me four years. She has a bright future at Trend and knows it. I’m promoting her in a few months—after things settle down and I can start interviewing for a new girl.”
“Any rivalries in your office that have turned ugly lately?”
“My people are trustworthy, Clare.”
She dismissively waved her French-tipped fingers. But I found the answer far too pat. I could also see that she was getting uncomfortable.
“Let me ask you something else then. I noticed a man in front of the boutique. He’s a big guy, probably in his fifties, has an ex-boxer’s sort of build. Short brown crew cut, crooked nose, wears off-the-rack suits. Do you know anyone with that description?”
“Clare, really.” Breanne folded her arms. “Does that sound like someone I would know?”
“Well, do yourself a favor, okay? Keep an eye out for a man like that. If you see him loitering around your apartment building, for instance, or shadowing your movements, please let Matt or me know, all right?”
Breanne shifted her gaze, appearing impatient, but at least she didn’t argue. “Yes. Fine. Anything else?”
“What’s your schedule today?”
She checked her slim, jeweled timepiece. “Roman and I already ate a bite of lunch. We’ll be going back to the office after I’m done here. I’ve got meetings all afternoon. Matt’s picking me up for cocktails and dinner around seven, right after my six o’clock meeting with Nunzio. He’s my last appointment at the office today.”
“Nunzio? The Italian sculptor?”
“Yes, he’s flying in from Rome, staying at the Mandarin.” She checked her watch again. “He should have arrived last night, although I haven’t heard from him yet.”
“He’s designing your rings, isn’t he? Matt mentioned it.”
Nunzio was also lending Breanne Lover’s Spring, a gold-plated metal sculpture that actually functioned as a tiered tabletop champagne fountain. The one-of-a-kind piece had been famously lent to two royal couples for their weddings. After that, aristocrats all over Europe clamored to borrow it. As far as I knew, it had never been displayed in the United States.
I still didn’t know how Breanne managed to convince Nunzio to lend it to her, but it was going to be a spectacular centerpiece for my coffee and dessert station. Chills ran though me when I thought of the presentation Janelle and I had planned around that amazing piece of art.
It was also an extremely valuable opportunity for publicity, not only for the Village Blend but for my friend Janelle Babcock, a gifted pastry chef who was just launching her new catering business. The entire tablescape was going to be photographed and appear in a splashy Trend spread—apparently as part of a bigger profile on Nunzio—and both Janelle and I were going be credited in the caption along with our businesses.
“Yes, Nunzio is a genius,” Bree said. “I couldn’t be more pleased with his wedding ring design. I’ve only seen sketches and a digital photo, but he’ll be bringing the actual rings to our meeting at six today. We’re featuring them in the magazine.”
I tapped my chin, thinking Bree’s day over. “If Matt’s going to be picking you up at your office, then I’ll stay with you till he comes. That’ll make him happy,” I added quickly before Breanne could protest. “We’re humoring your groom, remember?”
Breanne sighed, her expression close to an aggrieved grimace. “So you’re coming back to the office with me?”
“Yes.”
Another sigh. Then she looked me up and down again. “You can’t wear that to my office, Clare. We have advertisers and VIPs coming through all the time. We have an image, you understand?”
“But I’m not part of your staff, so why would—”
Breanne wasn’t listening. In three long strides, she moved around me, opened the fitting room door. “Adele! Would you come in here?”
The boutique manager was a small-boned, stylish woman, a head shorter than Bree and probably ten years older. Her short, cinnamon-brown hair was cut into a meticulously layered style, and her pinstriped suit, the color of raw salmon, was accessorized with a shimmering opalescent scarf that perfectly matched her sheer blouse and designer eyewear.
“Please find this woman something to wear,” Bree said, then lowered her voice. “Keep it under seven.”
“Thousand?” Adele asked quietly.
“Hundred,” Breanne whispered.
“I can’t afford that!” I interjected (neglecting to keep my voice down).
Breanne shrugged. “If you can give up a day for Matt. I can give up some petty cash.”
I tried not to choke on that one. Seven hundred had been my monthly mortgage payment back in New Jersey. But if Her Highness was paying, I figured what the heck. At least