For a Good Time Call Read online

  Table of Contents

  A mysterious prank brought them together for a sizzling-hot phone call...

  Trish Jensen Novels From Bell Bridge Books

  For a Good Time Call

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  A Funny Thing Happened...

  A mysterious prank brought them together for a sizzling-hot phone call...

  “What’s this about?” Christian “Kit” Fleming asked.

  Now how should Sherry answer that? Oh, I’m just a nosy little ad exec who’s dying to see who wrote your phone number on a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Listen, Sherry, I’m very, very busy. I have meetings all day tomorrow, and I need to be prepared. If you could just speed this up, I’d be wildly grateful.”

  Those were the most words he’d said to her yet, and Sherry became uncomfortably aware that he had a very sexy phone voice. She cleared her throat. “Well, you see, I got a delivery tonight, and I didn’t have anything smaller than a fifty, so the kid had to give me change.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, the grunt tinged with annoyance. “Fascinating.”

  “The twenty he gave me had some writing on it.”

  “Writing?”

  “‘For a good time, call Kit.’ And of course, your phone number.”

  “What?”

  “‘For a good time, call Kit,’” Sherry repeated. “And your phone number.”

  He swore. Explosively. Loudly. Repeatedly. She even had to hold the receiver away from her head a little, just to keep her eardrum from throbbing.

  “Tear it up.”

  “It’s a twenty dollar bill!”

  “That’s got my name and number on it! Tear it up.”

  “Why don’t you meet me at the Peking Delight in McLean in, say, twenty minutes? We can have a swap meet, so to speak.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” he complained. “I’m a very busy man, Ms. Whatever Your Name Is.”

  Sherry’s curiosity died a quick death. She’d learned all she needed to know. Kit Fleming was a first-class jerk. “Fine. Personally, I don’t give a hoot whether you get more annoying phone calls on your super-secret private line after I put this bill back into circulation.”

  “Wait, wait, wait! Twenty minutes?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “How will I know who you are?”

  Sherry blew out her lower lip. “I’ll be the thirty-year-old masquerading as a teenager.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll be wearing a Penn State sweatshirt.”

  ———

  “A story that blends liberal doses of laughter with a few smiling tears. I highly recommend it.”

  —Connie Ramsdell, Bookbug on the Web

  Trish Jensen Novels From Bell Bridge Books

  The Harder They Fall

  Stuck With You

  Against His Will

  Coming Soon

  Just This Once

  On the House

  Send Me No Flowers

  Phi Beta Bimbo

  For a Good Time Call

  by

  Trish Jensen

  Bell Bridge Books

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Bell Bridge Books

  PO BOX 300921

  Memphis, TN 38130

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-225-5

  Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-210-1

  Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

  Copyright © 1999 by Trish Jensen

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  A mass market edition of this book was published by Kensington Publishing Corp. in 1999 by Trish Jensen writing as Trish Graves.

  We at BelleBooks enjoy hearing from readers.

  Visit our websites – www.BelleBooks.com and www.BellBridgeBooks.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Cover design: Debra Dixon

  Interior design: Hank Smith

  Photo credits:

  Man (manipulated) © Nyul @ Dreamstime.com

  :Mgfc:01:

  Dedication

  To Suz, Cyndee, and Chip Graves—

  I love you and I’m so proud

  to be your little sister.

  One

  “And I-I-I-I-I will always love you-u-u—”

  Sherry Spencer’s mouth snapped shut when her doorbell rang, startling her into silence. She turned down her radio, then quickly waved a hand over the nail polish drying on bare toes, before hobbling to the door and opening it. She sure hoped she hadn’t been singing so loudly that . . . By the horrified expression on Timmy Walton’s face, she had her answer. He’d heard her.

  Life wasn’t fair. God had bestowed upon her a love of music, a gift for writing catchy jingles, and a set of vocal cords that could warp sheetrock. With a sigh, Sherry managed a rueful smile. “Hey, Timmy.”

  “More candy for you,” the young delivery boy from Stella’s Sweets said. “Didja land another big account, Ms. Spencer?”

  “You can call me Sherry, Timmy,” she said, taking the box from him. “And yep, the Dippity Diaper account is officially mine.” Her mouth watered at the heavenly scent of the rich, dark confections. Gosh, she adored her boss, who knew too well her . . . healthy respect for chocolate. Who needed a personal life when there was chocolate in the world?

  Timmy grinned. “Stella says you don’t look old enough to be in high school, much less be an advertising bigwig.”

  Not unused to such observations—in fact, sick to death of such observations—Sherry swallowed a retort. After all, Stella and her shop were a godsend. Resisting the urge to rip open the box and gobble one or two sweets right there, she said, “Hold on,” then hip-hopped to her coffee table and purse.

  “Dang, all I have is a fifty, Timmy.”

  Timmy rolled his eyes, and pulled out a small wad of bills. “Stella always makes me carry extra change on deliveries to you.”

  It was endearing having a local candy shop owner who took such good care of her regulars, Sherry decided. Then again, Sherry was probably Stella’s most regular regular. “Keep five,” she said, then accepted the change.

  She waved and shut the door, then wobbled back to the couch, trying to walk on her heels to save her pedicure.

  Tossing the bills on the coffee table, Sherry reached for the box of chocolates, blessing her sainted boss. But scribbled words on the top bill—a twenty—caught her eye, and she picked it up instead. “‘For a good time, call Kit,’” she read aloud, then took in the phone number, noticing that it had her own area code. “Now there’s an advertising gimmick.”

  The handwriting was flowery. Was it Kit’s handwriting? Or was it someone’s idea of revenge on Kit? Should she call Kit and let her know someone was circulating her phone number on currency?

  While she debated, Sherry opened the box of chocolates and popped one into her mouth, moaning as the delicious explosion of flavor invaded her senses.

  At the very least she owed it to her fellow woman to inform her that someone was bandying her name abo
ut. Right? It wasn’t just curiosity. She might be doing someone a favor. A big one.

  Having done a darn fine job of justifying her action, Sherry picked up the phone and punched in the number. By the first ring she was having second thoughts. Maybe she should just—

  “Yes?” a male voice barked gruffly.

  Gulping, she said, “Um, yes, by any chance is Kit there?”

  “Who’s this?” he asked.

  Now how should she answer that? Oh, I’m just a nosy little ad exec who’s dying to see who came up with Kit’s advertising campaign. “My name’s Sherry,” she said, deciding not to give him her last name. “I just have a couple of questions for her, and I’d appreciate—”

  “For her? Is this some kind of joke?”

  The incredulity in his voice made her sit up straighter. For the first time she considered the idea that Kit might not be a woman. Of course. Kit could also be the nickname of a man. She looked down at the bill . . . and started laughing. And once she started, she couldn’t stop.

  “What’s so funny?” the man asked, sounding exasperated.

  Sherry rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, stifling her mirth. “Let me guess. You’re Kit.”

  “This phone call is over.”

  “Don’t hang up!” she said quickly. “You’re really going to want to hear this.”

  The silence hummed across the phone line, but at least he didn’t slam down the receiver. “You are Kit, aren’t you? Because I’m only telling this to Kit.”

  There was another pause, and then he blew an exasperated breath. “Yes, I’m Kit. Did Rachel give you this number?”

  “Who’s Rachel?”

  “My sister.”

  “Well now, I’m not so sure. Is Rachel in the habit of trying to fix you up?”

  “Unfortunately,” he said, but his voice softened perceptibly, and held a hint of a smile. “Listen, Ms.—”

  “Sherry. Just Sherry.”

  “Listen, Sherry, I’m very, very busy. I have meetings all day tomorrow, and I need to be prepared. If you could just speed this up, I’d be wildly grateful.”

  Those were the most words he’d said to her yet, and Sherry became uncomfortably aware that he had a very sexy voice. She ran a finger under her collar and cleared her throat. “This will be short,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “Uh . . . before I tell you this, just remember not to shoot the messenger.”

  “Oh, boy,” he muttered. “I take it I’m not going to like this.”

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  He took a bracing breath, loud enough for her to hear. “Let’s hear it.”

  Sherry quickly took the plunge. “Well, you see, I got a delivery tonight, and I didn’t have anything smaller than a fifty, so the kid had to give me change.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, the grunt tinged with annoyance. “Fascinating.”

  “The twenty he gave me had some writing on it.”

  “Writing?”

  “Yes, umm-hmm,” she said, biting her cheek to keep from laughing. As she saw it, the situation was rather humorous. She just knew he wouldn’t view it the same way.

  “Well? What was on the bill? And if you answer, ‘In God We Trust,’ this conversation’s over.”

  “‘For a good time, call Kit.’ And of course, your phone number.”

  “What?”

  “‘For a good time, call Kit,’” Sherry repeated. “And your phone number.”

  He swore. Explosively. Loudly. Repeatedly. She even had to hold the receiver away from her head a little, just to keep her eardrum from throbbing.

  Once he’d sputtered to a halt, she said, “So, do you think it was Rachel?”

  “No. But I have a good idea who it was.” He cursed again. “Tear it up.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, tear the damn thing up.”

  “It’s a twenty dollar bill!”

  “That’s got my name and number on it! Tear it up.”

  “Now look, Kit, twenty dollars may not be much to you, but I can eat for a week on that kind of money.”

  He swore again. At least, she thought it was a swear word. She’d never heard it before. “Give me your address. I’ll send you a replacement.”

  “No offense, Kit old boy, but I don’t know you from Adam. I’m not real certain I want you in possession of my address. Who knows what kind of nutcase you might be, considering some of your acquaintances?”

  As she reached for another chocolate, Sherry was treated to a fresh round of swearing. She tsked. “Anyone ever tell you you have a real potty mouth?”

  “Well, what the hell do you expect?” he practically shouted. “I want that bill destroyed.”

  “Where do you live?” she asked.

  “Great Falls, why?”

  Well, la-dee-da, she thought. She had her doubts about just how good a time Kit what’s-his-name would be, but she didn’t doubt he could afford to spend that time in style. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “I was hungry for Chinese anyway. Why don’t you meet me at the Peking Delight in McLean in, say, twenty minutes? We can have a swap meet, so to speak.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” he complained. “I’m a very busy man, Ms. Whatever Your Name Is.”

  Sherry’s curiosity died a quick death. She’d learned all she needed to know. Kit was a first-class jerk. “Fine. Personally, I don’t give a hoot whether this bill makes it back into circulation or not. And let’s not forget that I would actually be doing you a favor, Mr. Very Busy Man. So long—”

  “Wait, wait, wait!”

  Sherry felt tremendous satisfaction at the panic in his voice. “Yes?” she said, studying her nails to emphasize her nonchalance.

  “I’m sorry. Really. You just caught me at a bad time. Listen, I’d like to meet you. I’ll even give you a reward.”

  Her hand dropped, as did her jaw. It took her a full ten seconds to get her vocal cords up and running. “A reward? Thanks, but no. I don’t expect to get paid for doing a simple human kindness.”

  The silence from his end sounded thunderstruck to Sherry. Apparently the thought of doing something for nothing was foreign to him. And she wasn’t exactly doing it for nothing, anyway. After all, the Peking Delight had the best Hunan chicken in the greater DC area.

  “Twenty minutes?” he said after awhile.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “How will I know who you are?”

  Sherry blew out her lower lip. “I’ll be the thirty-year-old masquerading as a teenager.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll be wearing a Penn State sweatshirt.”

  Kit pulled his Mercedes into the parking lot of the strip mall where the Peking Delight was located, and yanked up the parking brake. He was still fuming. He had no doubt about who’d pulled this stunt on him, and if he hadn’t wanted to avoid the woman so badly, he’d pay her a visit and ring her vindictive little neck.

  How many of those bills had she put into circulation? How many more phone calls would he get like this last one?

  He supposed he should be grateful to this Shelley, or Shirley, or whatever the hell her name was, but he couldn’t quite manage it. She’d sounded too amused on the phone.

  He climbed out of his car and looked around. No thirty-year-olds-masquerading-as-teenagers-wearing Penn-State-sweatshirts presented themselves. He checked his watch, then strode toward the door of the restaurant.

  “Yoo-hoo, Kit!” a woman called to his left.

  He jerked around, just as a young girl popped out of a burgundy Mazda. At first glance, he understood her strange description of herself. She did look to be in her late teens. She had dark, shoulder-length hair she’d pulled back in a ponytail, delicate, unlined features, and the bouncing gait of a high school senior.

  She was indeed wearing a Penn State sweatshirt, atop a pair of holey jeans, and blue, high-top sneakers. She raised her arm and let a bill flap in the breeze. Her grin looked far too smug.

  As she
approached she checked out every inch of him, and Kit felt suddenly stuffy and uncomfortable in his suit. He hadn’t even bothered to change after work, heading directly to his den to prepare for the following day’s meetings.

  She stopped in front of him, still smirking. “Let the good times roll,” she said, her eyes flashing humor.

  “How’d you know who I was?” he asked suspiciously, staring at those eyes. They were the deepest blue he’d ever seen, flecked with black the color of her hair and lashes.

  Beautiful eyes. Bedroom eyes. They were the only clue that would place her age at closer to thirty than twenty. There was a wealth of intelligence in those eyes. They’d lived and learned. They’d also stolen his breath.

  “You were the only angry creature stalking toward the restaurant at the moment,” she said. “Call it an educated guess.”

  “You wouldn’t be laughing if it were your name and number on that bill.”

  “Now, Kit, lighten up. You should feel flattered.”

  “Flattered! Like hell. That’s a private number you’ve got there, known to approximately ten people at most.”

  “Eleven, now.”

  “And who knows how many more?”

  Her eyes went round. “You think there are more of these floating around?”

  “Who knows? You called first.”

  She grinned again, which irritated the hell out of Kit. “I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing.”

  “Sorry,” she said, smile unrepentantly in place.

  “Yeah, well . . .” He fished his wallet from his breast pocket and pulled out a twenty. “Are you sure I can’t offer a reward?”

  That lowered the voltage on her smile. “No, thanks.”

  Kit held out the money. “Give.”

  He could tell by the wicked light in her eyes that she wasn’t quite ready to let this sick joke come to its natural conclusion. But then with a reluctant little sigh, she handed over the offensive bill.

  Kit looked down at it and breathed out a short, succinct expletive. He’d know that handwriting anywhere. He contemplated focusing his energies on planning the perfect revenge, but then decided Samantha wasn’t worth the effort.