, well, the fact that he’d used the word mischief. Not that she’d had any experience with hard-core criminals, but she couldn’t imagine them referring to illegal activity as “mischief.” “Come on. Who are you?”

“You know Jimmy?”

“Jimmy?”

“He works here. I’m his cousin.”

“Oh, you mean James.” James was a junior associate at Tuxedo Park.

“Actually, I meant Jimmy. He hasn’t been James since he was christened.”

Prissy James had a cousin with a voice like his? “That still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing at Tuxedo Park after hours.”

“It’s quiet. I can work on my music here without anybody listening. Nobody’s bothered me…until tonight.”

“I’m bothering you?” What nerve.

“You’re pretty noisy over there.”

“I—” She was going to burst a blood vessel. She was. Really. “I work here!”

“Which one are you? What do you look like?”

Oh, no. She did not have time to flirt through the dressing-room wall with a deep voice she knew only as “Jimmy’s Cousin.”

“I look like a desperate assistant manager who just lost the day’s orders and is about to be fired.”

“Would that be a blond assistant manager?”

Men. “That would not.”

“A brunette assistant manager?”

Lia looked at her light brown hair in the mirror. She probably should streak it into something richer, but she didn’t want the bother of upkeep. “Probably not.” And on that note, she stepped out of the dressing room and into the office. He said something, but she ignored him.

The computer was still dark, but the keyboard had dried. Zhin probably hadn’t noticed that they’d lost the connection since she was still gathering fabric samples.

This was the pits. She’d have to call Elizabeth and tell her what happened.

She sighed. Poor William. He had his hopes up, among other things, she’d bet, and he wasn’t getting lucky tonight. What a waste of a fabulous lace jacket.

“Helloooooo,” a deep voice called.

“Leave me alone,” Lia shouted from the desk.

“I’m not gonna do that. You intrigue me.”

Lia rolled her eyes and poked at the dead computer.

“Tell me you’re not intrigued.” His voice sounded closer, as though he’d moved to the other side of the dressing room.

“I’m not intrigued.”

“If you weren’t mad at me would you be intrigued?”