No Time Like Mardi Gras Read online

  “No,” he corrected. “She knows a lot about baseball, but I don’t think she’s actually a fan.”

  “Why?”

  “Not a clue.”

  If he kept this up much longer, he might actually get to see Callie’s head explode. “Colin Raine, I can’t believe you. You spent all day with this woman and you don’t even know the most basic information about her?”

  Tell me something I don’t already know and am not already kicking myself over. “It was Mardi Gras. We were watching parades, barhopping, dancing...you know, having fun.” The embers deep in his belly flared up a little as he remembered exactly how much fun. “It wasn’t exactly conducive to swapping life stories.”

  “Name, location, profession—the basic requirements of a freaking online dating profile is hardly someone’s life story.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m almost afraid to ask now, but how did you end up with her watch? And don’t you dare say you don’t know.”

  That part of the story was easy enough to tell and believe. “We got caught on Bourbon at midnight. The crowds were really bad, and Jamie’s really small. I was trying to get us off the street, but someone pushed between us and Jamie got pulled away from me. I had her wrist, but when the clasp on her watch broke, she slid out of it and I lost my grip. The crowd moved her away, and I couldn’t find her after that.”

  Callie paled. She knew the dangers, the bad situations Jamie could have gotten into. “Oh, God. I hope she’s okay.”

  “Teddy said she left a message on the Lucky Gator’s answering machine—that’s where I’d met her that morning when I was relieving Teddy. She says she made it home—wherever that is—safely.”

  “And you haven’t seen or heard from her since?”

  “Nope.”

  “Have you looked for her?”

  He didn’t try to hide his exasperation. “Like I can find one woman in all of New Orleans when I don’t even know her last name?”

  “Please tell me you at least tried.”

  “I waited at the Gator for over two hours that night. I figured she’d show up there. She never did.” He really hated how pathetic that sounded, and it made him angry all over again.

  “You said she left a message, though...”

  “No last name, no number.”

  He could practically see the wheels turning in Callie’s mind. “What about caller ID on Teddy’s phone? You could match up the number to the time of the message...”

  He was shaking his head even as she spoke. “Teddy’s phone only holds the last ten numbers. It was gone by the time I checked.”

  “Then call the phone company—”

  “Let it go, Callie.” He’d played amateur detective for two days, even tracking down the band and the guitar player David, hoping for a lead to Kelsey. David hadn’t even remembered Kelsey’s name, so that was a bust. And although she’d left that message, he’d still called a friend at NOPD and had him check the jails, the hospitals, even the morgue. No one matching Jamie’s description. He was out of ideas. And it turned out the phone company didn’t like to give out that kind of information without a warrant. “She knows my name, and she knew to call the Gator to get a message to me. If she wants to find me, she can.” The fact she hadn’t really ticked him off. She hadn’t gone back to the bar in the following days. And it didn’t seem as if she was trying to find him. Hell, if she’d even bothered to look him up on Google, he’d have popped up as the very first result. He’d checked.

  “I can’t just let it go, Colin.”

  “I have, so you might as well. She’s probably gone back to wherever by now.”

  “You don’t know that. She said she made it home safe, so that probably means she was staying with friends who live here, not in a hotel.” Callie stood and began pacing. “If she was with friends, there’s a good chance it was a long vacation and she’s still in town. If not, maybe we could find the friends she was staying with.” She put her hand on her chest dramatically. “We can find your Cinderella. We have to.”

  “My what?”

  “A chance meeting, separated at midnight, and all you have is something she left behind accidentally... It’s the Cinderella story.”

  He was wrong. He should have stuck with a lie. Or silence. Silence would have been good. “Callie, honey, step back from the fairy tales.”

  She made a face at him. “Granted, you’re not exactly Prince Charming, but...”

  He lost his last shred of patience. “Just drop it, Callie,” he snapped. Her hurt and shocked look had him feeling bad for that almost immediately. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing to be done, so it doesn’t make any sense to keep worrying over it.”

  “You can’t Dr. Spock your way out of this.”

  “What?”

  “Logic and reason don’t apply here. You’re a man, not a Vulcan.”

  “You’re thinking of Mr. Spock,” he corrected. “Dr. Spock is the baby guy.”

  She waved a hand. “Whatever. You liked this girl enough at the time, but not enough to try to find her now?”

  “It seems rather fruitless, and I don’t have time for fruitless.”

  “What? So you’re just going to keep that watch?” she challenged. “Finders, keepers, or some such?”

  He shrugged. “If she wants it back, she’ll contact me.”

  “What if she can’t? What if...what if...what if she got mugged on the way home, hit her head and has amnesia now?”

  Oh, dear God. “Okay, I’m going back to the Dungeons of Zhorg, where memory issues are a real thing.” To soften the blow, he added, “Thanks, though.”

  Callie’s mouth twisted, but she let the subject drop. “Want to go to lunch?”

  As if he was going to subject himself to another hour of Callie’s questions about Jamie. He pointed to his computer. “Trolls. Dragons. They need me.”

  “Okay.” Finally getting the message, she grabbed her bag and put it over her shoulder. “Sorry about your mystery lady.”

  He shrugged. “It happens. Ships passing in the night and all that.” Keep telling yourself that.

  “It is a great story, though. Like the beginning of a book or something.”

  Callie was a romantic who spent way too much time indulging people’s fantasies. She’d stew on this if he didn’t nip it in the bud now. “Just an interesting footnote for my biography.”

  Callie was finally headed for the door. “Good luck fixing the trolls,” she called over her shoulder.

  He was going to need it. Although Colin tried to focus on the code, thoughts of Jamie kept forcing their way back in, distracting him. Most of it was simple, ridiculous, moony teenager stuff—the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, her triumphant joy at catching a doubloon in one hand, the way she’d gamely tried to eat a muffuletta bigger than her own head—but those innocent images quickly gave way to much more adult images, and those were much harder to get out of his head because they came with full sensory memories that affected him physically as well as mentally.

  He could still taste her, feel her...

  Argh. He shifted in his chair. He needed his blood flowing to his brain right now, not his lap. “Memory leak. Lost revenue. Angry gamers.” Jamie had been an aberration, an interlude, a time out from the norm.

  One perfect, amazing day with an amazing woman. He should just be happy it had happened. It would give him something fun to think back on when he was old and in the nursing home.

  He fingered the watch, and Callie’s over-romantic ideas came rushing back.

  Maybe...

  He didn’t get to finish the thought, because a message from Eric popped up on his screen at that moment with the two most beautiful words inside: FOUND IT.

  Aside from the jubilation, it was another, more forceful reminder that this da
ydreaming was a waste of time. He dropped Jamie’s watch into his desk drawer and closed it.

  If he could get Callie, of all people, to drop it and move on, he could do it, too.

  It was that simple.

  But he should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. Because three days later, Callie’s extra-special edition of The Ex Factor went viral.

  FOUR

  Jamie cursed under her breath as the brush slipped and left a streak of Moody Mauve across the top of her thumb. Ah, how quickly she’d gotten used to paying other people for things like manicures.

  Her bank account wasn’t in dire straits just yet, but until things got settled, she couldn’t waste money on things she could do herself. She allowed herself one brief wistful memory of the Ivy Spa and their amazing staff, who included a mimosa and a scalp massage with every mani-pedi.

  She’d gotten spoiled so quickly. After seasons of barely getting by as Joey was making next to nothing in the minor league, the jump to the major league had felt like a lottery win. Then Joey had signed a couple of endorsement deals, and she’d discovered the stores on Rodeo Drive and Fifth Avenue. Joey had called her his princess and encouraged her to live the part.

  So she had.

  And while she truly believed she was doing the right thing now and was proud of herself for doing it, she wasn’t ashamed to say she missed it.

  But she had two job interviews lined up—one tomorrow and one the day after—and if all went well, maybe one day she’d be able to afford some of those little luxuries again—even if Prada would never be in her budget again.

  Sometimes she wondered if her pride and self-respect had been worth what she had traded for them.

  And she’d traded back and forth a lot.

  But this was the right thing, she reminded herself. Money was like a drug and she was just detoxing. It wasn’t as though she was in danger of starving or living in a box under the bridge. Ninety-nine percent of the world lived without valet service and scalp massages. She could, too.

  She was thinking positive thoughts about her interview tomorrow, even though her résumé was a bit thin. “Arm Candy” wasn’t exactly a skill set that excited potential employers, and the gaps in her employment history were going to be hard to explain, too. At least she had some experience—she had worked for a while—but between that and the rather questionable ethics situation she’d been embroiled in—however accidentally or unwillingly—it might be tough to find a business willing to trust her too much.

  The crows of doom were perched on her shoulders again, and she gave herself a strong mental shake as she went back to her manicure. I can do this. Put positive energy out to the universe and positive things will return to me.

  Kelsey’s apartment in the Warehouse District was tiny, but well kept and seemingly safe. And since Jamie didn’t own much stuff, the tininess didn’t matter. While she and Kelsey didn’t have much in common, they were getting along well enough. Granted, it helped that Kelsey worked odd hours as a nurse, but when she was home, she spent a lot of time on the computer and didn’t really care what Jamie watched on TV. Housing—check. Job was next on the list, and after that, the world would be her oyster.

  That was the plan, at least.

  She blew on her nails, pleased with her efforts. Not too shabby, she thought, and placed another little check mark in her mental list of accomplishments. Joey had used to say—and not completely teasingly either—that her idea of roughing it was doing her own nails, yet here she was. “Proving Joey Wrong” was a large category, but she was chipping away at it bit by bit.

  Kelsey was in the recliner, eyes on her laptop and ears covered by a set of large black headphones, so Jamie let the Law & Order marathon drone on without much guilt. She was debating another coat of polish when Kelsey took her headphones off.

  “Hey, Jamie, do you know anything about the Zephyrs?”

  The question came so far out of left field that Jamie nearly dropped the polish bottle she was holding between her knees. She didn’t really know much about Kelsey, but she hadn’t mentioned baseball at all until this moment. And since Kelsey didn’t know about her past—just that she’d come out of a long-term relationship, but not with whom or why—it was an odd question, indeed. “Um, they’re the triple-A affiliate for the Marlins, they’ve got some good players... Why?”

  “If I got tickets, would you want to go?”

  “God, no.” She’d been the perfect athlete girlfriend, always in her spot at every game, cheering as loudly as she could, but the honest truth was that she abhorred everything about baseball. She’d rather watch paint dry. Breaking up with Joey had meant she’d never have to spend another minute of her life at the ball field, and that knowledge had helped buoy her through the worst of it. Belatedly realizing how her refusal might be considered rude—assuming Kelsey was trying to broach new avenues of friendship or shared interests—she tried to soften it. “I mean, thanks, but I’m not really a fan.”

  Kelsey nodded. A second later, she asked, “Are you double-jointed?”

  What the hell? Did Kelsey have some kind of weird disorder? Wonder if the hospital knows. “Yeah, my elbows. Why?”

  Over the top of the computer screen, Kelsey smiled. “Just wondering. By the way, do you know what time it is?”

  Time for me to be looking for a different place to live? The girl had a computer on her lap and a cell phone balanced on the arm of her chair, and she was asking Jamie what time it was? “Sorry, no. Maybe a little after ten?”

  “No watch, huh?”

  “I lost mine.”

  “I see. How interesting.”

  If Kelsey was crazy, better to find out now. “How is that interesting?”

  Kelsey closed the laptop. “I know you’re new in town, but have you heard of The Ex Factor?”

  “The TV show? Of course.”

  Kelsey shook her head. “No. Ex as in ex-boyfriend.”

  “Then no, I haven’t.”

  “It’s an online column run by a local girl who does wedding planning. She and her ex-boyfriend do a little thing a few times a month where they give different perspectives on an issue or a question that’s sent in. It’s hugely popular, and the kind of thing that everyone will be talking about at work the next day.”

  And? “It sounds cute. I’ll have to check it out one day.”

  Kelsey passed the laptop her way. “Actually, you might want to check it out now.”

  Carefully, so as not to mess up her nails, Jamie took the computer and flipped it open. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be looking at, but it seemed like a basic website, with a cartoon drawing of a man and a woman back to back and a The Ex Factor banner between them.

  The headline, in a very large font, read, A Real Cinderella Story, and the paragraph beneath started, “Once upon a time, in the French Quarter on Fat Tuesday...”

  No.

  Something akin to dread settled into her chest.

  By the end of the first paragraph, the pieces fell into place. Adrenaline surged through her veins. “Oh, my sweet God.”

  The horror only got worse as she scanned the article. While thankfully rather skinny on the details, there was the story of what, until this moment, had seemed like the best day of her life. Something she could think back on fondly and relish the memory.

  It had been a private, happy story, one she hadn’t shared with anyone simply because she’d wanted to keep it to herself. But it seemed to be news somehow, and based on the counter at the bottom of the page, it was now everyone’s business.

  It was all there: how they were separated at midnight, leaving her Prince Charming with her watch instead of a glass slipper. A physical description of her and those details Kelsey had been checking—like the fact she had extensive baseball knowledge but didn’t enjoy the game and her double-
jointed elbows. It ended with a plea for anyone who knew “Cinderella Jamie” to please contact someone named Callie with the info.

  That gave her pause. A second, less panicked look at the article showed her that it didn’t mention Colin by name or description, simply calling him Prince Charming and providing little detail to his identity.

  Kelsey snorted again. “That is you. Don’t deny it.”

  Jamie wondered if she possibly could. She looked over to see Kelsey messing with her phone.

  “I remember you taking his picture and putting his name into my phone in case he turned out to be an ax murderer or something,” Kelsey muttered, “but now I can’t find it.”

  And you never will. Wednesday morning, after deciding it would be best if she didn’t contact Colin again, she’d deleted both his picture and his name from Kelsey’s phone while Kelsey was in the shower. She’d felt a little silly doing it, but now she was thankful for her forethought.

  “Damn it, why can’t I find it?”

  Jamie let that question pass. She was on the internet. Again. No one in town knew her and there was no reason anyone—even those who followed sports obsessively—would recognize her from the description here, but still.... She didn’t want to be notorious again. Ever.

  But Kelsey had figured it out. Eventually she would make friends here, and what if one of them managed to put it together? Although it wasn’t specifically stated in the article, the subtext was that she’d hooked up with Prince Charming, and now she looked like a slut. Or maybe that was just her own guilty conscience talking. “You say this Ex Factor thing is pretty popular?”

  Kelsey’s amused look turned to pity. “Very popular. And this article has gone viral. I doubt there’s anyone in New Orleans under the age of sixty who hasn’t heard about it.”

  And now she had to go job hunting in this atmosphere. Sweet Jesus, maybe she should just move. At least she wasn’t even fully unpacked yet. Of course, there was the slim hope that this would all die down quickly—the internet was fickle and had a short attention span.