AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Crista.”
The interruption was as fake as it was sweet. Glass disguised as candy. Its source, a woman who’d emerged from the arched doorway behind Crista, exuded the same impression. She was a few inches shorter than me, with an hourglass figure enhanced in all the right ways by a dark pink sweater and black pencil skirt. But for all the softness of her outfit, her eyes were lined in sharp kohl and her cheeks contoured in severe blush, making it difficult to appreciate her God-given beauty.
“Crista.” It was a full demand this time.
Crista and the page locked gazes. I sensed some serious subterfuge eye rolls on both their parts. “Yes, Miss Stratiss?”
“Ambyr.” The woman stepped forward, brushing a strand of her dark, sex goddess hair away. “Remember, darling? It is simply Ambyr, since we shall be working so closely together on the wedding.”
The wedding?
I breathed deeply, calling logic to my aid. Nobody had a lock on this thing yet, even this slice of peppermint candy. Nothing confirmed that better than the smile Crista clearly plastered to her lips while turning to the woman. “What can I do for you, Miss Stratiss?”
If the snip threw her off, Miss Ambyr Stratiss didn’t show it. Instead she pivoted to face me, swooping an assessing stare down to the tips of my basic black flats. My head responded at once—stand down, baby girl; fleas like her just want under your skin—but dammit, my head was never a match for my instinct.
Fleas are only eliminated if they bleed.
“I shall need these assembled into a proper binder.” Ambyr quirked her pale-lipsticked mouth at me while swooshing the stack of papers into Crista’s chest. In my peripheral, I recognized wedding color boards and image sheets similar to a fourth-grade science fair project. “There are six categories, color-coded. The binder tabs should correspond. After it is all comprised, make a matching binder for His Highness Shiraz.”
Crista took the papers with a resigned sigh, as if knowing an argument would get her nowhere. Once she did, Ambyr adjusted the stylish cream tote on her shoulder, cocked her head the same direction, and traveled her gaze over my face and hair.
Finally, with another little hitch of her mouth, she issued, “Karsivoir en Arcadia, Miss…”
“Fava.” I extended a hand. She offered hers in return, princess style, manicured fingernails dropped forward. Before I hooked around and forced her to go palm-to-palm, I locked her in with my gaze. “Lucina Fava, from Expectation Inc.”
“Ahhh.” She jerked her hand away as soon as I let up on the pressure. “Yes, of course. One of the two American firms bidding on the wedding.” Her manicured eyebrows rose then lowered. “You are from the team out of California?”
“Yes.” I forced pleasantness into it. While physically nothing like Dolores Umbridge, she gave me the same hivey feeling as that fictional bitch on wheels. “Near Los Angeles.”
“Ahhh, yes. The Crystal Award winners. The wedding designers to the stars.”
“Yes on the first, no on the second.” Light laugh. “Not yet, at least. But it has a nice ring to it.”
“Hmm. I suppose it does.” Yep. Umbridge. Which technically wasn’t fair—I’d just met the woman—though there was something unnerving about a person with a peach silk voice and emerald-hard eyes. “Though you are still a smaller organization than Love’s True Kiss, yes?”
Screw unnerving. Infuriating was the new word—especially as she curled one side of her mouth as if to add, I know even more tidbits about you, but I’m storing the ammunition.
She’d landed the first round, that was for damn sure—though Ez and I had hopes LTK had gotten a little lax since landing the Court-Santelle gig, and had slacked on their proposal.
Hopes. And more than a few prayers.
Prayers I repeated while studying Ambyr’s face a little harder. Who was this priss who had me reinforcing my mental fences with electric wire?
“That’s true,” I finally conceded, finishing with a self-deprecating smile. “But Love’s True Kiss has also been around longer than us—which is perfectly fine, if clients want something less innovative for their big day.”
It wasn’t an argument I pulled out often—innovative was often the exact opposite of what people wanted in their wedding day—but the glint in Ambyr’s eyes proved I’d aimed my own guns right. “Well played, Miss Fava,” she murmured, turning Umbridge into Cleoptra inside two seconds. “Too bad you will not have more time in Arcadia.” She swished a toe back and forth on the tile, making me notice her expensive shoes. Pointy toes. Completely flat. “I think I would have liked you.”
She turned, but I stopped her by clearing my throat. “Sorry,” I drawled as she swiveled her gaze back over. “What planning company did you say you’re with?”
Her lips twitched. She raked the hard green gaze over me again. “Because I did not say.”
In the three seconds it took me to rein in my what-the-hell, the woman pivoted, tossed a winsome look at Crista, then made her way toward the bridge, finishing with a breezy, “Tell my sweet prince I shall see him this evening.”
My sweet prince?
“Because you did not tell him a thousand times yourself?” Crista muttered as Ambyr strolled out of sight. Another soft snicker from the page. I remained guarded, though that was tough when Crista tacked on, “Salpu merde.”
I cocked my head. “Do I want to know what that means?”
