Dear Reader,
Weve all had those days when nothing seems to go our way. Days when our work is full of jerks, PMS, hair that wont behave and cars that dont run. If we were in charge, we say, things would be different!
My heroine Phoebe Frame has had one day too many like this and decides to do something about it. Writing in first person, I felt as though I was an observer along for the ride, taking dictation as Phoebe set out to exact revenge and make the kind of life shes always wanted for herself. And believe me, I never knew what Phoebe was going to do next!
I hope you enjoy reading about our adventure! Let me know what you think of this storyI always love to hear from readers. E-mail me at cindi@cindimyers.com. And stop by my Web site at www.cindimyers.com to see whats new with me.
Happy reading!
Cindi Myers
Get your hands off of me!
We glared at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to look away. However, as much fun as this was, I had tons of work to finish.
The thing to do was act calm and collected. Ms. Cool. If youre here to see the doctor, his office is back there. I pointed down the hallway.
Actually, Im looking for a Phoebe Frame. The man glanced around. Maybe you could point me in the right direction and I promise to stay out of your way.
Phoebe Frame? Ooh, this day was improving by leaps and boundsnot. Im Phoebe. I cleared my throat. And you are?
Jeff Fischer. My friends call me Jeff, but you can call me Mr. Fischer.
Wonderful. This was the software specialist I would be working withclosely. Young, too good-looking and a delightful attitude. Could things possibly get better?
What Phoebe Wants Cindi Myers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Books by Cindi Myers
10LIFE ACCORDING TO LUCY
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
902ITS A GUY THING!
935SAY YOU WANT ME
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
82JUST 4 PLAY
118RUMOR HAS IT
For Pam Hopkins who never gave up on this one.
And special thanks to Wanda Ottewell for giving Phoebe a chance.
Contents
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
1
Which would you say is worse: being dumped by your husband who then takes up with a twenty-four-year-old cocktail waitress who has a stomach tight enough to bounce quarters off, or sitting in a cubicle that smells of cigar smoke and sweat, listening to a shiny-faced car salesman try to make you a deal?
Having recently endured both, Id have to say its something of a draw. The whole sorry business with my husband dragged on longer, but in its own way, the ordeal with the car salesman was just as tedious.
Now, I know a woman like you is concerned about finding something dependable. The salesman nodded sagely and gave me a toothy grin. He had a bad comb-over and his deodorant had long since packed up and hitched a ride out of town. I mean, what good is a great deal on a vehicle if it leaves you in the lurch?
Left me in the lurch. Thats what Steve did when he walked out. Just calmly packed his bags and said, I know you dont want me here if Im not happy. As if his leaving was all about his concern for me, and not about his own pathetic midlife crisis.
You see what Im saying, Ms. Frame? My only concern is that you leave here today happy.
There was that word againhappy. At this point in my life, I was beginning to think the whole pursuit of happiness shtick was highly overrated. I just need something that will get me where Im going and doesnt cost more than six thousand dollars. I twisted the straps of my purse in my hand.
The salesman made a face as if hed just sucked a lemon. Six thousand. Now, I dont know if were gonna find much for six thousand. He leaned toward me, his yellowing teeth looming large in my vision. Do you have a trade-in?
I blinked. A trade-in?
Another car? Do you have another car to trade in?
Yes. Itsuh, its parked down the street. The maroon Ford Probe had died at the corner of Anderson and Alameda, smoke spewing from under the hood. An alarming sequence of pings and rattles issued from the engine before it gave a last gasp and simply quit altogether. I had sat there for a long moment, head on the steering wheel, too disgusted to waste tears. Then Id gathered up my purse and keys and started walking.
Walking is a relative term in Houston in late August. It was more like swimming through the heavy, humid air. Heat radiated up from the pavement, through the soles of my sandals. Sweat pooled in the small of my back and my hair clung damply to my forehead. As I walked, I tried to think of new epithets for Steve, who had driven away from me in a brand new black Lexus, leaving me with the twelve-year-old Ford.
Id started alphabetically, with addlepated asshole and was up to middle-aged midget-brain when I saw the sign for Easy Motors. That was it. Id buy a new car. Or at least one that was newer than the recently departed Ford.
The salesmanthe nameplate on his desk said his name was Hectorgrabbed a form off the corner of the desk and began to write. So what are you trading in?