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Emma grinned. “They’re stealing Marc’s job. He’s our breaking-and-entering guy. He’ll be so pissed.”
“I doubt that. Not when he’s in Aruba with his new wife. Besides, he’s the one who taught Casey how to pick a lock. He’ll be proud.”
“Okay, so in a nutshell, I’m stalking the stalker.”
“You got it. The more frequently touched items will yield the best results.”
Once again, Emma’s brow furrowed. “Knowing you, this is probably a stupid question. You said I’ll be registered for the Consumer Behavior course. Have you already enrolled me? Or do I have to do something?”
“You’re all set. The admissions office knows that the reason you’re coming in late is because you just moved here from San Francisco, after graduating from Stanford.” With that, Ryan slapped a few pages in front of her. “Here’s your full bio. Know it like the inside of your hand.”
“That I can do.” Emma glanced at the fact sheets and then slid the pages into her tote bag. “I’ll print a few extra copies of this before I go home.”
“Good idea. And just so you know, I also put the bio on your laptop and your iPad if you need to access the details without reaching for paper. Just do everything very stealthily.”
“Stealth is what pickpockets do best.”
“Just one more sheet of hard copy, also installed on your laptop and iPad.” Ryan placed a page in front of Emma titled: Dr. Thomas Hanover. It had a full-color photo and comprehensive bio. “Here’s our target. So you have a basic rundown and visual.”
Emma picked up the page and studied it. “Not bad-looking for a middle-aged guy with a dated goatee and creepy eyes.” She skimmed the data. “Solid credentials. Too bad they don’t list psychopath in the background description.”
“They tend to be unaware of those personality traits,” Ryan returned dryly.
“Yeah, well, we’re not.” Emma added the new sheet of paper to the others in her tote bag, thinking about how much memorization and reading she had to do. She’d cram as best she could, be prepared to start in as little as a week. Ryan wasn’t the patient type and time was of the essence. Plus, she knew the extreme measures he was taking were, in part, a test of her abilities. Well, she intended to pass that test with flying colors.
“When do I officially begin my charade?” she asked.
“Wednesday.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “This Wednesday? Are you crazy? That gives me three days to get all my shit together.”
“Yup.” Ryan reached over to an end table, picked up some books, and plopped them down on Emma’s desk, adding to the pile of stuff she’d be taking with her. “Here are your ‘Cliffs notes.’”
For the first time, Emma was slapped in the face by the enormity of what she had to do, and a wave of something she rarely felt swept through her—self-doubt. “Ryan,” she s
aid quietly. “This is too much. I don’t think I can pull it off.”
“And I know you can.” Ryan didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled by her insecurity. “Tonight you’ll be a wreck. By three a.m., you’ll be giving tentative glances at the material. By breakfast, you’ll be reading. And in a couple of days, you’ll be your cocky self, armed and ready for battle.”
“Ya think?”
“I know.” Ryan produced another tote bag and shoved all Emma’s goodies inside. “Your ego is as over-the-top as mine. Now go home and do your thing, Kate.”
CHAPTER 6
Nine fifteen on Monday morning, Gia blew through the double glass doors of the private office building in White Plains. Her heels clicked on the parquet floor, and she shot a wave at Marsha Comstock, the flawlessly made-up middle-aged receptionist who sat behind the mahogany desk and screened people as they arrived.
Marsha waved back. “Busy weekend?” she asked.
“Three weddings and a hot bath,” Gia replied, heading toward the double set of elevators.
A smile curved Marsha’s glossy lips. “At least you got the bath.”
Grinning, Gia stepped into the elevator and pressed two. She should feel guilty. She should be taking the stairs. But after the vigorous workout she’d just completed at the gym, her entire body was screaming for comfort. So the elevator it was.
She emerged on the second floor, the entirety of which belonged to Shimmering Weddings. The moment a pampered bridal client stepped out of the elevator, she was enveloped in a plush waiting room that Ashlyn herself had designed—one that looked more like the living room of a Victorian mansion than a reception area. Polished oak floors. A warm rose and gold décor. Four club chairs, upholstered in rose brocade, situated in pairs around a gilded coffee table, with end tables flanking them. All curved around a fireplace that remained lit from the onset of the day until the last person left the office.
Directly over the fireplace hung an intricately designed gilded mirror—one that was worthy of Snow White herself—that reflected back the beauty of the room and made it seem twice the size. The walls were the palest of pink, the front desk was the color of rose quartz with rivulets of gold ribboned through it, and vases of fresh flowers were arranged on all the tabletops. Along with the flowers, there were bridal magazines and photo albums of recent Shimmering Weddings events—all there to be viewed while the bride awaited her personal wedding planner.
