pretense of the whole thing. An attractive brunette dressed in a white pantsuit held a silver tray with two glasses of champagne and a plastic smile.
“Welcome to Blanche,” she said, all but bowing as she extended the tray toward them. “I’m Marietta, assistant to Ms. Boulud, who graciously awaits your presence upstairs.”
Brooke didn’t hesitate in grabbing for one of the glasses. She’d need a drink to get through this.
Maya must have had the same thought, because she too gratefully snatched up one of the elegant flutes and didn’t hesitate to take a rather large sip. The two women’s eyes met and they smiled.
Unsurprisingly, the entire foyer was white marble. As were the stairs. Brooke and Maya exchanged yet another skeptical glance as they followed Marietta’s curvy backside up the winding staircase.
The upstairs was slightly less sterile-looking in that the hardwood floors had been left in their natural, dark wood state rather than being whitewashed like everything else.
The woman that waited at the top of the stairs, however, was anything but natural. Her blond hair was platinum to the point of being nearly white. A perfect match for her blindingly white smile and her equally white wrap dress.
Shoes? White. Manicure? White. Jewelry? White.
The only part of her not white was her skin, which was a very unnatural orange shade.
Brooke took a quick sip of her champagne to keep from giggling outright and saw Maya do the same.
The white-and-orange woman approached. “Ms. Baldwin. Ms. Tyler. A pleasure. I’m Stacy Boulud, one of the lead sales specialists here at Blanche.”
They did the requisite handshakes before Stacy glared at Marietta and shooed her away with a one-fingered wave.
“This way, please. To the salon,” Stacy said, turning on her heel.
“I feel like I need to confess that I’m terrified right now,” Maya whispered.
“Me too,” Brooke whispered back.
The salon was in fact a large circular living room that kept with the white theme right down to the coasters.
“So, Ms. Tyler,” Stacy said the moment Brooke’s and Maya’s butts hit the white couch. “Have you given any thought to which designer you’ll be using?”
“Hmm.” Maya furrowed her brow. “No, not quite.”
“Because we have access to all of them,” Stacy interrupted. She held up her hands to gesture around at the Spartan room. “Do you see any dresses here?”
“Well, no.”
“No, you do not,” Stacy said proudly. “Because we would never display anything off the rack. We offer only custom confections.”
Confections?
Brooke had seen her share of uppity dress shops, but this was a whole new level. Still, if there was ever a bride that was at the top layer of society, it was certainly Maya Tyler, so Brooke kept her smile firmly in place lest this be exactly the kind of ass-kissing Maya was accustomed to.
“At this point I’m not ready to commit to a dress shop, much less a designer,” Maya said sweetly.
Brooke felt a little stab of appreciation. Nicely done, letting Stacy Boulud know that she was a long way off from having secured their business.
The other woman gave a stiff smile. “Who else are you looking at? Because I can assure you we’re the best in the business.”
“Brooke is taking care of managing all my options,” Maya said smoothly. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your process?”
“Of course. Well, for starters, we have several brainstorming sessions on style and materials and vision before we even think about coming at you with a tape measure. We know that a wedding dress isn’t just a dress. It’s part of the decor.”
Oh dear Lord.
“Um. Wow,” Maya said. “That’s an interesting take on it.”
Stacy’s phone rang, and she winced as she glanced down. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Tyler. This number has been calling constantly, and I really need to address it promptly, if you don’t mind?”
“Sure, of course,” Maya said a little too readily.
The second Stacy stepped away, Maya turned toward Brooke and mouthed, Yikes.
Brooke bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and gestured with her chin toward the champagne chilling in the bucket in front of them. “More?”
“God, yes,” Maya muttered.
Brooke topped off both of their glasses, their gazes catching as snippets of Stacy’s conversation drifted toward them. The other woman was making no effort to keep her voice down, and she was clearly not pleased with whomever was on the other end of the call.
“I’m sorry, who referred you to us?” Stacy said in an impatient tone and then paused. “Mmm. I see. Well, we only accept appointments from people who’ve been