The Stand-In (3 page)

“I did. He threw the book at you, my friend.” Jake leaned toward the tray on the table between them and poured out two servings of scotch. He offered one to Patrick. “That bastard totally blackballed you. I hope she was worth it, although I must say, I haven’t met a woman yet who is.”

He tried not to frown at Jake, considering this was more or less a job interview. However, he couldn’t deny their conversation was starting to piss him off. Had Jake been pedaling his man-is-superior shit so long he’d started to believe it? “Tell me the truth. Do you believe I slept with a married woman?”

“Who among us hasn’t?”

“Jake, seriously.”

“I am being serious. Look, Paddy, I couldn’t care less whether or not you fucked Gloria Dietrich.”

“No? All of Toronto seems to care an awful lot.”

“Fuck ’em. If anything, this has just given you more street cred, bro.”

“I’d rather have my job than street cred. Gloria played me, Jake.”

He leaned in and pointed at his face. “You see? Women may call men dogs but they’re just as duplicitous. I wrote an editorial on that very topic not too long ago.”

Of course he had. It was just the sort of drivel the readers of
Player
would gobble up.

Ah, hell. It might tempting to blame the Neanderthals who read
Player
for his misery, but he could only blame himself for trusting Gloria. His stress headache returned and he rubbed his temple, in a vain attempt to alleviate the dull throb. “You know the worst part? Jason doesn’t even care what his wife gets up to. He fired me because it was expected of him. Because he worried he’d look like a pussy if he didn’t.” He downed the scotch in one gulp, his eyes stinging at the burn.

“Ah, Jason Dietrich, big bad publisher man can’t be seen as a cuckold.”

“I don’t know which of them disgusts me more.”

“I don’t blame you. And for the record, I always thought the Dietrichs were self-important cows.” Jake arched a brow. “Tell me the truth, though. Is she hot naked?”

Why did it disappoint him so much that Jake believed the worst of him? “I’m not answering that question.”

“No kissing and telling, huh? I can respect that.” He grinned. “So none of your other job leads have panned out? Did Joe at the
World
call you back?”

“Nah,” Patrick said, grunting. “I’m pretty sure Joe deleted my contact information. Jason controls too many people in our industry. When he said he’d make mincemeat out of my reputation, he wasn’t kidding. None of the political mags will touch me for fear of offending him.”

Jake stared at him for a good, long time. “Well, Paddy, you know you always have a job with me. Sure, you wouldn’t be writing scathing commentary on our crumbling city infrastructure, but you’d be writing. And it would be a way to get your name out there again, you know, until the
World
knocks on your door.”

Patrick stared into his empty crystal glass, defeated. “Are you going to make me write about erectile dysfunction?”

He burst out laughing. “Not today, buddy, not today. But what I will do is help you reinvent yourself.” He leaned on his knees and stared at him, his eyes growing bright with anticipation. Just like when they used to hit the bars as young bucks, sizing up the hotties. “Today, the played becomes the player.”

A player. Did he really have it in him to be one? Sure, he’d had fun in his younger days but he’d been a respectable journalist since getting out of school. He’d done his work, collected the accolades, and kept his head down.

And he’d been punished for it. Maybe he should have had a bit more fun along the way.

Jake put down his scotch and walked over to his desk. He sat, looked at his computer, and typed in some commands. “Jason Dietrich thinks he’s stopped you from writing, but he doesn’t run in my circles and I don’t owe him any favors.”

Bitterness bubbled out of him. “Plus your dick readers would love the idea of me writing for your magazine.”

“My friend, you see right through me. Sure, my dick readers would love to read an article written by you, Toronto’s current bad boy.”

“But…”

“I told you, Paddy. I don’t care what you did with Gloria. You could have fucked her sideways and upside down, and I still wouldn’t care, so save your breath. Now, I’ve e-mailed your first story lead. It’s actually pretty interesting, even for a jaded politico like you.”

Beggars can’t be choosers
. “Tell me more.”

“I heard talk of a woman named Margie Kent. She’s big in the recruiting world. She runs an agency that hires women for weddings. They call these hired women ‘stand-in bridesmaids.’ Basically, if a bride is a total loser and has no friends, she goes to Margie and she hooks her up with fake friends for her wedding.”

“Are you shitting me? It sounds like a prostitution ring. You sure they’re not hiring these girls as a ‘last hurrah’ treat for the groom? A final kick at the can of bachelorhood?”

“That’s what I’d like you to find out. The agency says they cater to professional women whose lifestyles don’t allow for intimate friendships, but there has to be more to it than that. See if you can shadow one of these stand-in bridesmaids and get the scoop. Tell them you’re doing a feature for…
Bridal Wreath
.”

“I won’t lie and tell them I work for a wedding magazine. I’ve never lied to get a story, Jake, and I won’t start now.”

“Still trying to prove you have scruples, huh? Who are you trying to prove it to, Paddy? Me or yourself?”

“I have scruples.”

“Awesome. Luckily for this job, you can leave ’em at home. Anyway, find out what would make someone hire these people, and see what’s up with these bridesmaids. I’m sure you’ll dig up something with your considerable charms.”

“And why do you think your male readers will care about professional bridesmaids?”

“Come on. Hot bridesmaids for hire? It’s a wet dream come true. I’d bet every single one of my readers has tried to bag a bridesmaid at some point. Even if there isn’t anything shady about this agency, a well-written expose on these women could make for major fantasy material.”

“And you sell fantasy.”

“By the ream. The dorks who buy my magazine think they’re walking, talking Greek gods. And there’s nothing they like more than feeling they know everything about women.”

As much as their conversation made him feel in need of a shower, he considered a few angles and realized he could make this one hell of an interesting story. Okay, Jake was looking for some sort of misogynistic point of view, but he didn’t need to give it that sort of treatment. Sure, the writers at
Player
were known for sinking to slightly seedy depths.

He didn’t need to.

Yes, he’d be scoping out bridesmaids-for-hire rather than crooked city councillors, but he could make it work. He had no choice. If he wanted to survive in his field, he had to make this story sizzle. He leaned back in his leather seat, enjoying the cushion of soft hide under his back. “What if it is a cover for some sort of brothel?”

“Well, wouldn’t that be awesome?” Jake’s mouth widened in a feral grin. “Then it would be our duty to expose it, don’t you think? As well as the women who toil for this Margie Kent. You’ll make it work.”

He grinned at Jake, humoring him. Perhaps this Kent woman just operated a weird business. And then again, maybe there was something sordid underneath it all. Ever since Jake mentioned it, the hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck had stood straight, bristling with curiosity. He knew when something sounded wrong. His instincts hadn’t failed him yet. They’d helped him sniff out that fool Councillor Rendez last year, when he’d proven the randy politician had had sexual liaisons with not two, but three, women outside his marriage.

So he wasn’t hounding bureaucrats at City Hall anymore. He could make the most of this assignment. Yeah, he’d find the dirt on these bridesmaids, and when he did, he’d share it with the world.

Chapter 2

Patrick sat across from Margie Kent, and wished her massive desk didn’t obscure his vision of the mile-long legs he’d glimpsed earlier. The bridesmaid recruiter was busy scrolling through some pages online, flipping through the files of her recruits. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through her highly polished veneer, to see if the persona of a pimp hid somewhere underneath the coifed hair and false lashes.

“Let’s see,” she said, almost humming. “I could have you meet with Ava. She’s very experienced, but she’s had to cut down on her hours recently. There’s Ruth, but she doesn’t tend to get many bookings.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “She’s a little too gorgeous for most of our brides.”

“Pretty doesn’t do well in this business?”

“Pretty is fine. Drop-dead gorgeous, not so much. If you were a bride, would you want to be upstaged on your special day?”

“I guess not.”

She scrolled for another minute or so. “Oh! Winn. You should meet with Winn. She’s new, but very good.”

“Just not drop-dead gorgeous.”

Margie threw him a look, her blue eyes scintillating with good humor. “You’re a bit of a rascal, aren’t you? It’s no surprise you work for
Player.
”

“Yeah, well, I go where the work is.”

“I’d imagine you have to now.”

Shit. He was really kind of hoping the Kent woman might not have heard about his disaster at the
Torontonian
. Clearly, she had. “So you know my tale of woe.”

“I make it my business to stay informed. Look, I’ve read some of the features in
Player
. They can be rather sleazy.”

“I don’t write sleazy articles.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Patrick. In fact, call me a fan. You’re the reason I agreed to this feature. However, if I find out you’ve given my girls and my agency a disrespectful treatment, I’ll sue you, Jake Fowler, and
Player
.” She smiled. “Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Splendid.” She glanced at her computer screen again. “Let’s see. Ah, yes. We’ll have you meet with Winn. And by the way, she’s lovely. She has the perfect look for this job. Accessible and fresh, but not intimidating. You’re in luck. She’s in the building right now.” She texted a command into her phone. “I’ll have my assistant send her right in.”

In the time it took Margie Kent to flash her very pearly whites, a knock sounded on the door. These stand-ins were prompt. He supposed that was good in any business.

“Come in, please,” Margie called.

Patrick lifted his gaze toward the door and watched as a pear-shaped blonde entered.
Christ
. Margie had called this woman unintimidating. He knew a few dozen men who’d be intimidated into next year by her girl-next-door sex appeal. Chin-length golden hair framed her pleasantly round face. Amazing cheekbones. Bright blue eyes and a body that looked made for squeezing. Just the thought of pressing that luscious flesh made him hard. If she was a high-class call girl, and if he had to pay for love, he might be tempted to pull out his wallet. He cleared his throat and thought of the day Jason Dietrich fired him, just to make his boner disappear.

Margie did the introductions in her singsong voice. “Winn Busby, this is Patrick Lincoln.”

She stuck her hand out. “A pleasure to meet you.”

As he shook her soft hand, Patrick waited for the old “
that
Patrick Lincoln?” but it never came. Thank God. Someone who didn’t know of his ruin. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

They all sat down, Margie at her desk, and Winn took a seat next to Patrick. She crossed her legs and her black skirt rode up her plump thigh.
Jesus Christ
. Surely this was a brothel of high-class call girls and Jake was fucking with him. He tore his gaze away from the stand-in’s leg.

“Winn,” Margie began. “I have some exciting news. Patrick is a reporter and is writing a feature on what it’s like to be a stand-in bridesmaid. You’ve become one of our top employees, so I’d like him to shadow you for the next few weddings. You know, act as your escort and go behind the scenes to see you in action. Take him to your appointments and dress fittings, so he can see what a stand-in does. Sound good?”

The blonde turned to him, her nose wrinkled in a quizzical fashion. “Are you sure about this, Margie? I’ve only worked alone so far.”

“I’ll stay out of your way,” he assured her. “Silent partner, I promise. You just tell me where to show up, and I’ll play along.” He leaned toward her and winked. “I love dress fittings.”

She frowned, ignoring his joke. “It’s not just a matter of playing along. I do a lot of research on my clients and gather background information. I can’t be worried you won’t go along with the story.”

Margie beamed. “Did I mention Winn is an actress? She’s so thorough. She should be on Broadway.”

Winn offered her boss a tight smile and looked back at him. “If you’re pretending to be my date for these events, you need to be on the same page as me.”

More time with the blonde. Awesome. “That can be arranged. Teach me everything you know.”

Margie brought her manicured hands together in a dainty clap. “Then it’s settled. I can’t wait to read your article, Patrick.”

He chuckled halfheartedly. Right. Jake wanted him to dig up the dirt on her agency and Margie threatened to sue him if he did.

Some article this would be.

* * * *

Patrick followed Winn out of the office building and onto the sidewalk. She ignored him as she tried to hail a cab. In fact, she’d ignored him on the entire elevator ride down from Margie’s floor.

The stand-in was not amused by his presence.

When the cabs whizzed by her, careening down busy Yonge Street, he stepped forward and hailed one for her. The vehicle stopped immediately and he opened the back door for her, smiling. She frowned, muttering her thanks. As she slid into the backseat, her skirt rode up and he got another look at her ample thigh.

Damn. Margie Kent might have top model appeal, but he’d never really appreciated skinny girls. He liked them lush and full and round, just like this Winn. She was the sort of woman his dad would call a “cracker.”

Rolling his eyes, dismissing thoughts of his father, he got in and sat next to her.