Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,43
mine up, leaning toward her. “To Mrs. Bane. May she withstand Mr. Bane.”
She laughed, a sweet, soft sound, bringing her glass to mine. They clinked. We drank.
I nodded to her phone as I sat back in the armchair. “Message your friends?”
She nodded, worrying her bottom lip. “I told them I’d explain everything tomorrow when we go by to get my things.”
“The story breaks in the morning. I wanted to give you tonight at least to get accustomed to everything.”
This time when she laughed, it was sardonic. “I don’t know how much it’ll help, but I appreciate that.” She watched me for a second. “What do you think will happen?”
“Well, for starters, I think your blog is going to crash. Your Twitter will be barraged with tags and mentions and DMs, probably more than you could get through in a lifetime. Instagram will blow up. Your picture—our picture—will be on gossip magazine covers and website home pages. Tomorrow morning, everyone’s eyes will be on you.”
“Right.” She swallowed once, drew herself up a little straighter, and brought her drink to her lips. I expected her to take a small sip.
She downed the entire thing.
I extended my hand for the empty vessel with a smirk, and she placed it in my hand, coughing once, daintily. I stood to refill her.
“Promise me you’ll at least stay offline tomorrow,” I said, pouring a finger of scotch into the glass with the creased red-crescent lip print.
“All right. I promise.”
When I turned again, she was standing, walking toward the windows. She was illuminated, the lights from below throwing a halo around her golden hair, brushing the edges of her dress. She was so lovely, the lines of her body, the notch of her waist, the delicate bones of her arms and curves of her legs.
So unbelievably lovely.
An angel in white, come to save me.
I stopped when I reached her side and offered her the drink I’d poured. She took it gratefully, bringing it to her pretty lips for a sip this time. And I shamelessly cataloged the beauty of her porcelain face, a doll, too perfect to be real.
Her eyes were on the fountain below, which for the moment was still and dark. “I’ve never been to Vegas before.”
“Never?”
“Never. I don’t gamble, and I don’t really party. So many people in one place freaks me out. But I have to admit, it’s so beautiful at night like this.”
I checked my watch. “Wait a couple of minutes until the fountain goes off.”
She looked down at the strip, avoiding my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”
A jolt of guilt shot through me, settling in my chest. “What scares you most?” I asked quietly.
“Is everything a sufficient answer?”
“Sure is.”
She sighed. “I don’t know how to pretend. Everyone will know I’m a fake, a phony. I’ll ruin the whole thing and end up hurting you worse when they realize it’s all for show.” She looked up at me, her eyes tight with worry and shining with tears.
“Just follow my lead,” I said with a gentle smile, turning to face her. “We should come up with a signal.”
“A signal?”
“Mmhmm, or a safe word. You say the word, and I’ll get us out of there. Like, unforgivable sin.”
She laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Not exactly something to work into casual conversation.”
I smiled. “I suppose that’s fair.” I searched her face for a moment, my gaze coming to rest on her lips. “How about, I need to touch up my lipstick?”
The color rose in her cheeks again like a barometer for her feelings. “Oh, I don’t wear this very often.”
“Think you’ll wear it when we’re on camera?”
“Hair and makeup, right? Will I have a choice?”
I frowned. “Of course you’ll have a choice.”
Amelia sighed, the sound resigned. “I’ll wear it, and that’s a perfect signal.”
“And how about a nonverbal signal? Three squeezes means, Get me out of here.”
Another laugh, a soft, pretty sound. “Three squeezes of what?”
I found myself smiling again. “Anything you can reach.”
She shook her head, but her smile hadn’t faded. “How do you pretend like this all the time?”
One shoulder rolled in a shrug. “It’s not so hard. The first time is the hardest. But we’ll find a rhythm, a groove.” I watched her for a breath, calculating the best way to say it. “There’s a good way to break the ice, but I’m not sure you’d be interested.”
“I dunno. I’d be willing to try just about anything if it’d make me feel more