Madelyn Murphy isn’t your typical spoiled rich girl. She
only has one household drone, after all. Why? Because she’s so liberal, she
does her own cooking.
Triple D Drones’ owner, Dallas Dyson, has made a fortune in
the service drone industry. He’ll even lend a helping hand himself if someone’s
in a pinch.
When Madelyn’s service drone breaks just before a dinner
party, she calls Triple D Drones for help. When the new “Dallas” prototype
shows up to lend a hand, Madelyn finds she needs help with more than serving
dinner. Isn’t service what a Triple D drone does best?
EXCERPT from Mischief at Midnight
Dallas Dyson
had weathered his fair share of calamities, but this one threatened to expand
far beyond the initial predictions. A tiny, fifty-cent relay wreaked havoc
across his multi-billion-dollar, service-drone empire. The years it had taken
to build his company into the industry standard, the long hours, hard work, and
personal sacrifices would all be for nothing if he didn’t manage this crisis
very carefully.
Almost
eighty-percent of the Hazel I model drones around the world equipped with the
Gamma Del Royce upgrade had crashed and burned. His screen lit up with
information about the incoming caller, identifying her as one Madelyn Murphy. Damn. This customer had a GDR equipped
original Hazel. He took a deep breath and forced his lips into a smile.
“Triple D
Drones. May I help you?”
Dark hair, dark
eyes, the pale complexion of someone who took care not to allow sun damage to
her skin, and a smudge of…Was that a parsley leaf on her otherwise perfect
nose? Dallas discretely zoomed in for a closer look.
It was a basil
leaf on her nose and olive oil in her hair. This didn’t bode well for the
condition of her drone. The GDR upgrade involved Hazel’s cooking protocols.
Her full lower
lip quivered. A drop of olive oil broke free and dripped from her bangs. Her
eyes rounded in horror as she swiped her hand over her face.
“Oh, dear. I
must look a fright,” she murmured. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re a drone.”
Drone? Not the last time he checked, he
wasn’t. Last night, he’d been flesh and blood man as he sweated through his
workout at the gym. His shoulders and thighs still ached from the punishment he
inflicted on his body to keep it in shape. He checked her account.
She didn’t own
a Triple D personal pleasure drone, but that didn’t mean some of her friends
didn’t, which would explain why she thought him a drone. Not for the first
time, he cursed his vast stupidity in basing the appearance of the Trent
personal pleasure model on his own features.
Dallas quickly
gave her the good and bad on her drone, his mind racing as it tried to come up
with a temporary replacement for her.
“Ms. Murphy, we
have isolated the problem with the Hazel I model with the most recent food
preparation upgrade. However, we’re waiting for the repair part to become
available.”
Her lovely face
carefully arranged itself into a bland expression. She blinked rapidly, several
times, her long, thick eyelashes dampened.
Dallas knew
from experience to choose his next words carefully else he’d fall into the
bottomless pit of feminine desperation. A woman’s tears sent him to his knees,
every time, and this one hovered on the verge of major flooding.
“However, I’m
available to assist you in any capacity necessary.”
He’d not
planned on saying that. Good lord, how had that spilled from his lips?
He’d lost his mind!
She stared at
him, astonishment holding the tears at bay. He watched, mesmerized as the tip
of her tongue flicked over her full lips. She cleared her throat—twice.
“I need an
emergency replacement that can assist with preparation and serving a very important
dinner party in…” She checked her watch. “Four hours. I need the replacement to
arrive immediately.”
Insanity seized
him, sucker punched him right in the gut and he didn’t even feel the blow until
it was too late to dodge it.
“I am trained
as a chef, ma’am, and as a server with full host protocols. I will arrive in
approximately thirty minutes.”
What the
hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t impersonate a drone!
She nodded,
forging brusquely ahead. “I’ll expect you to be prompt. Thirty minutes. Please
be prepared to remain on call until my Hazel is repaired.” She pursed her lips.
“And…um…activate your level five personal interaction chip before arriving.”
Dallas’ stomach
plunged nervously even as his body sent out urgent, greedy pleas that he
fulfill that level five personal interaction request to the best of his
ability. After all, hadn’t he invented what was frequently called the ‘love
machine’ chip? Hadn’t it made him a very wealthy man?
Before he could
say another word, his screen blanked as Madelyn severed the link, eliminating
the opportunity for him to tell her the truth before he reported for the
assignment. Only one option remained.
Tough it out.
Mischief at Midnight is
available at Amazon
Mischief at Midnight was previously published as part of a two author anthology.
Rayne Forrest
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