Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I pull down the visor to check my makeup. My skin glows cinnamon gold in the mirror light, which emphasizes subtle hollows under my cheekbones, my glossed lips, my favorite set of false lashes, and the hair, pressed tonight from its usual springy curls into a silky fall around my shoulders.
Edward shows his license to the security officer at the gate and passes through. He pushes out a long breath when we pull into the large circular driveway.
“I can’t believe you wore that dress.” He frowns over at me in the passenger seat, the length of my leg exposed by the high slit.
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” I smooth the silky material over my knees. “I don’t understand why you’re so uptight about tonight and this Cross guy.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense.” Edward reaches across to grab my hand and turns to me as the valet hired for the night approaches. “But trust me when I say Cross is not our friend. Just stay off his radar. Can you do that for me, Sol?”
He strokes the back of my hand, and my heart softens a little at the first sign of tenderness he’s shown me in days. Maybe I am underestimating the pressure he’s under. This Cross guy must be a real ogre to get my usually unflappable husband this flustered.
“I said I can. I will.” I squeeze his hand, catching his stare and smiling. “And I promise not to tell Delores Callahan her nonstick coating starts flaking after only a few uses.”
He huffs a short laugh, shakes his head, and opens the door to hand over the keys.
Once inside, I note the few changes they’ve made to the decor since I was here for last year’s party. A new crystal light fixture. Slightly more garish wallpaper in the foyer. New window treatments? I can’t remember if they were this tacky before. To have all this money and so little taste. Tragic, really.
“Edward, good to see you.” Delores Callahan greets us before we can join the party in the large room where everyone is mingling. Her dark hair is tightly curled tonight, and she seems not quite at home in a floral dress, her wonderful wide shoulders and forceful personality pushing against the seams and straining the collar.
“Delores,” Edward says, his smile stiff and his hand slightly tightening on my elbow. “Haven’t seen you since the sales meeting weeks ago. We’ve missed you around the office.”
“Been up in Canada,” Delores responds, her eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence as she watches my husband. “They’re really buzzing up there about your White Glove program. Several of our customers say they hear great things and want in. Can’t believe we didn’t think of something like this before.”
“You know me.” Edward practically preens. “Always looking for ways to innovate.”
I barely catch my eye roll and keep my smile fixed in place.
“Who’d have thought someone would pay that much just to feel like they’re getting the VIP treatment?” Delores shakes her head, the grudging admiration clear on her face. “And the retreats? Stroke of genius.”
I was skeptical when Edward first introduced the White Glove program for CalPot customers who purchased the most product and spent above a certain threshold. They would get special agents assigned to their accounts who were always available for questions and concerns, as well as expedited delivery and even retreats as a thank-you for their continued business. Seemed like a possible waste of money to me, but I was wrong. The program has thrived, and it earned Edward a huge bonus last year.
It’s also why he says he and Amber have had to work so hard and so closely together.
“We’re doing Cabo next,” Edward says, reeling me back to their conversation. “That is, if Cross gets off my back.”
“He’s just doing his job,” Delores says. “We’re lucky to have him. Best at what he does.”
“Which is what?” I ask, ignoring the quelling look Edward shoots me.
“Forensic accounting. Not exactly what we hired him for, but that’s his background,” Delores answers, casting a narrow-eyed glance at me. Not unfriendly, but like she’s trying to remember something. “You’re the wife, right?”
“Yes.” I flash a saccharine-sweet smile and lean into Edward. “I also answer to my given name, which is Soledad.”
Edward coughs and tugs my hand. “We better be getting into the party.”
“Chicken breasts.” Delores snaps her fingers and points to me. “You wanted a bigger pan.”
I search for an answer that won’t put Edward in an awkward position or upset him. “Well, I—”
“Our test group agreed,” she says.
My half-formed apology dies. “They did?”
“They did.” She nods, approximating a smile. “I kept thinking about that one lonely chicken breast sitting off to the side waiting because our pan was too small.”
I flick a sidelong glance up at her, surprised to see the corner of her mouth twitching. I smother a giggle. “Oh, my gosh. That’s hilarious. Are you serious?”