The Hunt Masquerade - Milly Taiden Page 0,45
other members of the family are—” Jeremy blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Well, let’s just say they want nothing to do with the Jensen line. I’m sorry.”
Rush nodded. “I figured it was a long shot.”
“If I may ask, is this idea spurred on by panic? Something your brother did by chance?”
It was Rush’s turn to sigh heavily and shake his head. “I guess there is no harm in telling you the truth now that you won’t be helping us save the company. Marlon took a loan out with Spike.”
“Shit,” Jeremy hissed through his teeth. “I honestly wish you would have told me that earlier. Spike Hastings is a bad man. Anyone who owes him money is always worse off in the end. Why did Marlon do it?”
“Honestly? I wish I knew what happened in that man’s head. He is so unlike me. So—flighty and run by his whims.”
“Kind of like George Henry,” Jeremy pointed out.
“George found his mate late in life,” Rush amended. “He couldn’t have known when he got married that he would find his mate one day.”
“Family obligations are heavy, aren’t they? He married Jacinda in a monetary alliance. When he met his mate, Drina, I guess it was his undoing.”
“More like the undoing of his family.”
Jeremy winced. “That is true. Look, I feel awful. I do. Let me move some stuff around. I will front you the cash for Spike. If you pay him back, at least that is one less monkey on your back.”
“No, I can’t ask you to do that. Though, I do appreciate it.”
“You’re Chacha’s mate. I had to offer, but I did suspect you had another George Henry trait.”
“Stubbornness?”
“Pride,” Jeremy corrected.
Rush couldn't even argue with that. Jeremy was right. He was a proud man.
He left dejected and alone, but there was less bitterness in his heart toward Jeremy Winslow. He had Chantal to thank for that. No friend of hers could truly be horrible. He would find the jewels and bring them back to the Winslows.
Maybe then, the past could heal.
It didn’t have to be about the hotel business. It could just be about righting old wrongs.
Chapter Seventeen
Chantal
Chantal almost didn’t hear her phone ringing over the whirring of the sewing machine. She was utterly engrossed in the process of making the awful burnt orange colored dress for Mrs. Feldman. Chantal had already completed a nice burgundy one. It was the same pattern but a different shade that would perfectly complement the aging woman’s complexion.
She knew it wasn’t right, and that Mrs. Feldman should have been allowed to let her freak flag fly with all of the orange material in the world. But Chantal couldn’t let her sweet neighbor go on thinking orange was a good color for her dyed hair and complexion.
Chantal pressed down on the Talk button to answer the call.
“This is Chantal,” she said, holding the material in place between her cramping fingers.
“Chantal! Chacha, you wonderful lady. You have to make my wedding dress. You just have to. Rocco and I are making our wedding plans right now, but the dress really is the focal point. Are you very busy? Do you think you could come over to my place and chat about designs? Obviously, you have to stay for dinner. We have a few caterers here already, setting up for tastings.”
Chantal kept trying to open her mouth to answer the questions Gwen was throwing at her, but it was downright impossible.
“What do you say? Please say yes! Seriously, I want to plan the perfect wedding in the least amount of time possible. I need the dress to be figured out, like yesterday. Get your creative butt here!”
“Sure, yes. When would you like me to come by?”
Rush had said he would touch base with her to make plans. The call hadn’t come. It was nearing dinner time, and he still hadn’t responded to her text, checking in to see if he still wanted to come over. She could wait at home for him to call, or she could go to Gwen’s and get another solid design gig. A wedding dress for Gwen’s wedding? That could catapult her into celebrity weddings.
“Be here in about thirty minutes? Maybe a bit less? Seriously, Chacha, you have no idea what a savage Rocco is. He wants me to wear a tea-length dress. Tea-length! I need help.”
Chantal chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way to save you from your future husband’s dress length tastes.”
“Thank y—” Gwen had hung up before even finishing her sentence.