Page 5 of Casey's Hero

Her friend slid into her rented car. “Tomorrow.”

Sylvia held out her hand. “I will see you tomorrow as well, and I look forward to being at the wedding.”

“And I look forward to making your special day perfect.” Casey shook Sylvia’s hand, walked her to her Lamborghini and held the door for her. “Thank you for coming this evening.”

As Sylvia drove away, a delivery truck arrived. She smiled. The cake had arrived. She glanced down at her watch. “Right on time.” A frown puckered her forehead. Where was the dancer?

At that exact moment, her cell phone vibrated on her clipboard. She answered the call and put it on speaker. “Casey, here.”

“Ms. Wesson,” a female voice said, and then a cough came across, blasting Casey’s eardrums. “This is Bambi. I can’t make it tonight. I’m sick.”

Casey drew a deep breath.Relax. It’s just a hiccup. “What happened to your stand-in? I asked you to provide a backup in case you couldn’t make it.”

“Candy’s sick, too. Same crud.” Bambi coughed again. “I’d come, but I don’t want to get the guys sick.”

“No, of course, you can’t come. But is there anyone else you can send?”

“I’m sorry, but everyone else is working other jobs. I could get someone tomorrow night, but not tonight.”

“Tomorrow’s too late,” Casey said, her mind already spinning with alternatives, none of which were viable at this late hour. “I need someone tonight.”

“I’m really sorry, Miss Wesson.” Bambi coughed a wet, awful sound. “I hate to disappoint you.”

“Get some rest. I’ll figure out something.” Casey ended the call and watched as two men unloaded the cake Bambi was supposed to jump out of. She started toward the truck. “Don’t unload it,” she called out. “The cake needs to go back to the rental company.”

“Sorry, lady, we were only paid to deliver it. Someone else is scheduled to pick it up in the morning,” the biggest guy said.

“But I can’t use it. I don’t have a stripper to go inside.”

“Can’t help you there,” the other guy said. “You’ll have to take it up with the party rental company in the morning.”

The big guy paused long enough to look at her, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “Or you can jump out of the cake yourself. You’ve got the goods, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I do mind you saying,” she grumbled. “Fine, leave it at the back door.”

As the men unloaded the cake, the big guy said, “The cake’s in and out door gets stuck a little. You have to give it a good shove to open it from the inside—or so the party store owner said.”

Casey stared at the monstrous papier-mâché cake. What the hell was she going to do with it? Without the stripper, it was useless. The men would be disappointed. She’d made the mistake of letting it slip that they would get a stripper. The perfect bachelor party would be ruined. Her client would know that her planning was fallible and lose confidence in her. Snagging Sylvia Rodriguez as a client was a huge chance to make it big as a wedding planner in the wealthiest Hawaiian circles. And it all hinged on this party and this wedding.

Casey had brought the flash drive with the song selection, the costume of little white go-go boots, white strip-away shorts, white thong, white shirt and a white bra with a long blond wig to be topped with a white Navy hat. The stripper was supposedto jump out of the cake, dance around the men and collect all the tips they wanted to give. She’d be done after three songs. Three songs, nine minutes, tops. Nine minutes that could ruin the entire event if they didn’t happen.

Casey stood in the parking lot, staring at her SUV, scrambling for a plan—any plan to pull her out of this disaster.

A purple car pulled up with mag wheels and a pair of hot pink fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror. A dark-haired woman climbed out, wearing a dress that was too short and tight, high heels tall enough to risk her life and makeup enough to cover her original identity.

For a brief moment, Casey considered asking the woman if she would consider donning the outfit and dancing for the men. One glance at the woman’s bosom made her rethink the request. The costume wouldn’t cover all that, and the woman would think she’d gone batshit crazy.

Not that anyone would recognize her in the blond wig and heavy makeup…

Who said it had to be someone else? She didn’t know that woman or what she’d do in the costume. Who was the only person she could trust to play nice and not get the guys into trouble? Whenever someone working for her didn’t show, who filled in the gaps?

Casey’s heartbeat fluttered against her ribs. Could she do it? Could she put on the wig, layer on enough makeup to hide her true self and jump out of a cake?

The plan hatched and formed, tumbling through her mind with the logistics of what it would take to fill the spot of a missing stripper. How hard could it be? All she had to do was jump out of a cake, dance for nine minutes and get the hell out of the Big Wave before anyone recognized her beneath the wig and warpaint.

Before she could let logic remind her that she was a terrible dancer and the costume was minuscule when she had to tear away the shorts to expose the G-string thong, she dove into the back of her SUV, grabbed the bag with the costume, her expansive makeup kit and followed the moving men and the papier-mâché cake to the rear entrance of the Big Wave Dive Bar.

They had the cake; she might as well give the guys what they’d come for. Why not?

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