Designer Knockoff Read Online Free Page B

would pay no attention to her, preferring the allure of a Cordelia or an Esme. In her early thirties, Lacey figured a guy like Jeffrey would be looking for a woman with lower numbers in both age and IQ. He sat down next to her.
    “Uncle Hugh loves it when people do their homework,” he murmured in her ear.
    “Homework?”
    “You’re wearing an extremely rare vintage Bentley, I gather from Aaron’s hyperventilating, and you wear it extremely well. You made a big impression on Uncle Hugh, and you don’t even look remotely like a reporter. Unless it’s Brenda Starr.”
    “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I love Brenda Starr.
    The last arrival was Aaron Bentley’s special assistant, a tall, thin, black man they called Chevalier. He was almost too pretty with his cocoa skin and thick black eyelashes. He seemed ageless, and he could have been twenty-five or forty-five.
    “Chevalier, do you know the whereabouts of Miss Esme Fairchild?” Hugh asked. “There was some confusion at the hearing. I expected to see her helping to manage this affair.”
    “I’m afraid no one has seen her today, Hugh.” He busied himself with his napkin.
    Cordelia narrowed her eyes at the mention of Esme. “How very odd. I thought she would have Velcroed herself to Aaron today.” She lightly touched Aaron’s arm with her perfectly manicured nails.
    “Surely you didn’t mind her absence?” Belinda teased her.
    “Of course not, Belinda. I just want to see her wear something as comfy as I had to wear today,” Cordelia said. “Something like a straitjacket, in itchy olive-drab wool.”
    “I’m sure we could design something appropriate, Cordelia, dear,” Hugh said.
    “Wearing that uniform wasn’t that bad, Cordy, and it was a good idea, even if it was Esme’s,” Aaron said.
    “All I said was that I’d like her to wear that damn uniform herself,” Cordelia protested, wide-eyed. “Wool! I’ll have a rash for a week.” Cordelia lifted up her arms to expose an imaginary rash—and much more—to the slightly disconcerted waiter. Then she ordered the lobster. “At least she’s not here with us making big cow eyes at Aaron.”
    “Pay no attention to them, Lacey; Bentleys are all wicked to the core,” Jeffrey informed her.
    “And you are not a Bentley?” his mother asked in high dudgeon.
    “I’m only half a Bentley.”
    “That’s not funny, Jeffrey.”
    Hugh broke in. “Did you get all of the press statements, Miss Smithsonian? The important ones. Ours.” Chevalier assured the patriarch that he had handed out all the statements without Esme Fairchild’s help.
    “But if you need anything else, please call me.” Chevalier produced his personal business card for Lacey. She glanced at it, expecting to read his full name, but it said only Chevalier. And a cell phone number. Even their flunkies are pretentious, she thought.
    Hugh ordered the salmon and turned to Lacey. “Did we put on a good show today?”
    “Do you mean Cordelia and the WAC uniform? It was a crowd pleaser.” She wasn’t sure how the Senate panel would react to “the Bentley show.”
    “It was all very much spur of the moment. We got that request to appear before the Senate committee just last week,” Hugh confided. “All of our communications people are in Paris and Milan preparing for the fashion weeks in October. So we’re working with Chevalier here to see if he has what it takes to be our entire PR department for a week or two.”
    Lacey turned to Chevalier. “What do you normally do?”
    “Jack-of-all-trades.” He smiled at her.
    And master of none ? she thought. “How’s it going?”
    “I’m taking lessons from Hugh in the schmooze department. Generally I work on a variety of jobs for Aaron, sort of his right-hand man.”
    “Enough chat!” Hugh suddenly declared, and turned to Lacey. “I’ve been dying to ask you, Miss Smithsonian: Where did you get that suit?”
    “It’s Lacey, please. And the suit was a gift from my aunt.