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But Wen acted like whatever he was saying mattered, so Forest didn’t turn off his attention just yet. “What is?”
“Need to Know. Stop frowning at me and take a look.” Wen slipped his cell out of his suit pocket, hit a button and handed it over.
“You’re showing me a member-login screen.”
“For an anonymous site where women post information on their dates with D.C.’s business and political elite.”
Now, that sounded a bit more interesting than anything Forest had heard today. He rested his cell on his thigh and reached for Wen’s. Forest tried the site’s home link and contact screen. It all struck him as some big puzzle that led nowhere. “You can’t access it without signing in.”
“But word is getting around. Some of our business associates are being named on it, and not in flattering ways.”
“It sounds like tattling, more in line with something a preteen girl would do than an adult woman.” Forest glanced up and realized the car hadn’t moved. They sat idling in the middle of a lane, a good thirty feet from the security gate at the parking exit. “Drive.”
“You’re not getting this.”
Not for lack of trying. He used his own phone to search for information about the site while he poked around, but after a quick check he couldn’t track it back to a name. “Enlighten me.”
“The women have to be approved for membership. They’re vetted and then once online they post about their dates, rate the sex, even comment on a guy’s body and breath. They talk about whether a guy is financially viable or known for cheating.” Wen lifted his hands off the wheel and smacked them down again. “I’m telling you, nothing is sacred.”
Forest tried to imagine the whining the men at the clubs must be engaged in over this. Now, that made him smile. “Cheating isn’t sacred. Any man who is stupid enough to do it should get caught, but I get your point about the rest. Question is why anyone is paying any attention to some random site.”
“Because women can’t be too careful.”
Forest shot his friend a sideways glance. “Come again?”
“It’s the site’s motto or tagline or whatever you call it.” Wen drove up the ramp and handed the ticket to the attendant in the booth. “You know what I mean.”
Forest bookmarked the site on his cell and handed the other phone back. He vowed to investigate the site further. Kick back at his desk at home and pry into Need to Know’s inner workings. Just for a bit of fun and distraction. There was something about taking the pieces apart, examining them and putting them all back together again that intrigued him.
Talking about it didn’t. “I’m ready to end this conversation and get out of here.”
“Sure, because you’re not on the website.”
Forest shook his head. Clearly he was alone in wanting to end the discussion. Still... “How can you know who’s on it and who isn’t if you can’t get access to it?”
“I asked Bernadette.”
“Jay’s secretary?” The thought of his chief financial officer’s assistant spending hours of valuable work time talking about a guy’s size and bank account sent the temperature in Forest’s head spiking.
“I overheard from my assistant that Bernadette is a member of the website and appears to be sworn to secrecy, but she confirmed that neither of us is on there.” Wen snorted as he drove over a bump and out into the bright sunshine. Light pounded on the front window and the summer heat filled the car. “Some of our associates aren’t so lucky.”
Forest ignored the steady stream of cars on the street in front of them and the honking of horns as some moron tried to make an illegal left in the middle of rush hour. “I think you need more work to occupy your time. I’ll get on that tonight.”
“It doesn’t bother you? The site I mean.” Wen glanced over at Forest, then away again. “And I’ve got enough work. But thanks.”
Everything about the day bothered him. Ryan’s idiocy. The way Ms. McAdam’s hips swayed when she walked, and the fact he kept noticing. “No.”
“What if one of your dates posts something negative on there? Do you understand what that could do to your social life?”
That was just about the last thing on Forest’s mind. “I’m fine.”
“I know you well enough to know you’d tear the city apart if your name goes up on the site.”
“You assume the information would be negative.”
Wen barked out a laugh as he turned right and moved into the flow of traffic. “Two hundred bucks says it is.”
Pissing away money didn’t make sense to Forest, but this was a bet he could win. “Five hundred says it’s not.”
“Of course, you may get to hold on to your money anyway even if I am right, since we won’t be able to verify what’s on the site to know who wins.”
“I’ll handle that.”
Wen’s attention left the traffic for a second only. “You think you can get in?”
Forest found his first smile of the afternoon. “I know I can.”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, Jordan stood at the breakfast bar separating her kitchen from the small family room of her condo. She kicked off her high heels and nearly groaned in relief when her bare feet hit the cool tile floor. Working from her couch in her yoga pants qualified as the best part of being self-employed. She cursed every minute she had to slip on a suit and three-inch pumps and head outside.
But she was home now, having dragged her body through waves of humidity on the four-block walk from the metro to the condo. She glanced through the window at the far end of the open room and spied the top of a building on the George Washington University campus two blocks over. She loved living downtown and ten floors up. The lights and the steady hum of life below worked for her.
When the sun finally went down and the traffic below slowed, she’d throw open her balcony door and plop down on the chair she set up out there. The space spanned only a few feet, but was wide enough for her to lounge with her feet balanced on the metal railing as the D.C. summer heat enveloped her.
A face appeared in front of her. Blond-haired and entirely too cute to be believed with those big blue eyes. Elle stood there, dressed in comfortable shorts and a sweatshirt, thanks to having the air conditioner cranked up on this hot early-September evening.
She reached across the counter and grabbed a wineglass and a bottle before taking off for the couch. “How was your day with the urinator?”
Jordan followed with a glass of her own, because this definitely was a red-wine night and no way was she letting that bottle out of her sight. She also brought the cell phone, because heaven forbid she be without it or not check the site’s stats for more than ten seconds at a time.
“Ryan refrained from peeing on my desk before I cleaned out and left, so I guess that was a triumph.”
With an expertise that was impressive for a twenty-two-year-old English-literature grad student, Elle had the bottle open and the wine poured in one grand sweep. “Are you done at that office?”
“Definitely.” Jordan cradled the glass in her hands and let the rich scent of red wine wind through her and relax each muscle. She sank back into the overstuffed chair and balanced her aching feet on the oversize ottoman that sucked up too much of her eight-hundred-square-foot condo but was too comfortable to give away.
“Did he play a game of chase you around the desk?”
The very idea of that made Jordan’s lunch curdle in her stomach. “He was too busy getting his butt handed to him.”
The glass stopped halfway to Elle’s mouth. “Is that code for something?”
“Forest Redder.”
Those blue eyes went all soft as her look turned gooey. “I’ve seen pictures of him in the paper. That guy is delicious.”
Jordan was withholding judgment and ignoring the fact she’d performed a lengthy internet search on him on her phone on the commute home. “You should meet the live version. Very potent.”
“Holy shit.” Elle’s voice took on a breathy quality. “You saw him in person?”
“Saw, talked to.” Jordan dropped her cell on her lap and tipped her head back. Closing her eyes felt good until Forest’s face swam in front of her and she had to open them again. Last thing she needed was a movie of that guy, X-rated or otherwise, running in her head. “Anything on him in the database?”
“You know there’s not. You have every last scrap collated, double-checked and memorized.”
And that’s what bugged her. There should be reams of reports on Forest. “There’s no way he sleeps alone.”
“If not, no one is talking.”
Jordan sat up a bit straighter and shifted to face Elle. “How is that possible? I know about the guy a building over who likes to wear Spanx under his suit so his stomach looks smaller, so—”
“How exactly?”
“—how can I not know about one of the most visible bachelors in the city?”
Elle swished the liquid around in her glass and shot her wine a naughty little smile. It took a minute for her to run through her entire he’s-hot facial expressions, but she finally got around to her point. “There are rumors.”
Wait a second.
Everything inside Jordan stopped. She doubted she had measurable blood flow at the moment. “No way is that guy gay. I’d bet most women hand him their panties when they first meet.”
Not that the comment applied to Jordan.
Elle was a neighbor and best friend, despite the four-year age difference. She was also the only person on the planet who knew what happened behind the scenes at Need to Know and about Jordan’s ownership of it. Elle reviewed everything that came in on the site and took care of coding and proofreading. She also did some background checks.
Right now she looked two seconds away from launching into a serious cross-examination. Elle may have dropped out of law school in favor of something she termed “more Arts and Science-y,” but those killer questioning instincts appeared to be alive and well.
She curled her legs up under her and leaned on the couch’s armrest. “I think I’m unclear on what kind of meeting this was with Forest. Explain.”
“The kind where Ryan tried to negotiate, but got outmaneuvered by Forest. The guy barely spoke and still led the discussion and demanded attention.” But Jordan knew that part. It was the private intel on Forest she wanted. “Now back to the rumors.”
“Confidentiality agreement.”
Jordan downed a healthy portion of the wine with a hard swallow. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Are you trying to wow me with your legal knowledge?”
“The rumor is he has his dates, the ones that stick around for anything longer than a few nights, sign a confidentiality agreement.”
“I... Wait...” Jordan wondered if maybe she drank too fast. “What?”
Her gaze searched Elle’s face for any sign of amusement, but all Jordan got was a raised eyebrow. When the discussion was just between the two of them, Elle tended to spit out any information she had as fast as she could. She loved the gossip-oriented part of the site. Thrived on it. And Elle had never gotten her facts wrong. Jordan depended on that.
Still, this sounded insane. “Oh, come on. An agreement?”
Elle reached for the bottle and refilled Jordan’s glass. “I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.”
“That’s a level of control bordering on crazy. Like, I want to call him a therapist right now.” Well, maybe take a second to strip him out of that suit jacket first, just to see what he hid under there, but then straight to a therapist. Jordan was comfortable with that order. She wasn’t as happy about how every crumb she collected about Forest intrigued her more, even this bit of weirdness.
Elle shrugged. “The rich do strange things.”
“Testify, but what woman would sign an agreement for a dinner date? Is he that special?”
Elle smiled behind her glass as she rubbed the rim over her lips. “Well, are you still wearing your panties or not?”
Jordan intended to keep them in place whenever Forest was around, but... “Good point.”
“Word is he’s dark and mysterious. Maybe a woman is willing to do some out-there things to climb between the sheets with him.”
Jordan decided her dear friend had a point. “But hire a lawyer to review a legal document?”
“I guess he likes full command over mattress time.”
Forest. Bed. Naked. Shoulders.
Interesting. “Now you’re just trying to make my head to explode.”
Elle held up her free hand. “Hey, just passing it on. I heard he likes to be in charge in the bedroom.”
“From?”
Elle’s glanced drifted toward the television. The same one that was turned off and had been ever since Jordan got home. “Just here and there.”
Ignoring her vow to forget about Forest almost as soon as she made it, Jordan set her glass down in the coffee table with a clink. “Let me get this straight. We run an anonymous website with hundreds of members, and our sole job is to collect and verify information on the eligible and not-so-eligible but possibly cheating males in the city, and somehow you have information on Forest Redder but no verification to put it on the site.”
“What do you want me to do? No one is willing to write a status report or file a request for information on him.”
And that was the key. “Yet. But they will. We’ll get him.”
Jordan regretted the phrase as soon as she said it. Probably had something to do with the way the light in Elle’s eyes flared. Or the knowing smirk.
“Are you saying you want more information, maybe for a personal connection?” Suddenly Elle seemed to have no trouble giving her boss-slash-friend full-on eye contact.
“He’s not my type.” Not totally true, but Jordan hoped it would fly.
“Hot and sexy with bedroom skills to make a grown woman moan and beg for more is not your type?”
So, no flying. “I started the site because I wasn’t exactly finding that type of guy.”
“Burke Landow is an ass.”
Her most recent ex. Now, there was a subject guaranteed to suck the sexiness out of any conversation. It also had Jordan reaching for her glass again. “Oh, hell yeah. Agreed.”
“Most men don’t lie about being engaged. He’s not the only type of guy out there.”
Jordan shot Elle her best are-you-kidding-me frown. “I’m wondering if you’ve read over the Need to Know site lately.”
“It’s one of my favorite ways to spend an evening.”
“What about that professor? He had solid reports on the site for charm, but no word on sex. Can you fill in the blanks?” The lack of information on something so vital, the fact no member had made it past a few dinners with the guy, raised Jordan’s antenna. But Elle thought he was cute...never mind that’s how the truly weird ones lured you in.
“Yeah, there was nothing on sex.”
“You made it to date three, right? I would think that means you have better things to do at night than read.” When Elle had gone out on the first date, Jordan had felt a tiny kick of jealousy. She wanted to be attracted to the scholarly buttoned-up type, but she had the misfortune of loving a bad-boy streak.
Now, combine buttoned-up and naughty, and her control went on the fritz. She didn’t know how any sane woman walked by that type without giving a second look.
Of course, the seeds for her feelings on men were not a secret. She hadn’t spent time in therapy, but she knew. Not that she couldn’t use an expert now and then, but she feared after a few hours of talking about her upbringing she’d need a lifetime pass.
Her mother liked men. Liked men the way little kids liked cookies. To say mom overindulged would be an understatement. The way Jordan figured it, her front seat to her mom’s dating life should have made her prim or promiscuous. It was a miracle she didn’t head for either extreme.
“There will not be a fourth date with the professor.” Elle kept her head down and her focus on the stem of her wineglass.
No eye contact, cryptic—not good signs, so Jordan poked around a little. “Why?”
Elle smacked her lips together and made a strange sucking sound. “Shaved.”
Between the noise and the word Jordan decided she missed a sentence. Maybe more than one. “Excuse me?”
“He doesn’t have any body hair.”
“You’re saying—”
“None. I thought he didn’t have hair on his legs because he was a runner, like it was some athlete thing. But, nowhere.”
The visual image that flashed through Jordan made her a little dizzy in a forget-about-eating kind of way. Also made her wish for a temporary case of blindness. “Wait, you mean, not anywhere on his body? Like, really none.”
“Yep.”
And—boom—there was the weirdness thing.
But for some reason Jordan couldn’t let it go. “Legs, arms and—”
“Nothing around his dick, either.” Elle started nodding and didn’t stop. “He shaved or waxed his private parts. Head-to-toe smooth like a baby. Try to imagine that.”
Jordan doubted she’d be able to stop thinking about it. “So, he basically looked like a Ken doll?”
“With a tiny dick. Exactly.”
Figures. “How tiny?”
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
Jordan understood that. She had a line of forgettable dates behind her, but at least they all had the normal amount of body hair. She never dreamed she’d have to worry about that. Now she would. “Well, congratulations. He tops the guy I dated who stole my underwear.”
“Since that guy took your bikini bottoms only and a pair at a time, then stored them in a baggie in his freezer, no you still win the Creepy Dude prize.”
Jordan had blocked the freezer part. Huh, it all came rushing back now. “He was one giant nut bag.”
“One of many.”
“You do realize the last three guys I dated can be described as the guy-who-only-talked-about-his-dog, the guy-who-stole-my-underwear and the guy-who-lied-about-being-single.” And how depressing was that list of potential mates? “Maybe I should spend a little more time reading the site before I say yes to a date.”
“Or maybe a few nights with someone like Forest ‘Hot Between The Sheets’ Redder is the answer to your troubles.”
No way was Jordan diving into that conversation. She decided to start a new one and hope Elle somehow uncharacteristically came along. “So, did you get all the new status-report information entered?”
“Are we done with this topic?”
“I’m not sure how we even started it.”
Elle nodded in the direction of Jordan’s lap. “Did your mom text today?”
Jordan scooped up her cell and entered the unlock code. The thing had buzzed three times during the commute home. Jordan tensed as she read the most recent text. The stiffness eased out of her shoulders when she realized this one was G-rated. “She’s going dancing and will text tomorrow with a report.”
“Lucky you.”
Not that Jordan had a choice but to hear the after-date tale. Her mom texted every day and overshared. This week the topic was a guy named Lin. He’d taken her to the Bahamas to relax, though why her mom needed rest was a mystery. She didn’t work, unless you counted hunting down new men to marry as a job, which her mom did.
Elle gripped the armrest now. “Back up a second.”
“I don’t want to think about the Ken doll, or my mom, or my mom with a Ken doll.” The last one made Jordan want to discontinue her phone service.
“Forest. You’re saying you’re never going to see him again?”
“Not unless I get a temp job in his office or otherwise need to confirm a report, which sounds like—with all his rules—can only happen with the approval of the Supreme Court.”
“Think of working with him as an opportunity for desk sex.” Elle smiled as she said it.
Jordan knew she’d have that on her brain all night now. “Back to work.”
“Did you bring me dinner?”
Finally, a safe topic. No men, no mom, no underwear and no hair. “Already ordered. After all, we’re celebrating.”
“What?”
That one was easy. “Me never having to work for, let alone think about, Ryan Peterson again.”
Chapter Three
Subject Request for Nick Asher: Rumor is he likes to get drunk and pick up bridesmaids, even if he’s not invited to a wedding. Anyone have any information? —Member 339
Need to Know admin staff: Pending.
EARLY SATURDAY EVENING Jordan stood at the open bar and drank a silent toast to the bride, the newly minted Elizabeth Savory-West. Jordan could almost picture the personalized stationery. It would probably be in the same bright pink as the bridesmaids’ dresses.
Jordan had a harder time figuring out the bride, since Jordan had never actually met her. She stood now and watched Elizabeth swish around in her fluffy white dress, surrounded by tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of pink and white roses and her thirteen bridesmaids. Because that was a rational number. Jordan could barely come up with thirteen people she’d want at her wedding, never mind acting as bridesmaids.
She scanned the Highwater Observatory, the fancy room housing the reception. It was one of three ballrooms at the tony hotel on the edge of Georgetown. Jordan had to fight the urge to grab her phone and figure out how much the room rental cost. Something with skylights and “observatory” in its name couldn’t be cheap. Add in the paneled mahogany ceiling, glitzy chandeliers and rich golden fabrics and you had a very expensive few hours of dancing and cake.
She didn’t know one person in the room. That’s what happened when you crashed a wedding to scope out a groomsman. Word was Nick Asher enjoyed sleeping with bridesmaids—any bridesmaid—and sometimes skulked around weddings looking for sex partners. Sex, as in having it, then sneaking out before the hotel-room bill was paid.
He was a real classy guy, this Nick. Just went to show money couldn’t buy manners.
Right now she watched him move, circling a petite brunette and following her as she walked out the towering doors to the terrace. Jordan guessed it was time she got some fresh air, as well. She pivoted around one of the fancy columns at one end of the room and came eye-to-mouth with a guy.
At least it was a hot mouth, and the rest of the face...well, damn.
“How do you know Bitsy?” Forest stood there, dressed like James Bond, all sleek in a tux that fit him as if some dude stripped Forest naked and measured him for it.
Jordan felt all the blood leave her head. It had to be a reaction to the impressive outfit. No way was she responding to him. “What?”
“Bitsy.”
Clearly the rushing sound in her ears drowned out part of the conversation. “Is that a person or a thing?”
“She’s the bride.”
Jordan decided this would teach her not to do more investigation on the bride and groom before crashing a wedding. She’d gotten a tip about Nick being a groomsman and showed up without any planning. It was a hotel, after all. Not exactly a security-protected event.
But none of that solved the six-foot-something problem in front of her. Damn, she couldn’t see anything past Forest’s broad shoulders. That couldn’t be normal.
She waved her hand and gave a chuckle. “Oh, sure. Bitsy.”
He shifted as he folded his arms over his chest. “No one calls her that.”
Shifty bastard. “Why did you?”
“To see if you knew her or were even invited to this event.”
“What makes you think I’m not supposed to be here?” Other than that being the truth, of course.
“You’re not talking to anyone.”
Jordan snorted before she could stop it. “So?”
He put his palm against the column behind her head and leaned in. “You were hiding behind the post and ducked when the bride walked by. You’re not giving anyone eye contact and I haven’t seen you talk or eat or even sit down, probably because you don’t have an assigned seat.”
“Yeah, that’s not creepy or anything.”
“What?”
“Your stalking problem.”
The corner of his mouth lifted but just as quickly flatlined again. “You’re not exactly engaged in normal wedding-guest behavior.”
“Clearly you don’t go to many weddings.” Jordan had been to seven for her mother alone, so she considered herself a bit of an expert. And, really, hiding was the only way to get through them.