Devil in White Lace

By Adrianne Ambers

Troy McCall is a high-powered Hollywood agent and producer. When his latest rising star bails out of a make-or-break project, he is determined to hunt her down and
make her finish the movie.

Bobbie is the plain, forgotten, much put-upon sister of the runaway starlet. She has never heard of Troy McCall, but she does know a sexual heatwave when he walks into her drab library.

He immediately notices that her plain white blouse is covering a remarkable pair of breasts. She takes one look and imagines stripping him of his turtleneck sweater. When he asks her to come to Hollywood and help him locate her sister, she hesitates. Not because she doesn't trust him; she knows that if they are in the same room, there is going to be wicked hell to pay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adrianne Ambers
• Release date: May 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310264887

Adrianne Ambers

Adrianne Ambers is a country girl who longed to travel away from the Ozark hills and streams of Southern Illinois. She got her wish by marrying her Air Force guy and living in interesting places throughout the United States and Panama. Her writing is flavored with down-home charm and worldly experience. Although she now lives in a suburb of Atlanta, Georgia, she has fond memories of her life on the Mississippi Gulf Coast and Southern Illinois--thus, her love for all things Southern. Readers can find her writing (ePubs) on Smashwords and Amazon. Her favorite websites are: https://www.facebook.com/AdrianneAmbers and http://www.adrianneambers.com

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DEVIL IN WHITE LACE

A Novel

by

Adrianne Ambers

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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--except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews--without permission in writing from the author.

This work is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are products of the author's imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author’s works, please see http://www.adrianneambers.com

Copyright © 2015, All Rights Reserved

CHAPTER ONE

Troy McCall slammed the heel of his hand down on the intercom. A dozen lights flashed; a dozen voices spilled from the machine along with an ear-splitting screech.

Everett! He shouted to his assistant. Where in hell is she? She was supposed to be here at one-thirty!

Eleven of the lights blinked out, leaving Everett alone to deal with his angry boss.

I—I don’t know. A messenger just delivered a letter. I think it’s from her. I’ll bring it right in.

The light blinked out, and three seconds later, he opened Troy’s solid mahogany door just enough to slip around the frame and into the office.

Everett handed him a long white envelope.

It’s her handwriting, Troy said as he ripped open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Dear Troy,

By the time you read this, I’ll be on my honeymoon. I’m marrying Steve, one of the grips on the set. The movie is done as far as I’m concerned. I’m through dicking around with a director who cuts my close-ups. I’m sick of being treated like I don’t have a brain. Well, I do, and it tells me it’s time to enjoy myself instead of being herded around like a cash cow. Don’t try to find me. See you when I see you.

Brook

P.S. Go to my house and make sure the maid feeds my birds.

Troy read the note again, and with each word, the blood rushed to his head and pounded behind his eyeballs.

Fuck! He wadded the paper into a sloppy ball and threw it as hard as he could at the wastebasket. It deflected off the rim and landed near Everett’s feet.

That bitch! Troy swore as he paced back and forth behind his desk. "I made her, Everett, he ranted. If I hadn’t come along when I did, she would have ended up in porn flicks for the rest of her life."

Everett cleared his throat and ventured closer. Actually, he said in a croaking voice, She only made one.

Troy stopped pacing and glared at his assistant. He thumped the desktop with his fist.

Yes, dammit, and it cost me a fortune to buy the rights and bury it. I told you never to mention that… that movie.

The slightly-built man hunched his shoulders as if to repel his employer’s tirade. Yes, sir. Never. I never have—to anyone.

Satisfied that the subject of Brook’s initial fall from grace was closed, Troy started pacing again. When I think of all the times I saved her butt, I could kick myself. Every time she was too drunk to work the next day, who held her hand and poured black coffee down her throat? Every time she zeroed in on some loser and thought she was in love, who went on suicide watch when the affair went down the toilet?

He slammed down his fist on the desk, and Everett jumped back.

Y-You.

Right. Me. I’ve spent half my life cleaning up her messes, and this is how she repays me.

Everett picked up the crumpled letter. If Troy had spent half his life cleaning up her messes, he would have started at approximately age fifteen-and-a half. However, his better judgment told him it was wise to ignore this miscalculation in his employer’s statement. Instead, he said, Maybe it’ll work out, boss. They all get married. That’s just the way things are. Besides, the movie’s finished. She deserves a breather. Right?

Troy plopped down in his chair and stared morosely at his faithful assistant. Wrong.

Everett shook his head. I don’t understand. You don’t want her to get married?

When Troy spoke, his voice was quiet and controlled—the complete opposite of his tirade of a moment ago.

The meeting she missed was with me and the director. They want to re-shoot two critical scenes, and they want to do it in ten days.

Ten days? Well, maybe she’ll be back in time. I dunno. How long does a honeymoon last?

Too damn long if I know Brook—and, oh yes, I do know her. She’ll be gone a month. I’d bet my ass on it. Now, what we have to do is find her.

Good idea, boss.

Get busy. Check the flights out of L.A. She’ll probably be using her real name. When was the last time you heard from her?

Troy had a policy built into his clients’ contracts. They, or their secretaries, were to check in with him every day. Everett’s job was to track each client’s itinerary.

She called in—personally—yesterday. I guess it was around four o’clock.

Good. Troy stood up and rubbed his hands together. That means she left after four and before…. He checked his Rolex. Two-thirty. That’s a narrow enough window. Now, get cracking.

Yes, sir. Everett turned on his heel and hustled out of Troy’s office.

For the next two hours, Troy kept busy. He made some calls and rearranged the few items on his desk. He told himself that Brook’s latest stunt was no big deal, but that was bullshit. Her disappearance was going to cause major trouble.

Troy McCall was known as the best agent and producer in Hollywood. Now, for the first time in his career, his reputation was in serious danger of heading south. Two of his last three deals had been put on indefinite hold for circumstances beyond his control. His last film, The Duchess of the Dunes, had gone well over budget thanks to unforecast sand storms. What was he supposed to do – control the weather? Regardless, it was making him look weak, ineffective.

His staff didn’t know about these developments, but when they did, it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the industry got word of his difficulties. If that happened, the shit would literally hit the fan. The rivals he’d beaten out so often for film rights and A-list leads would be toasting his downfall for days. When the internet completed his ruin, he might as well go the way of disgraced public figures and retire to ‘spend more time with his family’ as if he had one of those. After the work he’d put into climbing the ladder to his current position of power, he’d rather drink drain cleaner than quit.

His last ace in the hole was that ungrateful, spoiled, self-centered brat who had run away and left him holding the bag. If she didn’t come back in time to do the re-shoot, he might as well slink back to his dad’s potato fields in Wisconsin. He had to find her… period.

Troy was gazing through the expanse of glass that separated his climate-controlled office from the panoramic view of downtown Los Angeles when he heard the door quietly open behind him. Everett.

Well? He didn’t bother to turn around.

The silence in the room confirmed his bleak thoughts. The news was bad.

New Zealand.

Troy turned to face his assistant. You tracked her to New Zealand? Where is she staying?

Everett shook his head. I got hold of a guy I know there. Gave him a song and dance about her taking a vacation, and that you wanted to surprise her with a fruit basket or something. Couldn’t turn up anything. She must have booked a charter flight to one of the islands. Turns out there are hundreds of places she could have gone. I’m sorry, boss. I tried. I really did.

Troy waved the apology aside. Thanks for trying, Ev. He pulled open a drawer in his desk. After a few seconds of rummaging around, he came up with a ring of keys. I’ve got an idea. You know how women are about keeping cruise brochures and stuff. Doesn’t matter if they intend to go or not. I’m going to her house and see if I can find anything that might give us a clue.

Everett smiled with relief. Great idea, boss. I’ll have your car brought around. Do you want me to drive?

Troy shook his head. Thanks, but I’ll drive myself.

Within five minutes, he was headed for the Hills and Brook Lynn’s pink sandstone villa. He drove as fast as the winding roads allowed and pulled up to the gates surrounding the starlet’s estate. At a click of the remote dangling from his ring of keys, the massive wrought iron gates swung inward, and he pulled up beside the gatehouse. After a brief word with the security guard, he drove to the house and parked.

Using the house key, he let himself into the marble tiled foyer. He heard music coming from the kitchen. The maid was in today. Not wanting to scare her witless, he called out as he strode down the hall, Felicia.

She emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. Mister Troy, she beamed. It is nice to see you. What can I do for you today?

Troy grinned and said in a low, conspiratorial voice, Well, if you’re all alone, we could have wild sex in the pool.

Felicia laughed. Middle-aged, plump, and happily married, she was used to his teasing. And what would my esposo say to such a thing?

Troy put both arms around her. He gave her his best seductive look. Sweetheart, I’ve told you time and again, you don’t have to tell him everything.

Still laughing, Felicia gave him a playful push. Go on with you. I have the work to do. I have to feed those silly birds.

Troy fell back in mock affront with his hand over his heart. You’re turning me down. He accused with a hurt look on his face.

Felicia wagged a finger at him. You better be careful who you ask to have this wild sex with you, young man. You might wind up with a devil in white lace, and then your duck will be cooked.

It’s goose, not duck.

Same difference, she said. You just watch out for that devil, because that’s the one you’ve got to marry to get the sex.

Troy made a cross with his forefingers to ward off her evil prediction. Okay. I give. I just came for something Brook was supposed to bring to my office yesterday.

The maid shot him a surprised look. Miss Brook, she left last night. Did she forget something?

Last night? I thought she was supposed to leave this morning. Troy wasn’t sure how he was going to get all the information he needed from Felicia without telling her the truth. If her maid didn’t know that the biggest starlet in Hollywood had run away to get married, he wasn’t going to tell her. For the time being, this news had to be kept under wraps.

Oh, no. Felicia rattled on. Her sister was supposed to pick her up in St. Louis.

Sister? Troy didn’t know Brook had a sister. He remembered that she came from Missouri, but the city wasn’t St. Louis.

She has been working so hard, Mister Troy. She will have a quiet vacation and a nice visit with her sister.

Hmm. Troy stroked his chin. You know, I always wondered about her sister. It’s a shame we never talked about her.

Felicia’s dark eyes twinkled. I know all about her. Come. I will show you.

She brushed past him and headed for the staircase leading to the bedrooms on the second floor. Troy forgave himself his little white lie and hurried after her.

As soon as they entered Brook’s bedroom, Felicia strode to the bedside table and picked up a large framed picture. Here she is. See. This was taken when Miss Brook won a beauty pageant, just before she came to California. She tapped the glass with her finger. That is her sister.

Troy took the photograph from Felicia’s hands. Brook wore the tiara of a pageant winner. She was all teeth and confidence; the sister barely smiled. In the looks department, they had nothing in common.

Did she tell you her sister’s name, Felicia?

Barbara Stinson, the maid answered. She calls her Bobbie. She craned her neck to see the picture. She is the ugly goose, no?

Troy grimaced. Barbara Stinson had nothing to recommend her to the worst agent he knew. A homely slouch hat shaded half her face, and to make matters worse, she wore glasses. Her hair--what he could see of it--was scraped back from her face. She wore a mannish shirt buttoned to her chin.

He shook his head. Duckling, he absently replied. The term is ‘ugly duckling.’

Turning the picture over, he noticed a silver sticker on the back. Dearest Brook, So proud of you. Love, Bobbie. The name of the photographer was underneath, along with the city: Pine Mountain, Missouri.

Troy took a chance that Felicia could fill in another piece of the puzzle. Does the sister still live in Pine Mountain?

Oh, yes. Miss Brook says they grew up there. It is home.

Troy grimaced. Did Brook pack a lot of clothes?

Si. Felicia gave the picture a fond smile as she set it back in place. She had two big rolling bags and her makeup case and a tote. She could live out of them for a month. She halted in her assessment of her mistress’s luggage and frowned. Well, maybe two weeks. You know how she is with the clothes.

Yeah, maybe, Troy agreed, but his mind was shooting off in a dozen directions.

Brook told her maid she was going to Missouri to visit her sister, yet Everett had tracked her to New Zealand. Chances were good that his vanished starlet hadn’t bothered to tell her sister of her plans, or maybe she had.

Well, thanks for the info, Felicia, Troy said. Guess I had better let you get back to work. Brook’s last words to me were to remind you to feed those birds.

* * * * * *

Bobbie Stinson pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and eased open the folder that hid the latest copy of International Beauty Magazine. She glanced in the direction of the library tables to make sure her assistant, Deedy, was busy. Two college guys had come to the library to work on term papers. Deedy was in overdrive, flirting with both men as she helped to find reference material for their papers.

Satisfied that she had a quiet moment, Bobbie glanced down at the cover splashed with the familiar face and figure of her sister, Brook. Besides having a beautiful face, an electric smile, and gorgeous hair, Brook obviously had enough talent and self-esteem to land movie deals that netted millions of dollars.

Bobbie scanned down the page, admiring the dress—a flesh colored affair, liberally embellished with beads and sequins. Were those real diamonds around her neck and in her ears? How to Dress with Simple Elegance, the caption read. Bobbie suppressed a laugh. Simple? Indeed. The cost of the dress alone would… what? Build a new library? Keep their Aunt Mary in an expensive nursing home for… how many years?

She closed the folder and put it in her backpack. With a sigh, she glanced at Deedy again, then bent over the library desk and started opening returned books.

She pulled a card from its envelope and paused before applying the date stamp. A vision of her sister in that fabulous gown swam through her mind’s eye. Specifically, she kept seeing Brook’s bosom pushed high above the gauzy fabric of the bodice.

Bobbie glanced down the cotton shirt covering her own breasts. She and her sister were probably the only two people in the world who knew that plain librarian Bobbie Stinson had better tits than international beauty Brook Lynn. She knew because Brook had shown her the hairline scars beneath each breast during her last visit two years ago.

Now our boobs look like sisters. Brook had laughed, but Bobbie hadn’t been certain that breast augmentation surgery was the right thing to do.

But, Brook, to let someone cut on you just to have bigger boobs doesn’t seem right.

Brook had shrugged off the surgery. It’s just part of the biz. My agent said if I added a size, I could add a million to each contract, and he was right.

Bobbie smiled. How could sisters be so different? Brook was a starlet. No, she was a star. Bobbie was a librarian in an aging red brick Carnegie Library in the middle of nowhere. Yet, without her sister’s huge salary, they couldn’t afford the price of the nursing home that cared for their Aunt Mary.

When an accident had taken both parents, their spinster aunt had stepped in and raised the two girls as her own. Now suffering from a failing memory and a heart condition, she received the best of care… all because of Brook’s success.

Brook had flown from the nest, and Bobbie had stayed behind. Someone had to visit Aunt Mary and deal with the occasional problems regarding her care. Besides, Bobbie had no other place to go. Still, she didn’t begrudge Brook her freedom, nor was she jealous. When the chips were down, they would do anything to help each other.

Before she could open another book, Deedy sidled up to the desk. Hey, guess what?

Bobbie reflexively pushed her glasses up her nose and looked at her assistant. What?

Read these, Deedy said, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face. She slipped two folded pieces of paper inside the open book before Bobbie.

They were notes from both guys—asking Deedy for a date. Bobbie glanced across the room at the library table where the two male heads were bent over their laptops. One was dark, the other fair. The dark-haired one scribbled in a notebook before typing on the keyboard. The other looked like he was struggling with his assignment. He had an open library book on the table and occasionally looked up and pecked at a few keys.

So, which one do you like best? Bobbie whispered.

Deedy jiggled up and down. I don’t know, she whispered back. I think the blond guy is a football player. I know the other one is a grad student.

Sooo, Bobbie said, hanging onto her library voice. What’s the deciding factor here, brains, or brawn?

Deedy leaned closer. Neither. The grad student has a hard-on, and unless he’s got a sausage in his pants, he’s got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.

Bobbie pulled away and stared at the library table again—beneath the table where she had a clear shot of Mr. Grad’s crotch. It was true. Whatever he had in his jeans was long… and thick. He chose that moment to glance up, a tiny smile quirking his lips.

Bobbie pulled her eyes away from the bulge in his pants and cleared her throat. Well, he certainly looks interested. How do you do it, Deedy?

Do what?

How do you give these guys the hots for you? Jesus, picking up guys in a library! Of all places!

You could do the same thing. Deedy’s whisper was harsh. If you didn’t hide yourself behind those glasses, wore a little makeup, and did something with your hair and clothes. And those orthopedic shoes. What’s up with the shoes?

They’re good for your feet, Bobbie shot back. If you stay in this business, you’ll find out.

Deedy shrugged. Suit yourself, she hissed. She grabbed a pad of sticky notes from the desk and pulled a ballpoint pen from between her breasts. After scribbling on two sheets, she clicked the pen, shoved it down her cleavage, and sauntered back to her admirers.

Bobbie blew out a long, frustrated breath and pulled another stack of books closer. Before she opened the next cover, she stole a covetous look beneath the table. What was so special about a man’s penis, she wondered? A shiver ran over her body, and her nipples hardened. As a twenty-eight year old virgin, she didn’t have the answer to that intriguing question.

She pressed her lips together and went back to work, checking each book by hand. For a moment, her depressing thoughts took over. Aunt Mary was slowly wasting away, Brook hadn’t called in weeks, and the library operated on a shoestring budget. She had no social life, and the only one who pestered her for dates was Oliver, the greasy tow-truck driver. She winged a silent prayer of thanks for whoever had invented battery-operated technology. At least she had the pleasure of an orgasm when she wanted one.

Her gaze lifted to the racks of books. What good were tales about adventure and a Prince Charming when her life was mired in duty and dust mites? In spite of her dark musings, she started to hum under her breath. Someday my prince will come.

CHAPTER TWO

Troy looked up the long flight of stairs leading to a set of old-fashioned doors. Behind those doors was Bobbie Stinson, librarian, and sister to his runaway star; and she was probably the only one who could solve the mystery of where Brook Lynn had disappeared to.

Before he left Brook’s house, he’d checked the answering machine. Aside from three unanswered messages from his office, there was nothing. A quick call to Everett and he had a complete analysis of her information on file in his office. Her next of kin was her sister, Barbara Stinson. There was also mention of a Mary Tripp for whom a monthly check was sent to Sunny Pines Convalescent home. A few taps on his cell and he was headed for the airport. It was time to make the trip to Pine Mountain, Missouri.

He took the steps two at a time and let himself into the library. The door closed with a noisy bang behind him. From directly across the foyer, a bespectacled woman behind a desk raised her finger to her lips.

Shhh, she admonished before turning her attention back to a two-foot-high stack of books.

Troy tiptoed toward the desk. The ancient floorboards creaked with each step.

Hi, he said.

Her finger popped toward her lips again. Then, she pointed to a sign hanging over the door. Quiet Please.

Can I help you? she asked.

Troy studied her lips, and then he studied her breasts. Force of habit, he told himself. Still, from the waist up—if one could get past the glasses, hair-in-a-bun and dowdy clothes… there just might be something…. His hands itched, demanding he raise his arms, reach out, and cup those wonderfully full globes hidden behind her plain white shirt. They couldn’t be real; or could they?

Forcing his mind back to business, Troy cleared his throat and got to the matter at hand. I hope so, he replied in what he deemed an acceptable library voice. Are you the librarian?

Yes, I am. She pulled a nameplate from behind the stack of books and placed it in front of him.

Barbara Stinson. Troy glanced from the sign to the woman and back. Felicia was right. Brook was the swan, and her sister was definitely the ugly duckling. Except for her full, kissable lips, and fuller, more kissable tits, Bobbie Stinson possessed no star qualities whatsoever.

Can I help you? she repeated her former question.

I’m sure you can, he said. Now that he was face to face with the object of his quest, he wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed. Brook had told him she was running away to get married, and Everett had tracked her to New Zealand. Brook had told her maid she was going to visit her sister. How much did Bobbie Stinson know about her sister’s plans? It suddenly occurred to him that someone as self-centered as Brook might not have told anyone of her marriage plans.

Do you have a library card?

No. No, I don’t, he said. I’m new in town.

Oh, she said. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and bent to open a drawer. After a few seconds of shuffling around inside, she came up with a card. Um, if you’ll fill this out and bring it back, we’ll get you fixed up in no time. Library books are free, but computer use is two dollars a month, including WiFi. She held the card out to him. When he didn’t immediately take it, she gave him a questioning look. Do you need a pen?

Troy held up a staying hand. No, I don’t want a library card, but thanks just the same. What I really would like is a moment of your time. Is there someplace where we can speak privately? He glanced over at the library table and the trio of young people whispering together over open books and laptop computers.

She followed his gaze and her full lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line. When she turned her attention back to him, her face wore the exasperated look of a much put-upon parent.

Do you have business with the library, Sir? If so, my assistant can take over for a few minutes. I have a small private office in the back where we can talk.

Troy considered telling her a lie—that he did have business with the library, but he really didn’t want to get a private interview under false pretenses. Well, he still wasn’t sure he could be altogether honest, so he decided a little white lie was in order.

I’m Troy McCall, he said. I’m your sister’s agent.

Troy McCall! She said. Her louder-than-normal tone of voice brought three heads popping up from behind the library table. She gave them a stern gaze, and they sheepishly looked away. Is Brook all right? She leaned across the desk. I’m so sorry if I was rude to you. She stuck out her hand. I’m Bobbie.

Troy grasped her hand and gave it a warm shake. Brook is fine. I just happened to be in the area and thought I’d stop by and meet you. Your sister thinks the world of you, you know.

Bobbie Stinson