The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (118 page)

Of course, the instant this occurred to me, I felt guilty and wanted to call Josh and see how it was going, but I had a feeling my reception would be a cool one. And besides, we had just reached the door of Bouquet.

“This is it,” Noelle said, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. “Let me do the talking.”

“No problem,” I said. And burped. How much champagne had been in those mimosas anyway?

“Classy,” Noelle said, scrunching her nose. She opened the door to the tiny shop, and bells tinkled overhead. Inside the sunlit store, the atmosphere was hushed. Along the lemon yellow walls were shallow shelves displaying all sorts of colorful stationery sets, thank-you
cards, and party invitations. Tall tables along the center of the room were bursting with fresh flowers in all the colors of the season: red roses, orange lilies, yellow daisies. At the back of the store were four long wooden tables, where a mother and daughter sat, poring over huge books of sample invitations. The woman helping them whispered her suggestions and instructions. This place felt like a museum itself. Maybe we wouldn’t have to hit the MFA after all.

“Can I help you?” a squat saleslady behind the counter asked.

She was practically wedged into her gray suit, and her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She wore no jewelry and, after giving us a quick once-over, didn’t look very pleased at the prospect of dealing with a pair of teenagers. Noelle cleared her throat and stepped forward, and I was suddenly more than grateful for her presence. I hated dealing with snooty salespeople. Back home in Croton, I was sometimes too intimidated to even walk into the Gap.

“Yes. We’re trying to find out who ordered this invitation,” Noelle said, sliding the Legacy invite across the tall wooden counter.

The woman picked it up, turned it over for a cursory glance, then placed it down again. She used all four fingertips to slide it determinedly back to Noelle.

“Sorry. All orders are confidential,” she sniffed.

Noelle looked the woman up and down, and for a brief moment I thought she was going to raise holy hell, but then she smiled. She smiled the most genuine smile I’d ever seen from Noelle before in my life.

“I understand,” she said. “It’s just . . . these girls at our school?” she said, gesturing at me over her shoulder. “They’re throwing this
exclusive party, and they’re purposely leaving out all these other girls, you know? Just because they’re, like, a little chunky or have bad skin or come from the wrong families. It’s, like, totally arbitrary.”

It was all I could do not to laugh. Noelle was doing a pitch-perfect imitation of Constance. Sweet, innocent Constance Talbot. Her own polar opposite. I had to turn away so the woman wouldn’t notice the reddening of my face.

“That’s awful!” the woman lamented, suddenly sympathetic.

Unbelievable. In ten seconds Noelle had read this woman perfectly and knew exactly what would make her crack.

“All we want to do is find out which girl is really orchestrating all this so that we can, you know, confront her,” Noelle continued pleadingly as I looked over my shoulder. “It’s so unfair.”

The woman looked Noelle and me up and down. “Hang on. You two weren’t invited?” she asked suspiciously.

My heart skipped a beat. Clearly she had read Noelle right back. She was far too gorgeous and well dressed ever to be ostracized based on looks or money.

“No, no. We were invited,” Noelle said, turning her eyes down modestly. “That’s why we have the invitation. It’s just a lot of our friends were left out, and it’s not like we’d go without them. We want to stand up to this girl on their behalf. There
is
a little thing called loyalty, you know?”

The woman still looked unconvinced. This wasn’t going to work after all. Then Noelle leaned into the counter and looked earnestly into the woman’s eyes.

“Look, two years ago, I never would have been invited. We’re talking glasses, bad skin, overbite. Not a pretty sight.”

I didn’t believe any of that for a second, but she painted an interesting picture.

“I know how it feels to be left out, and I’m just trying to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone I care about,” Noelle continued. “So can you help us?”

The saleslady checked the back of the room, where her colleague was still engrossed.

“Okay. But if anyone asks, you didn’t get this from me,” she said.

She turned to her computer and quickly typed in some information. I rejoined Noelle at the counter, amazed. She held out her hand to me, behind her and out of sight, and I quickly swiped my own palm across it.

“Ah, yes. I took this order myself,” the woman whispered. “I remember this girl. Blond, thin, blue eyes. About your age, I’d say. She had this sort of odd, detached way about her. Sound familiar?”

A chill shot right through me. Noelle and I looked at each other. Yes, it sounded familiar. But it couldn’t possibly be.

Noelle cleared her throat. “Maybe,” she said. “Do you have her name?”

“Yes. It was—” The woman leaned toward us and lowered her voice until it was barely audible. “Amanda Hold.”

Noelle’s eyes lit up, and she bit back a smirk. Did she know this girl? “Do you remember anything else?” she asked. “Was anyone with her? Or did she call anyone while she was here?

“Actually, yes,” the woman said, speaking in a more normal voice. “I remember she told someone on the phone that she was going to Ungari Jewelers later that day.”

Noelle slipped the invite back into her bag. “Thank you so much, Miss . . . ?”

“Roxanne,” the woman said, reaching her hand out to shake Noelle’s. “I hope this Amanda girl gets what’s coming to her.”

Noelle smiled again, this time looking more like herself. “Oh, she will. Don’t worry. We’ll make sure of that.”

“Nice work,” I said to Noelle as we walked along Commonwealth.

“Like taking veggies away from a big, fat baby,” she replied with a smirk.

Okay, rude. But whatever. The phrase “taking candy from a baby” had never made sense to me anyway. Wouldn’t that be
hard
to do? “So who’s Amanda Hold? You know her?”

Noelle laughed. “Reed, please. Amanda Hold?” She looked at me in a leading way. I stared back. “A. Man. To. Hold? Amanda Hold? It’s one of the oldest aliases in the book.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. “Why would someone use a fake name at a stationer?”

A twist of dread knotted up my stomach as I recalled Roxanne’s description of Amanda. She had described Ariana perfectly. And of all people, Ariana had good reasons to make up a name. But no, it wasn’t possible. Ariana was locked up in a mental institution somewhere, wasn’t she? Locked up for life.

“Stop thinking what you’re thinking,” Noelle said firmly. “There are a million blond-haired, blue-eyed girls with blank stares in this world. It’s a cliché for a reason. And Ariana is safely tucked away in her padded cell. Though it’s probably padded with Prada.”

She swung open a large, silver door to a stately looking shop. I hesitated for a moment before following. It was the first time she had directly mentioned Ariana—her former best friend—since she’d retuned to Easton, and it brought up a zillion questions. But as a Hulk-size security guard stared me down from just inside the door, now didn’t seem like the time to ask.

“In or out, miss?” he said to me gruffly.

“In. I’m in,” I replied.

Inside, the air was crisply cool, and everything was gray. Gray carpeting, gray walls, gray felt inside hundreds of gleaming glass cases. Everywhere I looked there were diamonds. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, and on and on. In one case there was a pink diamond the size of a quarter set into an ornate necklace of tiny white diamonds set to look like a string of flowers. Thousands of diamonds. I couldn’t imagine wearing something that exquisite and expensive on my neck. I’d have to take Krav Maga classes first or I’d never feel safe.

“Reed. Look at this.” Noelle waved me over. “Third one from the back.” Her fingertip hovered over the case, making no contact between skin and glass. She was pointing to a square-cut diamond, gorgeous, huge, set high on a ring of pinpoint-size diamonds that lined the entire band. I swallowed back the sudden taste of acid
in my throat. Engagement rings. She was looking at engagement rings.

I surreptitiously glanced at her profile. Her eyes were bright, her expression almost dreamy. Was she thinking of Dash? Why did the very idea make me ill?

“Can I help you, ladies? Perhaps take something out for you?” The elderly gentleman behind the counter spoke in a hushed baritone. Apparently rich people really liked quiet in their stores.

Noelle started to speak, but I put a hand on her arm to stop her. One, because I was partially scared she was, in fact, going to start trying on engagement rings. Two, because if she was going to try to work the guy, I wanted my chance first. This was, after all, supposed to be my mission. Not hers.

“I’m Amanda Hold,” I told him. “I placed an order a couple weeks back and I just wanted to check on the status.”

“Of course, Ms. Hold. This way,” he said with a nod.

We followed him to a computer tucked away in a corner. Apparently I could get over my fear of salespeople when I was feeling territorial.

A few keystrokes and “my” order popped up. “Yes. I see we have three hundred and twenty-five platinum money clips on order for you, as well as four hundred and seven gold rings. All etched with a single
L
.”

My throat was dry. This was it. The Legacy token. This so-called Amanda girl was really running the show.

“Yes. That’s right,” I managed to say.

“They should all be delivered to the address you provided within the week,” he told me with a kind smile.

The address! Perfect! That was all we needed.

“And what—”

This time Noelle’s hand on my arm stopped me. “You wanted to add to the order, didn’t you, Amanda?” she said pointedly. She reached into her bag and pulled out a tiny piece of paper on which some numbers were scribbled. “We’ll need fifty-three more money clips and sixty-five rings,” Noelle said. “And I’ll be paying for those myself. Amanda’s already done enough,” she added with a bright smile.

“Of course,” the man said with another nod. “If I could just get your credit card and delivery information, Miss . . . ?”

“Lange. Noelle Lange,” Noelle replied, slapping down her American Express Black.

Once the order was placed and we were back out in the fresh air, I realized my near mistake. Amanda Hold wouldn’t have had to ask the guy for her own address. I’d almost given us away. I was really going to have to work on my undercover talents. Or at least not go on these missions after four mimosas.

“So, why fifty-three and sixty-five?” I asked Noelle as we strolled up Commonwealth again.

“That should cover current legacies and young alumni. Plus all the Billings Girls,” Noelle said matter-of-factly. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear that had been tossed free by a cool breeze. “You’re welcome.”

“What?” I blurted. “You didn’t.”

“I did. I take care of my own,” she said, lacing her arm through mine. She casually checked out a window display as we strolled by.

“I can’t believe you’re going to mess with the Legacy rules.”

Noelle paused and looked me in the eye. “This Amanda Hold person messed with them first,” she said, slipping her dark sunglasses over her eyes. “Now it’s our turn.”

The shop was called Flourish, and it was so exclusive it was marked only by a gold plate on the brick outer wall that listed its address and 1912 as its date of establishment. Walking through the door, I felt as if a net were going to fall from the ceiling and trap me while alarms blared, signaling that a poseur had crossed the threshold. No matter how much time I spent in places like this, I still felt as if I didn’t totally belong. But instead of sounding the alarm, the black-suited salesladies rushed forward across the deep, plush carpeting, offering champagne, coffee, and a guided tour through the collections. Less than an hour later, Noelle and I were settled in a dressing room bigger than my bedroom back home, with twelve gowns apiece to try on, each more exquisite than the last.

But first, the torture.

The seamstress had Noelle’s measurements on file, but mine had to be taken. So a white-haired lady wielding a brown tape measure
told me in a clipped tone to strip down to my underwear, and was now in the process of measuring every inch of my half-naked body with her cold, bony fingers.

“God, Reed, I forgot what a prude you are,” Noelle said, standing there with her ample breasts perfectly shaped by a black lace bra. Barely covering her butt were black lace boy shorts that made even me blush. “It’s not like you have anything to see.”

I would have been offended if she hadn’t been so right on. Genetics and a predisposition for sports had combined to give me a figure that was more boyish than girlish—broad shoulders, flat stomach, nonexistent hips. At least my boobs had grown a little this year. I had actually shrieked with delight over the summer when Natasha and I had gone shopping and I’d found I’d graduated to a B cup. She’d laughed for about an hour over my reaction.

“Thanks a lot,” I said flatly.

Noelle just rolled her eyes. She stepped into a full-skirted black taffeta gown and zipped it up, then gathered the excess fabric of the bodice behind her, defining her perfect hourglass body.

“Don’t worry,” she said as I winced at the woman’s touch. “It’ll all be worth it when your gown fits like it was made for you. Because it will be! Darla is a genius.”

“Thank you, Miss Lange,” Darla said. She crouched in front of me and measured up the side of my bare leg. A ticklish skitter raced along the inside of my thigh, and I almost kicked the poor woman in the head on reflex.

“Sorry,” I said as she noticed my wince. She merely pursed her lips and stood.

“All right, Miss Brennan,” Darla said. “We’re all set. Let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

As she strolled out with her clipboard and tape measure, I finally breathed freely again. Noelle grabbed a bronze-colored dress from my selections on the wall.