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“It’s about Mr. Carlisle, ma’am.”
“What about him? Did he do something unsavory?” This was it. The day Monique dreaded. The day a patron was kicked out.
Yet Sybil was doing her damndest to contain a smile from blooming on her rosy cheeks. “Mr. Carlisle has asked me to marry him.”
If Monique were still holding her pen, she would have dropped it. “Excuse me?”
“Two weeks ago. He took me out on a date and, well, asked me to marry him!” Sybil slapped her hand down on the table, revealing a monster rock on her finger. How long had she been hiding that? And how had Sybil contained that piece of news from the others? “Isn’t it amazing? I guess dreams do come true sometimes.”
“Yes.” Monique forced a smile. “Congratulations. I will have to have a talk to Mr. Carlisle about this turn of events.”
Meanwhile, the smile on Sybil’s face disappeared. “I thought it would be okay… look, ma’am, we won’t be getting married for at least a few months, so you can find a replacement… and it’s not like I’m going to stop working…”
“No, no.” Monique drummed her fingers against her desk. “I’m happy for you. I simply need to work out the details between you and him.” Another forced smile. “Again, congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”
Giggling, Sybil waved at Monique before going back to the halls of the Manoir. Monique remained sitting at her desk, the paper still turned over, and her brain exploding with memories of the day Jacqueline asked her to move in... never to marry.
Chapter 19
Iced
The last time Monique was spoiled like this, she bought a Manoir and stocked it with BDSM-loving women ready to make that money back.
“How about this one, Miss?” A docile woman in her early twenties knelt in front of Monique’s dais and showed her a purple gown covered in sparkling sequins. Made by anyone else, it would look like a tacky prom dress. Styled by M. Francisco, the hottest designer from Italy? It was a gorgeous piece meant for charity dinners or a wild night on the town.
Monique touched the material and decided it was too scratchy for her skin. “Thank you, though. It’s a lovely color. Do you have something like that, but in silk? Cotton voile?”
“Certainly.” The young woman hustled to the back of the dress shop, where she stopped to confer with someone else on where she might find such garments.
So far, Monique only had one purchase, and this was after trying on gowns for an hour. Her big choice was a deep red Queen Anne dress that cut off at the knees and had a hem of black Chantilly lace.Bonus!She already had the perfect pair of red and black heels to go with it, as well as gold jewelry for accent.
Standing a few feet away was Helen, having decided to stay close but out of Monique’s way as she found new and exciting ways to spend someone else’s money. Monique had vehemently turned down the opportunity to go shopping with Helen’s credit card. Yet Helen was persistent as well – and persuasive.
“Why?”Monique had asked, content to pass through the city and go straight to Warner Manor.“I have plenty of dresses and shoes. My closet is practically overflowing with them. They’re all I wear, Helen. If you ever see me in pants, check my temperature.”
“You may have a lot of dresses,”Helen had said, pulling out her wallet and thumbing through the myriad of golden credit cards,“but none of them came from me.”
Monique liked the red dress because it went with the shawl Helen gave her on their first date. Oh, and because she looked great in a red dress. But Monique couldn’t live withonlyred. And if she only bought red, Helen would give her a hard time about that as well.
“My dear,” Helen said, leaning against the wall and flipping through presentation slides on her phone. “Come here.”
Monique, standing alone on her dais while the employees looked for outfits in her petite size, turned. “Everything all right?”
“They will be if you get over here.”
With her shoes already off, Monique hopped off the dais and went to Helen, her eyes darting around the room in casesomeone watched them. Unless Helen wanted to show Monique something on the phone, who knew what she would ask!
“Am I taking too long?”
“I don’t care how long you take.” Helen put her phone in her purse. “Just as long as we make our dinner reservations at seven. Until then, who cares?”
“As long as you’re not bored.”
“Around you?” Helen leaned down and pressed her head against the top of Monique’s. “How could I possibly be bored? Now…” Her hand appeared between them, palm up, fingers wiggling in expectation. “Give me your underwear.”
“What?”
Helen’s voice, as deep as it was expecting, catwalked into Monique’s ear. “I told you to give me your underwear. Or are you a bad girl who isn’t wearing any?”
