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Authors: G. A. McKevett
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up?”
Atlanta sat back down on the bed and began to carefully check her stockings for runs. She could see Barbie’s reflection in the mirror, and one look was enough to see that Ms. Matthews was unhappy with what she heard on the other end.
“Well, did you... you know... have that little talk?” She paused, tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently. “Yeah, and so? That is not what I want to hear! That is so not what I want to hear!” She glanced at Atlanta in the mirror and lowered her voice a notch. “This... situation... is getting worse, not better. We know who’s going to be the sorriest in the end, and it ain’t gonna be me. Fix it, dammit! You caused it; you fix it!”
She clicked off the phone and hurled it across the room onto her bed.
Atlanta realized she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, so she snapped it shut. Barbie shot her a look that was so cold and full of hate it gave Atlanta the shivers. Where did she get off being so angry?
“Plumbing problems at home,” she said. “Damned basement’s flooded.”
Atlanta nodded. “Yeah, sure. Happens all the time. Ours floods every morning, at nine sharp, like clockwork.”
Barbie mumbled a nonreply and returned to her toiletries.
As appealing as the prospect was—of continuing to irritate the heck out of her roommate—Atlanta decided that she had enjoyed as much of Barbie’s scintillating company as she could stand. Besides, in spite of what she had said, Atlanta prided herself on usually being prompt, or at least, not scandalously late.
So she quickly wriggled into the simple, white-linen dress she had brought for the occasion, slipped on sandal, strap-around-the-ankle pumps, single-stud, rhinestone earrings, and a delicate tennis bracelet.
Barbie turned to give her a once-over. “Is that what you’re wearing, Georgia?”
For half a second Atlanta felt a twinge of self-doubt. But just in time, the Reid Super Self-Confidence kicked in. She twisted slightly, until the side slit of her skirt showed a shapely expanse of thigh. “Yeah, eat your heart out, Miss Barbie.” She sauntered over to the door and jerked it open. “Later,” she said as stepped outside and slammed it closed behind her.
“Ah... a breath of fresh air...,” she said as she strolled down the hallway toward the gallery, with a distinct Reid sashay to her walk.
Chapter
6
T he moment Savannah stepped into Villa Rosa’s tasting room, she looked around, caught her breath, and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan’s tuxedo.
“Whoa! Get a load of this place!” she said, “I want a living room that looks exactly like this.”
Ryan laughed. “I suppose you do.”
Savannah gazed about, awestruck, taking in the enormous room with its twenty-five-foot-high, open-beamed ceiling, its old oak wainscoting, its mile-long, brightly polished, mahogany bar, and its massive stone fireplace. The carpeting beneath her feet was the deep, ruby shade of a fine Bordeaux, and when she stepped on it, she felt like she was sinking in to her ankles. “ Yeah, right,” she said, giving Ryan a nudge with her elbow. “Easy for you to say. You have a living room like this. Just like this.”
He grinned down at her. “Not just like this. You can’t stand up in my stone fireplace, and I don’t have twenty dining tables, or forty beautiful girls and their friends and families sitting around them.”
“You would, if you just crooked your finger. But then, what would you do with forty beautiful girls?”
“Precisely. And I couldn’t stand to hear that much giggling. That’s one thing I’ve always liked about John; he hardly ever giggles.”
Savannah sniffed the air, fragrant with the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and wine sauces. China, silver, and crystal gleamed in the candlelight, spread across snowy, linen-draped tables.
The “Welcome Dinner” was semiformal, and gentlemen, looking wonderfully elegant in their tuxedos, escorted the beauty contestants, their mothers,
Atlanta sat back down on the bed and began to carefully check her stockings for runs. She could see Barbie’s reflection in the mirror, and one look was enough to see that Ms. Matthews was unhappy with what she heard on the other end.
“Well, did you... you know... have that little talk?” She paused, tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently. “Yeah, and so? That is not what I want to hear! That is so not what I want to hear!” She glanced at Atlanta in the mirror and lowered her voice a notch. “This... situation... is getting worse, not better. We know who’s going to be the sorriest in the end, and it ain’t gonna be me. Fix it, dammit! You caused it; you fix it!”
She clicked off the phone and hurled it across the room onto her bed.
Atlanta realized she was standing there with her mouth hanging open, so she snapped it shut. Barbie shot her a look that was so cold and full of hate it gave Atlanta the shivers. Where did she get off being so angry?
“Plumbing problems at home,” she said. “Damned basement’s flooded.”
Atlanta nodded. “Yeah, sure. Happens all the time. Ours floods every morning, at nine sharp, like clockwork.”
Barbie mumbled a nonreply and returned to her toiletries.
As appealing as the prospect was—of continuing to irritate the heck out of her roommate—Atlanta decided that she had enjoyed as much of Barbie’s scintillating company as she could stand. Besides, in spite of what she had said, Atlanta prided herself on usually being prompt, or at least, not scandalously late.
So she quickly wriggled into the simple, white-linen dress she had brought for the occasion, slipped on sandal, strap-around-the-ankle pumps, single-stud, rhinestone earrings, and a delicate tennis bracelet.
Barbie turned to give her a once-over. “Is that what you’re wearing, Georgia?”
For half a second Atlanta felt a twinge of self-doubt. But just in time, the Reid Super Self-Confidence kicked in. She twisted slightly, until the side slit of her skirt showed a shapely expanse of thigh. “Yeah, eat your heart out, Miss Barbie.” She sauntered over to the door and jerked it open. “Later,” she said as stepped outside and slammed it closed behind her.
“Ah... a breath of fresh air...,” she said as she strolled down the hallway toward the gallery, with a distinct Reid sashay to her walk.
Chapter
6
T he moment Savannah stepped into Villa Rosa’s tasting room, she looked around, caught her breath, and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan’s tuxedo.
“Whoa! Get a load of this place!” she said, “I want a living room that looks exactly like this.”
Ryan laughed. “I suppose you do.”
Savannah gazed about, awestruck, taking in the enormous room with its twenty-five-foot-high, open-beamed ceiling, its old oak wainscoting, its mile-long, brightly polished, mahogany bar, and its massive stone fireplace. The carpeting beneath her feet was the deep, ruby shade of a fine Bordeaux, and when she stepped on it, she felt like she was sinking in to her ankles. “ Yeah, right,” she said, giving Ryan a nudge with her elbow. “Easy for you to say. You have a living room like this. Just like this.”
He grinned down at her. “Not just like this. You can’t stand up in my stone fireplace, and I don’t have twenty dining tables, or forty beautiful girls and their friends and families sitting around them.”
“You would, if you just crooked your finger. But then, what would you do with forty beautiful girls?”
“Precisely. And I couldn’t stand to hear that much giggling. That’s one thing I’ve always liked about John; he hardly ever giggles.”
Savannah sniffed the air, fragrant with the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and wine sauces. China, silver, and crystal gleamed in the candlelight, spread across snowy, linen-draped tables.
The “Welcome Dinner” was semiformal, and gentlemen, looking wonderfully elegant in their tuxedos, escorted the beauty contestants, their mothers,
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