The Billionaire Game 2(5)
Lacey shook her head disbelievingly, eyes still wide with wonder. Her hand stole up to stroke the fabric again, as though she expected it to disappear like fairy gold.
“A little inconvenient? Katie, you’ve been working eighteen hours a day on the rest of this stuff. I know because you called me up and told me, in between begging me for coffee and crying about how the bluebirds outside your window needed to shut up, fucking bluebirds, what the fuck did they have to complain about when you were this tired, etc., etc., ad infinitum. People have had to remind you to eat, to sleep—hell, I’m surprised people haven’t had to remind you to breathe! And you still found time for this?” Her eyes were wide and moist. “For me?”
If she got anymore sappy I was going to start crying myself, and I have a strict rule against crying unless I’m reading or watching the scene where Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty tumble together over the falls. Hey, when you’re the sassy best friend with a heart of gold and skin of steel, you gotta protect your rep.
“Don’t sweat it, Lacey,” I said as casually as I could, not quite looking her in the eye just in case that started the waterworks going like Niagara Falls. “You’re my BFF. Whether for bad boyfriends or sexy underwear or hiding the bodies of those who’ve hurt you, I’ve got your back. Wait, what are you—oof!”
Lacey had ambushed me with an aggressively heartfelt hug, wrapping her arms around me with a strength that a boa constrictor could only envy.
“You are the actual, literal best,” she whispered in my ear, her breath hitching. “When I think about how you stood by me through the whole thing with Grant, and gave me advice, and told me I was worth it, and let me make my own decisions—God, Kate, when I think where I would be without you—”
Open displays of emotion make me more uncomfortable than itching powder in a pair of sandpaper panties, so I laughed awkwardly and patted her back.
“Hey, this is all part of my master plan. Lacey Newman-Devlin’s wedding is going to be the fashion event of the century for the rich and easily parted with their money. Little did you know, ever since kindergarten I have carefully cultivated this friendship with you for one reason: because I knew that one day a billionaire would get the hots for you and throw a wedding so fancy that Louis the XIV spins in his grave with jealousy, and when that time came, you would order lingerie from me! It was tough tolerating your Goth phase, but I kept my eyes on the prize.”
Lacey laughed through her grateful tears. “You were the one with the Goth phase! My parents wouldn’t let me get anything darker than a rainbow.” She squeezed me tight once more before releasing me. “Can I peek at the rest of it? Please please pretty please?”
“Sure thing!” I pulled open a cabinet and slid a shelf out on its rollers, displaying the half of the trousseau that was finished, half-finished, or at least had its fabric or pattern picked out.
Butterflies fought in my stomach between nervousness and anticipation—Lacey was my friend, and I was proud of the work I had done, but having her here in this store at this moment made her like a practice customer, and made me view everything through different and more critical eyes. What would I do if even a hint of disappointment crossed her face?
“I took inspiration from the Heian era for the longer and more elaborate nightgowns, alternating between a wisteria layering, a spring green layering, and a kerria rose layering,” I said proudly. “For the smaller items, I’ve divided it between light colors for the wedding day itself and dark colors for the honeymoon; this carmine silk should really bring out your complexion, and the thread count on these panties here is to die for.”
Lacey’s gaze wandered towards the back of the shelf where the products were more unfinished, and I felt worry start to wiggle its way between my shoulder blades.
“The lines of that babydoll are all wrong, ignore that. And I’m still dithering between the wine red and the pale violet for the first peignoir. Ignore all that stitching on the teddy, I chose completely the wrong thread, I’ll redo the whole thing—”
Lacey put a hand up to stop me. “Kate, it’s perfect.” Her fingers traced the golden thread around the bodice of the teddy, and a grin crossed her face that could only have been more wicked if she’d had green skin and a broomstick. “Oooh, I am going to give Grant a heart attack.”
“And then you’ll inherit his billions and give me even more business as the eligible bachelors of San Francisco swoon after you!” I joked. “Lacey, you’re a genius.”