Maeve Reed's living room was larger than my entire apartment. Off-white carpet stretched like a vanilla sea down the steps to the sunken living room and a fireplace big enough to roast small elephants. The mantel alone took up most of one white stuccoed wall, with red and tan bricks punctuating the rough whiteness of the wall. A white sectional sofa big enough to seat twenty curved in front of the fireplace. Tan, gold, and white pillows were thrown around artfully. There was a grouping of white chairs with a small pale wood table between them. A chessboard with oversize pieces sat between the two chairs, and a curving Tiffany floor lamp provided a splash of color in the otherwise monochrome room.
A painting to one side of the fireplace echoed the lamp's colors, and a second conversational group of white chairs and cushions was set on the raised edge of the room opposite the entrance. A large white Christmas tree stood in the center of the chairs. The tree was covered in white lights with gold and silver ornaments that should have livened the room but didn't. The tree was just another decoration without life or feeling to it. A table was pushed to one side to make room for the Christmas tree, with what looked like lemonade and iced tea in tall pitchers. A few more paintings were scattered, throughout the room, most of them matching the color scheme of the lamp. The room screamed interior decorator and probably said nothing about Maeve Reed except that she had money and let other people decorate her home. When a person doesn't have a single mismatched thing in a room, down to the last light on the Christmas tree, then it's not real. It's just for show.
Marie was tall, slender, dressed in a sleek oyster-white pantsuit that did not flatter her olive complexion or her short brunette hair. In her high-heeled boots she was a touch over six feet, a tall, smiling, twenty-something. "Ms. Reed will be joining us presently. Would anyone like refreshments?" She motioned toward the table set with tea and lemonade.
Actually, it would have been nice, but it was a rule that you never took any food or drink from a fellow fey until you were sure they meant you no harm. It wasn't poison you had to worry about, but spells, a little potion mixed in with the lemons.
"Thank you... Marie, is it? We're fine," I said.
She smiled, nodded. "Then please sit down. Make yourselves comfortable while I tell Ms. Reed you're here." She moved at a graceful stride down the steps and across to the far opening that led into a white hallway that vanished somewhere deep within the house.
I glanced at Ethan and his two muscle men. He'd left one of his people outside with Max and Rhys. Marie hadn't offered them refreshments, since I guess you didn't have to entertain the hired help. Which begged the question, if we weren't going to be hired help, then what were we going to be? Did Maeve Reed really just want to visit with other high-court sidhe? Would she risk breaking a century of taboo to have small talk? I didn't think so, but I'd seen royals of the high courts do sillier things for less reason.
I went down the steps to the large sectional sofa. Kitto followed me like a shadow. I glanced back at the men. "Come on, boys, let's all sit down and pretend that we like each other." I moved about seven feet from the end of the couch and sat down, adjusting the tan and gold pillows, smoothing my skirt in place.
Kitto curled at my feet, though Goddess knew there were enough couches for everyone. I didn't make him get up, because even through the dark glasses I could see his nervousness. The big white living room seemed to have triggered his agoraphobia. He sat pressed up against my legs, one small arm encircling them like I was his teddy bear.
The men were still standing in the large open archway, eyeing one another.
"Gentlemen," I said, "let's all sit down."
"A good bodyguard doesn't relax on the job," Ethan said.
"You know we aren't a threat to Ms. Reed, Ethan. I don't know who you're supposed to be protecting her from, but it isn't us."
"They may clean up for the press, but I know what they are, Meredith," Ethan said.
"And what would that be?" Doyle's deep voice rumbled through the room, causing echoes in the archway.
Ethan actually jumped.
I had to turn my face away to hide the smile.
"You're Unseelie." Ethan stretched that last word out, made it hiss.
I looked back at them. Doyle stood facing him, his back to me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking; and I probably couldn't have told even if I'd seen his face. Doyle did better blank face than anyone I'd ever met. Frost was standing closer to the unknown muscle man, his face the arrogant mask he wore in court. Even the new muscle was keeping pretty blank, except for a certain nervous flicker around the eyes. But Ethan, Ethan had a fine angry tremble to his hands. He was staring at Doyle as if he hated him.
"You're just jealous, Ethan, jealous that most of the major stars prefer a sidhe warrior at their back instead of you."
"You've bewitched them," he said.
I raised an eyebrow at that. "Me personally?"
He made a small angry gesture toward the two warriors. I think it would have been a large angry gesture but he was worried about how Doyle would take it. "They have."
"Ethan, Ethan," another male voice called from across the room. "I've told you before that that is simply not true." I knew at a glance that it was one of the Hart brothers. He was walking down the steps toward me before I was certain it was Julian Hart. Jordon and Julian were identical twins, both with medium brown hair cut very short on the sides and left just a little long on top so that they could gel it into short spikes; very hip, very now. They were both six feet, both handsome enough to model, which they had done briefly in their early twenties to raise startup money for their detective agency. Julian's jacket was a deep burgundy satin over a pair of ordinary, but designer, burgundy-brown, pinstriped pants. He wore shiny black loafers with no socks, so that you got flashes of his tanned feet as he moved gracefully through the room. His eyes were hidden behind yellow tinted glasses that on anyone else would have clashed with the clothes; but on Julian they looked just right.
I started to rise to greet him, but he said, "No, no, my fair Merry, stay seated, I'll come to you." He walked around the couch, eyes flicking to the four men still standing in the archway. "Ethan, darling, I've told you time and again that the sidhe warriors are not doing a thing to attract our business away from us. They are merely more exotic, more beautiful than anything we have on staff." He took my hand and gave it a negligent kiss, before flopping gracefully down beside me, one arm flung across my shoulders so that we sat like a couple.
He spoke back over his shoulder, "You know what Hollywood is like, Ethan. Any star guarded by a warrior is guaranteed publicity. I think some people are making things up just so they can be escorted."
"That has been my experience," Frost said. The unnamed muscle standing closest to him flinched. What stories had Ethan been telling the others about the Unseelie?
"And who wouldn't wish to be accompanied by you, Frost?" Julian said.
Frost just looked at him, grey eyes very still.
Julian laughed and hugged me. "You are the luckiest girl I know, Merry. Are you sure you won't share?"