They exchange a look I don’t understand.
“Are you talking about Blake Sinca?” Emmett asks.
I nod. “You know him?”
Emmett snorts. “Everyone knows that asshole.”
“He isn’t an asshole!”
He rolls his eyes. “All I’m saying is that I’d do anything to disrupt that bastard’s life. So if you’re destroying his new girl toy, then I’m in.”
“And me,” says Evan.
Everyone looks at Owen. His lips twist into a slight smile. “Who knows? It could be fun.”
I feel strange. “I don’t even know what I’m doing exactly. I haven’t had enough time to really come up with a clear plan, just the fact that I want to take her down. But I can’t exactly just beat the crap out of her, not without ruining my reputation and getting myself fired.”
Emmett gives me the strangest look. “That’s not how you destroy someone in this world.”
I stare, irritated. “Then what do you do?”
“You ruin them.”
Everything inside of me tenses. “Ruin them? I like the sound of that, but how do I do it?”
Emmett moves closer, and I find myself liking him just a little more. “For one, I’ve been invited to a social function on Saturday that I know Mr. Douchebag will attend, and the chances are good that he'll bring your lying friend. I could bring you as my date, and we could definitely find ways to destroy her…just not with beating her up.”
But there are flaws with that plan too. “But what if she tells everyone who I am? No one’s going to want to hang out with the maid.”
He grins, and he has a nice, if cocky, kind of smile. “If she tells on you, you can always tell on her. You don’t have anything to lose then. But if she’s a thief and a liar, I doubt she’ll blow her cover just to rat you out.”
It’s fucking genius. Pretend to be part of this society too, and take her down.
And then, I start to feel unsure. “How am I supposed to blend in?” I look down at myself. “I don’t exactly fit in in that world. And the people I clean for will call me out the instant I get near them.”
“First of all, few people in this social circle have any idea what the maid looks like,” Emmett says with absolute confidence.
I frown. “Mr. Blake will. He talks to me. He knows my name—“
“I can guarantee you.” Emmett looks annoyed. “He won’t recognize you out of your uniform. Men like him are good at pretending the people around him are valuable and individual, but he’s worse than all the others. When he looks at you, he doesn't see you. He sees how he wants you to see him.”
“No way, he…”
Emmett crosses his big muscular arms over his chest. “Trust me. I can make sure not a single one of the people you work for recognize you, even him. Just leave that to me.”
He seems pretty damn confident. And I don’t exactly have a plan.
I look between all of them. “So, you’re just going to help me destroy some girl you don’t even know?”
“If she’s—“
Emmett cuts Evan off. “But you’ll have to give this whole dating the three of us thing a shot.”
“I knew there was something in it for you!”
He smiles. “So, what do you say?”
I look between the three hot men. If dating them is the price to pay for destroying Allie, it’s kind of a win-win. As long as Emmett can keep his asshole side to a minimum.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chapter Seventeen
Owen
Two days later, someone knocks at our apartment door. Emmett springs to his feet and throws open the door. I sit tensely, waiting to see how all of this will go down.
“Darling, I’ve missed you so!”
I turn to take in a woman who weighs all of ninety pounds. Usually the guys say I’m dense about noticing when someone’s had work done, but I can’t imagine a person alive who wouldn’t know this woman was half-plastic. I’d guess she’s in her fifties, but her face is stretched tightly, and even though her voice is friendly, her face barely moves. At all.
She has a tiny, tiny waist, and huge breasts pushed up to her chin. Her outfit is a tight-as-sin pink dress, and she wears huge golden high-heels.
“It’s good to see you, Clarisse,” Emmett greets, sounding happy to see her.
She leans forward and gives him air kisses. “My assistant took your new lady’s measurements, and now here I am, like a modern-day fairy godmother, to bring her an assortment of fine clothes.”
Emmett opens the door wider, steps to the side, and Clarisse saunters in. Behind her, two exhausted-looking assistants wheel racks of clothes in. Then they turn and head back out the door.
I stand, feeling uncomfortable.
The woman sees me and spreads her arms. “And you must be the eldest brother, Owen. Emmett goes on and on about you. Normally to tell me that you need a makeover. But, darling, that suit is everything. A classic, but I’d know that designer anywhere.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say, not sure what else to say.
She walks around our apartment. “Oh, my, such taste! I can tell you’re in the antique business. Everything is sleek, almost modern, but on closer examination clearly antique and well-loved.”
I look to Emmett. He gives me that “trust me” look, so I try not to feel agitated as she circles our apartment, blathering about this and that. She stops to look at the sunset painting the sky behind the buildings, and gasps over our view.
The thing is, she no doubt does this to everyone. Her words don’t really mean anything. They’re just wasted, vapid words that are said to fill the silence. To make us feel like we’re special.
But my dad always said to be cautious of people who flatter you, and I’ve never forgotten his warning.
Her assistants come in, dragging in purses and carts of shoes and accessories. After three more trips, they close the door, and then Clarisse drifts over to them and starts instructing them on what to lay out in our bedroom. She pairs jewelry, shoes, and purses with outfits.
All of the clothes look expensive. But Jade is beautiful in anything. She doesn’t need all this. I think of her in her uniform and surprise myself when I realize I’m smiling.
A minute later, Evan opens the door and Jade comes in. She looks nervous, but shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, saying nothing. My gaze goes to her t-shirt. The words say I Left My Nice Clothes At Home.
Again, I find myself smiling.
Clarisse turns to Jade and her fake smile wobbles. “You must be the new woman in question.”
“That’s me,” Jade says, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet.
Clarisse moves closer. She almost touches her Jade’s hair, which is pulled back into a loose ponytail. Then she glances at her face, then down at her body, frowning. “We can do something with this hair.” Looking back at her assistants, one of them straightens, pulls out her phone, and starts texting.
Then Clarisse tugs at Jade’s wrists, and Jade reluctantly pulls them out of her pockets. “And her nails. Actually, all of this,” she sweeps a hand over Jade, “could use some…touching up.”
Her other assistant pulls out her phone and starts typing.
“We’ll also have to get a few outfits in smaller sizes. I was able to find some lovely plus sized clothes, but if you could get into a normal size, we could really wow people. Have you heard of the Healthy Glow Diet? It’s basically just water for two weeks, along with a few diet pills a day, and we can get you down to—“
“No,” I say. Everyone turns to look at me. I don’t back down. “Dress her up if you want to, but we like her how she is.”
“Owen.” She says my name like I’m a very dumb child.
“If I wanted to date someone without curves, I’d date a man.”
Her jaw drops open.
“You can dress her, but don’t think to insult her or make her feel worthless, or we’re done here.”
&
nbsp; My brothers look at me in a way that I don’t think they have in a long time, and it’s odd. I feel different. A little like my old self.
“Emmett,” she says, turning to my brother.
Instead of plastering on his usual smile and spouting whatever crap gets him what he wants, he gives a tense smile. “You heard him. So let’s make sure not to project some modern standard of beauty on a woman who looks like a fucking queen.”
Clarisse fans herself for a moment like she’s going to faint, which none of us react to. When she seems to realize that we don’t care, she straightens up and whirls on her assistants. “Come on then, let’s start trying things on! What are you waiting for?”
Jade’s eyes are wide as they drag her toward our bedroom, following her with racks of clothes. Jade looks back at us with a pleading look, then disappears behind the door.
The energy in the room instantly changes.
“Thanks,” I say.
Emmett looks confused. “For what?”
“For having my back.”
“I always have your back.” And the way he says it is surprisingly sincere.
Feeling uncomfortable, I look away from him.
“You need a hug, don’t you?” he asks.
“Fuck, no!” I say, glancing at him sharply.
His arms are already wide out.
“No, Emmett…”
“Group hug time!” he says, heading for Evan and I.
“Don’t fight it,” Evan mutters. “It’ll only encourage him.”
“Emmett!”
And then he’s there, pulling us together.
I hold myself tensely.
Evan laughs.
And then Emmett whispers in my ear. “I love you.”
I start to struggle and his arm around me tightens. “And you smell nice, like…is that coconut?”
Spinning out of his grip, I shake my head, grinning. “Why do you always have to make things awkward?”
“Why does me hugging you and telling you I love you have to be awkward?” he says, smiling ear-to-ear.
Evan is smirking. “He’s too much of a man for that.”
The doorbell rings and Emmett sighs. “Raincheck on this conversation.”
“I can’t wait,” I tell him dryly.
At the door, several people are waiting. Hairdressers, nail women, and people I don’t have a clue what they do. We direct them to the bedroom, then sit in the living room, waiting. Tonight, Emmett is taking Jade for the first step in our little plan. But even though I don’t have to do anything, I’m nervous.
Pulling out a stack of papers, I stare down at them, but the numbers just blend together. Instead, I picture Jade and wonder just what they’re doing to her in there.
Hopefully, they don’t change her too much. Because I was serious when I said I liked her just the way she was.
Chapter Eighteen
Jade
The next few hours are a blur of people running around me like doctors working on an emergency patient. Which is oddly embarrassing. Was I really that much of a train wreck? Like, stat, get this woman a haircut! And her nails, what is she, a monkey? She doesn’t need tree-climbing nails!
I sit in the middle of the tense women as they frown down at me and mumble under their breaths. And no matter how still I hold myself, I continually hear, “Hold still!”
One woman worked on my hair, cutting it and highlighting it with slightly paler shades of my natural hair color. Another woman paints my face with makeup, working tirelessly to look, as she says, “As if I’m not wearing makeup.” All of which was a bit awkward. But my favorite of the women has to be the one who did my nails. She’d started with the most amazing foot massage of my feet and ankles. By the end, I’d practically been butter, melted into my chair.
But that wasn’t enough for any of them. As Clarisse muttered, “Now we’ve got something to work with.”
Next, they’d had me try on dozens of dresses, setting some aside for “casual wear” and others for “night wear,” etc. Everyone had remained, sitting around the room, like an audience for my transformation. The strange thing was that the more we talked, the more I felt less like a doll they were dressing up, and more like a person they wanted to see succeed. By the end, they’d cheer when I wore an outfit they liked.
Which made me feel…I don’t know. Happy?
When they’d put me in this gown for tonight, the whole room had gone silent. Which I hoped was a good sign. It’s long and nearly the same color as my skin, except with a slight shine. The cut is something called mermaid, which I thought would look terrible on a woman with my curves, but I think it’s oddly beautiful, hugging me in all the right places. It goes up into a collar, but then has a cut-out to show off my breasts, and a pattern on the dress like it’s a piece of artwork, rather than a dress.
Clarisse had broken the silence by saying, “That’s it.” And then, the room had launched back into action. My hair had been swept up into a complicated hairdo, they’d put a necklace with tiny diamonds all around it on my neck, and hung earrings that matched on my ears. Then I’d been handed a purse, and stepped into shoes, the same almost-nude shade as my dress.
They’d all stopped then, and Clarisse had brought me to stand in front of the full-length mirror.
Now, instead of getting a sense of how I looked, I was staring at my own reflection. And I looked like a different person. A queen, instead of a maid.
Leaning forward, I touch the glass, almost to make sure it’s actually me.
“I look…beautiful,” I say.
Beth, my hairdresser, smiles behind me. “You really do.”
“It came together perfectly!” Lily, the nail woman, exclaims.
Ariel, Clarisse’s assistant, looks less tired as she says, “Emmett will love it.”
My eyes fill with tears.
The makeup woman, Teresa, shakes her head behind me. “Don’t cry! It’ll ruin your makeup!”
I swallow back my emotion. “Sorry.”
Clarisse actually manages a smile. “You deserve this.”
I start to shake my head, but everyone chimes in that I do.
It takes me a minute to find my voice. There’s no part of me that thinks I deserve this, but I also don’t want them to think I don’t appreciate all their hard work. “Thank you.”
“It always amazes me,” Clarisse says, and the fake, too-high tone is gone from her voice. “People who deserve nothing more than a kick in the ass always think they deserve more, and good people don’t have a clue how much they’re worth…that they deserve goodness.”
Our eyes lock in the mirror. “Thanks,” I say again.
“Now,” her voice is back to being too high, “to show your men.”
I start to protest, but she’s already pushing me toward the door. They’re all crowding around behind me as they push me through the doorway and out into the living room. I have a few seconds to look at the guys on the couch. Emmett and Evan watching sports. Owen staring down at a pile of papers in his hand. And then, they all look up and their eyes widen.
Do they like it? Am I going to blend in at this party?
A million worries come over me, and I draw my arms around my waist. I was such a fool to think I could pull this off. Everyone is going to see right through me. This wasn’t a fairy tale. Clarisse wasn’t my fairy godmother. I wasn’t a princess. I was a maid, and…
“Damn,” Evan says.
“Double damn.” Emmett grins as he says the words.
My gaze catches Owen’s. He clears his throat. “You look…nice.”
“Nice?” Emmett asks, laughter in his voice. “Yeah, right, man. Your coffee is nice, she’s a hot piece of ass.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “You guys think…it’ll work?”
“I wouldn’t kick you out of bed,” Emmett says.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think you’d kick anyone out of bed.”
“You’d be surprised,” he responds, grinning.
The peo
ple behind me give me hugs, compliment me again, and start hauling all their stuff back out of the room. Clarisse hesitates near us, and my gaze meets hers.
She puts her hands lightly on my arms. “You…enjoy yourself tonight, darling.”
I hug her gently, and when I pull back, she looks surprised. “Thank you.”
She gives the guys air kisses and leaves. It’s a relief when they gather all their stuff and the last person is gone.
Then, I turn back to Emmett. “Don’t you need to get dressed?”
He grins. “Give me five.”
“Fucking men,” I mutter.
Owen laughs.
Emmett goes to the bedroom, and I awkwardly seat myself on the couch with Evan and Owen.
“Uh, could you guys stop staring at me?” I say.
Owen’s cheeks actually turn red, and he looks back at the papers in his lap for half a second before looking back at me again.
I laugh. They’re kind of cute like this.
“So, you remember the plan for tonight?” Evan asks.
I tense, feeling my humor fade. “Yeah, step one of destroying Allie and getting my stuff back.”
Evan nods. “You ready for it?”
I don’t answer. Am I ready?
He smiles. “Don’t worry, Emmett’s good at this stuff.”
I really hope so, because I don’t think I could pull this off without him.
Chapter Nineteen
Emmett
Our driver turns the next corner, and I know we’re getting close to our destination. I’ve tried everything I can to reassure Jade, but I can still sense her tension. And it’s…kind of darling. And more than a little sexy.
Does she really not realize what she looks like?
She’s a drop-dead bombshell. Like the kind of woman who only comes along once in a lifetime. If she was walking down the street, every eye would be glued to her. Cars would run into poles.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I don’t want to go to this event and show off the beautiful woman on my arm. She’s not like the other women. She’s real in a way they never could be. And she feels oddly like she belongs to me, or maybe that I belong to her. I’m not sure which.
Worthy Page 8