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“And sexy,” Marc added.
She nodded.
“We’ll see what Brooke thinks.”
Taking that as a dismissal, Jenny started to rise. “If you want to tell me her thoughts, I’ll be happy to pass them on to Sal.”
“I want you to stay.”
Surprised, she sank back into her chair. “Are you sure? Did you want me to get some nail polish?”
“No. I just want you to keep me from killing my cousin.”
Jenny blinked. “Excuse me?”
Marc adjusted his tie. “We know Brooke is a demanding, spoiled little rich girl who thinks of no one but herself. I can stand about fifteen minutes in her presence without telling her what I really think.” His jaw twitched with impatience. “We’ve just succeeded in making a deal that will bring Bellagio unprecedented publicity for Brooke’s wedding shoes. Since Sal isn’t here, I need you to be here. You successfully managed her last time, so I want you to do it again.”
Five questions popped into her brain, but the irritation on Marc’s features discouraged any indulgence of her curiosity. It looked like she would be flying by the seat of her pants. Nothing new there. She’d spent half her life walking the high-wire with no net. Today would be no different.
She stood again.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m just looking for the champagne,” she said, heading toward the refrigerator. “I wonder if this place has any chocolate.”
“It’s almost lunchtime.”
“In your world,” she murmured, opening the door to the refrigerator and nodding in approval. “Cristal, good. Veuve Cliquot isn’t enough of a treat and Dom is like an old Cadillac, grandma car, grandma champagne.” She peeked inside a cabinet.
“Grandma champagne,” he echoed. “What makes you say that?”
“Previous job,” she said with a shrug. “When I was a cocktail waitress, I learned a lot about what people want in a drink. It’s not usually about how the drink tastes. It’s more about what the drink projects.”
“Is that so,” he said, more than asked, leaning back into his seat and making a triangle with his forefingers and thumbs. A power position, she noted. Donald Trump did it all the time on The Apprentice.
His intense gaze made the back of her neck itch. “A businessman doing a deal doesn’t order a daiquiri or an umbrella drink. It’s usually Scotch or bourbon with a year and brand attached. When an older man wants to impress a woman with champagne, he chooses Dom. When a younger man wants to impress a woman, he chooses Cristal.”
“The psychology of liquor,” Marc said.
“Something like that,” she said, and opened another cabinet. She spotted a box of truffles and felt a rush of relief. “Oh, good. We’re set now. Chocolate and champagne.” She glanced at Marc. He was the unknown entity and she suspected champagne and chocolate weren’t going to do it for him at all. “Are you hungry? Would you like me to order something for you? A roast beef sandwich?” She glanced at the clock. “Is it too early for Scotch for you?”
“A soda will be fine with me,” he said, as if he knew she was trying to apply her bar psychology to him the same way she had with Brooke.
“Are you sure? You seem a little—” She broke off when he raised a dark eyebrow. The expression revealed he wasn’t accustomed to having his choices questioned. “You seem tense. Is there something else I can get that would make this appointment easier?”
“A different cousin,” he said with a cryptic smile.
TWO MINUTES LATER Marc watched his cousin saunter into the room wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, a skimpy top, a Gucci bag and what he suspected was a hell of a hangover behind her dark Oakley sunglasses. Her hair was red today, cropped close to her head. She looked scary. “Sorry I’m late, cousin dear,” she said to Marc, and gave him an air kiss beside each cheek. “I had a late night and it was so hard to get up this morning.”
“I can tell,” he muttered.
She pouted. “Where’s Sal? He’s so much nicer than you.”
“He wasn’t feeling well. He had to go to the doctor,” Marc said, but he knew the truth. Sal was going to be out of commission for a while and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
“Well, tell him I’m sorry.” Brooke glanced at Jenny and paused. “You look familiar. Have I met you before?”
“Just once,” Jenny said. “Would you like some champagne? Maybe some chocolate.”
Brooke brightened. “Oh, that would be divine. So do we have any designs from Sal? Or did I come for nothing?”
“Right here,” Marc said. Spreading the drawings on the table, he noticed that Jenny opened the champagne with an expert hand. No lost champagne, just a gentle pop beneath the towel she’d used to edge off the cork. Although she’d lied for Sal, she hadn’t been lying about her experience as a cocktail waitress. She filled the flute three-quarters full and put the truffles on the table beside the sofa. She had a soothing kind of voice, he noticed. Almost nurturing. And her appearance was incredibly nonthreatening, he thought, taking in her black jacket and slacks. He wondered what her hair looked like down. And, for Pete’s sake, where’d she get those hideous glasses?
“Thanks,” Brooke murmured absently and slurped her champagne. She grabbed a chocolate and bit into it. “These are great.”
“The shoes,” Marc reminded his cousin, feeling his impatience ratchet up another notch.
She sighed and tilted her head to one side as she considered the drawings. “The sequins are okay. I think I like that one best,” she said, pointing to the shoe with the stiletto heel. “I’ll just have to take it off for the reception. I can run in heels, but dancing under the influence is a little tricky.”
“We could lower the heel,” Jenny suggested.
Brooke shook her head. “No, I like the height. It’s a little outrageous,” she said and smiled. “Like me.”
“Maybe we could design another shoe for your reception,” Jenny said.
Accommodating, Marc thought, adding the ability to his mental list. Sal’s assistant possessed the all-important quality of being able to listen.
Brooke gasped and tugged her shades down to peek over them. “I love that idea.”
“Well, you’ll also need going-away shoes,” Jenny added.
Brooke took another bite of truffle and nodded. “Yes, yes. This could work.”
“We need to start working on the shoes for your bridesmaids.”
Brooke shrugged. “I’m almost ready for that. I’ve narrowed down the dresses to two designs. As soon as I know, I’ll let you know.”
“The next meeting will be filmed,” Marc told Brooke. “So it would be helpful if you could be on time.”
Brooke’s eyes lit up. “That’s right. We should make it more dramatic than this.”
Marc’s gut tightened. “What do you mean more dramatic?”
She finished off a truffle and waved her hand. “Well, this is nice, but it’s boring. We need to see me try on some shoes. Can you make some models of them so I can try them on? You need to put in a few real losers like on those makeover shows.”
“Losers,” Marc echoed, clenching his jaw. The CEO, Alfredo Bellagio, would have a cow if Brooke said something like that publicly. “Bellagio doesn’t make loser shoes.”
Brooke sighed. “So touchy. Okay, not losers. But also-rans. Because I’m only going to pick one. Well three,” she amended. “When you count the reception shoes and the going-away shoes. But maybe we shouldn’t show which exact pair I choose because then it will add some suspense.”
In her own wacky way, he supposed she was right. But how was he supposed to keep a lid on his cousin if she wanted drama during her shoe selection?
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some champagne, too?” Jenny asked, clearly sensing his mood. “Or some Scotch?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” Someone had to think clearly here. “Drama is okay. Let’s just make sure it’s planned so it shows well.”
“Okay,” she said, lifting her glass for a refill. Jenny immediately filled it. “This is going to be so fun. A reality show about my wedding. Even Daddy is pleased.”
“A reality show?” Jenny said, shooting Marc a questioning glance.
“Oh, yeah,” Brooke said. “Didn’t Marc tell you?” She swatted at him. “Shame on you.”
“We hadn’t released a press statement yet.”
Brooke giggled. “Oops. I may have let it slip last night.”
Marc’s stomach began to burn. The reality show could take Bellagio Shoes to a new level. He was ready for that new level, but since he’d been given the assignment to make sure Bellagio was portrayed in only the best light, he didn’t know how in hell he could accomplish that without some control. And even though Brooke was engaged, she still wasn’t under control. He knew the wedding was being put together in a rush due to her father’s deadline. Brooke had put off committing herself until the last moment.
“That’s okay,” Jenny said. “Sometimes rumors can be more important than the truth.”
Brooke’s smile fell, and for a sliver of a second she turned serious. “How true.” She took another sip and gave a hard laugh. “And I’m an expert at generating rumors.” She pushed her glasses back in place. “Marc will make it all turn out right. That’s why the almighty Alfredo Bellagio put him in charge. He’s young, he looks great on camera, and he’s so level-headed he could run the country blindfolded, let alone Bellagio Shoes.” Brooke glanced at her watch. “My time here is done. Do you mind if I take the rest of those truffles?”
“Not at all,” Jenny said, offering her the plate and a napkin.
“And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll top off this glass and take it with me, too.”
Jenny picked up the bottle and paused. “You’re not driving, are you?” she asked.
“Nope. I’m being chauffeured today. Daddy’s orders.” She pursed her mouth into a kiss while Jenny topped off her champagne. “See you later, Marc. Don’t work so hard. You’re starting to remind me of my dad and that’s not good. Ciao!” she said and left the room.
Complete silence followed.
“Are you sure you don’t want some Scotch?”
Marc met Jenny’s gaze. “I’m sure. Now you know what we’re doing. Brooke seems to like your stuff. Are you up for the whole project?”
The champagne bottle hanging limply in her hand, she stared at him looking like a deer caught in headlights. “What do you mean she likes my stuff? The whole project?”
“I mean Sal didn’t really tell you he was at the doctor this morning, did he?” he asked.
She swallowed. “No, but he’s been having some problems, so I thought—”
“You thought he was at the doctor?”
She bit her lip but said nothing.
Loyal to the end, he thought. She would be perfect for the job. “Sal’s in rehab. He called me after you and I talked.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh.”
“Surprised?”
She met his gaze then looked away, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m glad for him to get any help he might need. He’s been a wonderful boss.”
“And mentor,” Marc said, and watched Jenny snap her head up. “When I told him his timing was terrible, he said you’ve been covering for him for months. Called you creative, brilliant, innovative. He said you could handle the shoe designs for this wedding with no problem. So, are you game or not?”
CHAPTER TWO
STUNNED, JENNY FELT her hands go limp. The bottle of champagne slid through her fingers. She tried to grasp for it, but she felt as if she were moving in slow motion.
Marc moved in a split second and caught the bottle just as it hit the floor.
Jenny shook her head and winced. “Sorry. I, uh.” She shook her head. “Great save.”
He nodded and stood in front of her. “You’ll need to be briefed by the PR Department and they’ll require you to take a few lessons. The worst part is you’ll have to deal with Brooke until this is all over, and you won’t get credit for your designs. We’re trying to build the name of Sal Amoré by Bellagio as the premier line in evening and bridal shoes. I wasn’t sure if you could do it, but Sal insisted you could. He told me to take a second look at your résumé. I didn’t know you’d attended design school and even did an apprenticeship with one of our competitors.”
She didn’t know that, either. Jenny dropped her jaw in shock. Marc must have gotten her résumé mixed up with someone else’s. Jenny had never attended design school unless one counted the pottery class she’d taken. And she’d never apprenticed with one of their competitors unless one counted her stint as sales person in Rice’s Department Store Shoe Department.
She should correct him. She really should correct him, she thought. “I think there’s been some confusion,” she began.
Marc lifted his hand. “Sal warned me that you wouldn’t want to take credit. He told me not to let you pull the modesty act.”
“It’s no act,” she insisted. “I haven’t—”
Marc cut her off again. “The company needs you for this,” he said.
Jenny opened her mouth to try to set Marc straight again, but something niggled in the back of her mind. When Sal had first hired her, he’d mentioned in an offhand way that he needed to fill in some blanks on her résumé for the Personnel Department. She’d thought he’d meant her recent change of address and social security number for health insurance.
How embarrassing. She should correct Marc right this minute.
And give up the opportunity of a lifetime just because she didn’t go to design school.
She should correct him. It was the right thing to do.
“Of course you’ll get a promotion and salary increase,” Marc said.
She felt herself tilt to the dark side. A promotion. A real promotion, not the move from French-fry cooker to front end clerk at Burger King. Her mind whirled with possibilities. It was okay that she wouldn’t get credit, she thought, but still felt a little pinch. The feeling surprised her. She’d thought she would be content to anonymously doodle and create until she reached retirement, but maybe she wasn’t. So she had an ego after all. She wanted some credit, too. She frowned in irritation. What a pain in the butt for this to show up now.
“What would my title be?”
“Associate designer. What else do you want?”
Good question, she thought, drawing a blank. The only time she could remember someone asking her what she wanted was in reference to food choice, and it usually involved takeout. “I’m not—” She sighed. “I need to think about that, if it’s okay with you.”
He studied her and nodded slowly. “Okay. We can talk tomorrow.”
She nodded. “That will work,” she murmured, seeing his Italian heritage in his dark hair and tanned skin and his Scottish ancestry in his strong bone structure and blue-gray eyes. He has great eyebrows, she thought. This was the first time she’d been close enough to really notice.
He frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look shell-shocked.”
