Read Online The Balance Thing by Margaret Dumas - Free Book Online Page B

console. “You have power and you’re decisive and you know what you want and you don’t take anyone’s bullshit and you expect a lot out of people and you don’t suffer fools and you’re…” He’d started out sounding angry, but something in my reaction must have cooled him down because he sort of trailed off and looked down at the wires again.
    Wow. It may take a lot to get him going, but it was worth it.
    He finished packing up his things and he spoke again, quietly this time. “Becks, a lot of those things will get you called a bitch, but in my mind and in this world”—he gestured at the console and the sound booth beyond—“they’re what make you a hero.”
    I stood up. I blinked at him. “Really?”
    â€œReally.” He looked away and cleared his throat. “I wonder what you’d say if I asked you what you think about me.”
    Warning signs started flashing. This was all getting a little too intense. I mean, he’d just said…and I wasn’t used to compliment…and he’d actually spoken more than five words at a time on a subject other than the undead. It was all getting way too real. He expected an answer from me.
    â€œI think…” I gulped. “I think for a straight guy you know an awful lot about old movie stars.”
    Disappointment flickered across his face, then he nodded.
    And I got the hell out of there.

Nine
    T he countdown to the wedding had begun. The night before we left for London Connie’s parents threw a simple little going-away party for all of her friends who wouldn’t be able to make it to the actual event. And, of course, all of Ian’s friends who were in the same boat. And while they were at it, everyone who would be going to the wedding, too.
    When your living room resembles a tastefully decorated airplane hangar, why not?
    There was a three-piece jazz combo called Hi Neighbor, a swan carved out of ice, a plenitude of eerily similar-looking waiters passing champagne and nibbles, and a buffet that stretched on for about a mile.
    â€œHow does Connie expect us to fit into the damn bridesmaid dresses if we’re going to be fed like this at every damn party for the next two weeks?” Vida asked in dismay.
    â€œDidn’t you get her instructions?” I asked.
    â€œWhat instructions?”
    I pulled a neatly typed 3 x 5 card out of my evening bag. “Number One: Eat a large salad with no-cal dressing before the party. Number Two: Drink one 8-ounce glass of mineralwater between each alcoholic beverage. Number Three: Limit alcoholic beverages to—”
    Vida snatched the paper from my hand. “You have so got to be kidding me!”
    I so wasn’t. “It’s what she gives her clients before a big party. I mean, not the socialite clients, but the nervous ones who want to be told how to behave. Apparently lots of brides appreciate it.”
    Vida tore the card neatly in two and dropped the pieces to the floor. “I do not”—she punctuated her statement with a gulp of champagne—“want to be told”—here she grabbed a passing waiter by the arm and exchanged her empty flute for a full one—“how to behave.” She polished off the contents of the new glass. “Let’s hit this buffet.”
    Something told me the party had just gotten interesting.
    Max joined me as Vida went foraging. “What’s the green stuff?” He gestured to an unappetizing platter.
    â€œSomething expensive,” I guessed.
    â€œYou know, I always forget how loaded Connie’s parents are. I really should schmooze them more.”
    â€œPlease. Half the people here are your clients.” I looked around the room and saw evidence of Max’s skill with the Botox needle everywhere.
    â€œThere’s always room for more. And I must drop a discreet hint to Con’s mom about a friend of mine who could take care of