Free Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page A

such an enigma—one minute shrewd and calculating, the next warm and charming and so…
magnetic.
She couldn’t figure him out.
    Stop being such a stalker.
Taylor pulled her gaze away and headed to the bar. At least she could have a drink in her hand or something to make her look less out of place.
    As she stood waiting her turn, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
    “Taylor Reed. What a surprise!” She turned and gave an internal groan. Or maybe it was more of a silent gag. It was Bennett’s golf buddy and her ex-client from HRTech, Charles Thorup. The guy owned the biggest chain of hotels in the world and thought he could own Taylor, too.
    “Hi, Charles. How have you been?” she said politely, careful not to give off too friendly of a vibe. The last thing she wanted was to spend the next hour fending off his unwanted sexual advances.
    “Not as good as you, I hear,” he slurred his words and had a little bit of something—a piece of tomato?—stuck to the lapel of his tux. He also smelled like whisky, and his tufts of stiff brown hair were fighting against the unnatural flow of his comb-over.
    “Sorry?” she said.
    He leaned his bright red face toward her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Why him, Taylor? What did the old B-man do?”
    She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
    He shook his finger in her face, laughing. “I tried every trick in the book, but you wouldn’t even let me take you out for a drink. Come on. Tell me. What did he do?”
    “Do for what?” she snapped.
    “To get you to open those pretty little legs of yours.”
    Taylor froze. There were no words to express how offended she felt
.
She wanted to smack his stupid red face.
    “I didn’t sleep with him,” she growled. “And you have no right to speak—”
    “I was standing right there. You called him Bennett, and everyone knows only his mother and women he’s fucking get to call him that.”
    Ohmygod.
Is
that
what people thought every time she used his first name? No wonder everyone had been acting so bizarre. She suddenly recalled his words to Vera during that first meeting; in her defense, she really thought he’d only said that to make a point!
    “I think you’re drunk, Charles,” she said. “And you should get the hell away from me before I do something I’ll regret.”
    “Oh no, baby. I’m not leaving until I have an answer. I just had to hand the asshole a million dollar check for winning the race—gloating bastard!”
    Taylor wasn’t sure what she’d heard. Because…because…then that would mean…“A million dollars? For what?” She almost didn’t want to ask, because if he’d meant what she thought he meant, there’d be no redemption for Bennett. No forgiving him, no excuse in the world he could give to explain such a horrible thing.
    Charles swayed a little and grinned sloppily. “He took money from Robert, Clyde, Steve, Chip, and Blake, too.”
    Taylor’s jaw dropped. Those were all names of her ex-clients. “You’re telling me you guys all had a bet going?”
    “The race into Taylor’s pants,” he slurred. “Or was it more like a marathon because it took forever for someone to win the pot?”
    “I don’t believe you,” she said, horrified beyond words. Who would do such a thing?
    “Why else would he go out of his way to
hire
—” Charles made air-quotes with his fingers “—you? Not for that stupid training program you’ve been peddling.”
    Taylor’s pride crashed to her feet. Bennett Wade was just after her for some
fucking
bet?
No. No way.
But it explained everything; how he’d gone out of his way to track her down, why he’d insisted she spend the next two weeks traveling with him. It was all some big joke to him. A bet. As for Lady Mary, he probably didn’t need her at all for his deal; but being the horrible, money-grubbing sleazoid that he was, he likely thought it wouldn’t hurt to have her on Team Bennett. After all, she did know Mary and what Mary expected of