Nothing but Trouble (Chinooks #5) Read Free

weird feeling that he might have met her before, but he was fairly sure he’d remember that hair. Although even if her hair was different, he doubted he’d hooked up with her. She wasn’t his type.
    “Have you eaten lunch?”
    He moved across the marble floor to the stainless-steel refrigerator. He opened it up and pulled out a bottle of water. “No.” Short and perky had never been his type. “Have I met you before?”
    “Do you watch The Bold and the Beautiful ?”
    “The what?”
    She laughed. “If you’re hungry, I could make you a sandwich.”
    “No.”
    “Even though I don’t officially start until tomorrow, I could manage soup.”
    “I said no.” He tilted the water to his lips and looked at her over the end of the clear plastic. The bottom of her hair really was a weird shade. Not quite red and not quite pink, and he had to wonder if she’d dyed the carpet to match the curtains. A few years ago, a Chinooks’ fan had dyed her pubes blue and green to show her support. Mark hadn’t seen the woman up close and personal, but he had seen the photos.
    “Well, you just turned down a once-in-a-lifetime offer. I never cook for my employer. It sets a bad precedent, and to be totally honest, I suck in the kitchen,” she said through a big grin, which might have been cute if it wasn’t so annoying.
    God, he hated cheerful people. Time to piss her off and get her to leave. “You don’t sound Russian.”
    “I’m not.”
    He lowered the bottle as he lowered his gaze to her orange leather jacket. “So why are you dressed like you’re just off the boat?”
    She glanced down at her dress and pointed out, “It’s my Pucci.”
    Mark was pretty sure she hadn’t said “pussy,” but it had sure sounded like it. “I’m going to go blind looking at you.”
    She glanced up and the corners of her blue eyes narrowed. He couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or yell. “That’s not very nice.”
    “I’m not very nice.”
    “Not very politically correct either.”
    “Now there’s something that keeps me awake at night.” He took another drink. He was tired and hungry and wanted to sit down before he fell down. Maybe nod off during a court TV show. In fact, he was missing Judge Joe Brown . He pointed toward the front of the house. “The door’s that way. Don’t let it hit your ass on your way out.”
    She laughed again as if she was a few bricks short. “I like you. I think we’re going to get along great.”
    She was more than a few bricks short. “Are you…” He shook his head as if he was searching for the right word. “What is the politically correct term for ‘retarded’?”
    “I think the words you’re fishing for are ‘mentally disabled.’ And no. I’m not mentally disabled.”
    He pointed the bottle at her jacket. “You sure?”
    “Reasonably.” She shrugged and pushed away from the counter. “Although there was that time in college when I fell doing a keg stand. Knocked myself right out. I might have lost a few brain cells that night.”
    “Without question.”
    She reached into the pocket of her ugly jacket and pulled out a set of keys with a little heart fob. “I’ll be here tomorrow at nine.”
    “I’ll be asleep.”
    “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, all cheery. “I’ll ring the doorbell until you wake up.”
    “I have a shotgun loaded with buckshot,” he lied.
    Her laughter followed her out of the room. “I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Bressler.”
    If she wasn’t “mentally disabled,” she was nuttier than squirrel shit. Or worse, one of those perpetually cheerful women.
     
     
    What a serious asshole . Chelsea shrugged out of her leather jacket and opened the door to her Honda CR-V. A bead of sweat slid between her cleavage and wet the underwire of her bra as she tossed the jacket into the back and slid into her car. She shut the door and dug inside the hobo bag sitting on the passenger seat. She grabbed her cell phone, punched the seven numbers,