Page 78 of Wicked Queen

“Do you know who Sofia King is?” I asked her.

“The woman who just married Isaac Blue?” Lola rolled her eyes. “I don’t live under a rock. I wept that day along with every other woman alive. Belle went to their wedding. I don’t know how she controlled herself. I would have objected.”

I’d met Isaac and while he was certainly charming, he had nothing on my husband. I didn’t tell Lola that.

“I had Belle reach out to her but she’s taking a permanent vacation,” I explained.

“Wasn’t she some type of celebrity fixer?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded, wondering how much I needed to tell her. “She basically deals with crisis and reputation management.”

“That’s how she landed Isaac,” Lola said, pushing a slice of cake a bit too forcefully off the server. It landed with a splat. She frowned at the mess and set it to the side. “I could have turned him around!”

“Exactly!” She’d gotten there without me, but she didn’t see it that way.

“While I appreciate your belief that I could land the hottest movie star on the planet with my phenomenal publicity skills that ship sailed—I heard to Fiji.”

“They’re in Seychelles,” I corrected her.

“What is your life?” Lola asked, staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“The point is that you could do that, right?” I scooped a bit of frosting onto my finger and licked it off.

“Sure, but I don’t need a job. Bless has me plenty busy.”

“I need you,” I stopped her, “and I’ve already spoken with Belle. It would only be for a few weeks. Sofia even agreed to walk you through the situation over the phone.”

“What situation?” Lola’s eyes narrowed. “Who am I fixing?”

“Anderson Stone.”

Her mouth fell open like a hinge had broken. I waited but she seemed to have lost her capacity for speech.

“We’re going public,” I said.

“With what?” Lola finally found her voice.

“It’s true. He’s Albert’s son,” I whispered.

“I knew it!” Lola stamped her foot. “Seriously, Mom said that you would—”

“Lola,” I cut her off. “Part of this is discretion. We need someone to help him navigate the next few weeks. Months at the most.”

“Months?” she repeated, sounding unsure.

“It has to be someone we trust. There’s…there’s other things going on.”

She pursed her lips as if digesting what I was asking.

“You’ll be paid, of course.”

“I don’t need money,” she reminded me. “I just don’t know anything about racing.”

“I doubt you’ll be doing too much of that,” I said dryly. “Just meet him and see where it goes?”

“Okay, but only because you’re my sister.” She slid the cake knife expertly through a turret.

“He’s pretty cute, too.”