Hot Flash by Kathy Carmichael Read Free Book Online Page A

Using my forefinger and thumb, I pinched his uniform sleeve, then lifted his left arm. As I yanked the clipboard out, I must have joggled his arm too much, because Albert awoke.
    Well, I use the word awoke loosely. He momentarily emerged from his stupor. His patriotic eyes opened—blue eyes, extremely bloodshot—and he slurred, “‘Lo, Ms. Morganstern.”
    My teeth gritted. I hate being called Morganstern. “The name’s Morgan Storm.”
    “S’right.” He pulled himself upright. “You’re looking lovely today. Want to bear my children?”
    I sighed. Whenever he was drunk, which was more often than not, for some reason he always wanted me to carry his children. Maybe he thought the mix of his culinary genius with my culinary near-brilliance would result in a culinary supergenius.
    Thankfully, he slumped back down and began to snore, so I backed out of the room.
    As I scanned the list, I realized it didn’t have the information I needed. There were several sales conferences, but how to choose the best one for finding a possible mate? Which would be most likely to have lots of men to choose from?
    I would have to go see the catering manager. However, I couldn’t go without a bribe.
    I had to promise Big E that I wouldn’t lock myself in the restroom again before he gave me a basket filled with his incredibly light, tasty, and delicious pastries. He was a truly tough guy, about six feet, four inches tall, and looked exactly like he belonged on a Harley, right down to a missing front tooth and pinkie finger. He swore like a biker, too, but he was an artist. No one made pastries like him. No one.
    Despite the tough exterior, I’ll never forget the time his starter kicked the bucket and Big E wept for hours. Yeast can be a tough mistress.
    So, now armed with suitable gastronomic persuasion, I left the kitchen and headed for sales.
    Glamorous, sophisticated, and intelligent, Mandy Webster, the catering manager, was the type of woman that women loved to hate. She could swap clothes with a fashion model and look even better than they did. Men adored her and women avoided her, including me.
    But she had what I needed—intimate knowledge of the sales conferences that would be most likely to a) have plenty of men, b) have plenty of men who were the right age, and c) have plenty of men who were the right age and were single. She’d know which conferences I should crash to find the salesman of my schemes, I mean, dreams.
    Mandy had a small office in the administrative area of the hotel. When she saw me, she greeted me warmly and ushered me inside. For some reason, probably related to karma, she was always excited to see me, which made me feel badly about wanting to hate her.
    “I brought you some pastries.” I handed her the basket, then took a seat.
    Her face lit up with undisguised hunger. “Oh. I love these. Thank you!”
    I felt a little guilty since I was appealing to her well-known carbohydrate addiction, but all’s fair in love and payola.
    She took a seat behind her desk, grabbed a pastry, and took a bite. “Is there something I can help you with?”
    Well, yeah. What did she think I brought the crullers for? I wasn’t sure, however, whether to act like this was pure business or to ‘fess up to my plan. I eyed her as she munched, and she was even gorgeous while engorging.
    “I bet you never have men trouble,” I blurted. It didn’t come out exactly the way I wanted, but she smiled ruefully and her eyes oozed concern.
    “Sure, I do. Don’t you think most women do?”
    “Yeah, but with the way you look …” I waved my palm.
    “The kind of guys who interest me most are the sort who are intimidated by my looks.”
    My jaw dropped. I know it did. “What kind of guys interest you most?”
    “Geeks. Computer geeks.” She sighed. “What can I say? I love smart men.”
    I felt as if I’d bitten into a bitter lemon. After all this time being jealous of her, and resenting her, it turned out … she was nice