Page 115 of Their Courtesan
Chapter 28
MIGUEL
“I sent her measurements over,” Miguel said into his phone while enjoying his view of the marina. “If you dress her in red, I will be averyhappy man. Not pink. Red.”
“Yes, Mr. Bolivar.” The woman on the other end paused while she copied down this information. “Any backup colors you would like us to consider?”
“Hmm. Black?”
“Certainly. But, if I may suggest, if your aim is to attract eyes in a place where everyone who is anyone is dressing up, you might want a brighter color.”
“Right. Purple could be good. Maybe a light blue. Otherwise, I will leave it up to you. She has blond hair and a fair complexion. I’m looking forward to how you dress her up for me.”
He hung up. Ever since it was confirmed that he could take Judith to the wedding of the year in two weeks, he thought of nothing but having a dress ordered for her. It was too late for a custom outfit, but he had the number of the best personal stylist in New York and insisted on her taking Judith as a last-minute client. The stylist and her team would work out with the Château when to come by with their wares and decide what was best for a sexy woman like Judith. Miguel didn’t need details. He wanted to be wowed the moment he saw her.
He wanted everyone else at the wedding to be wowed as well.
It was only right that his date be one of the most eye-catching there. Not only was he a man who needed to meet prospective business connections, but he liked to show off the women he loved.Rosa loved every minute I spent showing her off.Wait. Rosa who?
Miguel pocketed his phone and resumed his work. There were documents to go over and calls to return. With any luck, by the end of the day he would be emailing his father prospective plots of land to build their first American casino on.
“Monsieur!” rang Aimee’s anxious tone in the foyer of his apartment. “Un gros probléme!” She skidded into his office, flats sliding across the hardwoods as her face turned sheet white. “C’est ta soeur!”
“What?” Miguel, who loomed over his desk, looked up with as much disbelief as he could manage. “You’re joking, right?”
From the way Aimee shook her head, she certainly wasn’t.
And from that voice bowling through the office door… oh, fuck.
“Hermano!” There was nothing cheery about that fake happy-to-see-you tone. Miguel would have turned white like his assistant, but that wasn’t acceptable in this current situation.
No. He would have to be the most calm, the most collected asshole to ever grace the name Bolivar… of the Valencia Bolivars, anyway.
“Be right there!” he bellowed, praying that his unexpected guest would not enter his office without permission. She would, too. “Give me a damn second!”
When he opened the office door, he found Dolores standing in front of the large windows of the living room, that critical demeanor picking apart everything grotesque and immature about the American cityscape before her.Dolores hates America. She’d only be here unannounced if it was an emergency.The Queen Regent of Western European Snobbery would otherwise never deign to cross the pond.
“Dearest brother!” she called in her heavily accented English, before switching to Spanish. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your super busy work. I know how much effort you put into fucking your assistants.”
It was a good thing Aimee was not fluent in Spanish. She knew enough to understand Miguel’s half-asleep scrawls at two in the morning, but not enough to understand what Dolores was saying, no matter how sweet and saccharin coated she tried to make her accusation.
“That’s unnecessary.” At least Miguel could drop the veneer of familial love. She wanted to go straight for his jugular? He could handle it, but he wouldn’t pretend to like it. “Why the hell are you here? Come to check up on me?”
Dolores gave Aimee a thorough once-over as the assistant excused herself from Miguel’s apartment. “Let me guess. French? I do know how much you love your little Frenchputas.”
“Déjalo,” Miguel warned her. “I am not sleeping with my assistant. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Good, because Idoknow who you are sleeping with, and it would be quite uncouth if Mama and Papa found out you were two-timing some slimy prostitute.”
Miguel loosened the cuffs on his shirt. It was the only way to keep from losing his shit at her. “So I take it you saw the pictures. Is that why you’re here? You could’ve yelled at me on the phone. For, you know, daring to have a personal life. Not like I called those nasty paps.”
“Miguelito,” she thought she was so cute when she used their mother’s nickname for him, “I don’t give Queen Isabel’s left tit who you’re playing with. As long as she’s a semi-decent girl, anyway. Trust me. I did some digging on your sweet Judy.”
“Judith.”
“Whatever.” Dolores slapped her purse against Miguel’s couch and removed her travel gloves, one long finger at a time. “Point is, my private investigator turned up more than your disgusting photos. You know what else he found? Go on, guess.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
