Page 32 of Desserts for Stressed People

“Interesting...ringtone.”

Apparently, he can hear just fine.

Is it dramatic to hope for a car crash? Yes? How about a tiny pothole to deviate the conversation a little?

I meet Shane’s eyes right before he turns his focus back to the road. “Oh, y-yeah. Just...a new phone model.”

“Is it?”

I tuck the betraying device in my pocket. “Uh-huh.”

“What brand?”

Well, to say my lie was shit would be polite, but I’m in too deep now. “Oh, just—a new brand. Makes really cheap phones. Terrible notification sounds. You wouldn’t know it.”

“Right. Gotcha.”

We remain in the most uncomfortable silence known to man, and it feels like my phone is digging a hole through my pocket, but I don’t take it out. We just say nothing more for the rest of the trip, the same smile curving his lips. Once again, I think he’s making fun of me.

Karma really is a bitch.

Chapter9

Deserve Your Dessert

“And this will bethe backstage of your event. As you can see, there’s plenty of space for all your models and pretty dresses.” The woman turns to me, her eyes and nose crinkled. She has no idea how manypretty dresseswe’ll have to fit in here.

My eyes flick to the windows. We’re planning to have a little apéritif outside before the event starts, and the garden surrounding this place is outstanding, so that’s one checkmark off my list.

Shane is still on the phone, pacing up and down as he follows us. He’s not paying any attention to the woman’s words, and he has gotten one call after the other since we got here. I can’t say I’m complaining, because after the RadaR incident in the car, I could use a breather, but I wonder why he bothered to come.

“Shall we wait for your colleague?”

I turn to the woman, a kind smile smoothening her features and her hair in a low bun. “He’s my boss,” I explain before glancing at him again. Still pacing, still stressed. “No, let’s go.”

I follow the woman out of the room and into the main one. It looks big enough for the event, and it’s grandiose, for sure. Crown moldings decorate the walls, and the ceiling is so high I wonder how they clean that gigantic chandelier hanging in the middle of it. I almost feel undeserving just by being here without an evening dress.

“Are there kitchens on the premises?” I ask after I’ve taken some notes.

“Yes, on the lower floor. Would you like to see them?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

She waves around and continues describing the history of the mansion as she leads me through a billion corridors. Everything in here is a classy shade of cream, maybe beige. You’d think it makes this place look like an old, boring villa, but that’s far from the truth. Instead, it feels dipped in luxury.

We get to the main stairs and pause. This must be the most impressive part of the mansion. Two staircases mirror each other, one on each side of the room, with carved banisters and hundreds of renaissance-looking paintings hanging on the walls. It reminds me of movies about the English Monarchy.

“...and of course, we’ll remove any item if requested.”

The woman points at a half-bust sculpture by the doors, but I can’t think of anything that needs to be removed. The big white vases at the entrance, the sculptures along the corridors, the golden-framed mirrors. The space isn’t cluttered, and each object looks like it belongs, but I make a mental note to request a list of items to go through with the interior designer.

Once we reach the kitchens, I count eight stoves. I am not sure if that’s too many or not enough, so I inspect the stainless-steel counters and enjoy how spotless they are. It’s my level of cleanliness, which isn’t the simplest thing to achieve.

Shane, like he’s been summoned, appears at the kitchen entrance and looks into my eyes. “How are we doing?”

“Good. We’re taking a look at the kitchen.”

His gaze flies over the room.

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