The Invitation by Vi Keeland(8)

Tossing my pen onto my desk, I picked up the phone and leaned back in my chair. “Evelyn, thank you for calling me back.”

“Of course. How are you, Hudson?”

Frustrated enough to call my little sister’s annoying friend who I hadn’t wanted to give a job to, but did anyway, only to have said annoying friend stop showing up to work two months ago and quit without any notice.

“I’m well. And you?”

“Pretty good. Although Louisiana is really humid compared to New York.”

Is that where she’d run off to? I didn’t care, and small talk with Evelyn wasn’t on my packed agenda for today.

“So the reason I had my assistant track you down—a woman came to Olivia’s wedding pretending to be you.”

“Me? Really? Who would do that?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Jeez, I have no idea. I didn’t even think Liv had invited me to her wedding. I definitely didn’t get an invitation.”

“My sister said she mailed it right around the time you left town. It went to your old address here in the City. Was your mail being forwarded, or was someone picking it up for you?”

“I get almost all my mail electronically—phone bill, credit cards, and stuff. So I didn’t do a mail forward. My old roommate still lives in the apartment, so she could have received it.”

“You had a roommate?”

“Yeah, Stella.”

“Maybe it was Stella?”

Evelyn laughed. “I don’t think so. She’s definitely not the type to crash a wedding.”

“Humor me. What does your old roommate look like?”

“I don’t know. Blond hair, maybe five foot five, pale skin, nice curves…glasses. Size seven shoe.”

The hair color, nice curves, and skin description were a match, and I supposed the woman could’ve had contacts in. But who the hell gives shoe size as part of a physical description? “By any chance would your roommate have a habit of smelling things?”

“Yes! Stella’s some sort of perfume developer for Estée Lauder. Or at least she was before she quit. We were only roommates for a year or so, but she was always sniffing things—a little odd, if you ask me. She also had a habit of telling long stories when all I asked was a simple question, and giving chocolate bars out to people. But how did you know she sniff—oh my God. Was it Stella who went to the wedding posing as me?”

“Sounds like it may have been, yes.”

Evelyn laughed. “I didn’t think she had it in her.”

From the little time I’d spent with Stella, I could tell she had it in her to surprise a lot of people. Most would have bolted out the door when I’d called them to take the microphone. But not Stella. She’d been a shaky mess, yet she’d pulled herself together and taken what I’d dished out. I wasn’t sure what was sexier—the way she looked, the way she didn’t back down from a challenge, or the way she’d defiantly told me I was an asshole before taking off.

It had been eight days since my sister’s wedding, and I still couldn’t get the damn woman out of my head.

“What’s Stella’s last name?” I asked.

“Bardot. Like the old-time movie actress.”

“Do you happen to have a home phone number for her?”

“I do. It’s in my cell. I can forward you her contact information after we hang up, if you want.”

“Yes. That would be helpful.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you for the information, Evelyn.”

“Do you want me to call her? Tell her she needs to pay for the cost of attending or something?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’d actually prefer you didn’t mention this conversation, if you happen to speak to her.”

“Okay…sure. Whatever you say.”

“Goodbye, Evelyn.”

After I hung up, I rubbed my chin and stared out the window at the city.

Stella Bardot…what to do, what to do with you…

Opening my desk drawer, I pulled out the iPhone the catering company had sent over the other day. They said they’d found it at Table Sixteen. I’d had my assistant call everyone seated at the table except for the mystery woman. No one had lost a phone. So I was pretty certain who it belonged to. The only question was, what was I going to do with it?

***

Helena, my assistant, peeked her head into the conference room.

“Mr. Rothschild, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s someone here to see you. There’s no appointment on your calendar, but she claims you invited her.”

I held out my hands, motioning to the people seated around the table. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. I don’t have anything else scheduled right now.”

She shrugged. “That’s what I thought. I’ll let her know you’re busy.”

“Who is it?”

“Her name is Stella Bardot.”

Well, well, well… Cinderella finally came to collect her glass slipper, did she? It had been six days now since I’d messaged her over a note, so I’d assumed Ms. Bardot didn’t have the balls to show up. I had Evelyn’s old address in our company records, so I could’ve been nice and just returned the phone to her. But what fun would that have been? Instead, I’d sent over my business card with a note scribbled on the back.