Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 192810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 964(@200wpm)___ 771(@250wpm)___ 643(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 964(@200wpm)___ 771(@250wpm)___ 643(@300wpm)
“Okay, close your eyes, I got you,” Lancet said.
I closed my eyes, and he untied and divested me of my robe.
“Step in,” he ordered.
As he guided me, I stepped in. I felt a garment shimmy up my hips. There was some tugging, and my arms were engaged. I felt fastening, adjusting, a featherlike touch at my left collarbone, cinching at my waist, and then Lancet placed my hand on his shoulder so I could balance as he slid what I could tell were slingback pumps on my feet.
He took my hand and guided me where the three-angle mirror stood.
“Okay, look!” he cried.
I opened my eyes.
And yes.
I should never have worried.
Lancet was my friend too, and I should have trusted him. He’d break his back not to disappoint me.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to do that.
I was wearing a plum-colored dress in a delicious crêpe. It was ultra-feminine, had a short flutter sleeve, a thin, patent belt at the waist the color of lapis, the same as the sleek, sexy slingbacks on my feet. There was a large flower brooch made of soft-pink organza and wispy blue feathers pinned over my left collarbone so the feathers tickled my neck.
My makeup was natural, but sophisticated, fresh, with only a hint of dewy, and very feminine. My hair was pulled back in a soft, but complicated chignon at the nape of my neck.
I’d already put my diamond studs in.
It was perfect.
I was perfect.
There was flair. Panache. Style. Color. Personality. Delicacy. But it was refined.
“I think the brooch should be your signature, at least for a while,” Lancet decreed, reaching in to fluff the feathers while he studied his work in the mirror. “I’m seeing them all over the streets already, since you wore your last one.”
I turned to him. “Lancet, honey, it’s sheer perfection.”
He looked to me. “You think?”
I didn’t confirm.
Well, I did, by hugging him.
His arms went around me super tight.
“Laura, this is a huge opportunity you’re giving me,” he said in my ear, and I could hear from the huskiness in his voice how much it meant to him.
Even so, I pulled out of his arms and gave one a playful slap. “Shut up. You deserve it.” I turned back to the mirror and lifted my hands to my sides. “See?”
His eyes got bright with tears.
“Don’t you cry, or I’ll cry,” I warned.
“I set your makeup to waterproof,” he returned.
“I don’t need bloodshot eyes.”
“Any home Medi-Aid would take care of bloodshot eyes in two seconds.”
He was right about that.
“Excuse please,” we heard from the door.
We both looked that way.
Antheme was standing in it.
“We should have left five minutes ago,” she said.
Crap.
I had a super busy schedule, and I knew Aleksei had packed it like that so I wouldn’t have time to think about all that was going on.
I’d never tell him this, but his plan totally backfired, but it was sweet because the thought always counted, right?
Lancet went to the built-in vanity and brought me a clutch that matched my belt and shoes.
“All packed and ready to rumble,” he said.
He was the best.
I kissed his cheek.
Antheme led the way as we left my closet and headed to the lift.
I hugged Lancet before he got into it to go down.
The door was barely sliding closed before Antheme was marching to the stairs to the landing pad.
I followed her.
We were in the craft (a cushy, roomy, luxurious, black, armored UtiliSport, the kind all the celebrities used), and waiting for course approval, when I asked, “How is your day going?”
“It was going well, until my charge made us seven minutes late.”
Well, there you go.
As ever, Antheme was feeling like being Antheme that day.
This didn’t upset me. I liked that it wasn’t “Mistress Laura this” and “Mistress Laura that” with her. She did her job. She took it seriously. She wasn’t a fan of me making it harder for her. She was down to share that. The end.
We were lifting off when I heard the chimes of my Palm in my bag.
I pulled it out and the screen said Video Comm from the Office of Dyt Linstar.
Dyt Linstar was the executive producer of the vid I was working on.
I’d met him, briefly. It wasn’t often (as in ever, except in hiring, and after, in passing) the costume designer brushed shoulders with the head honcho.
I wasn’t sure this would be good news (maybe he was some kind of micromanager and heard I got my costumes programmed in at the last minute and he was going to give me a dressing down?).
I didn’t want to, but I took the comm.
Mr. Linstar’s tanned face filled my display.
“Laura,” he said expansively, smiling widely.
“Uh, hello, Mr. Linstar,” I replied, surprised by his jovial opening.
“Dyt. Call me Dyt,” he invited.
“Of course.”
“I have some good news and some bad,” he announced.
Oh boy.
“And what’s that, Dyt?”