Read Online Twisted Arrangement by Mora Early - Free Book Online
Authors: Mora Early
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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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.
Chapter 7
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
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.
Chapter 7
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
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