The Housewife Assassin's Relationship Survival Guide by Josie Brown Page A
Authors: Josie Brown
Tags: thriller, Suspense, Chick lit, Romance, Women Sleuths, Espionage, Mystery, Contemporary Romance, Romantic Comedy, Hardboiled, romantic suspense, funny mystery, love, Romantic Mystery, action and adventure, Brown, espionage books, funny mysteries, guide, handy household tips, household tips, housewife, Janet Evanovich, Josie Brown, love and romance, mom lit, mommy lit, relationship tips, romantic mysteries, thriller mysteries, thrillers mysteries, womens contemporary
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a welcoming committee waiting for him.”
And I’ll finally be off the hook with the DOJ.
Just my luck he’ll be here, watching Emma’s strip tease.
I hope she does me justice.
Chapter 9
When It’s Time to Meet the Parents
He has finally given in to your request to meet his parents. Whereas he’s sullen and anxious, you’re tickled pink, because it’s proof that you’ve reached yet another major milestone in your relationship!
So that you’re just as big a hit with them as you know they’ll be with you, follow these very important courtesies:
Courtesy #1: Always come armed with a compliment! In fact, always come armed. A semi-automatic will do! With the right purse, it makes an elegant fashion statement.
Courtesy #2: No matter how thick it is, do not stare at his mother’s mustache.
Courtesy #3: Should his father cop a feel, resist the urge to break his fingers. Remember, the bones of dirty old men over sixty are more brittle than the bones of your usual maulers, creeps under thirty.
Courtesy #4: Should his mother call you a “whore and a gold digger,” pretend you didn’t hear her. In fact, that is the ideal time to compliment her on her blouse, despite the fact that it is the size of a circus tent.
Courtesy #5: When your boyfriend asks, “So, what did you think of the old farts?” don’t feel any compunction to tell the truth. Being polite is what real ladies do—
Especially ones who are whores and/or gold diggers, and can wait out the final days of two wealthy old farts. Remember, patience is a virtue!
The hotel where the operation is taking place is posh on the inside, gleaming on the outside. It juts eighteen stories above Pershing Avenue, in Playa Del Rey, right behind LAX. Its rooftop party deck is the perfect spot to enjoy a starlit sky.
What a great place to end the Quorum, once and for all.
My so-called concierge outfit is a vision in white, and in tight. It consists of a platinum blond Marilyn Monroe wig, tux tie, a breast-jutting bustier, a bum-hugging leather skirt, a tiny white bellman’s cap, fishnet stockings, and high heels. I wear a beauty mark to the left of my lips.
None of this leaves room to hide a weapon, and yet I’ve never felt safer on a mission. Besides the FBI agents behind Doors One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven and Eight (each on a separate floor starting on the ninth, so that any shouting or crying can’t be overheard) I’ll also have Jack and Ryan out front and close at hand, just in case something goes wrong.
“Incoming,” Abu murmurs into a mike that can be heard by everyone involved. “Sorry folks, his plane arrived earlier than expected.”
The suspects are scheduled every fifteen minutes, beginning at eight o’clock. That gives Abu just enough time to drop off and turn back around for the next pick-up. Here’s hoping most of these guys aren’t as eager as this one, or our timing may be off. The last thing we need is for them to be bumping into each other in the lobby.
Sugar CEO Number 4 is tall and elegant. He wears a bowler, round spectacles, and a three-piece pinstriped suit. He carries a walking stick under his arm, and he bows slightly when he sees me. As his eyes sweep over me, his grin shows me he likes what he sees.
“Welcome. Your sugar baby is already waiting for you.” My smile is accompanied with a broad wink. “Here is the key to your room. May I take your hat?”
The man hesitates for moment before nodding.
He won’t need it where he’s going. Gitmo is too hot for anything other than a sun hat.
His hand grazes mine as he hands it over. “Won’t you be joining us?” His tone is hard, as opposed to hopeful.
In his dreams.
“Sorry, no. But trust me, you’ll be captivated by all she has in store for you.”
His eyes linger on mine for just a moment. Finally he sighs. “All the more reason to have you at my side, my dear. You know what they say: the more, the merrier.”
“Perhaps next time,” I
And I’ll finally be off the hook with the DOJ.
Just my luck he’ll be here, watching Emma’s strip tease.
I hope she does me justice.
Chapter 9
When It’s Time to Meet the Parents
He has finally given in to your request to meet his parents. Whereas he’s sullen and anxious, you’re tickled pink, because it’s proof that you’ve reached yet another major milestone in your relationship!
So that you’re just as big a hit with them as you know they’ll be with you, follow these very important courtesies:
Courtesy #1: Always come armed with a compliment! In fact, always come armed. A semi-automatic will do! With the right purse, it makes an elegant fashion statement.
Courtesy #2: No matter how thick it is, do not stare at his mother’s mustache.
Courtesy #3: Should his father cop a feel, resist the urge to break his fingers. Remember, the bones of dirty old men over sixty are more brittle than the bones of your usual maulers, creeps under thirty.
Courtesy #4: Should his mother call you a “whore and a gold digger,” pretend you didn’t hear her. In fact, that is the ideal time to compliment her on her blouse, despite the fact that it is the size of a circus tent.
Courtesy #5: When your boyfriend asks, “So, what did you think of the old farts?” don’t feel any compunction to tell the truth. Being polite is what real ladies do—
Especially ones who are whores and/or gold diggers, and can wait out the final days of two wealthy old farts. Remember, patience is a virtue!
The hotel where the operation is taking place is posh on the inside, gleaming on the outside. It juts eighteen stories above Pershing Avenue, in Playa Del Rey, right behind LAX. Its rooftop party deck is the perfect spot to enjoy a starlit sky.
What a great place to end the Quorum, once and for all.
My so-called concierge outfit is a vision in white, and in tight. It consists of a platinum blond Marilyn Monroe wig, tux tie, a breast-jutting bustier, a bum-hugging leather skirt, a tiny white bellman’s cap, fishnet stockings, and high heels. I wear a beauty mark to the left of my lips.
None of this leaves room to hide a weapon, and yet I’ve never felt safer on a mission. Besides the FBI agents behind Doors One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven and Eight (each on a separate floor starting on the ninth, so that any shouting or crying can’t be overheard) I’ll also have Jack and Ryan out front and close at hand, just in case something goes wrong.
“Incoming,” Abu murmurs into a mike that can be heard by everyone involved. “Sorry folks, his plane arrived earlier than expected.”
The suspects are scheduled every fifteen minutes, beginning at eight o’clock. That gives Abu just enough time to drop off and turn back around for the next pick-up. Here’s hoping most of these guys aren’t as eager as this one, or our timing may be off. The last thing we need is for them to be bumping into each other in the lobby.
Sugar CEO Number 4 is tall and elegant. He wears a bowler, round spectacles, and a three-piece pinstriped suit. He carries a walking stick under his arm, and he bows slightly when he sees me. As his eyes sweep over me, his grin shows me he likes what he sees.
“Welcome. Your sugar baby is already waiting for you.” My smile is accompanied with a broad wink. “Here is the key to your room. May I take your hat?”
The man hesitates for moment before nodding.
He won’t need it where he’s going. Gitmo is too hot for anything other than a sun hat.
His hand grazes mine as he hands it over. “Won’t you be joining us?” His tone is hard, as opposed to hopeful.
In his dreams.
“Sorry, no. But trust me, you’ll be captivated by all she has in store for you.”
His eyes linger on mine for just a moment. Finally he sighs. “All the more reason to have you at my side, my dear. You know what they say: the more, the merrier.”
“Perhaps next time,” I
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