This Crazy Little Thing (A New Adult Billionaire Romance) (18 page)

Jane
braced for Monica’s wrath, or at least a few harsh words, but as Monica faced her, she realized it wasn’t forthcoming. Monica was smiling. In fact, she appeared downright gleeful.

Perhaps the half of the Long Island Monica had consumed had taken effect?

“I think we’ve totally confused the poor man,” Monica said with a chuckle. She drained her glass and stood. “Now, that makes two of us.” Obviously feeling the effects of the strong drink, she half-walked, half-staggered across the room toward the bar.

Eager for some clarification—this whole confusion thing was downright…confusing…to
Jane too!—she followed Monica. But before she reached the bar, someone caught her hand and gave it a sharp yank.

Realizing where she was standing, in the center of the dance floor, she knew the person who had caught her could only be one Mr. Kaufmann, Senior, dance fiend extraordinaire.

He grinned, displaying a set of sparkling white dentures and said, “There’s my dance partner. I’ve been waiting for you, honey. Where’ve you been?” He pulled her into his arms with a force much too great for a man his age and waltzed her around the dance floor.

The whole room filled with applause.

“I’m so glad you made it,” he said as he led her into a spin. “That little young thing, what’s her name, April, Ann? She doesn’t know how to dance worth beans.”

“
You’re close. That’s Angela. Maybe you could teach her,” Jane suggested, trying to find Monica as she whirled in time to a fully orchestrated rendition of
Tainted Love
. Monica was confused? About what? About Jason?

“Nope. I tried. She doesn’t have a lick of rhythm,” Mr. Kaufmann said.

“She should have. She was a cheerleader in college.” Jane craned her neck, still trying to locate Monica.

“Really?” He dipped
Jane. His pale blue eyes scanned her face. Then he returned her to an upright position, and she returned her attention to searching the room for one drunk Monica who seemed to be in the mood for honesty.

“I swear.” Her back to the bar, she craned her neck to try to catch a glimpse of where Monica might have gone. “She has a picture up in her
office at work.”

“Who’re you looking for, doll? Doncha want to dance with me? I live for this every year, you know.”

She looked at him and smiled. “I’m sorry. I was right in the middle of something when you…I mean, a few minutes ago. I suppose it can wait. But you have to promise me you won’t be disappointed if I need to take a break after this dance.”

“Fair enough.” He looked very pleased. “I don’t suppose your date would appreciate me keeping you to myself all night.”

She didn’t correct his false assumption. It might lead to hurt feelings. Instead, she tried to enjoy the moment. The man really did know how to dance, unlike the guys she dated. He knew how to hold her, how to lead her in the right direction with just the slightest pressure to her shoulder or a subtle shift in his weight. It was a shame younger men didn’t learn to dance like that anymore.

When the song ended, Mr. Kaufmann released her and gave her shoulder a gentle pat. “You’re a good girl, Miss Brown. I’ve always told my son that he should treat you better.”

“Well, thank you. I suppose I need to do more than be a good dancer to earn my raises, but I appreciate the thought.”

She found Monica and Jason both at the table. Based on their grim expressions, she guessed they were involved in a very serious discussion. Not wishing to be an unwelcome interruption, or cause any more trouble, she decided to go find another seat and give them the chance to hash out whatever they were discussing.

Maybe she should just call it a night? The guilt sitting heavy in her belly for stirring up this whole mess tonight wasn’t going to let her enjoy a minute of the festivities. Monica and Jason were arguing and it was all her fault. What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. If she had been using her head, she wouldn’t have dared rattle off information that would set off Jason’s suspicions. Then again, he’d asked and Monica had encouraged her.

That was no excuse!

Of course, she’d left her purse on the table and the gift for her Secret Santa on the floor. Darn it! She had to get those.

Trying hard to quietly retrieve them while avoiding eavesdropping—a temptation she wasn’t sure she could resist—she took the long way back to the table, approaching it from the opposite side of the room. She figured, since she was coming from behind them, she might be able to snatch her purse and leave unnoticed.

She was wrong.

Monica caught her wrist as she reached for her purse and held it fast. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“I swear, I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth,”
Jane blurted.

“Have a seat.” Monica directed her to the chair on the other side of Jason.

“You encouraged me. I wouldn’t have said a word if you hadn’t. Honest.” Jane stood behind the chair and stared at the back of Jason’s head.

“He deserves to know the truth,” Monica said, motioning toward the chair again. “I can’t marry him like this, by tricking him and lying. It isn’t right. It’s been bothering me for weeks.”

“Well…” Jane wasn’t sure what to say next.

Jason swiveled in his chair and looked up at her. “Please. This has gone on long enough. I’ve lost patience. Whatever you two have been up to, it’s time to clear it up now, before anyone makes the kind of mistake that could ruin their life.”

Jane nodded and sat but didn’t speak. She waited for Monica or Jason to begin. Her gaze ping-ponged back and forth between them until Jason finally spoke, “I want you to tell me the truth. How did you know those things about me and my family?”

“You told me,” she stated. “The night of the hayride. The night we walked into the woods and roasted hot dogs and exposed ourselves to poison ivy.”

If it weren’t for the fact that Jason loved one of these woman so bad his insides were nothing but mush, he might have told them both to take a hike. But he couldn’t. Partly because of sick curiosity and partly because of a truth he hadn’t wanted to believe for weeks.

He was engaged to the wrong woman.

“No,” he corrected Jane. “I told Monica those things the night of the hayride. She got the poison ivy. I saw the aftereffects. You, on the other hand, had no signs of a rash when I saw you at the banquet hall. Your skin was flawless.”

“Yeah, while I walked around looking like the Elephant Man,” Monica added. “But crazy as it sounds, Jason, she’s telling the truth.”

“How? You had some kind of microphone on…right?” he asked.

Jane
and Monica both shook their heads.

“Not exactly,” Monica said.

“What does that mean?” Jason asked, getting frustrated and annoyed. “Just tell me what’s going on. What did you two do? And better yet, why?”

This time
Jane answered, “The why is something I don’t think either of us have been able to figure out yet. But the what is fairly simple, if you can get yourself to believe the impossible.”

“Try me,” he said, not sure what to expect.

“We switched bodies,” Monica said.

Huh?

“Like the
Freaky Friday
movie,” Jane added. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen it?”

He shook his head. “Nope. You asked me that before. What’s it about?”

“A mother and her teenage daughter switch bodies and learn what it’s like to live in each others’ shoes.”

“Okay. How’d they do that? Makeup?” he asked, trying like heck to make sense of what Monica and
Jane were telling him. It wasn’t logical. He didn’t particularly like things that weren’t logical.

“Magic,”
Jane said.

He laughed. “Magic? There’s no such thing.”

“That’s the only thing we can attribute it to,” Monica said, nodding.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “You two don’t expect me to believe this. There’s got to be a logical explanation. Monica, you were wearing a microphone, transmitting our conversations to
Jane, who listened in and fed you lines back so you’d know what to say. Now, that makes sense. Switching bodies? That’s a good one.” He laughed. He couldn’t do anything else.

“I don’t care what you believe. I know it’s true.” Monica pointed at
Jane. “It’s all her fault. She wished on a falling star and the next morning I was—”

“Falling star?” he repeated.
Impossible! Wishes don’t come true.
He’d made a wish on a falling star many times, including not too long ago…a couple of months ago, maybe? Right about the time Monica had changed…

“Yeah,”
Jane said. Her eyes were wide and round, her gaze fixed to his. She was either telling the truth or she was one of those psychopathic liars who could fool a lie detector. “I swear we’re telling you the truth. Monica didn’t have any wires on. You know that. You would have felt them when—”

“He would have what? I thought you said nothing happened between you two?” Monica interrupted, sounding as bewildered as she looked.

“Nothing…um, major,” Jane admitted. “It would’ve been weird if we hadn’t at least kissed a little. Heck, you two’ve been dating for a year. I had a hell of a time keeping us out of bed. Jason wanted to—”

“Why do I feel like I shouldn’t be hearing this?” Monica’s cheeks stained a light pink. “Suddenly I feel like the third wheel.”

Clearly respecting Monica’s discomfort, Jane returned to the previous subject, “Anyway, there was a meteor shower or something one night and—”

“What night?” Jason interrupted, not buying the story yet, but warming up to it. There were some intangibles that suggested they might be telling the truth, as impossible as it was. And this time he wasn’t hearing it from a drunk woman known to tell outrageous stories.

“It was a Monday night,” Jane answered. “The night before you had the car repossessed. I’d had a rough day. Monica had dumped a huge project on my desk the Friday before and I got bawled out Monday for not finishing my work because I’d been too busy doing hers. I was mad, thought she always got the better deal in life. So I did something silly, childish, never expecting anything to come out of it. That night, I stood on my balcony watching the stars, and out of the blue I saw a bunch of meteors or something…and just for kicks I made a wish.”

“The night before the car was repossessed?” Jason repeated, trying to remember if that had been the night he’d made the wish too. He wasn’t certain, but it could have been.

What are you thinking? You’re letting a couple of women make you believe in magic and wishes? How gullible are you?
This was all too much! He wasn’t about to believe some silly wish had come true by magic. His old man would be rolling on the floor in a fit of hysterical laughter and calling Jason a complete idiot if he heard this. The logical explanation he’d provided earlier had to be the answer.

Jason Foxx was no idiot.

But that left one unanswered question. Why were Monica and Jane lying? He had to know the answer.

Why would Monica want to trap him? Money? Marriage? Maybe both?

“You bugged my house,” he said, looking at Monica. “And you heard me.”

She looked confused. “Heard what?”

“You heard what I wished—wanted—and you went to Jane and asked for her help and she made you into that person so that I’d marry you—”

“Hold on!” Monica waved her hands in the air. “I would never do that. You know me. I’m me and no man’s going to change that. Either you love me the way I am or you don’t. How many times have I said so?”

“True,” Jason admitted. The motivation was lacking. Monica didn’t like to change, especially for someone else. “But you also knew I was miffed about the art glass and the car—”

“But I wouldn’t marry you for money. I’d rather end up in bankruptcy court than do that. That’s why I’m telling you the truth now. We were this close to getting married, Jason. If I’d kept
Jane from you and kept my mouth shut, we’d be waltzing down the aisle in a few weeks and then half of what you own would be mine. If this whole thing was a con, then I’m one stupid con man…er, woman…to screw it up now.”

He felt tired suddenly, exhausted. “Okay. I can’t think about the whys or even the hows right now. I just need to know who each of you are. I need to know which woman was the woman I fell in love with.” He looked at Monica then at
Jane. In his heart he knew the answer.

Monica was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. She was stunning, from head to toe, with thick, long blonde hair, large, round blue eyes rimmed with long lashes and a face that could easily grace magazine covers. Her body was svelte with a few surgically enhanced curves where men liked them most. But she was also the antithesis of his dream woman, of the woman he’d wished for the night of the meteor shower. Whether he cared to admit it or not, it had taken that time when she wasn’t acting herself to see past her physical beauty and accept what he’d been denying for
twelve long months.

And then there was
Jane. As earthy as her last name, she was everything Monica wasn’t. She was the woman he’d, in anger, shouted to the stars for. Beautiful in body and mind, gentle, intelligent, loyal, trusting, caring, she was the woman of his dreams.

Monica spoke, “Only you know the answer to that, Jason.” She looked at
Jane then at him again. “I think it’s safe to say we both love you, in our own ways. You need to choose.”

Shit.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“We’ll live.” Monica reached out and took his hand in hers. “Jason, if there’s one thing I know about you it’s that you’ve always known your mind…and your heart. Trust your instincts. Make your choice.”

His gaze zig-zagged back and forth between the two women as he tried to sort out the mountain of thoughts and emotions that were clogging his insides. His sense of loyalty to Monica and his wish not to hurt her. His respect for her intelligence and independent spirit. His new and unexplored feelings for Jane. “I can’t do anything. Not now. Not tonight. I need some time to think.”

“Fair enough.” Monica nodded. “
Jane? Can you take me home later?”

“Sure.”

“Jason, thanks for coming tonight. You’re free to leave if you want.”

He shook his head, adamant. “No way. I don’t ditch my dates at parties.”

“Please,” Monica said. “Go think about things, figure out in your heart what’s best. You need to take some time for yourself. You haven’t had that, thanks to the wedding. I’ll be fine. Jane isn’t drinking. She’s a safe driver.”

“I shouldn’t…” He slid his rump to the edge of his seat but didn’t stand.

“It’s fine,” Jane said with a nod. “I don’t mind driving Monica home. I won’t be staying here long anyway. I’ll make sure Monica gets there safe and sound. She can call you when she gets home if you like.”

“You really don’t want me to stay?” he asked, directing the question to Monica.

“No. This whole thing is very awkward and uncomfortable and I would just as soon not let it get worse and have all our coworkers know about our personal lives. Outside of Mr. Kaufmann, who’s clearly three sheets to the wind, everyone else looks sober enough to remember what happens tonight. I’m not fond of being the subject of Monday morning water cooler rumors.”

“Okay,” he said on a sigh. “I’ll go. But only because you insisted. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Better make it late. I fear I’ll be slightly hung over,” Monica said.

He didn’t kiss her before he left. His parting was awkward, tense.

Wishes, magic, or whatever, things had just gotten more complicated than ever.

* * * * *

Throughout dinner there was no mention of Jason. Lori and her boyfriend sat at their table and provided plenty of lively chatter to distract Jane. And three or four Long Island Iced Teas seemed to do the job for Monica. Thanks to the alcohol, Monica became the proverbial life of the party and Jane was hard-pressed to drag her away from it after a couple of hours.

A handful of party tunes, including the Birdie Dance, Secret Santa gifts exchanged and names revealed, and two hours of Monica at her best…or worst, depending upon how one looked at it, and
Jane was past ready to leave. She said goodbye to everyone who mattered, including her half-conscious boss and his charming father then went to gather Monica, who was telling everyone in her path how much she loved them.

Monica complained the entire way out to the car. She didn’t stop as they drove back to her place. By the time they pulled into her driveway, however, she was thanking
Jane profusely for dragging her out of the party before she made an ass out of herself.

Then she threw up in the front yard and, crying hysterically, begged
Jane to stay the night with her so she wouldn’t be alone.

Jane
was in no mood to nurse a barfing grown woman but since she was undoubtedly the source of some of Monica’s misery, she felt she owed her at least that much. She agreed to spend the night on the living room couch. Monica insisted she take the guest bedroom upstairs.

Naturally, thanks to Monica’s frequent stumbling trips to the bathroom,
Jane got no sleep that night. But with Monica’s tongue loosened up, thanks to the alcohol, she learned what she had long suspected.

“My father’s a bum, running from the law,” Monica confessed sometime in the wee hours of the night. “I didn’t know it when I was a kid, but I learned later he wasn’t the business tycoon I thought he was, but a crook.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Jane said as she helped Monica get back into her bed. Monica’s face was an odd mixture of crimson blotches on a field of sickly white. Her eyes were red and watery, the lids hanging over them as if they were too heavy to be lifted completely. “There. You just lie down and be still.”

“I am. The freaking bed just won’t stop moving.” Monica closed her eyes. “My entire life’s a big lie. I’m nobody. The daughter of a fugitive with no money, no future, no fiancé…”

“Jason hasn’t broken up with you.”

“Not yet. But he will.” She lifted her eyelids just long enough to look
Jane in the eye. “He loves you, you know. He has since the switch. I had to say something. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I’m not you. I can’t pretend to be.”

“Oh, Monica. You have so much going for you. You’re beautiful and popular. You have a terrific home. Look at this place.”
Jane motioned around the room at the expensive furniture. “Not to mention you’re intelligent and have a great career—”

“I’m alone.”

“It’s better to be alone than to be with the wrong person…” She gave Monica the same line she’d repeated to herself too many times to count.

Monica sighed and blinked. A fat tear slipped from the outer corner of her eye and dribbled down the side of her face. “But you’re not alone. You have friends who truly like you, not just want something from you. You have parents who call and leave worried messages on your answering machine if they haven’t heard from you in a while. All I have is a grandmother in a nursing home who occasionally remembers who I am. I pay her bills every month but half the time she screams for the police when I visit, claiming she’s never seen me before.”