Page 35 of Moonshine and Magnolias
“I didn’t say I agreed.”
“She agrees.” Brandi swung around to Wendy. “I’ll help you get a chunk crossed off of your to-do list.”
“I can go for one hour,” Wendy said.
“I’ll help. Make it two,” Sebastien prompted.
Jordan put her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll keep him out of your way. Make it three.”
At this rate, they might as well make it the whole night.
***
There were definite advantages to having a friend with manservants. One of them being the ultimate designated driver in a limo designed to hold eight people and a minibar.
Which is how Wendy found herself barhopping as if she was back in college, complete with the short denim skirt, a neckline showing more cleavage than adesperate reality TV starlet, hair in a high, sassy ponytail, and high heels in a colorful girly print of paisley and polka dots. She’d be doing it all in a pair of comfortable blue jeans and a t-shirt if Brandi and Jordan hadn’t overruled her wardrobe choices, with Jordan making her wear one of the woman’s many pairs of designer shoes. Brandi looked natural in her own miniskirt and boots. Jordan remained polished and sleek, even in tight jeans.
The Pansy Hamilton contracts had all been logged, merchants had been contacted, and she’d followed up on the social media ad for temporary culinary help. She owed her evening to her cousin and her friends. The day had been exhausting.
After her embarrassing outburst in the lobby, her mind hinted that staying at Fountenoy Hall long-term wouldn’t be a bad thing. That Brandi was learning. That she and her cousin could turn the inn into something with limitless possibilities. But there wasn’t a new handsome man around to promise Brandi the moon. And Wendy had her own job waiting.
And then there was her own man situation. She almost laughed. Rob had shown her there was more to being Wendy Marsh than her efficiency and hiding in her cousin’s bold and beautiful shadow. But she had been there for so long, it was hard to come out.
Fiddlesticks. That had to be the alcohol making her introspective. She held up one of the tiny bottles of whiskey. “How much of this stuff did I have to drink?”
“If you have to ask, not nearly enough,” Jordan said.
God, it felt good to be with Sebastien and Jordan again. There was never any judgement from them. Their next stop was a dance club four towns over with vehicles from pick-up trucks to luxury cars in the parking lot. The entire structure pulsated with music from the eighties that begged to be let out of the building. Fluorescent bulbs lit up the entrance, and the club’s green neon sign proclaiming Emeralds boasted a martini flashing on and off.
“How did you find this place, Sebastien?” Jordan asked, linking her arm through his as they stumbled out of the limo. He pointed to Massimo, and shesaluted.
The music stopped, turning the air into a creepy silence, before it blared up with a new song. The one or two or five shots Wendy already had made getting out of the car with heeled shoes a monumental task, but somehow she managed and stumbled her way across the crushed concrete parking lot into the bar.
Geez, did her friends have to find a table all the way across the room? Unknown substances stuck to her shoes as she maneuvered through dancing couples. Not tripping over her own feet was an accomplishment, especially since it was done dodging offers of drinks and dancing. Finally she collapsed onto a wooden chair, her eyes stinging from the haze of smoke.
“Beers are on me.” Sebastien shouted to be heard over the music.
“Not champagne or some billionaire vodka? So low-brow of you,” Jordan said.
The stale smell of old cigarettes was covered by the hoppy scent of the beers the waitress put on the table. Sebastien watched the woman walk away, then fixed his eyes on a petite blonde wearing thigh-high brown boots and a short denim skirt. His finger tapped on the table in time to the music. “Ladies, I may have just found my next dancing partner.”
He sidled up to the woman. Soon he was moving with blondie amid the other swaying, hip-shaking couples.
“Do you think he learned how to do that from a dancing instructor?” Brandi asked.
Now that was a good image. A young Sebastien in a European ballroom, learning how to move to old wave music. “He could always adapt.” She downed half her beer and let out a burp.
“Classy.” Brandi saluted her with her mug and joined in with her own belch.
The music ended and Sebastien kissed his partner’s hand and returned her to her seat. A moment later, he was back at their table, with the blonde shooting the women nasty glances like they had run over her cat.
“You picked a hot one there, Charming,” Jordan said.
“How sad that a man can’t dance with a woman without her thinking of the bedroom as the ultimate destination.” He put his hands on the sides of the table and darted his eyes from side to side. “Maybe it’s time for the Ginger Ninja to make his escape.”
The music slowed and Sebastien held his hand out to Wendy. She shook her head and raised her eyebrows at Brandi, who was watching the dance floor.
His lips flattened, but he stood up and bowed to her cousin. “Brandilynn Clayton, may I have the honor?”
