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Agatha shrugged one bony shoulder. “There you go again. It’s all about you, isn’t it? That’s the problem with instant celebrity. It goes to your head and you start thinking the whole world revolves around you. My dear, you’ll have to work hard to keep your ego in check now that you’re famous.”
“Outrageous,” Marina said.
“I know,” Agatha agreed with a smug look. “But it’s common, so everyone should keep that in mind as Mrs. Buckley adjusts to her new status. I don’t have time to take on a new client, but I can recommend someone for you, dear. They could tutor you in how to manage your narcissism, or at least, keep it a secret from the public, which is the most important thing.”
Marina grunted in disgust. Sasha sighed before cramming a handful of trail mix in her mouth. Elly looked confused. And Ms. Kitty stood up, tail high and stiff, fur slightly ridged along her back. She jumped off the bed and stalked out of the room with the aplomb of an offended queen.
“Ignore Agatha,” Sasha said to Jada, a few crumbs stuck on her ample lips. “She’s a professional projector.”
Marina laughed. Elly still looked confused and Agatha’s smugness didn’t waver. Jada was saved from responding by the end of the commercial break.
“Prior to Jada Howarth-Buckley’s fairy tale marriage,” Piper crooned, “she had a low level job at a small accounting firm in Springers Glen. What a change it must be for Jada, going from a dismal little office building where she toiled away every day, crunching boring numbers in her tiny cubicle to the dazzling and thrilling world of billionaire and international playboy Ian Buckley.”
The screen showed a company publicity picture taken during a clean-up-the-river day. Mostly, it showed Jada from behind, wearing a raggedy flannel shirt and rubber waders, bent over and trying to shove a wad of slimy muck into a trash bag. Next, the picture changed to the tidy, brick exterior of Jada’s accounting firm before flashing onto the “dazzling and thrilling” theme which included shots of brightly-lit casinos stretching along the Riviera at night, a fancy yacht, and finally, the front of the Hearst castle in San Simeon.
“Quite a change, quite a change,” Piper repeated.
“Puh-leeze,” Marina said.
“Agreed,” Agatha said. “Ian’s yacht is much bigger than that one.”
“I don’t think Ian has a yacht.” Sasha leaned forward, brushing her crumb-covered fingers off on her stretchy yoga pants.
Both Jada and Elly watched with furrowed brows as Sasha’s orange crumbs cascaded onto the pristine white bedspread.
“Oh no. It’s your boss,” Marina said.
Jada looked up. Sure enough, there, big as life, was one of the partners where Jada worked, Mr. Saturn Talleyrand. He was a dignified older man, with plenty of age spots on his brown skin and a ring of white, curly hair that didn’t come close to covering the dome of his large head.
“Yes, Jada Howarth works for us here at Talleyrand, Dilling, Stifferton and Associates,” Mr. Talleyrand said in his most formal voice. “She’s a valued member of our team. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say more since we respect our employees’ right to privacy at Talleyrand, Dilling, Stifferton and Associates.”
“When did Mrs. Buckley quit her job?” Piper asked, the camera shifting between her overly-bright blonde self and the upright accountant.
“To the best of my knowledge, Jada Howarth is still an employee of Talleyrand, Dilling, Stifferton and Associates,” he replied.
Piper looked straight into the camera with raised eyebrows. “So, the new Mrs. Buckley doesn’t give proper notice before leaving jobs. Interesting.”
“As I said, she’s still an employee of—”
“You don’t think the wife of a billionaire is going to work at a tiny accounting firm in your quaint little town, do you?” Piper overflowed with superiority.
“I couldn’t say.” Mr. Talleyrand lifted his chin in equal disdain for Piper. “Talleyrand, Dilling, Stifferton and Associates is a well-respected firm with clients around the world and a reputation for superior results.”
“Of course it is,” Piper said, syrupy condescension dripping from her overly-bleached fangs. “Is there anything else you could tell us about Mrs. Buckley?”
“Nothing other than we send congratulations to her and her husband on their nuptials and best wishes for their future. We at Talleyrand, Dilling, Stifferton and Associates stand ready to assist her and her husband in any way in the future. You can trust us to treat your money as if it were our own. That’s our motto here at Talleyrand, Dilling—”
“Yes, yes, thank you so much, sir,” Piper said.
Marina broke into the broadcast with a loud laugh. “Ha! She didn’t let him get in another plug. Ha-ha.”
“He did pretty good, though,” Sasha said. “He must have gotten the name in a dozen times.”
“Only five and a half times,” Agatha said with a sniff. “He might as well not have bothered. You must repeat something at least seven times for it to stick in an average person’s brain. And with that firm’s terrible, long name, I think he actually would have had to say it a dozen times or more. Mr. Talleyrand should hire a publicist and have a discussion about branding. I’ll give him a ring. You have his number, don’t you Jada?”
Jada lowered the volume on the television. “I thought you didn’t have time for new clients.”
She giggled, a misplaced sound coming from a woman of her forty-something years. “You caught me. I admit, I have ulterior motives. I find your former boss extremely attractive.”
“Mother!” Sasha made a gack sound. “Haven’t you buried enough husbands? Five should be plenty for any woman. Give that poor Talleyrand guy a break and let him live.”
Agatha raised a drawn-on eyebrow, patted her beehive hairdo and leaned forward to stare down Jada and Elly, both of whom wore horrified expressions. “She’s kidding. Only three of my husbands died. Natural causes. I divorced the other two.”
“Whew!” Marina said, her voice tinny through the phone’s speakers. “I’m sure we all feel better now. Don’t you feel better, Jada?”
Jada mumbled that she guessed so while scrutinizing Agatha with suspicion.
A deep, masculine voice coming from the doorway interrupted Jada’s inspection. “So this is where everyone is this morning. Are these two bothering you, Jada?”
It was Ian. He stood in the doorway surveying the scene with a less-than-pleased look on his handsome face. He was dressed casually in a pair of light trousers and a loose cotton shirt that was unbuttoned low enough to reveal an enticing triangle of tanned and toned man-chest.
Jada’s stomach tumbled over on itself. He was here. He hadn’t returned to the city after all.
She warned herself to be cool, not to make too much of his continued presence at the estate. She couldn’t help herself, though, and hoped against hope for a positive answer to a critically important question.
Had he stayed because of her?
IAN EYED THE SCENE, THE four women snugged in next to one another on Jada’s bed. Mostly, he wanted to look at Jada.
“Who’s that?” a female voice asked through the speakers of a phone on the bed.
“It’s the head man himself,” Sasha answered. “Mr. Big. Mr. Ian Buckley, billionaire extraordinaire. AKA your new brother-in-law.”
“Oh!” the phone said.
Ian ignored Sasha’s absurd introduction and walked over to Elly’s side of the bed so he could see the television screen. Elly hopped up and offered her seat to him, but he waved her back down.
“What are you watching?” he asked. “And who’s on the phone?”
“Right, introductions, sorry,” Jada said in a rush. “Marina, this is Ian Buckley, my fake husband. Ian, this is Marina on the speaker phone, my real sister.”
“Nice to meet you,” Marina said in a formal, polite tone.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Ian said. “I suppose my marriage makes you my sister-in-law.”
“That’s right. Welcome to
the family, such as it is.”
“Well aren’t you all one big happy gathering?” Agatha flopped back against the headboard, crossed her twig-like arms and pointed a long, skeletal finger at the TV. “At least CGTV knows what the real story is here.”
Everyone looked back toward the television. Jada turned the volume up.
An overly made-up blonde woman primped on the screen. She had a fake pouty expression and batted her lashes so much he wondered if she had a bug in her eye. A small picture of Sasha walking a runway was plastered in an upper corner of the screen.
“I’m Piper Sandy, and welcome back to our special program,” the woman said. “While we all wish the Buckleys much marital bliss, we can’t forget that there’s a casualty in this story of secret, runaway love—poor, beautiful, spurned supermodel Sasha. She must be devastated, inconsolable to be tossed aside so callously. Oh! All of our hearts here at CGTV go out to her.”
“Aww,” Sasha said. “That’s so sweet.”
“Sure,” Jada said, “if anyone at CGTV actually had a heart to give.”
“What the hell is this?” Ian asked.
Elly looked like she was ready to sprint for the door. Sasha picked at her teeth. Agatha thumbed furiously on her cell phone.
“It’s a show, about our marriage, and now it’s about Sasha, too, apparently,” Jada said.
