Nightingale (22 page)

The fiery superhero crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me. Fiera was a tall woman with the stereotypical superhero physique—long hair, big breasts, and legs that went on forever, all poured into a body-hugging, orange-red spandex suit. Fiera also was the main attraction tonight. The superhero was here to help the cops take people to
jail
and encourage them to read more.

I would have preferred to have Karma Girl, or even Mr. Sage, but Fiera had been the one who’d called me back and said she’d show up. Because they got so many requests, the Fearless Five took turns doing public events, and I’d been unlucky enough to get stuck with her. I was a little nervous at the thought of Fiera around books. Having the library go up in flames would not be good for business. Besides, I’d already had one disastrous run-in with a superhero this week. I wasn’t ready for another.
 

“You know what you’re supposed to do?” I asked.

Fiera tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. A few sparks shot out from the ends. “Of course, I know what I’m supposed to do. I
am
a professional superhero, after all. This isn’t the first dog-and-pony show I’ve been to, Abby. Don’t worry. I’ll make nice with the civilians.”

“And,” I prompted. “I specifically put it in the contract.”

Fiera rolled her blue eyes. “And I won’t set anything in the library on fire.”

“And?”

She sighed. “Or anything else within a two-block radius until the event is over.”

I nodded. “Good.”

“Even though everyone would have a lot more fun if I did,” she muttered.
 

If there was one group of people who were even more temperamental and demanding than society debutantes, it was superheroes. I glared at Fiera, and she stared right back at me. Her gaze then dropped to my side, where Rascal sat. The smoky superhero fascinated the pint-sized puppy. Curiosity filled his brown eyes, and his pointy ears perched on high alert.
 

“Aw! What a cute little dog!” Fiera said, dropping to her knees and holding out her hand.

I winced as her voice pierced my skull. Rascal sniffed her carefully, confused by the smoke drifting up from her body. But once he realized Fiera wasn’t going to burn him, he was more than happy to let her scratch his tummy.

“When did you get a dog?” Fiera asked.

I might as well stamp the details on my forehead. Maybe then people would quit asking me
that
particular question in
that
particular tone of voice.

“A few days ago. He’s up for adoption, if you want him,” I said. “Maybe the Fearless Five could add a mascot to the team. You seem to have everything else already.”

Fiera’s eyes narrowed at my words, but she kept petting Rascal. I started to open my mouth to say something else catty to her, but Chloe cut me off.

“Ms. O’Hara, how nice to see you again,” Chloe said, elbowing me in the side.

Octavia O’Hara strolled over to our group. Octavia might have been all business at the merger dinner a few nights ago, but she was ready to party tonight. She wore a long green gown accented with crimson trim. The bright colors enhanced the bronze beauty of her flawless skin. A slit ran halfway up her thigh, exposing a very shapely leg, while the neck of the garment dipped into a severe V, showing a healthy amount of cleavage. Octavia’s black hair flowed like water around her shoulders, and her dark eyes practically smoldered.
 

A rare bit of envy stabbed my heart. Octavia looked gorgeous. I could see why she’d caught Wesley’s eye. I could just picture the two of them together. They’d be the perfect couple—rich, powerful, beautiful. I fingered the edge of my vest. Octavia was a real nightingale, and I felt more like a wren than ever.

“Abby, Chloe. I wanted to come over and tell you again how wonderful the merger announcement turned out,” Octavia said. “It truly was a night to remember—in all sorts of ways.”

I wondered what Octavia would say if she knew I was planning a similar event for Wesley and that I was going to outdo what I’d done for her in less than a week. She’d find out soon enough and probably dump me as a client, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
 

Chloe nudged me in the side again, reminding me that I really should respond when people spoke.

“Thank you, Octavia.” I tried to smile. “We appreciate that.”

“It was our pleasure, really,” Chloe’s smile went off a lot better than mine did.

Nice save. Chloe really was serious about getting that promotion, and I just might let her have it if she kept up the good work.

Octavia started to respond, but Rascal barked at her. It wasn’t his usual
you’re-a-new-person-want-to-pet-pet-pet-me?
bark. No, this time, the dog’s voice dropped to a growl. Fiera sank her fingers into his fur, almost like she was keeping him from latching on to Octavia’s ankle. I stared at the corgi. I’d never seen Rascal growl at anyone. He might be annoyingly precocious, but he really was a sweet, even-tempered dog. I wondered at the sudden change.

Octavia looked at me, then at Fiera and Rascal, then back at me. Evidently, she wasn’t a dog lover, because she didn’t squeal and tell Rascal exactly how cute he was. In fact, she took great pains to step around him, not even letting her crimson stilettos come within a foot of the puppy.

“Whose …
animal
is that? And why is it in the library?” Octavia asked, her nostrils twitching in disgust.

Anger surged through me, replacing the hot jealousy. I might be stuck with Rascal, but that didn’t give Octavia the right to insult him, especially because I’d busted my ass for her not more than a week ago and had gotten puke all over my shoes for my trouble.
 

“
His
name is Rascal, and he’s
mine
. He’s a stray I’m trying to find a home for.” My voice could have sharpened knives.

“I see.” So could Octavia’s.

We stood there toe-to-toe. Octavia sneered down her nose at me. I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for my stun gun. Chloe looked back and forth between the two of us.
 

“Well,” Octavia said. “I should be getting inside. Abby, Chloe, Fiera. Lovely to see you all again.”

“You too, Octavia,” I muttered.

Octavia shot one last look at Rascal, who was still growling, before moving into the library.
 

“I don’t think she’ll be calling you to plan her next party,” Fiera said, letting go of Rascal and getting to her feet.

“Right now, I don’t care.”

“Abby!” Chloe gasped. “You don’t mean that!”

“Yes, I do,” I muttered. “Rich types. They’re all the same. You do one little thing they don’t approve of, and you get on their hit list. How was I supposed to know Octavia doesn’t like dogs?”

“But you’re Abby Appleby, event planner to the stars,” Fiera said. “Isn’t it your job to know?”

It was my job to know, just like it was my job to keep everyone happy, just like it was my job to go into the library and make nice with Octavia. But I wasn’t in the mood to do any of those things. For some reason, all I wanted to do right now was pet Rascal.

So, I picked up the puppy and snuggled him against my chest. Rascal let out a much happier bark and licked me. For some reason, the gentle scrape of his tongue against my chin comforted me.

“Good boy,” I murmured, scratching his ears. “Good boy.”

Chapter Sixteen

More people arrived, including Sam Sloane, Devlin Dash, and Bella Bulluci. Carmen Cole with
The Exposé
and Kelly Caleb from SNN also showed up to cover the event. Making nice with Octavia moved to the bottom of my list of priorities.
 

I took Rascal to the break room for the library staff. That was where the food was being delivered from Quicke’s before being put on silver trays and served to the guests. I tied Rascal to a table in an out-of-the-way spot twenty feet from the platters. Kyle gave the puppy a dish of water and promised to keep an eye on him while I worked the dedication and party.

The main library floor had been largely cleared of bookshelves, and rows of cushioned folding chairs had been set up before a podium. A banner behind the podium read
Bigtime’s favorite son—We’ll always remember you, Berkley
. Off to the right, plastic bars ringed a fifty-foot-long case of crime books, comprising the
jail
where people would spend their time later tonight. Waiters circulated through the glittering crowd bearing the requisite glasses of champagne so everyone could get a little buzz on to get through the speeches that would make up the dedication.

Everything was perfect except for one thing—Joanne, Berkley’s widow, was a no-show. And there were only two minutes, thirteen seconds left until the dedication was supposed to start.

“I’m going to call her again,” I said to Chloe and headed to the lobby.

She nodded, her face pale. I felt sorry for her. Everything else had been going so well, and now this. But Chloe had to learn you could never take anything for granted—not even your guest of honor showing up at her own event.

I yanked my cell phone out of my vest and glanced at my watch. Fifty-nine seconds left. I’d just punched in the first number when the door swished open. Joanne strolled inside, a pair of sunglasses masking her eyes, even though it was pitch-black outside. To my surprise, Jasper followed her in. For once, my neighbor wore a snazzy gray trench coat and suit. With his glasses and the diamond twinkling in his ear, he looked quite handsome. I smiled at Jasper, who tipped his head in response.

Then I turned to Joanne. “You’re late.”
 

Joanne raised a black eyebrow. She took her time pulling off her lavender coat and glasses.
 

“Guests of honor are not supposed to be late to their own events.”

“I’m not the guest of honor,” she snapped. “Berkley is—and he’s dead. What are you going to do? Dig him up and wheel him in here?”

Her words and tone were harsh, but the telltale glint of tears gleamed in her eyes. I winced. She had a point. Sometimes, I forgot Joanne still grieved for her husband underneath the hard, brittle, polished exterior. Sometimes, I think everyone forgot.

Jasper put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder, but she shook it off and lasered him with a hard stare.
 

“Just because we’re speaking again is no reason to get all emotional on me, Jasper. I’m fine.”
 

To prove her point, Joanne tossed back her head, strolled through the rows of chairs and people, and slid into her seat just as the lights dimmed. I checked my watch. Five seconds later, a retrospective of Berkley’s life cued up on the film screen behind the podium.

“Sorry about that,” Jasper whispered, coming to stand beside me. “She still misses him terribly.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m used to the temper tantrums. Joanne is actually one of my calmer clients.”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously.”

Jasper gave me a sympathetic look.

#

After the film ended, various library officials gushed on about the good they were going to do with Berkley’s twenty-five-million-dollar donation. Joanne looked bored by the whole thing, examining her nails through the speeches, but her eyes got misty again when the officials unveiled the solidium plaque engraved with Berkley’s name.

Once the tribute ended, it was time to move on to the second part of the evening—the library fundraiser. Fiera did her usual volatile superhero routine, strong-arming men into the faux jail and threatening to smack them around with the long arm of the law if they didn’t straighten up. Everyone seemed to enjoy her shtick, while they gobbled up spicy chicken and pineapple kebabs and bite-size cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches shaped like books. With all the men and a few of the women clamoring to have Fiera escort them back to jail numerous times, the library received several hefty
bail
donations from Bigtime’s wealthier citizens.

Including Wesley Weston.

The rugged businessman showed up just as the dedication ended—and he wasn’t alone. A breathtaking brunette who wasn’t any bigger around than a kebab skewer stuck to his arm like glue. She wore a glamorous fuchsia dress that showed off every inch of her perfect figure. I stood against the wall and watched them. Wesley murmured something into her ear. The brunette laughed and snuggled closer to him. He took her hand and smiled.
 

My heart lurched. I would have traded places with her in a second. But she was another nightingale, just like Octavia. And I was nothing but a—no, not a wren. Not even that. Wallpaper. I was wallpaper. Everybody walked by me; nobody noticed me.

For the first time in my life, I wished I wasn’t wearing my vest. That I could just enjoy the event. Laugh, talk, drink, and not worry about whether I’d ordered enough food or if the shrimp rolls would make everyone sick. But I couldn’t do that. I was the party planner, not a partygoer. This was my event, and I had a responsibility to make sure it was perfect.
 

So I went into the kitchen and told the caterers to start circulating the cream puffs in the next forty-two seconds, as they were supposed to—or else. Kyle took the brunt of my assault, but yelling at him made me feel a little better.