Erica Songe had acted more spoiled than Joanne James ever dreamed of being. Screaming. Yelling. Threatening the staff. Demanding that we treat her like the princess she was. Or else. It had taken every bit of patience I had not to dropkick Erica out onto the sidewalk. I’d settled for ripping up her orders and barring her from the store. For life. She tried to act cool about it, always coming up and speaking to me and being as sweet as honey whenever we crossed paths. But I knew she hated me. The feeling was mutual.

“Nice to see you too, Erica.”

H o t M a m a

71

“Who’s your handsome friend?” she asked, her eyes zeroing in on Johnny.

Erica had long black hair, blue eyes, and lips that had so much collagen in them they looked like they were about to explode. Her size-two figure was poured into a black dress that showed off as much tanned flesh as it concealed. Erica had a sultry sex-kitten vibe to her that turned more than one head in the room, not all of them male.

“My handsome date is Johnny Bulluci.” I reached over and put my hand on top of Johnny’s, staking my claim for the evening.

His warm thumb drew lazy circles on the back of my hand. I looked up. Johnny’s eyes were on me, not Erica. Score another one for Johnny Bulluci. I loved attentive men.

“Care if I join you?” Erica asked.

“Actually, we were right in the middle of a very intense, very private discussion. We don’t really feel like company tonight. Sorry, Erica. I’m sure you understand.”

A tight, annoyed smile curved Erica’s oversized lips, and I knew she wanted to wrap her purse strap around my throat and strangle me with it. But her face smoothed over after only a few seconds. Nothing rattled her for long.

“Of course, Fiona.” Erica drew a small piece of paper out of her handbag. “Just let me leave my card with Johnny. In case he ever gets tired of . . . well, whatever.” She licked her lips and gave him her best I’m-so-slutty-I’ll-do-you-under-thetable stare. I snatched Erica’s card out of her hands before Johnny could even reach for it and tore it into pieces. “So sorry, Erica. The only number Johnny needs to remember tonight and for the foreseeable future is mine.”

Erica’s mouth opened and closed. She seemed shocked that someone would spoil her fun when she was trying to be cute and coy and seductive. Erica turned on her heel and 72

J e n n i f e r E s t e p

stalked off. I watched her sashay over to the bar, where Kelly Caleb, another SNN reporter, perched on a round stool. The two of them couldn’t have been more different. While Erica’s barely there clothes screamed trashy whore, Kelly wore a navy dress with a modest neckline that brushed the tops of her ankles. Kelly’s blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was free of the heavy makeup she wore on television. Erica had enough lipstick and eyeliner on to paint a clown’s face. Erica snapped her fingers, and the bartender rushed to get her a drink. Erica turned to Kelly, gesturing wildly and no doubt saying all sorts of horrid things about me. Kelly’s gaze met mine, and her eye twitched, almost in a wink. The blond woman’s wide lips quivered, as though she was trying not to laugh at Erica’s tirade.