CALLIE (The Naughty Ones Book 1) Read online

  CALLIE

  A Naughty Ones Book

  Plus: Bonus Books

  KRISTINA WEAVER

  Copyright © 2016

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to events, businesses, companies, institutions, and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  BONUS BOOKS

  Chapter One

  The Walk of Shame Game

  Callie

  The taste of garbage, dead animals, and used toilet paper is what I wake to. For a split second before I can think properly, I wonder why I’m blind, deaf, and sucking on Medusa’s pus-infected tongue.

  And then I remember and I want to basically die.

  Well, almost. I want to at least be hospitalised when my brain registers that I’m alive, somewhat.

  Hangover!

  I’m not blind, either. That’s just my eyes refusing to open because they know the minute they do it’s going to be retinal brain scarring on a level I can’t recover from.

  I lie frozen for a few seconds and pray that the images flashing through my brain aren’t what actually happened. Please, Jesus, let it be a dream, I beg as the events of last night and this morning begin playing in my head like some sort of freaking horror show.

  An X-rated horror show.

  I had a one-night stand. Me. The girl who irons her socks and underwear. And it was incendiary. Hot. Everything my thirty-year-old body could have ever hoped for.

  But now I have absolutely no idea where I am, or who the man was whom I spent the night with.

  I crack an eyelid and immediately regret it. I know where I am and it’s a doozy.

  “Shit. Shit. Shit. Callie, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  I look around and feel my heart sink a little when the empty hotel room comes into focus and I realize I’m currently lying in bed, naked, in the Hyatt Hotel, one of the most expensive places in San Fran, and I am alone.

  I see a single red rose lying on the pillow beside me.

  I look up and into the connecting sitting room and spy a huge vase of complimentary red roses and find myself glowering. Cheap fool.

  I know that in about two seconds I’m going to have to do the freaking walk of shame down a hall, an elevator, and through the lobby of the hotel where people know me since I and my team of misfits catered an event here last night.

  Oh God.

  I slept with someone from the event? Who does that? Why couldn’t I just pick someone who’s poor and has zero influence in a social set I’ve been trying to crack into for the last year to get our catering business up and running?

  Just great! Way to make an impression.

  Just as I’m about to start freaking out, I hear the distinctive scream of Alice Cooper’s “Poison” and I dive for the sound, grabbing my phone like a lifeline.

  “Please tell me this is all just a really bad prank,” I wheeze into the mouthpiece, my shame amplified when I look down to see my nudity and my not-so-happy boobs glaring up at me.

  Winter in the city is not pleasant.

  “Callie Alexandria Jacinta Landry, where the fuck are you? We’ve got a breakfast club to cater this morning and you haven’t made any rolls like you said you would. Percy is having a fit, and Dot is just about melting down right now, And Luci, you know she can’t bake for shit,” Indie yells by way of greeting.

  The screech makes my head shudder and try to leave my body. I grab up the sheet and drop my head into my palm with a moan.

  “I-I don’t…I’m…what happened last night?” I whisper as tears fill my eyes.

  The silence on the other end lasts all of two seconds and then my best friend starts howling and I hear her call the others over and switch to speaker.

  “I think she boned someone last night after she body-slammed the wine in the kitchen.”

  “Callie? Honey?”

  That’s Dot. She’s the nervous ball of hyped-up energy, the total crackpot who’s so nice that she couldn’t kill a roach if it was shitting on her breakfast plate.

  “I-I think I did something really bad! But good, but baaaaad. I need help. Where are you? Come to the Hyatt and freaking help me!”

  They’re all giggling as I stumble-hop from the bed and hustle into the bathroom. God Almighty, the place so nice that I’d live in this one room alone and sleep in the huge tub if I had to.

  “Tell us what happened first, Mary Magdalene. You get laid?” Indie crows, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight.

  “Shut up and come get me. I need clean clothes and some makeup. I can’t find my dress anywhere,” I yell, propping the phone on the vanity and jumping into the shower.

  I wash in record time as the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse continue to argue, and make fun of me—except Dotty, bless her heart. Then I dry off and eye myself in the mirror.

  “Please just bring me some clothes,” I beg, wrapping the bath sheet around myself and reaching for the comb I found in a drawer.

  “Huh. Depends on what you’re gonna bargain for this favor.”

  “Goddammit, India! Just bring me some freaking clothes so I don’t have to walk through the lobby in last night’s underwear and hooker heels. Please.”

  Her teasing is cut off when a knock at the door echoes through the quiet of the room and I turn toward the sound.

  “Someone’s at the door,” I whisper, my nerves jangling like bells.

  The three go quiet, and then I hear Dot squeak when the knocking starts up again.

  “Go answer it,” Percy hisses when the knocking turns to pounding and I see the latch twist.

  I’m not going to answer. What if it’s Mr. Bedroom Eyes and Golden Tongue? What if he’s coming back for seconds…wait, thirds? Whatever! I am so not going to make it through an awkward morning-after conversation right now.

  I need to pretend I’m not here and maybe preserve some of the dignity I have left, but the choice is taken out of my hands when the door beeps and swings open, revealing Alphonso, the day manager.

  “Miss Landry,” he croons, his sharp little teeth and rat eyes taking me in with relish.

  “Uh, hi, Alphonso.”

  Alphonso has been trying to get into my pants since we took the Hyatt job.

  His nose actually scrunches at me, like he’s smelling something bad, and I swallow my rising panic when he eventually smiles and waves a hand at the room.

  “I’m afraid this room has been checked out already, Miss Landry. The previous occupant left strict instructions that his guest should ‘be taken care of.’ You’ll need to leave immediately.”

  Smug.

  And that son of an ass I boinked…

  “Er, I just need to wait on my friends to bring me some new clothes.”
<
br />   “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss Landry. Security is on the way up as we speak,” he says with enough glee to make my teeth ache.

  “But, see, I can’t find my dress and—”

  “Not my problem, lady. Move it or I’ll have them toss you out on your ass.”

  “You little prick.”

  Oh God, Indie, not now, I think, cringing visibly as she starts yelling curses at the man who currently holds my pride, or what’s left of it, in his hands.

  “Uh…”

  You know what doing the walk of shame in a towel is like at eight in the morning when the elite have their breakfast in the swanky hotel restaurant?

  I’ve just showered and I’m sweating buckets already as the elevator dings and the doors slide open at the lobby, my mortified brain refusing to work as my legs go heavy and threaten to dump me on my ass.

  I’m torn between that urge to run like hell and hope no one recognises me, and pulling a Bond move on the little trapdoor above my head. I think I could possibly ninja-kick myself up there and get onto the top of the elevator, shimmy my way up the sides of the shaft and go Mission Impossible to get out of here with my dignity still intact.

  Or…

  I nix that idea as images of falling on my ass and dropping the towel assault me and I close my eyes tight, trying to pretend that this is not happening.

  The four crones are still on the line, though thankfully silent when Alphonso graciously waves a hand for me to precede him out of the little box.

  My first step is hesitant, and by the time I’ve taken the second the little bastard loses patience and gives me a shove that sends me staggering out into the packed lobby.

  Oh my God. I forgot about the nerd convention. Everywhere I look I see men. Short, thin, fat, skinny, you name it I see them staring back at me through wide eyes when I finally manage to stop the scream of denial building inside me.

  “Put the camera on. I need to see!”

  I ignore Indie as I start shaking and take small steps forward, my knees trembling so hard, it’s difficult to walk. People are staring as I wobble in my red heels.

  “Hey! Are you still there?”

  “Dammit, Indiana, be quiet already,” I hiss through gritted teeth, giving an old lady and her dog at the check-in desk a tight smile as I start moving faster toward the door.

  I’m almost home free and ready to kiss one of the bellboys who flags me a taxi when Alphonso clears his throat just as the taxi pulls up and holds out his hand to me.

  My heart drops and I start shaking my head in a panic. Please Jesus, Budda, whoever’s listening.

  My pleas go unanswered and I feel my heart sink when one of the security A-holes sidles up beside the putz with a smirk.

  “I believe that’s hotel property, Miss Landry.”

  Dammit.

  “What’s happening?!” Indie screeches and I can almost see her rubbing her hands together in glee when I hesitantly unhook the towel.

  “He wants the towel,” I grit out, changing to phone mode.

  Indie starts laughing her ass off, and I can imagine Dot’s horror, but I’m reminded, for once, why I am friends with the cackling foursome when Luci clears her throat and curses.

  “You listen to me, Callie baby. You do this shit right and hold it together. If you have to degrade yourself in front of all those assholes, you do it with style. Unhook that towel, shove it up his ass, and strut your way out, you hear!” she yells, her battle voice and the face I know she’s pulling making a giggle burst free.

  Okay, I can do this.

  I can so totally do this.

  “You want your towel back, you sick little pervert? Here, take it and enjoy the view, cause this will be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a little fink like you.”

  The towel comes off a little easier, and I toss it in his face with flair and a wink to old sour lips, who’s craning her neck through the doors from the reception area. I turn on my heel and strut my way into the cab, high-fiving the bellboy who’s all smiles and compliments for my thong.

  Take that, bitches.

  “Your ass looks great in that black thong. You been doing Pilates or something?” Percy asks when the three buttheads stop laughing about five minutes later.

  “Say what? How do you know what color my thong is?”

  “Some genius just Youtube’d the hell out of your ‘dead woman walking’ moment. Congratulations, Callie Landry, you’re the sixth Kardashian sister.” Indie laughs.

  Chapter Two

  Meet Nan

  Callie

  The only thing that’s worse than being friends with India, is being blood related to my nanny, Elsa Landry.

  For purposes that drive her crazy on a daily basis, we all call her the smallest Billy Goat Gruff—Gruffy for short. She’s a tiny little battle ax who sported a head of carrot-orange hair and hazel eyes in her youth but now has snow-white puffs of cotton wool and a will that would make Stalin stand up straighter with pride.

  She’s my mom, dad, and every other family member rolled into one now that Gramps kicked the bucket, and I love her to death. Most days, at least.

  Gruffy is and has always been my rock. She was there for me after my mom dumped me on her doorstep and went off to “find herself.” I just assumed she was tired of having to look at me after once I turned five and started asking her who my dad was.

  She gave me four names, three of which I tracked down when I was ten. The fourth, who I believe is actually my dad—I think he’s either dead or still running.

  What a dick.

  I have three dads who aren’t blood relatives. Bill, the one who colors my hair for free at his salon. Ted, who gives me free cold cuts since he and his wife, Deidre, run a butcher shop. And Murray, the florist, who is also married.

  So I have Gruffy, three dads, two stepmoms, and four sisters who make the worst sister look like a freaking dream. And not one has let me live it down in the three days since my walk of shame.

  The only consolation to this farce is the number of hits my video got, making me surmise that Percy was right. My ass looked fabulous in that thong.

  “It’s a travesty, I tell ye. Why every and any pervert can go to that evil spider’s web and look at your wee, ahem, big arse on their laps,” Gruffy yells as I continue to scramble eggs for our usual Saturday morning smack-talk session.

  It’s been like this since India, that ass, came over here to personally show Gruffy the video. The old bird called me at two this morning to lay into me again.

  “Gruffy, it’s called the Net. You know, that Internet thing you hate so much, and so freaking what? The worst that happened after that was that Delights got three new clients and we’re catering something for a celebrity brunch next week. As far as I can tell, something good came out of me doing that shit.”

  The eggs and bacon are done, as well as the rolls and the croissants she can’t live without by the time she’s chewed a strip off my ass and the others arrive.

  “Thanks, India. Freaking thanks,” I mutter around a mouthful of buttery roll as Gruffy starts in on her food. How she chews is beyond me, but according to the eighty-year-old bat, “Teeth are for the lazy.”

  Who am I to argue?

  “You’re so totally welcome. Oh come on, Cal! You know those old birds she plays bridge with every Wednesday all have Internet and hip young grandkids. She’d have heard about it eventually. This way, at least, you didn’t have to explain it yourself.”

  Yeah freaking right. Luci recorded the whole conversation, and as far as I can tell, Indie enjoyed the hell out of breaking the news to Gruffy.

  “I’d have appreciated not being ambushed by the cane brigade when I came in to drop off her freaking groceries, you asshole! Now shut up and eat your breakfast. Even dead men walking get a last meal,” I say, giving her the evil eye when she snorts and tries unsuccessfully to hide a giggle.

  “So, Gruff, what you and those old birds been up to lately?” Dot trills, changing the subject l
ike the superstar she is.

  Have I mentioned that I adore Dot? She’s like my own personal Obi-Wan, a tactful peacekeeper to the core.

  Gruffy takes the hint with only one derisive snort my way and smiles kindly at Dot. She really likes Dot a lot, and most of us have agreed that being mean to Dot would be like kicking a puppy.

  “The usual, dearest. I won this week’s pot, and Clifford’s agreed that we should all take up yoga for the elderly. My bonny arse, I say. I couldn’t do that nonsense when I was eighteen, and I sure as all get out will not be doing it at eighty. She’s also gone on some green juice route that makes my short ones want to curl back up into my crotch. Now I remember when I was young and having some padding was all the rage.”

  Yeah, yeah, and your husbands slept in a twin bed in the same room and wore long johns. I chuckle silently, fondly recalling Gramps’s affinity for the things, no matter the season.

  “So are you going?” Luci laughs when Gruffy sneers and then shrugs resignedly.

  “I’m thinking I could give it a try now that I have to redeem my granddaughter’s honor in some way. Can’t have people going to yoga in the park and talking about her as if she’s a hoor without being there to defend her. No matter if it’s true,” she muses.

  I swear, I feel my fillings go molten before I catch her teasing wink to the others and let my lips twitch.

  “You’re a trial, you know that, you old bat?”

  “True, and yet the five of you always come back for more, huh? Must be something in my water.”

  “Or something. So, how’s Aggy?”

  “Still being a total pain in the arse. She’s a geggy one, that.”

  Gruffy complains about her nurse Aggy on a constant basis and enjoys insulting the hell out of the middle-aged woman who cares for her five days a week, but the one time the woman was too ill to come to work, you’d have sworn Gruffy was going to die from quick onset depression. Worst three days of my life and the reason I would rather flog an organ than not be able to afford her salary.

  “You say she’s mouthy, and yet I haven’t met a more vocal person than you, Gruffy.” I laugh, getting up to grab the coffeepot and give everyone a refill.