Melody laughed, but the sound devolved into a cough.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You don’t sound so good. You’re not sick, are you?”
“Nah, I’m fine. Just a little something in my throat.”
She grinned again and moved off to take care of a customer at the other end of the bar. I watched her, but Melody laughed and talked with everyone the way she always did.
Piper and I swiveled around on our stools. As we watched the action, I felt myself relaxing. Piper was right. I was in the mood for karaoke. This was my place, and tonight, I wasn’t going to think about Talon, Wesley, Bandit, or what could be on the mystery flash drive. Tonight, I was going to drink, sing, and have a good time.
I jerked my head at the stage. Piper smiled and ordered us another round. I moved through the crowd, winding my way around tables and giggling groups of college co-eds, before reaching the steps that led up to the stage. A tall guy wearing an oversized Hawaiian shirt sat at a table in the corner, a headphone held up to his ear. On stage, a skinny guy with a rather large Adam’s apple and thick glasses crooned out a decent version of “Come Monday” by Jimmy Buffett. I headed for the guy in the Hawaiian shirt.
“Abby! What’s going on, girl?” Stanley Solomon said, grinning.
“Not much.”
“You going up on stage tonight?” he asked, sliding controls up and down on the board in front of him.
“You know it.”
Stanley had been overseeing the sound system at The Blues for as long as I could remember. He’d been trying to fix that cursed amp the night of my accident, but I’d gotten zapped instead of him. As a result, Stanley never let me touch anything now. I couldn’t blame him. Honestly, I wasn’t sticking my hand near any amp again—ever.
“What are you in the mood for?” Stanley asked. “Some jazz, some R&B, maybe a little disco?”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m in the mood to rock.”
He smiled.
*
For the next half-hour, I sang song after song, pouring my heart out to the drunken patrons and anyone else who was listening. I did some Green Day, a few songs by The Killers, some classics by The Pretenders, all my old favorites.
“‘Time After Time’?” Stanley asked when I told him what I wanted to end with. “By Cyndi Lauper?”
I nodded.
A grin spread across his face. “Whatever floats your boat, Abby.”
That’s what I finished out the night with. More than a few people clapped as I took a short bow and walked off stage. I nodded and smiled, appreciating the applause. Even I thought I’d been pretty good tonight.
More important was how I felt—and the decision I’d made. Somewhere between the first drink and my last song, I’d decided to go for it. To tell Wesley, to tell Talon, who I really was. That I was his mysterious Wren—and see if he thought I could be his Nightingale too.
Piper was right. It was time to quit being invisible. Time to quit blending into the background. Time to make a stand, make some noise. Time to rock. Time to focus on what I wanted. And I wanted Wesley.
I just hoped he’d feel the same way too.
“You were awesome, Abby!” Piper said when I rejoined her at the bar. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m your best friend.”
I grinned. “I know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know? Usually, I have to browbeat you before you admit how great you were. So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? Or do I have to guess?”
“I’ll going to tell him. I’m going to tell Wesley everything.”
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Well, it’s about time.”
“But I’m blaming you if he hates me forever for lying to him,” I added. “So, be prepared.”
“I think I can handle it,” Piper replied.
She raised her glass, and I clinked mine against it. The sound was music to my ears.
PART THREE
ABBY
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, I left Rascal with Chloe at the office. Then, I spent the rest of the day at the Bigtime Convention Center, ensuring that everything arrived on time and was put in place for the Weston event.
Burly guys hauled in cases of champagne, wine, and other spirits. Three women wearing shockproof gloves plugged strobe lights into hidden wall outlets. Still more men and women carted in tables, chairs, linens, and crystal.
Unlike the O’Hara event, I’d decided to have the business dinner and the after party here in the auditorium instead of serving the food in one of the other rooms. It was easier to oversee everything when it was in one spot. Plus, I’d gone all out for the décor. I didn’t want to split the effect by having part of it here and part of it somewhere else. Wesley wanted to wow people, and he was going to get his wish.
Stanley moved from one side of the stage to the other, installing extra amps and wiring in the sound system. Melody clutched a microphone and followed him, doing sound check after sound check. Her voice seemed raspier today, but she gave me a thumbs-up.
I watched from the balcony as five men from Isabella’s Exquisite Ice rolled a dolly toward the orchestra pit, which had already been converted into a bar, complete with red vinyl swivel stools. A fifteen-foot-tall ice guitar with flames coming out of its sides perched on top of the dolly.
The movers had almost reached the end of the aisle when one of the men tripped over his own feet and fell against the dolly. The guitar sculpture rocked on its pedestal. I sucked in a breath. The other movers froze. The massive block of ice creaked back, then forth, before settling into its groove once more.
“Hey, buddy!” My voice boomed through the auditorium like thunder.
Everyone turned in my direction. I leaned over the balcony and stabbed my pen at the klutz who’d almost ruined my ten-thousand-dollar ice sculpture.
“You!”
The guy pointed at his chest. I gave him a sharp nod. He swallowed.
“You cause that to tip over, and I’ll put you on ice—permanently. You feel me?”
The man nodded and hurried down the aisle to join the rest of his crew. Slowly, carefully, they transferred the frozen block from the dolly onto the air-conditioned, checkerboard stand at the left end of the bar. The matching sculpture was already in place on the right side.
Once they finished, the movers looked up at me. I nodded in approval and checked ice sculptures off the three-page-long list on my clipboard.
The smell of bleach and cigarettes assaulted my nose, and Colt Colton moved to stand beside me. The maintenance man wore his usual uniform of gray coveralls and work boots, with his dark hair back in a low ponytail.
“Problems, Abby?” Colt asked.
“No more than usual. Why are you here? I thought you were helping Eddie hang the disco balls.”
“I needed a smoke break,” he said. “Eddie’s doing the last one now.”
Smoke break? Yeah, I could have figured that out without my supernose. Colt reeked of tobacco. Filthy habit. Even if Colt had asked me out before I’d met Wesley, I still would have told him no. I didn’t date guys who smelled like a smokestack.
A harsh clang of metal caught my ear, and I looked up at the catwalk circling the auditorium. Eddie stood a hundred feet above me. I watched as he lowered a five-foot-wide mirrored, silver sphere over the edge of the railing. The disco ball joined the others that ringed the area. Eddie tugged on the line a couple times. Then, he stepped back and stared at the ball. When he was sure it was secure, he gave me a thumbs-up. I waved back and checked disco balls off my list.
“You coming back for the event later tonight?”
I nodded. “Yep, coming back and staying until the bitter end.”
“Maybe we could get a drink after you’re done,” Colt suggested.
I looked up to find him studying me with his dark eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
I couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight. In less tha
n twelve hours, I was planning on telling Wesley that I was really Wren. I wasn’t going to be stuck in a bar with Colt.
“You know I told you I was getting over a bad relationship?”
He nodded.
“Well, it’s back on now.”
His eyes darkened.
“I’m sorry—”
“That’s okay,” he said, cutting me off. “I always seem to be a step behind these days. Later, Abby.”
“Later, Colt.”
He strolled toward the stairs, opened the door, and disappeared. An uneasy feeling ballooned in my stomach. That was the second time in less than a week Colt had asked me out. I couldn’t figure out why. He couldn’t think I was that hot. Could he?
I shook my head. Maybe Piper was right. Maybe I only thought I was invisible. Or maybe Colt was just desperate.
The tinkle-tinkle of breaking glass caught my ear, and I leaned back over the balcony. One of the workers crouched on her hands and knees, trying to scoop up the shattered remains of a champagne flute. She shot frantic looks over her head, hoping I hadn’t noticed the telltale noise. As if. She could have dropped a pin, and I would have heard it like a nail being pounded into a board.
“Hey you!” I yelled. “You with the butter on your fingers! You drop another one of those glasses, and I’ll make you eat it for lunch!”
*
Once everything was in place and I’d yelled at just about every single person on the premises, it was after five and time to change clothes and come back for the event.
Piper called right as I finished up and insisted I meet her at Oodles o’ Stuff. Pronto. I checked my watch and muttered. A little more than ninety minutes before the party started. Another few hours after that I was going to tell Wesley everything. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to pick up Rascal, go back to Piper’s apartment, restock my Party Vest, and try to make myself as presentable as possible.
Usually, I didn’t care too much about what I looked like, but tonight, I wanted to be at my best. I’d even resigned myself to wearing a dress—and heels. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to show a little cleavage and leg when I bared my soul to Wesley.
Because I was pressed for time, I grabbed a cab and told the driver to make a beeline over to Oodles o’ Stuff. He pulled up to the department store about fifteen minutes later. I paid the driver, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed Piper’s number as I walked to the entrance. She picked up on the second ring.
“I’m here,” I said, pushing through the revolving doors. “Where are you? I have things to do tonight, you know. Like tell the man of my dreams I love him.”
Piper laughed. “Relax, Abby. I’ve taken care of everything. I’m on the first floor next to the evening wear.”
I squinted against the glare of the lights. Clothes, clothes, and more clothes crowded the first floor.
“And where would that be?”
“You know your way around that dark, dank, convention center, but you have no idea where the gowns are at Oodles? Your priorities are so skewed,” she chided.
“You’re not helping.”
“About five hundred feet to the left of the front doors,” Piper said. “Hurry up.”
I walked in the appropriate direction, skirting the shoppers blocking the aisles. I spotted Piper standing next to a tall, blond mannequin that reminded me of Fiona. Piper had been one of the five hundred people on Wesley’s guest list, and she was already dressed to the nines in a long-sleeved, shimmering gown made of silver fabric.
“So what’s the emergency?” I asked. “What was so important I had to meet you here?”
She beamed. “Your makeover, of course.”
I blinked. “Makeover?”
*
Piper led me into one of the fitting rooms, where a dazzling blue dress hung on a metal rack. Matching shoes, a small purse, and a host of other accessories sat on tables on either side.
“What are you doing?” I asked Piper, staring at the display.
She grabbed my hands. “I’m going to get you ready for your Prince Charming. Or Prince Superhero. Or whatever you want to call him. You want to look great when you tell him who you really are, don’t you?”
I hesitated. “But you know that I did the same thing for Ryan. That I tried to turn myself into a different person just to please him. It didn’t work with him. What makes you think it will work with Wesley?”
“Because you’re not changing yourself,” she replied. “You’re just looking your best. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, Wesley already knows you—the real you. We’re just putting a little icing on the cake tonight. Come on, Abby. Let me help you. Let me do this for you. It’ll be fun.”
Then she gave me that look—that hopeful, pleading look I could never ignore. I sighed.
“All right, but you know I can’t wear that dress,” I said. “I have an event tonight. I need my equipment, my supplies. I need my vest.”
“I thought you might say that.”
Piper sighed and jerked her head. My Party Vest draped over a chair in the corner of the room.
“And before you even ask, yes, I restocked it with your usual gear,” she said. “You can wear it during the event, but you are taking it off when you talk to Wesley. Agreed?”
I nodded.
“Good. Now strip.”
I went behind a black plastic partition and took off my clothes. Shivering, I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Underwear too,” Piper commanded. “You can’t wear granny panties under this.”
Grumbling, I stepped out of my undies and pulled off the matching camisole. Piper passed me a lacy bra and panties.
“Now the dress,” she said, handing it over.
The gown Piper had picked out was short and funky. The fabric was a petal-soft, jersey knit with plenty of stretch. The knee-skimming hemline and long sleeves ended in uneven zigzags, with tatters of fabric layered over the top of them. A wide, patent-leather belt looped around the waist, matching the black velvet trim that piped along the edge of the skirt and sleeves. The dress dazzled me so much it took me a minute before I realized what color it was.
I laughed. “Cobalt blue? Isn’t that overkill?”
Piper smiled. “I thought you might like to wear your man’s colors. Besides, that shade will rock on you.”
I started to pull the dress on. “Um, won’t Fiona miss this?” I asked, catching sight of the FFF label—and the three-thousand-dollar price tag under one arm.
“Nope,” Piper said. “I brought her a dozen hamburgers, twenty hot dogs, five buckets of fries, and enough soda to float a battleship for lunch from Quicke’s today. I also stopped by Olé and got her one of those five-pound burritos, three orders of chips and salsa, and fifteen sopapillas with honey. Then, I gave her the fourth-quarter reports, which showed sales rose almost ten percent. She told me to take whatever dress I wanted, along with the shoes and accessories.”
I shook my head. Fiona’s rampant love of food was going to get her into trouble one day. It was a wonder it hadn’t bankrupted her already. I shimmied into the dress and stepped around the partition.
“Nice,” Piper said. “Although, it would look better if you’d take your socks off.”
I curled my wool-covered toes into the carpet a second before doing as she asked. Piper picked up a pair shoes and held them out. They were more sandals than heels, with long, thin straps that wound up to my knees. They too were cobalt blue.
Piper didn’t stop there. She put a black velvet choker with an elegant blue cameo around my neck and handed me a small, boxy purse. I opened the top and looked inside. She’d stuffed essential items in it, like breath mints, tissues, clear nail polish, a small tool kit, and condoms.
I held up one of the foil packets. “Ever the optimist, I see.”
She grinned.
I put on the shoes. Piper put her hands on my shoulders, marched me over to the three-sided mirror, and then stepped out of view.
I twirled this way
and that, watching the skirt swirl around my legs. Piper was right. The cobalt-blue fabric made my pale skin look delicate and dainty instead of just ordinary, and the deep V-neck maximized what cleavage I had. Overall, I didn’t look half-bad, even if the shoes were already starting to squeeze my toes.
“Now,” Piper said. “Phase One is complete. On to Phase Two—hair and makeup.”
*
Sabrina St. John waited for us at the cosmetics counter, along with a guy with a short, spiky Mohawk.
“This is Harold,” Sabrina said. “He’s going to do your hair while I work on your makeup.”
I smiled at Harold, my gaze flicking up to the orange streaks in his hair.
The two of them pushed me down into a chair and covered my designer dress with a black smock. Piper settled into a chair and flipped open the latest Confidante comic book, this one featuring the Fearless Five on the front. Harold and Sabrina eyed each other as warriors would on the battlefield. Harold sank a brush into my hair, while Sabrina grabbed the first of the three dozen pots of makeup she had lined up on the glass counter.
And so it began.
Harold snipped, teased, and sprayed my hair, muttering about my split ends. Meanwhile, Sabrina tweezed, exfoliated, and moisturized my face. Harold tilted my head back. Sabrina yanked it forward. Harold brandished his scissors at Sabrina. She made a threatening move with a mascara wand. I was caught in the middle, like a tennis ball whacked to one side of the court, then slammed in the opposite direction. Both kept barking commands at me through the whole, torturous process.
Harold: “Sit up straight.”
Sabrina: “Close your eyes.”
Harold: “Bend your head down.”
Sabrina: “Pucker your lips.”
I’d never had so many beauty products on my body at one time. Vanilla-scented hairspray. Raspberry-flavored lip gloss. Styling gel that reeked of jasmine. Blush that smelled exactly like its Apple Blossom name. A migraine tried to pound to life inside my skull at the smelly onslaught, but I took deep breaths and ignored it. Nobody ever said getting beautiful was easy. Besides, I was doing this for Wesley. I could suffer a headache for him.