in her brain. “I mean, you did bet a hundred bucks. Might as well see if your prediction is true,” she added.
Cleo’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re getting imaginative! Good thing I never leave home without this.” She flashed a Black American Express card at Devon.
“Mademoiselle Lambert?” The driver extended a thick hand toward Cleo’s suitcase. To Devon he looked like a giant sausage stuffed into the casing of his black suit.
“Bonjour, Nikolai. Slight change of plans. We’re going to be headed to Santa Cruz instead. The Four Seasons.”
AS SOON AS THEY saw the silver BMW in the parking lot at the Four Seasons, Devon knew they had made the right choice. Cleo had Nikolai unloading her luggage into their suite within minutes of their arrival.
“Don’t worry, you can borrow a change of clothes,” Cleo said with a sidelong glance at Devon’s saggy jeans and faded sneakers.
“What should we do? Call their room? Wait until they leave?” Devon kicked her shoes off. Across the room Cleo was draping her clothes over the king-size bed. A red-striped couch with matching pillows made up a mini living room set up, complete with a glass coffee table. Devon was pretty sure that the couch cost more than all of the furniture combined in her mom’s house. The metal studs along the corners and the stiff fabric reeked of money. Cleo tossed a notebook from the bedside table to Devon. A basic three-ring binder with pages and pages of menu, room service and spa options.
“Let’s order some food. Pick a few things.”
“Room service? Now?”
“What? Isn’t that what you do on stakeouts? Here, try this on.” Cleo threw a dress across the room to Devon.
By the time the room service arrived, Devon found herself looking like Cleo’s twin. “Beachy slutty,” is how Cleo described the flowing dresses with tight straps that emphasized their cleavage.
“Next to the couch will be fine, thanks.” Cleo led the waiter and his packed rolling table of food across the room.
Devon didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or enthralled. She’d had only wanted to order the cheeseburger, but Cleo had insisted they get at least four entrees and four appetizers to best experience the hotel’s menu. “You have to know how good they are as a whole to properly review something. One dish doesn’t really tell you enough about the place. That’s how they do it in Paris.” She winked. “Or so I hear, apparently.”
The waiter stole glances at Devon as he waited for Cleo to sign the bill. Devon smiled back prim and polite, at odds with beachy slutty. Oh, well. She wasn’t sure why Cleo had gone for this look, anyway.
The waiter peeked at the receipt and thanked her.
“I have another order for you,” Cleo said before he reached the door.
“Did we forget something?” His smile widened, eager to please.
“No, everything is great.” Cleo noticed the waiter’s name tag. “It’s all fine, Dave. But, I’d like to send a bottle of wine to a friend of mine staying here. Eric Hutchins. Your most expensive bottle of Merlot, preferably. And I’d like you to deliver it. You can see I’m a good tipper, so you can make that happen for me, can’t you, Dave?” Cleo pressed her shoulders back and pushed out her chest and ran a hand down the side of her flowing dress, just enough to highlight her curves.
“Yeah, we can do that. Bill it to your room?”
“Of course,” Cleo said. “Merlot to Eric Hutchins. Oh, and if you would keep it a secret who sent it, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks so much, Dave.”
“My pleasure.” The door swung shut behind him.
“Holy cow. That was awesome,” Devon said, breathing normally again.
“Guys can be so easy sometimes. Just say their name, show a little skin, you’ll pretty much always get what you want. It’s a power French women have been working for centuries.” Cleo started to take the metal lids off the food plates. “Oh, is that lamb? And gnocchi? Delicieux.” She picked a jumbo shrimp out of a crystal glass brimming with cocktail sauce and ate it. “These are awesome. Try one.”
“Why are you sending wine to Eric’s room? Am I missing something?” Devon found her cheeseburger plate and sat cross-legged on her bed across from it.
“In about five minutes, I’ll show you. Eat up.”
TRUE TO HER WORD, five minutes (and a Kobe beef and aged English cheddar cheeseburger) later, Cleo opened their door. Across the courtyard, their waiter Dave was knocking on a hotel room door holding