Page 23 of Her Patron
“Honestly? Kinda boring. In a way, I envy you. You may be sharing your woman, but at least you have one you’re in love with. I’m getting tired of this. I’m gonna be thirty soon. Maybe it is time I start settling down…” She grinned. “Nah.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect woman for you soon enough. Who knows? She might even be at the wedding.” Sette sighed, dramatically – and on purpose. “I know mine will be.”
“Fucking gag.”
The security guard shot them another glare. One of the kids’ mothers gasped. Sheepish Zara apologized and pretended to be enthralled with the world of Rembrandt. Sette went back to staring at the replication ofDanaë, wondering if her depictions of June ever came across that truthfully.
Chapter 6
Miquela
“Isent her measurements over,” Miquela said into her phone while enjoying her view of the marina. “If you dress her in red, I will be a very happy woman. Not pink. Red.”
“Yes, Ms. Bolivar.” The woman on the other end paused while she copied down this information. “Any backup colors you would like us to consider?”
“Hmm. Black?”
“Certainly. But, if I may suggest, if you aim to attract eyes in a place where everyone who is anyone is dressing up, you might want a brighter color.”
“Right. Purple could be good. Maybe a light blue. Otherwise, I will leave it up to you. She has blond hair and a fair complexion. I’m looking forward to how you dress her up for me.”
She hung up. Ever since it was confirmed that she could take June to the wedding of the year, she thought of nothing but theright dress. It was too late for a custom outfit, but she had the number of the best personal stylist in New York. The stylist and her team would work out with the Manoir when to come by with their wares and decide what was best for a sexy woman like June. Miquela didn’t need details. She wanted to be wowed the moment she saw her.
She wanted everyone else at the wedding to be wowed as well.
It was only right that her date be one of the most eye-catching there. Not only was she a woman who needed to meet prospective business connections, but she also liked to show off the women she loved.Rosa loved every minute I spent showing her off.
Miquela pocketed her phone and resumed her work. There were documents to go over and calls to return. With any luck, she would be emailing her father prospective plots of land to build their first American casino on.
“Monsieur!” rang Aimee’s anxious tone. “Un gros probléme!” She skidded into the office, feet sliding across the hardwoods as her face turned sheet white. “C’est ta soeur!”
“What?” Miquela, who loomed over her desk, looked up with as much disbelief as she could manage. “You’re joking, right?”
From the way Aimee shook her head, she certainly wasn’t.
And from that voice bowling through the office door… oh, shit.
“Hermana!” There was nothing cheery about that fake happy-to-see-you tone. Miquela would have turned white like her assistant, but that wasn’t acceptable in this current situation.
No. She would have to be the most calm, the most collected asshole to ever grace the name Bolivar… of the Valencia Bolivars, anyway.
“Be right there!” she shouted, praying that her unexpected guest would not enter her office without permission. She would, too. “Give me a damn second!”
When she opened the office door, she found Dolores standing in front of the large windows of the living room, that critical demeanor picking apart everything grotesque and immature about the American cityscape before her.Dolores hates America.She’d only be here unannounced if it were an emergency.The Queen Regent of Western European Snobbery would otherwise never deign to cross the pond. She barely tolerated England.
“Dearest sister!” she called in her accented English before switching to Spanish. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your busy work. I know how much effort you put into fucking your assistants.”
It was a good thing Aimee was not fluent in Spanish. She knew enough to understand Miquela’s half-asleep scrawls at two in the morning, but not enough to understand what Dolores was saying, no matter how sweet and saccharin-coated she tried to make her accusation.
“That’s unnecessary.” At least Miquela could drop the veneer of familial love. Dolores wanted to go straight for her jugular? She could handle it, but she wouldn’t pretend to like it. “Why the hell are you here? Come to check up on me?”
Dolores gave Aimee a thorough once-over as the assistant excused herself from Miquela’s apartment. “Let me guess. French? I know how much you love your Frenchputas.”
“Déjalo,” Miquela warned her. “I am not sleeping with my assistant. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Good, because I do know who you are sleeping with, and it would be quite uncouth if Mama and Papa found out you were two-timing some slimy prostitute.”
Miquela loosened the cuffs on her shirt. It was the only way to keep from losing her shit. “So, I take it you saw the pictures. Is that why you’re here? You could’ve yelled at me on the phone. For, you know, daring to have a personal life. Not like I called those nasty paps.”
