Blonde Ops (6 page)

Behind them came Nelson, and then Ortiz, black-eyed and bandaged, and a new guy—tall, dark, and menacing.

It became instantly silent as everyone, myself included, stared. Serena still stood on the balcony, her mouth open, apparently awestruck. I knew the blonde woman—totally knew her—but couldn't immediately remember from where. Behind me, someone whispered, “It's Candace Worthington!” I had a name, but still couldn't place the face.

Her dishy companion unhooked himself from her arm and flipped a slim palm in introduction. “Candace Worthington will be taking over
Edge
for Parker Phillips,” he said, looking down his nose and speaking in a posh British accent worthy of the stuffiest aristocrat.

“You,” she pointed a danger-orange fingernail at Kevin, “must be Kevin.”

“Managing editor,” he said, stepping up with a hand out for her to shake, but she squashed him with a look.

“Come with me.” Then she glanced at Mr. Dish, who acknowledged her with the barest of smiles. “You too, Varon,” she said to him. “Everyone else,” and she whirled around like a lethal ballerina, looking at each individual person, “you know what you need to do for the next half hour. Do it. And be quiet about it.” She twirled a dismissive wrist jangly with golden bracelets and strode briskly up the steps. When she reached the top she paused to raise her large black sunglasses and glare directly at Kevin. “Coming?” He hurried after her to Parker's-temporarily-Serena's office. A moment later, I heard a door slam.

I couldn't decide if I liked her or hated her. Candace Worthington, Candace Worthington …
Who was Candace Worthington?

All eyes turned to the new Suit. He glowered back, assessing everyone. When his critical eyes landed on me, taking in my pink-with-blonde-roots braids, he frowned. I smiled back brightly and turned to Sophie.

“This isn't going to be good.”

“That's an understatement,” she replied morosely, tugging me into the kitchen. Yes. Coffee. Now.

I chuckled. “Although Candace put Kevin in his place.”

Sophie punched my arm. “
Ms.
Worthington!”

“Candace, Ms. Worthington, who cares?”

“Do you live under a rock? That's
Candace
Worthington. Supermodel? Reality show host?”

Then it clicked.

Oh yeah.

Former
supermodel. The bitchy cohost of such quality TV viewing as
You Want
Me
to Wear
That
?
And,
Did You Get Dressed in the Dark?
Oh yeah. And the star of that scandal when she flipped out on a designer boutique owner who tried to sell her an imitation bag. She brought TV cameras, cops, and state and federal investigators and ended up uncovering a multibillion dollar counterfeiting operation. No one crossed her.

And now she was my new boss.

No.

No no
no
!
No buona fortuna!

“This
really
isn't going to be good,” I said.

Sophie gave me a slow, sad nod. “You bet your Gucci.”

 

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR
THE EDGE-Y GIRL

Even if you're clawing your way up the corporate ladder, your business suit needs some glam: a pin, a scarf, a sparkling top, a vibrant color. Fight like a man, but look like a woman!

6

When Kevin emerged from Candace's—no, Parker's—office, he was dazzled and frazzled—and called me over with a finger snap.

“Candace wants you to go to the hotel with agents Ortiz, Nelson, and Case, and show them where her room is, and then—”

“I don't know where Candace's room is,” I cut him off. I didn't—and
no one
snapped their fingers at me.

“
Candace
is staying in Parker's suite.
Candace
is in charge of
Edge
.
Candace
is now your boss, so you'd best make her happy.”

Candace had better not think
she
was going to be both boss and guardian. Not. Happening.

“What about Parker?”

Kevin's arrogant face went soft with worry. “She's still in the hospital.”

“Which one?” I demanded.

Back came the sneer. “Candace didn't say.”

Candace had all the answers, didn't she? Except the ones that I wanted. Mom and Dad would have something to say about this—I didn't care how busy they were. I opened my mouth to protest, but Kevin had already waved over Ortiz and Nelson and the new Suit, Case.

I'd play along for now, but as soon as I got a second alone, Mom was getting an SOS call.

Varon stood close by, looking absolutely perfect; not a hair mussed, nor a wrinkle in his perfectly coordinated ensemble, not even a shiny nose, although it was warm.

“You coming too?” I asked him.

A patronizing smile. “Ms. Worthington needs me here,” he said, as if I should have known better than to ask.

So much for trying to be friendly. Or helpful. As soon as I deposited the Skulking Suits at the Hotel Beatrici, they'd be on their own.

We drove the short distance in silence. When we pulled up, three porters hurried down to the car. They struggled to unload Candace's luggage—a dozen bloodred leather cases of varying sizes, each piece monogrammed with an oversized cream-colored
C
and secured with shiny gold locks. I watched them steer their unwieldy carts up a side ramp and into the lobby.

Case checked in at the desk while I waited off to the side, sneaking surreptitious looks at Ortiz and Nelson. Ortiz looked like she was in pretty rough shape. I guessed that she'd been driving the car. That meant that Parker was on the passenger side—the “Death Seat,” my driver's ed teacher called it. Ortiz caught me looking at her and the corners of her mouth twitched, like she was fighting a small smile.

Finished with the concierge, Case motioned us over, but when I tried to follow, he held up a hand. “You can go back to the office. We're good on our own from here.”

“You sure?” Not that I was really interested in helping them, but if Candace and I were sharing a suite and they were moving her in, I didn't want them touching any of my stuff.

“We're good,” he said. “We need to clear the area for Mrs. Jennings's arrival. No one who isn't personally approved by us gets inside the perimeter.”

Perimeter, checkpoints, surveillance—lots of security. I understood that. Theresa Jennings was the First Lady, and Parker, who was supposed to be hosting her, had been in an accident. That didn't look good. Still, my room was up there and I wasn't an outsider. “But—”

Case frowned so fiercely his eyebrows disappeared below his shades and the fight went out of me. I'd bide my time. I still had to locate Parker and tell Mom what happened. I'd never responded to her e-mail. As I left the hotel, I tapped her number into my new phone.

Ring … ring …

“Cici Jackson, leave me a message…”

Leave a message? Why wasn't her ear glued to the phone like it always was whenever I saw her? What should I say?

Hey, Mom, Parker got into a car accident. Have you heard from her? Because I haven't. I know I promised no hacking, but I may need to break that promise to find out what's going on. But no worries. Candace Worthington is looking after me. You know, Candace
You-Want-
Me
-to-Wear-
That
?
Worthington. You must have seen her on TV once or twice. Well, gotta run! Have to escort the Secret Service around Rome! Ciao!

Nope. That wasn't voice mail or text message material.

“Hey, Mom! Got your e-mail, my new number should show up on your phone. Call me when you have a sec!”

End call.

Around the city, bells tolled. It was noon and I was starved. I passed shop after shop, searching for a place to snag some food, ducking into what looked like a deli.

When it was my turn to order at the counter, I pulled out my wallet, still full of American dollars. Damn. I hadn't exchanged them for euros yet. Looking up into the eyes of a rotund man with a kindly face, I held up a $20.

“No euros,” I said. God, did I sound pathetic.

“
Sì.
Dollars.”

Yep, those were American dollars. One last, longing look at the scrumptious buffet behind the counter, then dropping my head down in disappointment, I turned to go, but he tapped the glass with his huge fingers to get my attention.

“What you want,
bella
?”

My stomach growled, not afraid to embarrass me. “Um…” I scanned the case and pointed to a puffy, shiny topped bun.

He nodded. “
Carla! Una brioche!
”

Carla bustled behind him and handed him the brioche, nestled in waxed paper. She'd split it in half and stuffed it with something that looked like ice cream.

Reaching under the counter, he pulled two small cookies from the showcase and stuck them into the ice cream. It was almost too pretty to eat. Seeing my surprise, he put a finger to his lips.

“Shhh!” He winked at me, handing over the bounty.

“
Grazie!
”

As I walked, I savored first the delicate crumble of the cookies as they melted on my tongue, then the ice cream as it burst out of the flaky brioche. I licked my fingers, not wanting to waste a precious morsel.

My sweet reprieve didn't last long. When I got back to the office, it was as if I'd stepped into one of the lower circles of hell. My pit stop had given Case ample time to get back ahead of me, and now he had everyone in the office lined up.

Kevin saw me, scowled, and gave me a dressing-down glare. “And where have
you
been?”

“I was at the hotel with Ortiz, Nelson, and Case, remember?” Well, I
was
. I didn't think that stopping to eat counted as blowing off work. Just because the majority of the staff counted every calorie didn't mean I was going to follow their example. I smiled sweetly and directed my attention to Case. At least I knew his attitude came from being official.

“Agent Case said you left before he did,” came a voice from above. Candace peered stiffly from the balcony, Varon behind her with an open tablet, tapping away. “From now on, you're to report straight back here when you're given a task.”

You're not in charge of me, whatever Kevin says,
I thought mutinously. I wouldn't accept that I had to go hungry because it wasn't on anyone's schedule. Thankfully she dropped it and turned her attention to Kevin.

“Bring water, espressos, and some crudités,” she said to him, and then to Case, “You can use Kevin and Serena's office.” She looked up and down as if she was examining everyone's face. “Everyone needs to speak with Agent Case.” Then with a curt nod, she spun smartly in her alligator heels, and on her long legs glided back to her borrowed office, faithful Varon in tow.

“She's not going to let anyone leave, not even to eat, until we've all been ‘talked to,'” Sophie whispered, annoyed—and probably hungry. I was glad I'd stopped at that bakery.

“Don't just stand there. Get everything together,” Kevin ordered, his voice low and tight—and through clenched teeth. I wanted to refuse—she'd ordered
him
to get the food—but I didn't need any more trouble. I rounded up water, coffee, and chopped veggies on a dish—and Kevin snatched them from me.

“I'll take that,” he snapped, spilling some steaming coffee on his hands. With a stare that promised ill for me, although I wondered how that could've been
my
fault, he stomped out, muttering under his breath about stupid interns. I suddenly missed uptight deans and shallow prep-schoolers.

Case peered over the balcony and called to me. “Rebecca Jackson?”

I moved into view and he waved me up.

Agent Case ran through a mini-documentary on my life, which didn't sound so good, even to me. There was no detail that seemed to have escaped him. So why the inquisition? He even knew what flight I'd been on, but the questions were relentless and I was losing patience.

“Did you talk to anyone at any of the airports?”

“No.”

“Did anyone approach you on the planes or at the hotel?”

“Only the old man who drove the taxi like we were on the Daytona Speedway, Parker, and the woman at the hotel who brought up my breakfast, saving me from starvation.” His tightly knit brow told me that he didn't appreciate my witty repartee.

“Have you talked to anyone about the First Lady's visit?”

“I didn't even know about it until I got here, but no, I haven't talked about it to anyone.”

“When was the last time you saw Ms. Phillips?”

My voice cracked a little when I answered. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about Parker. “The night before last we walked back to the hotel. We had dinner, then I went to bed. Is she … is she okay?”

He paused as if he was thinking—debating on what he should say. Finally he said, “Stable but critical.”

Critical?
That wasn't good.

I swallowed my fear. “Where is she? I want to see her. She's my guardian while I'm here.”

“Yes, we're aware of that. Ms. Worthington will be responsible for you until other arrangements can be made.”

Responsible for me? Other arrangements? How … caring.

“Unfortunately, Ms. Phillips is unable to have visitors and I'm not authorized to give out any information.” He looked genuinely apologetic. “I'm sorry.”

It's okay, Bec
.
You've dealt with worse.
Well, not really. But this was no different from any other set of problems to work out. Case might not have been able to tell me where Parker was, but I knew I could find out and go see her on my own. No one, not even the Secret Service or Candace I-Eat-Nails-for-Breakfast Worthington, would be able to stop me.