A Dangerous Widow (Dangerous #1)

by Christina Ross

  “He’s a very nice man,” I said. “I think that you and others will like him.”

  “Well, of course we will. And I’m dying to see who possibly could replace Michael.”

  “Nobody could replace Michael,” I said firmly. “But as I’ve said, five years have passed, I’ve met someone new, and it’s time to move on with my life.”

  “And I agree, as I’m sure that all of your friends will. I mean, five years is long enough to grieve. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you, but I am glad to hear that your period of mourning is over, Kate.”

  I wanted to tell her that a part of me would forever mourn Michael’s death, but what was the point? “So,” I said. “Black tie, I assume?”

  “Of course. Bring your best, because you and I both know that people will put you under a magnifying glass. ‘How has she held up?’ ‘Is she psychologically sound?’ ‘Do we even dare to mention Michael to her?’ That sort of thing. I know that, on some level, you already know what’s coming, but your friend Maxine is here to tell you that society has become even colder since you left it. People are beyond horrible. Just the other day, I heard that that awful Piggy Swarmsworthy called me a drunk to one of our mutual friends. I mean—imagine! A drunk? Really, Piggy? This from someone who fills her own trough with gin? Let’s just say that there will be no ham served at tomorrow night’s party. Initially, Piggy was in, but when I heard what she’d said about me, I called to tell her that she was out. You can imagine how that went.” She sighed. “Anyway, I digress. So, we’ll see you at eight? You know where we live, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Why do I even ask?” she said with that fake tittering laugh of hers. “Everyone knows where we live. Anyway, we’ll see you and your new suitor here on Saturday. And trust me on this—you will have fun. I’ll make that my mission, because you, my dear, deserve it!”

  * * *

  With only one day to get ready for the party, there was only one person I could call upon to help me get ready for the night—my good friend Jennifer Wenn, who was married to the billionaire Alexander Wenn, and who was well regarded in the press as perhaps the most stylish woman in Manhattan.

  While I had plenty of clothes for functions that involved my work with the Red Cross and with the Stone Foundation, I hadn’t been to a society event in five years—and the dated gowns in my closet spoke clearly to that.

  I needed help, I needed a new gown and shoes—and I needed them to be perfect because Maxine was right. Since this would be my first time out in years for a social event, the press would be all over it, particularly when they saw Ben on my arm.

  And so, when I hung up from Maxine, I called Jennifer.

  “Well, well!” she said when she answered her cell. “I haven’t seen your name on my phone in months. I’ve missed you, Kate.”

  “I’ve missed you more.”

  “It’s been…what? Three months since our last lunch?”

  “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

  “Look, all of us are busy. And I’ve been meaning to call you for another lunch. Tell me that’s why you’re calling.”

  “I’m actually calling for another reason.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m happy to help.”

  “I’ve actually agreed to get out and go to a party tomorrow night, but it’s been so long since I’ve gone to anything that isn’t fundraising-related, I have no idea what to wear. It’s at the Witherhouses’. Do you know them?”

  “Of course. Alex and I were invited to their party tomorrow night, but we had prior commitments, so we can’t go.”

  I felt a rush of disappointment roll over me. “Oh, how I wish you were going.”

  “And now that I know that you’re going, I also wish that we were going. But we can’t. We’ve already confirmed elsewhere, and since it involves business, I’m afraid that we need to go. Otherwise, I’d cancel. I’m sorry, Kate. What kind of help do you need?”

  “This is going to sound pathetic.”

  “Oh, it is not. What is it?”

  “I need help finding the right dress and the right shoes. And, hell, at this point, probably also the right pair of Spanx. When Michael and I used to attend these sorts of parties, I had a stylist, if you can believe that. But that was five years ago, and that relationship has since ended because Lucas is now working with celebrities on the West Coast. I know zip about fashion—but I know that you do. When I thought about calling someone for help, you were the first person who came to mind. Maxine has already warned me that the press will be there, and since I’m bringing a date with me and this is my first time out in forever, I think we both know how the press will react.”

  “We do, and because we do, you’re going to need to bring it. Because with you there? Get ready for it now, love, because by Sunday morning, you’re going to be everywhere.”

  “Ugh…”

  “And by the way, young lady,” she said. “What’s this about bringing a date? Is it serious?”

  I wasn’t about to lie to Jennifer. “No, no. He’s a friend who agreed to be my plus-one. But the media won’t know that, so they’ll naturally have a field day with it.”

  “They will,” Jennifer said. “But let’s just clear up any misconceptions. It’s not me who knows a damn about fashion—it’s my friend Barbara Blackwell who does. Have you met her? Heard of her?”

  “I think all of Manhattan has heard about her. She’s kind of an icon in this town.”

  “You know, if she heard you say that, she’d sit even higher in her throne. But with the party being held tomorrow, time is running out.”

  “I’m sorry to call on such late notice. I just accepted the invitation.”

  “It’s not an issue. What’s your day like today?”

  “I’m free.”

  “Then let me gather Blackwell, and the three of us will go shopping.”

  “But you must be busy,” I said.

  “Not too busy for you. And to think—I’ll be able to see you today. I meant it when I said that I’ve missed you. It’s been too long.”

  Ever since I’d joined the Red Cross, Jennifer Wenn had been a huge supporter of my initiatives, as well as a friend. Through her and her husband’s connections alone, I’d managed to reap millions from my fundraising efforts. They’d never let me down, and I loved each of them for it.

  But it went deeper than that when it came to Jennifer and me. We both came from humble backgrounds but had seen our lives change in radical ways since our arrival in Manhattan. Jennifer had come from Maine to Manhattan, where she eventually married Alexander Wenn, who owned Wenn Enterprises. And while Michael and I had been poor when we first met, all of that changed when StoneTech hit it big. What bound Jennifer and I together was that, at the end of the day, both of us were women who hadn’t forgotten our pasts. That’s why we connected. That’s one of the main reasons we were friends.

  “I’m going to get Blackwell now,” Jennifer said. “She’s the key to you winning your first official social event in years.”

  “What is she like?” I asked. “I’ve read that she can be…difficult.”

  “Oh, trust me, she can,” she said. “At least initially. But when she comes to know you and decides that she likes you—everything changes. Believe me on this. Soon, you’ll come to love her as much as I do.”

  “But what if she doesn’t like me?” I said.

  “Oh, if that happens? Then you’re screwed.”

  * * *

  “We go to Bergdorf,” Blackwell said to the driver as I stepped into the back of the black limousine waiting for me outside my apartment building. Jennifer was inside, and she kissed me on each cheek as I sat down next to her. As for Blackwell, she was sitting across from me, replete in a red Chanel suit that was to die for.

  She assessed me for a moment before leaning forward to shake my hand.

  “Barbara Blackwell,” she said. “F
ashion icon.”

  “I know,” I said. “Over the years, Jennifer has told me so much about you. As have others. And I’ve read so much about you. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve agreed to come along. As I said to Jennifer earlier, you are an icon in this city. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blackwell.”

  “Call me Barbara,” she said. “If only because j’adore the summery dress you’re wearing. Ralph?”

  “In fact, it is.”

  “So pretty—unlike your hair.” She looked at Jennifer. “We might need to involve Bernie. We might need to invoke an intervention.”

  “Is there something wrong with my hair?”

  “Actually, you have beautiful hair, Kate—so thick. So healthy and straight. But the cut is all wrong. You’re wearing it too long for your features, which are overwhelmed by your current cut. Let me text Bernie before it’s too late. We’ll try for tomorrow at five-thirty—if he’s even available on such short notice. I want him on hair and makeup.”

  She looked at me when she said that, and her face softened along with her voice. “I’ve read about what you’ve been through, Kate. All of Manhattan has. And I’m terribly sorry about all of it. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through since your husband passed. But, if you’re going to attend your first major social event tomorrow night and if this is under my watch, then you’ll have nothing but the best from me, because you deserve it. I’ve also read about you, you know? And the remarkable work you’ve done though the Red Cross and the Stone Foundation. Your efforts have changed many lives. So allow me to change yours, even if it is for only one evening.”

  “See?” Jennifer said.

  “See what?” Blackwell asked as she removed her cell from her Birkin.

  “I told Kate that you were wonderful.”

  “Oh, bullshit on that. People fear me—as well they should. I can be a goddamned horror show. But not today. Now shush while I text Bernie. Just look at Kate’s hair, for God’s sake. This has just become a full-on emergency, so let me lock it down.”

  * * *

  When we arrived at Bergdorf, I watched Blackwell click on her phone and send out what appeared to be a text.

  “Chloe is my go-to,” she said. “Even though she’s disappointed me in the past, at her core, she’s Bergdorf at its best. With her help and my guidance, we’ll find something perfectly suitable for you to wear tomorrow night. By the way, what size are you?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m not as thin as I was when I was with Michael.”

  “You have a lovely figure. I’m guessing a four?”

  “Around there.”

  “Your breasts are full.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Real or fake?”

  “Real!”

  “Well, good for you. And you’re reasonably tall,” Blackwell said. “Five-seven?”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I watched you as you walked toward the car, and I have a trained eye. With heels, you’ll be five-ten, which is rather tall. Are you attending this event with someone? If you are, how tall is he?”

  “I am. He’s six-four.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Whom are you going with?” Jennifer asked. “You said he was a friend.”

  “It’s a bit more than that,” I said. “And beyond complicated.”

  “I won’t press,” she said.

  “Well, I will,” Blackwell said. “Who’s the lucky man?”

  “My former high school sweetheart,” I said. “For reasons I’d prefer not to go into, he’s my date for tomorrow night.”

  “And now I’m filled with questions,” Jennifer said. “But until you’re ready to tell me, I’ll respect your privacy.”

  “I won’t,” Blackwell said. “What’s the deal? Has he turned out to be the one?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. He’s just helping me out with something,” I said.

  “‘Helping you out’?” Blackwell said as she put her phone back into her Birkin. “Code for ‘starting over.’ And may it happen for you, Kate.”

  “It’s not like that at all,” I said.

  “You might believe that now, but tomorrow night—when each of you are dressed to the nines and he sees you after Bernie and I are through with you? Oh, that will change. Trust me, darling. I mean, look what I did with this one,” she said, hooking a thumb toward Jennifer. “I essentially sand-blasted her, put her in haute couture, and before you knew it, she was married to Alex. So, you know, congratulations to you that I’m here now, because I can sense love on the horizon. What does he do?”

  And what am I to say to that…?

  With Jennifer present, I could hardly lie since she’d eventually find out anyway, so I just went with the truth. “He’s a private investigator,” I said. “Former SEAL.”

  “Former SEAL,” Jennifer said. “Like Tank, who’s driving us now. I bet he’s even dreamier than you remember.”

  “I’m not thinking of him that way.”

  “The hell you aren’t,” Blackwell said. “I mean, please—he probably was your first love. So, why not embrace those feelings now?”

  “As I said, it’s complicated.”

  “Then, I guess you’ll need to figure that out on your own. Anyway, we should go,” she said. “Time is running out, especially if we need to tailor whatever gown we find for you. Tank, I’ll call you when we’re finished.”

  “You’ve got it,” the driver said.

  And with that, the three of us stepped into Bergdorf.

  * * *

  “Chloe,” Blackwell said to the impossibly chic blonde woman who met us at the entrance in a flawless yellow suit. “Hellohoware?”

  “I’m terrific, Barbara. It’s good to see you.”

  “As if we don’t see each other every day.”

  “It’s still good to see you. You jolt the day.”

  “Like a bullet to the brain?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Sometimes I have to wonder.”

  “I—”

  “Never mind. I hate it when you try to recover after I’ve rattled you to your Manolos—it’s embarrassing.” Blackwell motioned toward me, and when she did, Chloe turned to face me. “This is our science project for the day,” she said. “Kate Stone, this is that Chloe person I was talking about in the car. She’ll either do right by us this afternoon—or it will be ruinous.” She looked at Chloe. “I expect the former.”

  “And I plan to deliver.”

  “We’ll see about that. But you’ve had enough time to assess Kate—so what do you have in mind?”

  “Depends on the event?”

  “The Witherhouses are having one of their monthly parties tomorrow night.”

  “So—couture?”

  “Is that even a question?” Blackwell said.

  “Come with me,” Chloe said. “A few things came in today that haven’t even hit the floor yet. And only we have them.”

  “Only Bergdorf?”

  “Only us.”

  “Then take us to this treasure trove of yours,” Blackwell said. “And do it fast—because, as I said, we might need to tailor the fit. You do have a tailor ready for me, should I need one, don’t you, Chloe?”

  “Of course. Already reserved.”

  “Just look at how well I’ve trained you. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  We took an elevator to the third floor, which was labeled Women: Designer Evening Wear. I’d been here before, of course, but that had been years ago, and with Lucas running the show. But already it was clear that he was no Barbara Blackwell. She appeared to own this place, likely because, through her, Jennifer had spent tens, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars here.

  “Come with me,” Chloe said. “We’ll go to one of the private dressing areas. Would you like a glass of champagne?”

  “Count me in,” Jennifer said.

  “And me,” I said.

  “Too many calories too early in the day for me,�
� Blackwell said. And then she looked at each of us, and paused. “Though I might like a sip or two.”

  “That’s my girl,” Jennifer said.

  “Please,” Blackwell said. “You two are already giving me my cardio for the day. I can afford it. Now, let’s settle in and see what Chloe has in mind for us. Because I can tell each of you this—and I know that you can hear me, Chloe—it better be good.”

  In fact, it was amazing.

  After Chloe had an assistant bring us each a glass of champagne, she emerged from one of the back rooms to bring out what appeared to me to be a full-length black ball gown, which she cradled in her arms.

  “Oh,” Blackwell said with her fingertips pressed against her lips. “You surprise me yet again. Good on you, Chloe. Naturally, I know it. Valentino. I’ve seen it in Vogue. And I already know for a fact that no one else will be wearing this tomorrow night—it’s just out, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” Chloe said.

  “Drop it,” Blackwell said. “Let’s see all of it.”

  When Chloe held it up for all of us to see, Blackwell stood from her chair and went over to it.

  “It’s sublime,” she said. “A floral, short-sleeve tulle gown with floral appliqués. Round neckline, which will flatter Kate’s long neck. Short flutter sleeves, which will enhance her toned arms. And a pleated lace skirt, which will give balance to her boobs. It’s divoon. And look at how daring it is, Kate,” she said to me. “The top appears to be nude, but the colorful appliqués will conceal what they’re meant to conceal—your nipples. You must try it on. I insist. Tout-de-suite!”

  When I did, it was a done deal.

  “It’s amazing,” Jennifer said.