LITMIR.BIZ

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mirror, then drooped her eyelids in a come-hither stare, visions of hot, mindless, well-compensated sex flowing through her mind. She ran her hands up her hips to her waist, then threw her arms back over her head and tousled her hair into a sexy mess, feeling a buzz of exhilaration at the sight of Wendy the Good Girl morphing into a hot, sexy lady of the evening. Wolfe was right. When in Rome, you had to dress like Roman hookers, or whatever that saying was.

      But then she realized that part of the equation was missing, something no self-respecting prostitute would ever go without. She stuck her head out of the curtained dressing room and motioned to the clerk. The woman came down the hall.

      “Got any makeup I can borrow?” Wendy asked.

      “Uh…sure. Just a minute.”

      Wendy wasn’t too keen on wearing another woman’s makeup, but then she wasn’t too thrilled about wearing another woman’s clothes, either. Unfortunately, she was stuck with both.

      The clerk returned with a cosmetics bag the size of a kangaroo pouch. Wendy thanked her and hefted it into the dressing room. A few minutes later, she’d put the painted in painted lady. After a final look in the mirror, she swept the curtain aside. With a pout on her lips and a swivel in her hips, she headed back down the short hall.

      Stopping at the doorway that led into the main part of the store, she slid her hand slowly up the door frame and cocked her hip, planting her other hand against it. Wolfe turned and caught sight of her. He looked down her body to her legs and back up again, a slow, lingering appraisal that told her she’d definitely gotten his attention. Yes. She could feel it. She was every man’s dream in one gold-spangled, animal-spotted, high-heeled package, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

      Then he zeroed in on her breasts. His usual frown deepened into an even more pronounced one, and he shook his head with disapproval. Her elation fizzled like a lit match hitting a puddle of water.

      She dropped her hands to her sides. “What?”

      Wolfe strode over to a table piled with various undergarments. He grabbed a bra and lobbed it to her. She stared down at it, unable to recall the last time she’d seen so much lace and Lycra all in one place. Anna Nicole Smith would have had trouble filling up this one.

      He turned to the clerk. “Got a box of tissue?”

      “Uh…no,” she said. “No tissue.”

      “Toilet paper?”

      She nodded obediently and scurried to the bathroom, as if Godzilla himself had threatened to eat Tokyo if she didn’t hurry. She returned a moment later with a roll of pink toilet paper and handed it to him. He tossed it to Wendy. She stared down at the half-empty roll.

      “You’re kidding, right?”

      “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

      She searched his deadpan expression, looking for a little sparkle in his eyes, a little turn-up of his mouth. No such luck. The stone-faced presidents on Mount Rushmore were more likely to crack a smile.

      She went back to the dressing room and put on the bra, trying to ignore the fact that it was a preworn garment, then started stuffing. Then she stuffed some more. It took most of the roll to fill up the cups, and when she finished she pulled the stretchy top down over them. She turned left and right, checking out her new profile in the mirror.

      Boobs. She had boobs.

      Hmm. So this was what it felt like.

      She walked out of the dressing room. Wolfe stood waiting, his sharp focus zeroing in on her newly augmented bustline. She gave him a big smile and thrust her chest out for his inspection.

      “So whatcha think? This is about as big as I can go before I’m a walking fire-code violation.”

      He turned away. “It’ll do.”

      Yeah, he was trying to play it down, but still she could see it in his eyes. Like all men, it was pretty clear that Wolfe deemed excessive cleavage to be a major improvement, like adding a family room onto a tiny house. More recreational possibilities.

      As they headed for the cash register, Wendy suddenly realized that with this skimpy outfit, the moment she stepped outside she was going to have goose bumps on her goose bumps.

      “Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “I’m not wearing much in the way of clothes here. It’s cold outside.”

      “So buy a coat.”

      “A coat?” the clerk said, suddenly coming to life. “Oh! I’ve got the perfect one to go with that outfit! Wait till you see this!”

      She trotted down an aisle and returned with a waist-length garment that looked like a patchwork of purple raccoon pelts. And the raccoon had clearly had a disfiguring skin condition.

      “Isn’t it just the cutest thing?” she gushed. “I was gonna grab it myself, but it’s eight bucks, and I don’t get paid till Friday. Besides, it’d look better on you with your hair color and complexion and all.”

      Wendy decided to take that as a compliment. But eight bucks? Right now, that sounded like eight thousand. Not that it wasn’t a steal for such a stunning garment, but her hundred dollars was slowly dwindling away.

      She turned to Wolfe. “You’re paying for the coat.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “It’s up to you to provide me with adequate working conditions. Warmth is a basic necessity.”

      “But you get to keep it when you’re through.”

      “Well, I should hope so. I didn’t think you’d want to add it to your wardrobe.”

      He leaned in close to her and whispered, “But I might use it as a drop cloth to change the oil in my cars.”

      “Which would only make it more attractive,” she whispered back.

      He glared at her a moment more, then heaved a sigh of disgust. “Fine. I’ll buy you the damned coat.”

      Wendy turned to the clerk. “I’ll just wear this stuff out of here. Could I have a sack for my other clothes?”

      “I’m out up here, so I’ll get some from the back.”

      Wendy took the coat off the hanger, slid into it and checked out her reflection in a nearby mirror. “Ooh!” she cooed, looking back over her shoulder at Wolfe. “She’s right! It’s really me, isn’t it?”

      “Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s you, all right.”

      She gave him a sigh of mock disgust. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a compliment out of you, anyway?”

      “This is a job, not a date.”

      “Then I’m betting you have a lot more jobs than dates.”

      “My personal life is none of your business.”

      “Have you ever thought about smiling once in a while? Just a tiny bit?”

      “Waste of energy.”

      “So you’re always this crabby?”

      He pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the counter, pointedly ignoring her.

      “Having a bad day?”

      He said nothing.

      “Bad month?”

      Not a word.

      “Well, it certainly can’t be a systemic problem. Not with those fiber-loaded power bars you eat. A few of those once a week and you’ll never, ever have to worry about—”

      He clamped his hand onto her arm and pulled her aside, dropping his voice to an angry whisper. “Do you want this job, or don’t you?”

      She blinked with surprise. “Of course I do.”

      “It requires shutting the hell up

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