“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?”