Millionaires' Destinies(33)

“Becky, I need you to meet me at Chez Deux in ten minutes.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. Dig a charge card out of the office safe.”

“Which one?”

“The one with the biggest credit line,” she said grimly.





Under other circumstances, Melanie loved to shop. Not that she was ever extravagant, not with a comparatively new business to run, but she loved clothes. Chez Deux with its line of secondhand designer clothes suited her budget and her desire to dress for success. Normally, however, she was picking suits off the rack, not evening wear. If she forgot the reason for this shopping expedition, it could still be fun.

She found a parking space a block away, then trudged carefully over the cobblestone sidewalks to avoid the occasional patch of leftover ice.

“Hey, Jasmin,” she greeted the owner when she got to the classy little shop, which accepted consignments from many of Washington’s best-dressed women.

“Ms. Hart, how nice to see you,” Jasmin Trudeau said. “We have some lovely new suits in your size.”

“Not today. Today I’m looking for something a little fancier, for a formal dinner party.”

The petite woman’s eyes lit up. “Then the rumors are true, n’est-ce pas? I saw the story in this morning’s paper.”

Melanie wanted to deny it, but Jasmin was one of the city’s biggest sources of socialite gossip. If Melanie declared the story entirely untrue, it would be all over town by evening, pretty much defeating this charade she and Richard were embarking on.

“I am having dinner with Mr. Carlton tonight,” she admitted, leaving it at that.

“Then you must look your very best. I have just the thing,” Jasmin said. “It came in only yesterday. I have not even put it on the rack yet. One moment and I will get it for you.”

Becky arrived just then, looking harried and curious. “What on earth is going on?”

“I’m buying a dress,” Melanie said.

“I got that much. What kind of dress and why?”

“A fancy, expensive dress. I need the fortification.”

Becky stared at her blankly. “Huh?”

“Let me get this over with, and I’ll take you out for a long leisurely lunch, so you can tell me I haven’t completely lost my mind.”

Becky hid her disappointment and silenced her questions as Jasmin reappeared with a strapless dress in bronze satin.

“This dress was made for you,” Jasmin said. “Do not look at the price. If it looks as fabulous on you as I think it will, you will not care what it costs.”

Melanie was already itching to slip the rich fabric over her head. She took it gingerly and headed for a dressing room. In seconds she had stripped off her clothes and slipped the dress on. Only when she had it zipped up did she risk a look in the mirror. “Oh, my,” she whispered. She felt like Cinderella after she was outfitted for the ball, not quite like herself…or maybe more like herself than she’d ever been before.

“Hey, stop hiding in there and get out here,” Becky commanded. “Jasmin and I are dying of curiosity.”

Melanie stepped out of the dressing room. Both women’s eyes widened.

“You look fabulous,” Becky said.

“Mr. Carlton will not be able to resist you,” Jasmin added, as if that were a bonus.

Before Becky could ask what the heck the other woman meant by that, Melanie said quickly, “I’ll take the dress.” Jasmin had been right. She didn’t care what it cost. Whatever it was, it was a small price to pay to walk into Destiny’s house tonight feeling confident as she and Richard launched this charade. And she could always have it cleaned and bring it right back here on consignment to recoup some of the cost, though something told her she would never give it up.

Once she’d added an outrageously expensive jeweled purse, she signed the credit-card slip without giving it a second glance. Maybe if her accountant turned a blind eye, she could figure out some way to turn this into a business expense.

When the transaction was completed, she took her purchases to her car. Becky trailed along behind, muttering a barrage of questions that Melanie determinedly ignored. Only when her packages were stowed away and they were seated in a nearby restaurant with coffee on the table and salads on the way did she finally look her friend in the eye.

“You have to promise that you will never breathe one single word of what I am about to tell you,” she told Becky. “Not one word. Not to your own mother. Not even to a lawyer, a priest or anyone else sworn to uphold your confidentiality.”

Becky solemnly crossed her heart. “My God, Melanie, what have you done? You didn’t kill Pete For-sythe, did you?”