Mona Lisa Eclipsing (35 page)

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Authors: Sunny

Tags: #Paranormal, #General, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Supernatural, #Shapeshifting, #Erotica, #Fiction

BOOK: Mona Lisa Eclipsing
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I was already in bed when Amber came into the room with a suitcase.
“The other side,” Amber said, claiming the side closest to the window.
I obediently moved over and watched Amber undress. He was a beautiful beast, I thought, watching him strip down and walk into the bathroom with that lack of self-consciousness all Monère males seemed to possess. From the flashes I remembered of my first life, I hadn’t been shy about baring my body either, and yet now I was. How did that work? Was modesty natural or something learned?
Any further thoughts scattered when Amber returned and slid into bed with me.
One good thing about this hotel was that they didn’t skimp on the curtains. The ones in our room were heavy and thick, blocking out the morning sunlight almost completely; just a thin sliver of light on either side of the drawn curtains penetrated into the room.
“Who got the bedroom and who’s taking the pullout sofa?” I asked.
“Dante is taking first watch. Dontaine is sleeping in the bedroom.”
I turned on my side, and he pulled me in tight, spooning his big body around me. “They’ll switch in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll take the third shift,” I offered.
“That’s mine. You can stand watch after me.”
“Which probably means there won’t be any watch to take after you,” I grumbled. “I’m not a delicate flower that will wilt at the least little bit of work, you know.”
“Hush, we know that,” Amber murmured, his voice a pleasant rumble behind me. “Close your eyes.”
My lids obediently shut. I thought it would take a while to settle down, but I drifted easily into sleep moments later with Amber wrapped snugly around me.
When I blinked my eyes open, hours later, the slices of light coming into the bedroom were much dimmer, and I was alone. For a big man, Amber could move with surprising stealth. He had left the bed without waking me.
I got up and used the bathroom. The television was playing when I stepped out into the living room area where not just the people in our suite, but also everyone from next door, were gathered. They had turned on the volume when they heard me get up, so I had already heard part of the news reporting. But seeing it was an entirely different experience.
Every news channel was playing the announcement I had made in front of the hospital. I’d never been on TV before and had never seen myself this way. It was not the same as looking at your image reflected in a mirror or seeing it captured in a photo. It was more objective. Truly how others perceived you.
With my hair so fashionably styled, and the clothing and makeup bringing out the exotic lift of my dark eyes, I could honestly say that the woman on TV was attractive. Not gorgeous like the people behind me, but there was a grace and elegance and command that was indeed riveting, especially set against my obvious youth.
I had changed. And it wasn’t just the new highlights in my hair or the better haircut, although that did indeed help. It was my attitude, my confidence—my awareness of who and what I was.
The ugly duckling had transformed into a graceful swan Queen.
I had a moment to absorb this altered perception of myself before Quentin said to me, “We’re the biggest story out there. They’ve been playing this all day.”
He flipped to a channel showing Dr. Hubert in front of the hospital describing what he had seen in the burn unit. Another channel showed Jarvis pulling off his blue top, his bare arms morphing into gloriously feathered wings. Yet another station was playing the blurred streak of me running to the curb at full Monère speed, leaving the tall reporter looking as if he had been caught flat-footed at the starting point. They followed with an immediate replay at slow speed. Watching this, I was struck by a stunning realization. “Oh my God,” I said unsteadily.
“What is it?” Amber asked in a harsh rumble. All the men tensed and looked alertly around for a threat.
“We did it!” I laughed. “We really did it!” I felt shocked, amazed, and exhilarated as it sank in. “The whole world knows about us now.”
“Don’t mind her,” Quentin said in a loud aside to Kelly and Jarvis. “Our Queen’s a little slow when she first wakes up.”
“And how would you know, little bro?” Dante asked, swatting his brother up the backside of his impudent head.
“Hey, you’re just older than me by six lousy minutes, and I know by how she just reacted.” Quentin flashed me a grin. “Milady darling, the whole world has known for over eight hours now.”
“That’s
milady darling Queen
to you,” Dante growled.
“Boys, stop teasing,” Hannah chided her sons with offhanded casualness.
I laughed again. “That’s okay, I deserve it. It’s just that it really didn’t hit me until I saw us on TV. Has it really been eight hours?”
“It’s just past six in the evening,” Nolan said.
Jarvis’s stomach growled. His face reddened when everyone glanced at him.
Another laugh bubbled out from me. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
I ended up sandwiched between Amber and Dontaine in the middle row because my face was too recognizable now. Nolan, Hannah, Jarvis, and Kelly sat in the back row, with Quentin driving and Dante riding shotgun.
Doing a search on the GPS, Quentin drove us to the closest fast-food restaurant, a McDonald’s. We went through the drive-through and parked a short distance away to eat.
“The meat’s overcooked,” Dante grumbled, biting into his Big Mac, which he had ordered without cheese.
“Shut up and eat,” Quentin said cheerfully, biting into his Double Quarter Pounder, minus cheese also. “Not like all of us can march into a steak house and sit down and eat without being recognized.”
“Maybe we can order takeout at a restaurant next time,” I said. “A steak restaurant, if you want, though I don’t understand the preference you guys have for rare meat. This Filet-O-Fish is delicious.”
Dontaine shuddered beside me. “Mona Lisa, I love you with all my heart but your taste in food is atrocious.”
“Fish,” Amber mumbled, his grimace as heartfelt as Dontaine’s shudder.
“Monère men,” I said, turning to wink at Kelly, who had opted out of the beef everyone else was eating for a chicken sandwich. “Something’s got to be wrong with their taste buds, not ours.”
Sitting next to her, Jarvis wolfed down his second burger. I had doubled his order of two hamburgers. A good call, it seemed, as I watched him unwrap his third burger.
“Do you need any more food, Jarvis?” I asked.
“No, milady,” he said around the big bite he had just taken.
“You were injured. If you’re still hungry, let me know.”
“Yes, milady.”
“Were you able to get some sleep?” I asked Kelly.
“Some—about five hours,” she said, eyeing me warily. “All the men address you as
my lady
. Am I supposed to do the same?”
“Not if it makes you uncomfortable. You can call me Lisa or Mona Lisa, if you prefer.”
“What’s with that?” Kelly asked. “Mona Lisa?”
“
Mona
is a title for Monère Queens. Since my name is Lisa, I’m addressed as Mona Lisa. If I had been named Kelly like you, I would be addressed as Mona Kelly.”
“Huh. Mona Kelly. Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as Mona Lisa does,” Kelly said with the first smile I had seen her give.
I chuckled. “No, I guess it doesn’t. But still, I wish I’d been named something else.”
“Where to next?” Quentin asked when everyone was done eating.
“Can the GPS tell us where the nearest mall is?” I asked.
“That it can.” His fingers flew quickly over the touch screen.
We were at the mall five minutes later. I turned on my cell phone as we pulled into the parking lot and found ten messages waiting for me. The first was from a Mr. Harry Wagner from the law firm specializing in public law and policy where I had been so nastily rebuffed by the receptionist. I put it on speakerphone so everyone could hear.
“I apologize for not returning your call sooner but I was not aware you had called until now. I would very much like to speak to you,” the voice said, giving a phone number.
“Does anyone have a pen and paper?” I asked.
“No need,” Quentin said, flipping open his cell phone. “I can jot his name and number on the notepad application.” The guy was an obviously experienced texter. “See? What would you people do without me?”
“Get along just fine without you,” Dante said, messing up his brother’s hair.
The next several messages were all from McManus, our attorney. The first one started out calm. “This is George McManus. Give me a call. My cell phone number is . . .”
The next one that followed: “I’m still here talking to reporters, police, and FBI on your behalf. Call me.”
The third call: “My office is getting flooded with phone calls.
New York Times
,
Washington Post
,
USA Today
, and a bunch of local reporters want to interview you. Call me back soon. I’m still on the clock. You’re racking up a huge bill, lady. Call me!”
McManus’s voice was even more agitated in the next message, informing us that he and his office staff were getting hammered with requests from the media. “For God’s sake, Barbara Walters called, along with every other news channel in this country. Even some from England, Australia, China, and India. I don’t know what to tell these people. Call me, dammit!”
The ninth message was from Harry Wagner again.
“Mona Lisa . . . Miss Hamilton. I want to apologize on behalf of my receptionist again and assure you that our law firm is the best in the country for your needs. We have the clout, reputation, and political connections to help you gain rights for your people. No other law firm can match our expertise, or the breadth of services we offer our clients. In addition to influential lobbyists, we have media relations specialists and any other outside experts you might need. Please call me so we can discuss this further. Our office has already closed for the day, but you can reach me anytime at my private number.” He rattled off a different phone number from what he had given previously, repeating it twice.
“Did you get that, Quentin?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said, his fingers busy typing on the keys. “Boy, does he seem eager for our business. Sounds like the receptionist got her lazy and sarcastic ass kicked.”
The final message was from McManus, called in less than half an hour ago.
“It’s six o’clock, Ms. Hamilton, and I’ve gotten over two hundred emails. Your bill is four thousand dollars now. Call me!”
Flipping the phone closed, I looked at everyone in silence. “Wow. I guess a lot of people want to talk to us.”
“Four thousand dollars!” Hannah said, harrumphing loudly. “I hope that’s not in addition to the retainer we gave him.”
“Nope, it’s not,” Dontaine said, doing a quick calculation. “Four hundred dollars an hour and ten hours of his time so far. Minus the one-thousand-dollar retainer, we owe him another three thousand dollars and counting, until you call him and tell him otherwise.”
“Call Wagner first,” Dante suggested. “If you like him, we can transfer everything to their media relations specialist to handle. Their services might be even more expensive,” he warned, “but it sounds like McManus is out of his depth.”
Wagner answered on the first ring.
We talked.
I liked what he had to say, up to the point when I asked him how much it would cost, and found out he couldn’t give me a figure until we sat down with him and a few other members of his firm, and discussed in exact detail what our goals were. That, he said, would take an hour, at the very minimum.
When I asked if he could meet in half an hour, Wagner politely said that was unfortunately not possible as it was very late in the evening, and offered to meet with us nine a.m., first thing in the morning. That resulted in an explanation from me that we usually slept during the day and awoke around six at night, the time when their office closed. There was some more discussion on whether we could meet earlier in the morning or in the early evening, with Wagner’s law firm extending their business hours to accommodate us. We both agreed the earlier the better, and we settled on seven a.m. the next morning.
My next call was to McManus. He picked up on the third ring. “McManus here,” he growled.
“It’s Lisa Hamilton, returning your call.”
“About time!” he roared. “Why the hell didn’t you call me back sooner?”
“We were sleeping and my phone was turned off. I just turned it back on and got your messages. Thanks for fielding all the calls for us.”
“Expensive damn answering service, at four hundred dollars an hour.”
“I agree. We’ll be happy to take over from here. How about we settle things tonight?” I offered, since there was no guarantee of a tomorrow if things went sour, and gave him the name of the mall we were at. We agreed to meet in half an hour—how long it would take him to drive here—at the outdoor restaurant I had glimpsed next to the mall entrance.

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