Resonance of Stars (Greenstone Security #5) - Anne Malcom Page 0,96
our arrival.
She called another woman named Amy, and ordered her to collect a boss-ass outfit for a woman with all my measurements.
Another call was to a woman called Evie to tell her to prepare for a “small war,” and with an order not to tell any of those “alpha assholes in leather.”
She’d looked to me after she said that. “We’re going to surprise them all with this shit.”
Amber was impressive.
I’d heard of it since it was where Lexie Descare lived most of her life these days. Somehow, there wasn’t that much information on it, which was unheard of in today’s media. I’d figured it had something to do with Greenstone Security and the motorcycle gang her husband was involved with.
The town itself was quaint, beautiful, and welcoming.
Again, something unheard of today. It was on the coast in California.
It should’ve been bastardized by corporations and tourists by now, yet it hadn’t been.
The main street was busy, but not crowded, not a Starbucks to be seen. Every store seemed to be mom-and-pop. The street itself was lined with flower boxes. Each business looked to be lovingly taken care of. It was a snapshot into a fantasy that was only supposed to exist in the movies—I should know.
Rosie double-parked outside a classy-looking boutique called Phoenix. The name was written in a classy script, the store itself was impeccable, and the girl in me was definitely excited at seeing something like this. I was on the run from the man I was in love with and planned to confront the asshole that murdered my best friend, yet I still found a small, superficial part of me that wanted to shop.
Rosie somehow looked fresh and ready for anything after the drive where we only stopped to use the restroom and took turns sleeping. She hopped out of the car without a word for me, and I had no choice but to follow.
“Rosie, what are we doing here?” I asked as she made it clear she was going into the clothing store.
She raised her perfectly shaped brow at me. “You really think we’re going into a takedown of this magnitude without some fresh outfits? Come on, don’t disappoint me now.”
Then she opened the door, holding it for me like an invitation.
The woman had a point.
“Attagirl,” she muttered when I walked in.
The store was larger than it looked outside, and way more impressive, which was saying something. I felt transported back to LA, but somehow without the snootiness. There was exposed brick all down one side of the store, carefully arranged jewelry displays, expensive candles burning, placed so they weren’t overpowering, but welcoming.
“Rosie!” a woman screamed, running through the store on six-inch heels.
The two women hugged like old friends, sisters.
It was only when they let each other go that I got a good look at the woman. She was an absolute knockout. Again, I’d become accustomed to beautiful people living in LA, but there was something different about this woman, similar to the aura that Rosie carried around, maybe without the air of danger—with something softer.
Her long chocolate-brown hair fell down her back in soft curls, emerald-green eyes glowed with happiness. I thought she might’ve been around my age, but I couldn’t really tell. Her skin was flawless, and eyes free of the typical jadedness that came around your thirtieth birthday.
She was dressed exactly like the store: expensive, classic, approachable, with a long white maxi-dress, belted at her tiny waist. Strings of gold and diamonds were slung around her neck, bracelets the same. There were only two rings on her hands, though, a massive diamond and wedding band on her ring finger.
Her green eyes widened as she took me in. “You’re Anastasia Edwards! Oh my gosh, I fucking love you. My daughter does too.”
She had an accent that I thought was either New Zealand or Australian, peppered with a slight American twang that told me she’d lived here for a while.
I smiled warmly at her, because that was what the woman invited. There was no way I’d be able to hold on to my cold mask if everyone in this place was like her. “I hope I get to meet her then,” I said that with honesty, the first time I was actually curious and looking forward to meeting a child. I didn’t really like them, as a rule, maybe because I never got to be one. Maybe because I knew I’d never have one.
“I’m Gwen,” she said, moving forward and hugging me. “I’m Rosie’s sister-in-law.”