He nodded, and I got out of his car, totally dejected. My best friend in the world was hurting, and I was powerless to do anything about it.
—
The afternoon dragged on, I believed mainly because all of us working at Java Jive were emotionally drained from the funeral. Even Cole, who never got too worked up about anything, wasn’t himself.
During the dinner rush, he came up to me, frowning. “I know we’re busy, but can I take a break? I’m still trippin’ balls over that funeral.”
No longer surprised at his colorful use of language, I gave him a pat on the back. “I understand. Just don’t be too long, okay? Pete’s not here yet.”
It was nearing six o’clock, way past the time Pete normally showed up to help out in the evenings. I wasn’t terribly surprised, though. He needed some downtime, especially after this afternoon. A little later, I got a call from him.
I tried for a cheerful tone when I answered, “Hey, Pete.”
“Hey.” Judging from the flatness of his voice, he was still unhappy.
“You doing okay?”
“Meh. I’m not coming in tonight—that is unless you guys are slammed and really need me.”
Glancing around the full restaurant, I lied, “It’s pretty light tonight.”
“Good. Brooke’s coming over. We’re going to chill and watch a movie.”
Even though I was perfectly happy with Stafford, it still gave me a pang in my gut to hear about Pete’s dates with his girlfriend. Maybe someday we’d be ready to give it a shot together, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“Sounds like exactly what you need. Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow. You still picking me up at eleven?”
“Yeah. See you, Jules.”
“Bye,” I replied, heaving a deep sigh after I ended the call.
Secretly, I wished I was the one Pete had chosen to “chill and watch a movie” with. But I needed to get it through my head that I was not the only one Pete could (or should) lean on. I didn’t like the thought of it, but if Brooke could manage to find a way to snap Pete back to his normal happy self, more power to her.
Chapter 13
“Cork it, Jules. I got this,” Pete griped, driving around in circles downtown, trying to find an all-day parking space near the Omni Nashville Hotel that wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg.
To be fair, since he’d picked me up I had been nagging him about the right and wrong way to try to get information out of Leonidas employees at the wedding expo this afternoon. Then, with my nervous energy still bubbling inside, I’d given my unwanted opinion on what streets we should take to avoid some of the ongoing hotel construction downtown as well as my thoughts on where we ought to park his car. He’d pretty well had enough of me.
I pulled a face. “Sorry. I’m stressing.”
He turned to me with a mock surprised expression. “No way. You?”
Smiling, I said, “Just drive, jerkface.”
Brooke must have worked her magic on him, because regular Pete was back, albeit under a slight layer of irritation, which could have easily been my fault. We found some decent pay parking we could agree on and headed toward the Omni.
“You’re supposed to report to Legends A and I’m in Broadway D, right?” I asked. “I have no idea what that means.”
“They’re sections that can be walled off in the two big ballrooms. Shane sent me a map,” Pete replied, getting out his phone as we boarded the escalator to the second floor. He showed it to me. “See, they’re next to each other, separated by a service hallway.”
The Omni’s second-floor conference area was bustling with official-looking people when we arrived, all of them already seeming frazzled. We walked around to the far back of the ballrooms to find our dressing rooms.
I said, “Man, they don’t want anyone seeing where the help congregates around here, do they?”
“The help can’t just wander around in the open, Jules,” he said sarcastically. “Leonidas has a classy reputation to uphold. Even though they’re pretty and sparkly on the outside, I’m betting we’re going to see some real ugly from the inside today.”
An uneasy feeling rippled through my gut. “I’m hoping not too ugly.”
Pete and I had to part ways to go to our assigned dressing rooms. I had no idea whether we’d have enough freedom to be able to hang out together today, or if some drill sergeant would have pre-assigned places for us to be, with no hope of mingling on our own. If the latter was the case, we’d have to find a creative way to sneak out so we could accomplish our real task.
When I walked in the door to the women’s dressing room, it was like walking into a bride’s dreamland. On one side of the room, makeup tables with big mirrors were set up, each one with a dedicated makeup artist–hair stylist fussing over a beautiful young woman. The other side of the room was lined with wheeled clothing racks full of the most gorgeous white gowns I’d ever seen. There was enough tulle to stretch from here to the Atlantic, and probably enough pearls, rhinestones, and sequins to fill a semitruck. If I were in the market for a wedding dress, which I wasn’t, I could have stayed here for days.
A young woman seized me by the arm. “Are you a stylist?” she demanded, her face a mask of anxiety. She was the girl who had been sitting at the funeral with the busty Leonidas receptionist.
“Um, no. I’m a…model,” I replied uncertainly, glancing down the line at my fellow “models.” I wasn’t skinny enough, pretty enough, or young enough to compete with this crew. These girls didn’t look a day over eighteen, and I was fairly certain not a one of them had eaten in weeks.
“Oh.” Flicking her eyes down my body with a frown, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Leslie Kaufman,” I replied automatically. It was one of the identities Maya always used as an alias when she was undercover, and she let me use it on occasion. I noted that this girl’s nametag read, KACEY ALBRIGHT.
“Leslie Kaufman…” she repeated absently, scrolling down the screen of the tablet she was holding. “Oh, there you are. You’re at station fifteen—the last one on the end. And you’re late, by the way.”
Kacey left me and went to go project her stress on someone else, so I hurried to the far end of the room. When I got to station fifteen, a man was sitting at the table, adeptly putting some eyeliner on himself. With his radiant caramel-colored skin and perfect bone structure, even he was prettier than me. But at least he was my age.
I steeled myself to receive some more disdain and said, “Hi, I’m Leslie Kaufman. Evidently I didn’t get the memo that no one of legal drinking age need apply to be a model. And I’m late, so I apologize for that, too.
Smiling at me in the mirror, he drawled, “Hey there, Red. I was hoping I’d get someone interesting instead of one of these cookie-cutter twig bitches. And you’re certainly interesting.” He got up and held out his hand. “Jesse Bozeman. Everyone calls me Boz.”
We shook hands, and he offered me the chair. Running his fingers through my hair, he said, “Mmm. Nice locks. A little wild, but I like it that way.” He gave me a wink and began brushing out my mane of hair.
“So have you worked at this event in years past?” I asked, thinking Boz was chatty enough to dish on pretty much anything I wanted to know.
“Only since the beginning, doll. And this behemoth gets bigger and better every year.”
“The dresses are amazing. I can’t believe we’re getting paid to just walk around in one all day.”
Boz eyed me skeptically. “You must be new. You can’t ‘just walk around.’ The models are supposed to work the crowd—chat up the grooms, pretend to be the brides’ new BFFs, and convince the parents to spend, spend, spend.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “I’m a party babe.” Why didn’t I figure this out before?
“Bingo.”
“Is it too late to back out?”
He chuckled. “And deprive me of getting to style the most gorgeous creature in the room? You wouldn’t dare.”
<
br /> I felt marginally better watching Boz’s expert hands twist my hair into an intricate updo. It wasn’t that I felt I had to compete with these other girls; it was that I didn’t want to stand out like a sore thumb and be noticeable. Our plan hinged on Pete’s and my ability to blend in as another couple of wedding-attire models.
“Do you think I’ll get to meet Xander Leonidas?” I asked, feigning excitement.
Snorting, Boz replied, “Oh, honey, you’ll probably get to do much more than that. He has a thing for redheads. And he always makes sure to give all the models a thorough once-over before they head out to mingle with the crowd.”
I hid my disgust with a forced smile. What a pig. And thanks to my hair color, I’d have a giant target on my back. Which was actually good for the case, if I could get Xander to keep it in his pants.
“Sounds like it’s my lucky day, then. Hey, the girl who originally hired me, Josie something, isn’t here. She gave me the job as a favor to a mutual friend, and I was hoping to find her to say thanks.”
His face fell. “Josie. Poor girl. She passed this week.”
Making my face sufficiently distraught, I replied, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know. My friend didn’t tell me that. How awful about Josie. What happened? She wasn’t sick or anything, was she? Was it an accident or something?”
Frowning, he muttered under his breath, “Or something.”
I turned in my chair so I could face him. “What kind of something, Boz?”
He looked around to see if anyone was listening and lowered his voice. “She OD’ed on heroin. Tragic.”
“Seriously? My friend always talked about how much of a prude Josie was when it came to stuff like that. Josie wouldn’t even go out drinking with her.”
He shrugged. “This business is cutthroat. I’m sure she was under a tremendous amount of stress.”
“Right. Cutthroat. You know, when you said ‘or something,’ I thought you were going to tell me she’d been murdered.”
“My, you’re a morbid little thing.” He lowered his voice again. “Although I wouldn’t put it past some of these crazy bitches. I have seen some things that would curl your hair better than I can.” He went back to working on my hair.
“Come on, Boz. You can’t just put that out there and not give me even a little gossip.”
Rolling his eyes, he said, “Fine. Last year at about this time, it was batshit crazy up in here. Josie was in charge of hiring the stylists. She screwed up the call time, so we all got here an hour later than we should have. There was no way to have the models ready on time.” He nodded toward Kacey Albright. “That overwrought hot mess over there was in charge of the models, and when the expo started and Mrs. L didn’t see any of them out and about, she came gunning for Kacey. Mrs. L wouldn’t listen to her excuses about the stylists arriving late and damn near fired her on the spot.”
“I’ve heard Mrs. Leonidas is difficult to work for.”
“Understatement of the year. I try to stay under Queen Ophelia’s radar. If you’re smart, you’ll do the same.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Bringing the conversation back around, I said, “So how did Kacey react to having to take the fall for Josie’s mistake?”
“Oh, right. That’s the juiciest part. Kacey went 5150 and came straight after Josie, claws out. It took three of us to pull her off the poor girl.”
Sounded like Kacey deserved a closer look. “Holy crap. Did Kacey and Josie have bad blood after that?”
“No clue. Any work I do for Leonidas is with the wedding planners, so I only see the party gals once a year at this event. Hold your breath. I’m going to spray.” I did as instructed, and also squeezed my eyes shut as Boz unloaded nearly an entire can of hairspray on my head. “There.”
I opened my eyes and took a good look at my new ’do. “Wow. My hair has never looked this fantastic.”
“Oh, go on.”
Boz demanded silence and complete facial stillness while he did my makeup, so I didn’t get to press him for any more information. Besides, if he didn’t have much contact with the events people, he might not have known anything about Brock Flint’s album release party, anyway. I watched him as he worked on my face. I thought I was pretty good at doing my own makeup, but this guy was a freaking artist. I looked like a movie star. Even better, I looked a solid five years younger.
When he got done, I said, “Again, wow. I’m speechless.”
Smiling, he picked up my phone. “You’re welcome. You have just enough time to shimmy into your dress and get out on the floor.” Tapping something into my phone, he added, “You call Boz if you need a touch-up. I’ll be here all day. Now hurry, Red. You don’t want to get yourself on Mrs. L’s shit list before the day even starts.”
I got up and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Boz. For everything.”
—
So maybe this party-babe gig wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever done. I stood admiring myself in the mirror, drooling over the designer wedding gown I got the privilege of wearing for the day. It wasn’t what I would have picked out for myself, but I couldn’t help feeling like a princess in it. The skirt was like a cloud, made of layer upon layer of tulle and chiffon. The bodice was simple—a sweetheart illusion neckline with sheer chiffon sleeves, perfect for the bride with scarred arms. The only bling came from a wide belt at the waist, made of silver beads and shimmery rhinestones, and a beaded necklace someone had breezed by and clipped around my neck. To complete the look, we even got to wear wedding bands and big, sparkly (surely fake) engagement rings as well.
Tearing my attention away from myself and focusing it back on the case, I texted Shane to find out if he knew anything about Kacey Albright or if Josie had ever spoken about her. After I finished my text, I concealed my phone in the black-lace thigh holster I’d borrowed from Maya. Weird as it was, I was glad I’d brought it, because there was nowhere in this dress to stash a stick of gum, much less a phone. I needed to be able to stay in contact with Pete as well as with the outside world. After smoothing my dress back into place, I hurried to congregate with the other models near the door to get our last-minute instructions.
Still frazzled, Kacey said, “Ladies, please remember to smile. This isn’t a fashion show in Milan, and you’re not playing the role of a sullen supermodel. You’ve been hired to be the face of Leonidas Luxury Events, and you should have studied the informational materials you were sent so you can speak intelligently about both your attire and what Leonidas has to offer in the way of wedding planning. If a guest asks you a difficult question you can’t answer, politely direct them to one of the many Leonidas information kiosks we have set up within the expo. Don’t make things up, but don’t just say ‘I don’t know,’ either.”
I had received no informational materials, so I didn’t know jack crap about my dress or what kind of wedding planning Leonidas did. It didn’t matter, though. If we were lucky, Pete and I would be able to do more sleuthing than modeling. If not, I wasn’t above making stuff up.
While Kacey droned on and on, I zoned out and began scanning the crowd of models and Leonidas employees. I recognized a couple of the employees vaguely from my Internet stalking. When the door opened and Xander Leonidas walked in, there was a definite shift in the models’ focus. Simultaneously, the girls’ faces brightened and every last one of them arched their backs to give their breasts a boost. Their preening didn’t go unnoticed. Xander flashed a wolfish smile and began perusing his flock of eager bimbos.
Bile crept up my throat when I realized I was a part of that flock, whether I liked it or not. And if I couldn’t find a way to pry his attention off these fourteen young beauties, my investigation would suffer. Thinking quickly, I backed up against the nearest hair and makeup station and swiped a pair of scissors. I’d vaguely registered that the chunky pearl, bead, and rhinestone necklace I was wearing came in a box that touted it was “handmade by a local artist.” In my experience, handmade often meant “easily breakable.” I kept my eye on Xander
, and as soon as he was close, I turned and slyly snipped one of the strands holding my necklace together. The beads of my necklace began pouring onto the floor, and I put on a shocked face as I watched the necklace disintegrate. I dropped to the floor and began gathering my lost beads. A few of the models heard the commotion, gave me a dirty look, and turned back around to listen to Kacey. Xander heard it as well, and seeing my distress, he swiftly came to my rescue.
He crouched down in front of me. “Having trouble here?”
I widened my eyes. “Oh, Mr. Leonidas. My beautiful necklace. It broke. I’m so sorry.” I began gathering beads again, on my hands and knees, making sure my horny mark had the perfect angle to see down the plunging neckline of my gown. And he was looking. Pig.
Xander put his hand on my arm to stop me. “Not to worry. I’m sure we have plenty more necklaces to choose from. Come on. Let’s get you a replacement.” He slid his hand up to my elbow and assisted me in getting to my feet.
As he took my hand and led me away, the models who had given me dirty looks a few minutes ago were now giving me full-on death glares.
“Thank you, Mr. Leonidas,” I said, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure you must be a busy man. You don’t have to take time out to help me.”
“I always have time for a beautiful woman. And please call me Xander. Your name is?”
I looked up at him and smiled as if he were the dreamiest man I’d ever met. “Leslie Kaufman. It’s so nice to meet you.”
We reached the accessory table, which was plenty picked over. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new to modeling?” he asked, seeming true to his word about not being in a hurry.
I lowered my chin so I could look up at him through the ridiculously long false eyelashes Boz had glued to my eyelids. “Yes, it’s my first time. I guess you could call me a virgin.” Good grief. My pick-up lines were making me want to throw up.
He leered at me and chuckled. “I could probably give you a few pointers since you’re so inexperienced.”
Brew or Die Page 11
