She shook off the strange encounter, chalking it up to an odd moment of attempted camaraderie on the part of her boss. She pulled the browser window back up and gazed at an elaborate lace mask. It was shaped like a black lace butterfly and covered the model from mid-forehead almost down to her chin. Beneath the black lace was ruby red satin. Only the wearer’s eyes and mouth would be visible. It was simple, but very alluring.
Josh had suggested they provide some extra masks, should guests need them. Apparently, that was customary at a masquerade. She could order this one to show to him, to verify the quality before they ordered more. It looked very lovely, but it could be poorly crafted. It was hard to tell online, and they’d never dealt with this retailer before.
Satisfied she had a totally legitimate reason to purchase the mask, Emma added it to her virtual cart and placed the order. She locked the door on the voice in her head, which was asking why she’d purchased the mask with her personal credit card and not a company account and pointing out that Picture Perfect had verified suppliers who provided the same type of costumes.
She wasn’t thinking about Todd’s plan. In fact, she’d been turning over one of her own. She knew from overhearing some of Josh’s conversations that he was trying to put together some kind of movie deal. Typical for a Hollywood producer, of course. But it meant that after the ball, he’d probably be leaving town. The only people at the house would be a few of his staff members. All Emma needed to do was talk her way into the house and she could get the watch then. Josh wouldn’t be back in town for months. He’d have no way of knowing when it had been taken. And if anyone thought to mention that she’d been there, she was sure Dag or Shinae would vouch she’d had genuine business there for the party follow-up.
It was still risky, but not as terrifying as Todd’s crazy scheme. It didn’t involve disguises, for one. She thought of the mask and bit her lip. No, her idea was by far the superior one. As soon as Todd gave up on this masquerade ploy, she’d lay it all out for him. For sure.
She was going to stop staring at Joshua Owens’ lips any minute now. Any minute.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “This one’s
amazing
. Emma, taste.” He pressed a small hors d’oeuvres against her mouth. She parted her lips instinctively, blinking in surprise as he shoved the bite of toasted brie, ripe fig, and thyme honey into her mouth. The mixture of creamy cheese, sweet fruit and tangy honey was indeed amazing. The flavors lingered on her tongue as she swallowed.
“Jean Luc is very good,” she said. “How would you rate it?” She held her pen poised over her clipboard. Josh shook his head.
“Emma, Emma, Emma. Food isn’t about a number. It’s about the experience. Here, take a sip of this wine.” He snatched her pen and thrust the slender stem of a wineglass between her suddenly empty fingers.
She sighed softly. They were supposed to be finalizing the menu for the ball. With less than a week left, this was the last major detail they had yet to iron out. Josh had narrowed it down to three caterers (from the dozen she’d first presented him with), but now seemed unable—or unwilling—to make the final decision. She’d suggested the number ratings in the hope that it would help.
“Joshua—”
He held up a finger. “One sip, Emma. And then I’ll give you the number. I promise.” He grinned. It wasn’t the Hollywood mega-watt grin, but it wasn’t the sheepish smile either. This was a new one he’d begun using on her in the last couple of weeks. It confused her more than a little because it seemed sweetly coaxing, as if she was a frightened kitten he was trying to persuade to come out from under the bed. It did funny things to her belly too, every time he flashed it at her, thoroughly disconcerting her.
She sighed, sipping at the white wine he’d thrust at her.
“What do you think?” he asked, cocking his head. Emma nodded.
“It’s good. There’s a nuttiness that complements the cheese, with elements of fruit and . . . .” She took another sip, contemplating the wine’s complex flavors as they burst on her tongue. “Summer grass. I’d say the hors d’oeuvres by themselves are a 9, but paired with the wine, a definite 10.” She handed him back the glass and held out her palm.
He laid the pen in it. “Eleven.”
“It only goes up to ten,” she said, frowning slightly.
“Eleven,” he repeated. “Jean Luc’s our guy.”
“Your guy. This is all for your party, remember.” She made a mental note to buy some Cheese Puffs for Jean Luc. The temperamental chef (who’d been born and raised in Detroit for all his French ancestry) loved the Day-Glo orange snacks. It always helped to have a few bags stashed around in case she needed to appease him.
“You’ve done an amazing job, Emma. I really appreciate all your hard work,” Josh said. Emma chewed at her lower lip, shifting uneasily. Thanking the peons for their hard work didn’t sit well with her image of Josh as the Wealthy Playboy. Several things about him didn’t. It made her uncomfortable. She kept shoving those thoughts into that locked room along with the voice that kept insisting there was more to him.
“The hard work has all been you,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. This was something she usually said to her rich employers. They liked to be told something was all their doing. “You know,” she rushed ahead, changing the subject. “Several of the foods you’ve selected, like the brie with the thyme honey, are potentially going to leave guests with sticky fingers. Are you concerned about your things getting ruined?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I’ll have anything of real value locked away. The rest I can replace.”
“L-locked away?” Her heart did a somersault. “That’s a good idea,” she said faintly.
Josh nodded, rolling the wine stem between his fingers. “Martin pointed out the possibility of another kind of sticky fingers when hosting so many people in the house. So all the priceless stuff that’s in potential danger will get put away, and all the non-essential rooms will be locked up. Most of them are already locked anyway when not in use.”
“Well. . . .” Emma cleared her throat. “Good, then. I’m glad we got that cleared up. Now, we—” Her phone chirped, making her jump. Her acrobatic heart didn’t calm down when she saw Todd’s number displayed on the screen. Her eyes flew up to Josh’s, but luckily he was perusing her clipboard. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
Josh nodded and gave her a go-ahead wave. She scurried several steps away from him and pressed the phone to her ear. “This is not a good time. I’m at
work
.” She stressed the last word, hoping her brother would understand that she meant ‘Joshua Owens is standing right here’.
“Ems,” Todd began, but she bulldozed right over him.
“We do need to talk, though. Come by the house tonight. There’s been a . . . development.” Emma cut a quick glance at Josh, but he was on his own phone now. She hadn’t heard a ring, so he must have called someone. That was good; it meant he wasn’t listening to her.
“Emma!” Todd’s voice was sharp, jerking her attention back to him.
“What?”
“I can’t come to the house tonight,” he said, and Emma could hear the slightly disgruntled pout in his voice. She knew that tone. Todd was upset she wasn’t paying more attention to him. But she was as nervous as that proverbial cat in the room full of rocking chairs. She didn’t want to be talking to him with Josh so nearby.
“Oh, for God’s sake, are you pouting now? Fine. I’ll come see you. Where will you be?”
Todd sighed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m in the hospital.”
“You’re . . . what?” Her heart stopped all its acrobatics, seizing in her chest. “What happened?” Her mother died in a hospital, though she’d been too young to remember it. Their father, too, was rushed from the scene of the accident only to die in the hospital a few hours later. Emma really didn’t like hospitals.
“I’m fine, Ems. I promise.” The petulance vanished from his tone now. Todd knew how she felt, because he felt the same way. “It’s just some minor cuts and bruises. But they want to keep me overnight for observation, because I hit my head. That’s all.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “I’ll be right there.”
Todd was still talking, but Emma hung up. She turned back to find Josh still on the phone, engaged in a heated argument. She shifted impatiently from foot to foot, listening to him berate whoever was on the other line.
“Look, I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Persia. You tell him he’s signed a contract and I’m holding him to it. If he tries to weasel out of it, I’ll have him in court for so long his great-grandchildren will still be paying legal fees. What’s a few million to me? I will
bury
him in paperwork.”
He’d been doing such a good job of making Emma forget he was one of those rich people she despised, who had more money than they knew what to do with and mostly did nothing with it. But that little diatribe neatly reminded her.
“See that he does,” Josh said, and then hung up. He turned back to her and gave her the sheepish smile, but it failed to move her the way it usually did. “Sorry about that.”
Emma gave him a short nod. “I need to go, actually. Something important just came up and since we’re finished here. . . .” She trailed off, her feet itching to get a move on. Josh blinked.
“Oh. I thought we were going to—”
“I’m sorry. It’s
very
important. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She knew she was being rude, but all she could think about was that both her parents had died in a hospital without her having a chance to say goodbye, and now her only living relative was in one of those places. Fighting down panic, Emma hurried out the door.
Todd was sitting up in the hospital bed, a bright white bandage above his left eye, when she skittered into the room. He smiled at her around a spoonful of red Jell-O.
“Hey Ems.”
She pulled out the bedside chair and sank into it, her heart finally beginning to slow now that she was actually looking at her little brother. She brushed his hair off his forehead gently, careful not touch the bandage.
“What did you
do
, T-rex?”
He offered her the Jell-O cup. “You want some of this? It’s cherry. I know that’s your favorite.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Todd,” she snapped. “What did you do?”
“I sort of wrecked a dune buggy. But it’s no big deal!” He slurped noisily at another spoonful of gelatin, avoiding her eyes.
“What were you doing driving a dune buggy?” She gritted her teeth as she waited.
He finally raised his gaze to hers, eyes round with feigned innocence. “Racing. But Ems—”
“Why on earth were you racing dune buggies?” She quirked a brow, praying she was wrong about the words about to come out of his mouth.
Todd fiddled with the Jell-O cup, peeling away a bit of the lid that was still stuck to the edge. “There’s this big race in Las Vegas. The winner gets, like, half a million dollars. All you have to do is place in the qualifying round.”
“And pay a ‘small’ fee?” she guessed.
“Well, yeah. But it’s only a thousand bucks, and you can win half a million!”
Emma rested her forehead against the side of the hospital bed with a sigh. “Where do you plan on getting this thousand dollars, Todd?”
“I was going to use the watch as collateral for a small loan. Just until I won in Vegas.” He plucked at the sheet beside her head.
She raised her head and blinked in confusion. “The watch we don’t have in our possession?”
“But we will soon! It’s only another week until the ball.” He beamed down at her as if she were the brightest child in a gifted class. Emma inhaled deeply through her nose.
“Let me get this straight. You’re having me go to all this trouble—commit a
crime
—in order to get Dad’s watch back so you can turn around and
pawn
it?”