Page 75 of The Pucking Wrong Man

I was pretty sure that meant yes.

Taking a step into Geraldine’s penthouse was like entering another world. The whole place was an eye burning collection of colors and textures. The walls were painted in electric blues, neon greens, and shocking pinks—that all clashed magnificently with the gaudy gold trim. Every surface was covered in something—an ornate vase, a bejeweled picture frame, or an overstuffed, velvet cushion in a shade of red that could only be described as “aggressively passionate.”

The real eye catcher of the place, though, and what Logan was staring at in awed horror as I walked in—were the statues.

Life-sized, marble representations of nude men, each one modeled after her late husband, Harold. Harold lifting weights, Harold playing the piano, Harold in a heroic pose reminiscent of ancient Greek gods. It was like a very specific, very bizarre art gallery dedicated to the memory of a man who must have spent very little time at his famous jewelry store, and the rest working out or posing for these sculptures. I could almost hear her whispering, “Flex and hold, Harold, flex and hold.”

Judging by the look on Logan’s face, he was afraid that Geraldine was going to turn him into one of those statues if he stuck around too long.

I didn’t have time for this.

“Mimi, I have a favor to ask you,” I began, pushing Logan forward as an offering.

Geraldine settled herself into a hot pink settee, propping her chin up on a pink-tipped, wrinkled hand. “I’m listening,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“I need to borrow Midas and Fluffy...just for an hour or so. Logan here is going to stay and entertain you while I hang out with them.”

I tried to make my voice as unthreatening and innocent as I could, but I was pretty sure that I still sounded a bit scary—potentially like I was going to eat her dogs or something.

Yikes.

“Should I ask you why you need them, or is this a need to know only secret mission?” she asked, gazing at me speculatively.

“Definitely a super secret spy mission,” Ari said eagerly, his head bobbing up and down like a doll.

“I don’t think I asked you, young man,” she said haughtily, still giving Ari shit evidently.

Lincoln was staring entranced at the two of them. Ari getting his ass handed to him was not a sight we saw every day.

It was glorious.

“You can have both of them,” she finally said, apparently deciding she didn’t really care why I needed the dogs. “But I warn you, I’m getting a better deal. Fluffy shit in one of my flower-pots today, the little rascal,” she said, taking a big sip of her cocktail. I stared at it for a second. I was going to have to get her to teach me to make one of those. Anastasia would love that. Purple was her favorite color.

“You’re a goddess,” I told her, coming over to press a kiss to her soft cheek before I turned toward where the dogs hung out in the evenings when Geraldine was preparing to...entertain.

“Fuck,” Logan suddenly griped, and I glanced over my shoulder to see him rubbing his ass, scowling at Geraldine who was giggling madly. He’d gotten too close to the couch where she was sitting, I probably should have warned him about that.

Lancaster had a sort of weird, dreamy look on his face that should never be leveled at a seventy-five-year-old woman with a fondness for strippers.

Blake would probably be very jealous right now.

Ari was trying to convince Geraldine she needed to come work at “Grandma Airlines” as I left the room. He needed to be careful. Ari’s...dick decor might get him into a situation he couldn’t get out of if Geraldine got wind of it.

I walked down a hallway to the back room where she kept Midas and Fluffy in what would be considered a dog playground thanks to the toys and the doggy tunnels and the plush beds she kept all over the room. Opening the door, I was greeted with enthusiastic barks and the sight of two enormous dogs bounding toward me like furry freight trains.

“Hello, boys,” I muttered, bracing myself for impact. Midas skidded to a halt, his tail wagging furiously, while Fluffy practically pranced in place, his ridiculous poodle haircut making him look like an oversized, very enthusiastic cotton ball.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” Geraldine sang out from behind me. She handed me two bejeweled collars and leashes. “Just get them collared and leashed, and you’ll be all set.”

I eyed the dogs warily.

Geraldine smiled and patted Midas on the head, crooning, “Oh, they’re perfect angels. Aren’t you, my darlings?”

Midas gave a bark that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Fluffy just wagged his tail, looking far too innocent.

I took a deep breath and crouched down. “Alright, guys. Let’s make this easy for Uncle Camden, okay?”

Easier said than done. Midas, to his credit, stood still long enough for me to slip the collar around his neck. Fluffy, on the other hand, seemed to think it was a game. He bounced around, dodging my hands with surprising agility for a dog his size.

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