Death Threat

R eva watched the elevator light and tapped her foot impatiently. Why couldn’t this thing move faster?

She glanced at her watch. Almost ten. She’d been up in one of the executive offices at Dalby’s since nine this morning, working on plans for her scarf show. She was on her way down now to audition the models.

Only one day until the first show, she thought, glancing at the elevator light again. Only one, and she had a ton of stuff to do to get ready.

But it will be worth it, she promised herself. Because Reva Wear will be the hit of the season.

And I’ll be the hit of the fashion world.

The elevator settled to a stop on the main floor. With a smile, Reva swept through the doors and hurried down a hallway toward the room where the models waited.

As she passed an open door, she glanced inside. The tiny windowless room, usually used for storing boxes and shopping bags, had been cleared out. Two tables crammed with sewing supplies stood against one wall and a long wooden table sat in the middle of the floor. Pam and Willow leaned over the table, unrolling a bolt of black material.

Reva frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re just getting started.”

Pam raised her head. “Oh, Reva. Hi. No, we already cut out a bunch of other material.”

“Good.” Reva started to move on.

“Reva?”

She stopped, tapping her foot again.

Pam came around the table. Multicolored thread clung to her hair and pale blue sweatshirt. A yellow tape measure dangled around her neck, and one of her sneakers was untied.

Good thing she’s working behind the scenes, Reva thought. And her tacky friend, too.

Willow wore a skin-tight tank top and black jeans tucked into scuffed black boots. Reva sniffed. Probably rode to work on her Harley. And was that actually a tattoo on her shoulder?

Reva shuddered and turned to Pam. “What is it?” she demanded. “I have a lot to do.”

“I know. But we have to talk,” Pam told her.

Sighing loudly, Reva checked her watch. “Make it fast, okay?”

“Sure.” Pam stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “We need to set up our business arrangement with you. You know, a contract.”

“It’s really important,” Willow chimed in.

“So is getting some scarves made, or you won’t need any contract,” Reva pointed out. “Listen, I’ll talk to Daddy’s lawyer later today. But right now, I absolutely have to go audition the models. I’ll stop by and check on you later.”

As she turned away, Reva noticed Willow staring at her. Glaring was more like it. Those blue eyes reminded Reva of marbles—hard and cold.

What’s her problem, anyway? she wondered, hurrying down the hall. Doesn’t she realize how lucky she is that I’m giving them a chance?

“Reva!” a voice called out behind her.

Reva spun around and smiled as her father walked briskly toward her. “Hi, Daddy. I was just about to audition the models for the Reva Wear show. The Shadyside Agency was really excited when I called them this morning. They said they’d send over some of their best ones.”

“That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about,” Robert Dalby told her. “I know you were planning on hiring three models, but it will have to be two.”

“But, Daddy, I already worked out the whole routine! And it needs three models,” Reva protested. “Two won’t work at all!”

“Calm down, honey,” her father said. “You can use three models, but you can only hire two from the agency. Traci Meecham is already under contract to model for the store. So we have to use her in the show.”

“Traci!” Reva practically spat out the name. “Give me a break, Daddy. You know she can’t stand me!”

And the feeling is totally mutual, Reva thought.

“No, I didn’t know that,” her father told her. “What could she possibly have against you?”

Reva shrugged, frowning. She and Traci had a big blow-up about a guy last year. But she didn’t feel like going into the details. “I don’t know,” she lied. “She’s probably just jealous. You know, because you’re my father and we have money.”

“She’s never been anything but polite and friendly to me,” Mr. Dalby declared.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Reva told him. “You’re the boss, remember? She has to stay on your good side. Anyway, Daddy, I still don’t see why I have to use her. I mean, can’t you change her contract or something?”

Her father laughed. “Easier said than done, honey. In fact, my lawyers would probably tell me it’s impossible. No. You have to use Traci,” he insisted.

“But—”

Mr. Dalby held up his hand. “Reva, this is business. And you might not always like the people you do business with. But you still have to behave like a pro.”

Reva wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “Okay,” she told him. “I understand. I’ll use Traci.”

Her father patted her shoulder. “I’m off to a meeting now. You go talk to Traci. She’s in the makeup department, modeling a new line of eyeshadow.”

As her father strode away, Reva heaved a sigh. First Pam and Willow, and now Traci Meecham. What a bunch of losers!

She checked her watch. Ten after nine. The models were waiting.

I’m the boss, Reva reminded herself. They can’t do anything without me. So let them wait. Go find Traci and get it over with.

Traci stood at one of the makeup counters. Reva watched her for a few seconds. Slender, with short, curly blond hair and big gray eyes, Traci sat on a high stool, applying charcoal eyeshadow and chatting with an interested customer. The woman said something, and Traci laughed, showing deep dimples at the sides of her mouth.

Reva frowned. Dimples were too cute. She wanted a more dramatic look for her scarf show. But she didn’t have a choice.

Annoyed, she cleared her throat loudly.

Traci’s makeup hand jumped, and a line of charcoal eyeshadow appeared on her forehead.

“Sorry,” Reva told her, with a fake smile. “But I need to talk to you a second, Traci.”

Traci turned to the customer. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” She slid from the stool and walked gracefully over to Reva. “What?” she demanded bluntly.

“I’m putting together a fashion show for a new line of scarves,” Reva told her. “The name is Reva Wear.”

Traci’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “When did you go to design school?”

“I have natural talent,” Reva shot back. Working with Traci was going to be a disaster. “Anyway, I need three models, and you’re one of them. Of course,” she added snidely, “you’ll have to wash the eyeshadow off your forehead.”

Traci rolled her eyes. “Listen, Reva, I know your father is making you use me for this show,” she declared. “I don’t like it any better than you do.”

“You can always refuse,” Reva told her.

“Sure, and lose my job.” Traci’s gray eyes flashed. “Some of us have to earn our living, you know.”

Boo hoo. What am I supposed to do about it? Reva wondered. Feel guilty?

“So I’ll do this scarf show, and I’ll be good in it,” Traci continued. “But let’s make a deal, okay? You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

“Fine.”

She’s afraid I might get her fired, Reva thought. Good. “Just remember who’s running the show, Traci.”

Smiling sweetly, Reva turned and strode away.

At least I’ll be able to choose the other two models, she thought, hurrying back toward the room where the models waited. Traci is a blonde, and I definitely want one with black hair. What about the third one? A second blonde might be dramatic. Or a second black-haired one.... No, that would make Traci stand out too much.

Thinking about the models, Reva turned a corner in the hallway.

And stopped short when she saw a familiar face.

Daniel Powell stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Surprise!” he snapped.

“What do you want?” Reva demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“What do I want?” Daniel bared his teeth in a cold smile. “I want to kill you!”

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20