Read Online Hostile Makeover by Ellen Byerrum - Free Book Online Page A

isn’t it? Is that what they’re wearing in Washington now?”
    “No, it’s what I wear.”
    “And you write about fashion? Really? For The Eye ? ” Her tone was snotty diva to the max. Lacey would have to try to mimic it for Miguel.
    “I write about style for real women.” Lacey smiled, revealing her own even white teeth, which were natural. “Sometimes fashion and style intersect. A happy but rare occasion.”
    “Right.” Amanda touched her forehead like she was rubbing the pain away. “Never mind. You’re Lacey Smithsonian, right? The one who took on the Bentleys? Good, you’re the one I wanted. So let’s talk.” She carefully lifted her steaming mug, took a sip, spat it out, and yelled for the unfortunate Fawn. “Damn it, Fawn, that’s terrible! Where is that little bitch? She does this to me on purpose.”
    “Does what?” Penfield asked in a very soothing tone of voice from behind his camera.
    She whirled on him. “I ordered Earl Grey tea! This is green tea! It tastes like a mowed lawn. It’s a simple enough task; you would think any moron could do it.” Her voice reached an unpleasant range. Somewhere porpoises were squealing in pain. “But apparently she can’t. And what is she wearing? Burberry?! She’s supposed to be wearing something from my collection!”
    Yvette Powers swiftly moved in, her heels clicking on the polished wood floors. “What is the trouble now, Mandy?”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    Yvette deliberately took a long, slow breath. “ Dearest Amanda, do tell me what is the matter?”
    “That little idiot brought me the wrong tea.”
    “That’s hardly enough to make a federal case over.” Yvette stalked off and sent Fawn scurrying back with another cup of tea, presumably Earl Grey this time. Zoe crept back in and stood quivering, clearly upset.
    “Amanda, honey, it’s okay. We are all a little tense.”
    “What are you tense about, Zoe? It’s worse for me! I’m surrounded by incompetent zombies.” Amanda’s gaze settled on Lacey.
    It’s going so well. Lacey knew she shouldn’t be amused, but she was. Amanda was like one of those terrible thirteen-year-old girls who lived only to torment the less powerful. But Lacey had the power of the pen, in her case her favorite Waterman fountain pen, a green-enameled weapon mightier than the sword. Well, at least mightier than Amanda’s stilettos. Lacey remembered Mac’s favorite saying: “Never argue with people who buy paper by the ton and ink by the barrel.” She gave a little wave with her pen and smiled, and Amanda got the hint. She was immediately back on good behavior.
    Amanda’s voice dropped an octave into a chummy intimacy. “I’m so sorry. It’s just been a terrible day; you’ll understand when I tell you,” she said, including Lacey in her little club of mean teens.
    “We all have bad days,” Lacey agreed. Kill anyone yet today?
    Zoe absentmindedly reached down for one of the small sweets on the tray, which did not go unnoticed by her bone-thin sister. “Go ahead, Zoe, sweetie,” Amanda snarled. “What’s another ten pounds?”
    Zoe dropped the treat and backed into a rack of clothing, looking as if she’d been slapped.
    Miguel was right. The makeover had unleashed Amanda’s inner bitch. Frankendiva. And she seemed so sweet on TV. Lacey waved her green fountain pen again. Amanda paused.
    “Let’s start over, shall we? Ms. Smithsonian, you’re the reporter who solved those murders. The hairstylist and the intern, what’s her name? Esme something?” Lacey shrugged. Solved seemed to her a pretty high-concept term for her involvement in those stories.
    “I just put two and two together and got lucky.”
    “Then you are the one who solved those murders, right?”
    “My beat is fashion.” Lacey marveled at how she could say that now without cringing. “But sometimes I seem to get in the way of a bigger story.”
    “I don’t want you here because of fashion, for God’s sake,” Amanda said