Page 34 of Peasants and Kings
“I guess they’ll work,” Genevieve said, a frown marring her face. “I would’ve liked for her to wear a heel of some sort.”
“I think these work better.”
“You’re the stylist,” Gen said.
Petra knelt in front of me and helped me step into the ballet flats. They were comfortable, yet oddly heavy due to the crystal beadwork.
“I think the shoes look fantastic,” Petra stated, rising. “Besides, I think they offset the vixen quality of her persona with an air of innocence.”
“No, you’re absolutely right,” Genevieve said.
I turned back to look at myself, marveling at the changes in such a short amount of time.
Vixen? No one had ever used that word to describe me.
My mother had been the one to turn heads wherever we went. I swallowed, thinking of her. She’d left Italy, pregnant, and on the run to protect me. She’d been seventeen and she’d done what she had to do. I was twenty-five. I could do this.
I could be Eden.
Chapter Eight
After I changed into my street clothes, Genevieve told me to follow her. We left the wardrobe room and headed through the hallway back into the reception area. Annika wasn’t at her desk and Genevieve pushed open the door to her office.
I followed her inside. “Should I sit?”
Genevieve shook her head in negation as she went to her massive ornate desk and picked up a brown leather binder that resembled a photo album.
“These are the photos and personas of the girls who work The Fifteenth Floor. You’ll need to memorize their names.”
I took the binder. “You want me to learn all these names and faces by tomorrow’s event?”
She smiled. “There are only thirty women in the binder.”
“So few?”
“Exclusive and elite.”
“Ah, right.”
“All the ladies working tomorrow night’s event are sleeping here tonight.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Call time is seven a.m. for the stylist chairs. We fly down to Austin mid-day. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” She paused. “And a longer night. Take the binder, memorize the faces and names. Annika will show you to your suite.”
“But I don’t have a change of clothes—or pajamas.”
Genevieve grinned. “We’re a luxury hotel. We sized you during the dress fitting. You have clothes waiting for you, and every comfort item from a toothbrush to room service is now at your disposal. You’re completely provided for.”
The idea of ordering every dessert on the room service menu made me giddy.
“Sleep well,” she said.
I inclined my head, wondering how I was possibly going to sleep with the adrenaline coursing through me.
I left Genevieve’s office. Annika was back at her desk, her bun compact and devoid of flyaways. I wondered about her. She had a key to The Fifteenth Floor. Was she just Genevieve’s assistant, or would I find her face in the binder?
“I like your hair,” Annika said, rising from her desk. “I don’t remember if I told you that.”
