Page 134 of Bishop's Queen

She pictured the beach, calming waves, and she pulled in a breath, letting it drift. When she opened her eyes, the woman staring back at her was hard to recognize, but that was still her. “Just makeup and hairspray. It all washes away.”

At the base of the mirror sat an envelope with her name elegantly scrawled across it in calligraphy. It leaned on a small gift box. How had they missed this?

She picked it up. The cardstock was heavy and expensive. She rubbed its textured paper between her thumb and forefinger, tilting the card until the sharp edges scratched her palm. She closed her eyes, trying to relax, turning the card over and over… How had everything gone so wrong with Bishop? And so fast?

Again, she stared at her airbrushed and processed reflection in the vanity mirror.Just make it through tonight. And to do that, she needed to put Bishop aside.

Ella slid the little box forward, surprised by its weight. She batted it between her fingers on the counter before letting it slide to a standstill. “You’re strong. You’ve always been that way. Sometimes, it’s harder to find that strength, but it’s in there. Even when you don’t recognize yourself.”

She tore the expensive envelope open, ripping the thick paper, and slid the card out.

Dear Ms. Leighton,

We would like to thank you for your participation as a category award announcer this evening! We’re pleased to have you and the Eco-Ella powerhouse brand as part of the show. Please accept our token of appreciation with this small gesture.

With our sincere thanks,

Your Friends at the Capri Awards

How thoughtful. Normally, Tara intercepted gifts and cards, and she only learned about them after the fact. Ella picked up the box and removed the decorative cardboard. It was pretty, though a completely unnecessary waste of resources.Not to be unappreciative.

Nimbly, she opened the top of the box and—well—not her style, but staring up at her was a beautiful bracelet.

It had an intricate design and was unlike anything she’d seen—very abstract art-looking, she guessed, very New York City. Ella lifted it out of the clips, peeling the unneeded plastic wrapping off of the thick, ornate metal band, and held it out on her fingers. The ornate clasp was even a work of art, and she wrapped the bracelet around her wrist, locking it on.

Definitely gorgeous and absolutely not something she would normally wear. But really, it was fashionable and maybe even matched what she was wearing.

She held her arm out then dropped it against her dress. The bracelet didn’t move much and was fairly tight on her wrist. Was she expected to wear this tonight? What were the social rules on these things? She didn’t know. This was a time that it would be helpful to have other“celebrity” friends. What was there? A message board where they could post questions? A Dear Abby of online personality protocol?

Or was the gift part of a sponsorship, and she was expected to wear it as part of her speaking tonight? Tara sometimes made arrangements, and Ella was supposed to wear certain gifts and borrowed items from designers. Like this dress—aMalia Savaoriginal. How many times had Tara dropped that phrase into conversations, and Ella too, as instructed?

“Hey, Tara?” Ella called over her shoulder.

The bracelet definitely didn’t match with anything boho chic that she owned. If she was ever to wear it, it would probably be tonight. Fumbling at the clasp, she couldn’t undo it, as if she needed evidence that this wasn’t her type of jewelry. If they had given her something handmade of beads and hemp, Ella would have been a happy camper.

“Come on…” But—ugh—she was going to chip her nail polish, and Lord knew if she did that, Tara would give her hell. Sometimes, her publicist could be like a mom—a helicopter one that leaned to the bitchy side and needed to have a glass of wine. But right about now, she needed that mom to undo this bracelet.Shoot. Never mind.

Ella stood up and looked in the mirror, posing at various angles. The combination looked good, though. “Tara?”

She waited for her publicist to burst in and immediately drop the gauntlet with the fashion decision before Ella could ask the question. But no dice.

It wasn’t as if the place was soundproof. She walked to the door and twisted the knob, only to find Bishop alone.Dang it.“Where’d Tara go?”

“She went to find Locke and stake out your seat.” Green eyes crawled down her dress, drifting over every curve and pausing too long in that deep V between her breasts. His throat bobbed before he turned back toward the empty hallway.

Ella stared at the opposite side of the empty hall, still feeling his gaze. “Is she coming back?”

“Probably not. Event staff will find you before your time. Why?”

He didn’t sound as if he was asking because he cared, more that he was asking for work. They were back to the beginning, when she was a job. And he was good at his job, which she should be thrilled about. The best of the best was watching her butt. Almost quite literally, except it had been her boobs.

She turned back when she felt his gaze again. “I had a question about jewelry.”

He raised his eyebrows and bunched his lips, obviously assessing if fashion at an awards show was serious. “Is it an emergency?”

“No, it’s not.” Ella held the heavy bracelet out. “The Capri Awards gave this to me. I… never mind.”

The metal clung to her skin tighter than she liked but then again, she was used to beach wear. Even these hellacious shoes were foreign to her, and she was pretty sure that after this event was over, Tara had them ready for a charity auction. At least two fashion reporters had asked her about them, one even remarking about her spectaculartoe cleavage. To which, Ella had kept her stupefiedwhat the hellto herself.

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