“Wicket is fine.” I reached out and shook the hand fake-ass Bianca had extended to me. “Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. Nikki, get us a couple of glasses of fresh lemonade. You like lemonade, Mrs. Hudson?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, please call me Bianca. I want you to think of me as a long-lost, dear friend.”
It took everything within me not to spit in her damn face when she spoke those words. Little did she know that we had been friends at one point—best friends.
She was putting on airs and was dressed in the latest designer fashion, likely designed by that other bitch: Cherie. Later on in the day, before she left, I planned to fall into the laid trap and have a fit over the dress and ask where I could get one. That was what they wanted; for me to ask about the dress. Bianca would have a chance to introduce Cherie into the mix so she could try to get a lot of my money in her bank account as well. Still the same old slick trifling hoes from high school.
“Why don’t we start in the great room?” I suggested. “It’s a big space, but I have some thoughts about it.”
“That would be lovely. I’d love to hear what you envision.”
As we walked into the great room, I started my description. She was feeling it. I really didn’t need her ass to design shit for me. I was an excellent interior designer myself and owned houses and penthouses around the world that I had decorated alone.
“I envision this as my little-black-dress room. I want to put a black, large square rug in the middle of the floor, about twenty feet square and a huge, circular sofa that seats at least twelve that’s also completely black. I was thinking a nice, round crystal table in the middle with a light that has decorated edges that shine a pattern on the ceiling when the main lights are off. Something real sexy and intriguing.”
“So how does the little-black-dress concept come in?”
“It’s simple. You know how we can take a black dress and change the accessories and make it look completely new? Well, I want to be able to change out the objects on the coffee table and the pillows whenever the mood hits me. I might use yellow in the spring, or sea-foam green. Turquoise or peach in the summer. Red or purple in the fall. You get my drift?”
“That’s hot.” Bianca looked like I had shown her up. That’s because I had. “You’re about to make me feel useless already.”
“It’s merely a concept.” I shrugged. “I’m open to your thoughts. Everyone sees different things in different spaces. You’re the expert, so I’ll defer to you.”
That made her feel like the shit. She started strutting around like a peacock after that, from room to room as she sipped her lemonade and Nikki took notes to transcribe and share with us both later. I decided not to show her up anymore and pretended like all of her ideas were awesome. Some of them were actually pretty damn good. I could see why she was regarded as one of the top interior designers in Atlanta. Several had put in bids, but I did not even look at the others. She was the one that I wanted to trap in my web, and her greedy ass was about to breakdance right into my slaughterhouse.
* * *
Bianca and I were sitting on the veranda drinking two glasses of Moscato when Nikki appeared, as I was about to ask about her dress.
“I’m so excited about working with you,” Bianca said with a huge grin. “You’re such a sweetheart.”
I faked a smile and looked at Nikki, who was waiting patiently to say something. “Yes, Nikki.”
“You don’t have your cell phone with you so I wanted to remind you that you have a Skype call scheduled with your father at three.”
“Thanks.” Now, that actually made me happy and my smile became real. “I’m always on time for Daddy.”
Bianca looked like she had seen the rapture when Nikki mentioned my father. “It must’ve been great, growing up with Richard Sterling as your father.”
“He’s a man like every other man,” I replied, upset that she would even regard him like she knew him like that.
“Yes, but one of the richest men in the world. It had to be an amazing childhood.”
“He adopted me when I was six,” I lied, deducting an entire decade from the truth. “But yes, it was an amazing childhood. Not because of his wealth; because of his heart. He’s a very loving man, especially toward me.”
I decided not to ask her about the dress. I wanted her grubby ass to grovel for business for her friend. I was sick of staring into her hazel eyes that were clearly fake. Her eyes were brown, the color of walnuts, like her skin. She was wearing colored contacts to make herself more appealing. There was nothing wrong with her natural eye color. I had stared into them enough as a child.