back into your bedroom right now,” Margie commanded with a slightly terrifying tone.
“You’re impossible,” Chantal grumbled as she went back to her room. She changed out her jeans for a fancy pair of black slacks with a wide belt. She slipped on a scalloped neck blouse. The green of the silk made her eyes look like tiny jewels.
Taking one look at her, Margie huffed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, but better shoes and put your hair up.”
Chantal slipped on a pair of vintage black heels and tucked her hair into a French twist. The transformation took only about five minutes, but Chantal thought it was just good.
“Sit,” Margie ordered, pointing down to the sofa.
“What? No. I have to be outside when the car gets here.”
“The driver can buzz up to the apartment. Sit. You’re decent enough to go to the Winslow Hotel, but something is missing.”
The look Margie sent her way would have curdled a man’s testicles, but Chantal was just exasperated. With a series of mumbled protests, she sat on the sofa and let Margie sweep a line of liquid eyeliner on her eyelids. The third coat of mascara was downright ridiculous. The blush was not a good idea, seeing as Chantal’s face was prone to turning into a tomato. The vibrant shade of lipstick was pushing it.
“This is way too much. I’m going over to deal with a fashion crisis. Not join the party.”
Margie rolled her eyes, sighing deeply. “My innocent friend, we are going to the party of the year. Do you think we will just walk out after you’re done?”
“Sure, we will. We don’t have an invitation.” Chantal shook her head. “Wait. We? There is no we.”
Of course, the loud buzz echoed through the apartment. Margie glided over to the intercom. “One moment. We will be right down.”
Margie grabbed the garment bags and stared Chantal down, daring her to say something.
It was no use arguing with Margie. Not when Gwen Marsdale’s threat was looming in the back of Chantal’s mind. She would find a way to convince Margie not to crash the party later. For now, she had to focus on her budding fashion designer career. As soon as that was dealt with, Chantal would be back on her couch and her Moo Shu pork.
Chapter Four
Rush
Rush opened his car door, his eyes glued to the enormous mansion that had been transformed into a hotel. He ground his teeth down even as all of his muscles tightened. Beside him, Marlon whistled low.
“This place is on a whole other level of luxury than what I’ve grown accustomed too. I need to up my game.”
Rush pointed an accusatory finger toward his brother. “No. You really do not. You got us into this mess in the first place because of your taste for luxury.”
Marlon shrugged off the accusation. “You’re just mad you have to grovel at Jeremy Winslow’s feet.”
“You’re right. You should do it.”
“Oh, nope, big bro. As we have already established, I’m a bad businessman. It’s all on you. We need to save Jensen Hotels, so I got us into the party of the year.”
“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t book a meeting with Jeremy. Why do we have to come to a New Year’s Eve masquerade ball to do business? This should be the kind of conversation that takes place in an office. Not like this.” He gestured down to his tailored tuxedo. The garments had seriously eaten at their bottom line.
“I told you. Jeremy is a busy man,” Marlon said as he slipped an elaborate mask over his face. The red silk was a sharp contrast to the tux, but Rush was happy his own mask was simple and black. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself than absolutely necessary. “He has barely been in the country since the whole thing with Spike happened.”
“The whole thing with Spike,” Rush repeated. Marlon was seriously behaving like he had not been the one to go to the loan shark for cash.
Over the last month, Rush had sold three hotels to keep the rest of the business afloat. He had also manage to squirrel away some of the money in hopes of repaying Spike before things got out of hand. But more importantly because Rush knew there was no way in hell Jeremy Winslow would partner with Jensen Hotels. There was just too much history and not enough love between the Jensen and Winslow lines. Even if they both had been created by George Henry.
Rush really