He motioned her to the left with a sweep of his arm. “Actually, there’s a ballroom upstairs.”
Emma paused in the doorway to glance back over her shoulder. “Dag, Tanya is in the library. Can you please tell her where we’ll be so she can find us when she’s finished?”
“Do you want me to stay and help her?” Dagmar asked. From the adoring way the man was staring at Emma, Josh was beginning to suspect he had a crush.
Emma shrugged. “If you like. Just meet us upstairs as soon as you’re done.” She turned and headed for the stairs, trailing the other three planners like goslings. Josh shook his head, chuckling, and followed behind.
For the next hour, they trekked from room to room, discussing where the musicians would set up (there was a gallery above the ballroom for specifically this purpose), whether or not the finger painting was feasible (possibly, with either edible or washable paints), where he wanted the food to be served (in the dining room and conservatory), and what other games might fit with the theme (one of the planners suggested a room with things like Jacks and Pick-Up Sticks, and Emma thought Red Rover would probably work better than Tag).
At some point they were rejoined by Tanya and Dagmar, who informed Emma that there were 67 adult-sized hiding places throughout the three rooms, 102 if they included the bathroom and balcony off of the den. Josh marveled at Emma’s calm, quiet demeanor in the face of her buzzing pack of underlings. They all seemed to circle around her constantly, like bees around a bright flower. Anytime she murmured something softly to one of them, they’d dash off to fulfill her wishes and zoom back, grinning triumphantly. He was beginning to think he had to reassess his perception of her timidity. Or maybe she was just shy of
him
.
Oddly, the thought made him want to take her hand, pat it gently, and tell her he knew exactly how she felt. He remembered his high school days well, when he’d closed up tighter than a clam in the presence of anyone who seemed confident. He’d grown out of it his senior year, with help, but Ben hadn’t been kidding when he’d joked about Josh not being able to get a date. His lack of self-esteem meant he was nineteen before he had his first girlfriend. Most people would never guess he could have such a history, to see him now.
“I think we’ve got enough for now,” Emma said, frowning down at her clipboard. “Unless there’s anything else you can think of?” She raised those brilliant green eyes to his. Josh stared stupidly for a second.
“No. It seems we’re off to a good start. But what’s our next step?”
She flipped through her papers, chewing on her lower lip. “We need to firm up the guest list and choose invitations. Then, we send out a press release. We need a list of possible sponsors if you want to do gifts. As the date gets closer, there’ll be more to do, but that’s it to start.”
“Okay, then. I’ll sit down with Martin and—” His cell phone buzzed. He glanced down and sighed at the caller ID. Arnold Purefoy’s office. “I’m sorry, I need to take this. Do you need anything else from me?”
“Not at the moment. I’ll call if we do.” She nodded at him, ushering her gaggle of planners before her toward the front door.
Josh sighed and answered the phone. “Hey, Arnold.”
Emma stared down at the blueprints for Josh’s house. The thing was massive. There were 12 bathrooms (including 2 half bathrooms), 10 bedrooms, a living room, dining room, den, kitchen, parlor, conservatory, ballroom,
two
libraries, a billiard room, an indoor pool and, of course, the office. The office where Josh Owens was keeping her father’s watch. The office that was located right next to Josh’s bedroom. In fact, it had been an adjoining bedroom that he’d had converted when he bought the house, according to the plans on file with the county clerk.
They hadn’t visited the office yesterday during the walk-through, but the entire time she’d been in Josh’s house, all she could think about was Todd’s stupid plan. While she tried to picture where and how they’d set up the elaborate ball that she was supposed to be planning, her mind kept piping up with ridiculous observations, like how the various rooms full of games would make for an atmosphere of gaiety, but also for controlled chaos. Todd was right. Josh was unlikely to notice one woman slipping quietly into his office.
And now, looking at these plans, her mind pointed out that Josh’s office was on the same floor as the ballroom. It was, in fact, between the ballroom and the billiard room, which would make for a perfect excuse should she be caught wandering in there.
Not that she would get caught, because she was
not
going through with this plan! She was just humoring Todd while she thought up with some other method. Something that didn’t involve James Bond tactics. There would be no disguise, no sneaking and no stealing, no matter what her younger self might have done in her place.
Sure, there’d been a time when she had loved dressing in costumes and pretending to be someone else. Todd made friends easily but didn’t keep them, and she’d never had any close buddies, so it had just been the two of them. Playacting had made that not so bleak. Plus, Todd thought it was the height of cleverness.
He still did, apparently. Her head thumped down on the blueprint and she gave a sigh. Now she wasn’t just arguing with Todd, she was arguing with herself, too! This was ridiculous.
It’s not
, a mischievous little voice whispered.
You could pull this off. Owens barely looks at you, and when he does. . . .
Emma knew what the voice was getting at. When Josh looked at her, he pitied her. She’d seen it in his eyes. He was a millionaire many times over, and she had to bow and scrape to the likes of him and Clarice Davenport for an hourly wage. He was always expecting Clarice: at the walkthrough, when he’d called late at night. He thought Emma was a pathetic little peon. A pathetic little
unattractive
peon, she corrected. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Josh Owens flirted with any female within range of his mega-watt smile. Except her.
She didn’t know why that irked her. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t want Josh Owens to find her attractive. She didn’t find
him
attractive.
Except that was a big fat lie. She found him arrogant, flashy, high-handed, condescending and smarmy. But attractive. In fact, more than just attractive. The man was gorgeous. His thick, wavy hair was golden blonde, and his eyes were a lovely light blue-green. He had a square chin, full lips and broad shoulders. He looked a bit like a young Brad Pitt in that movie
Cool World
. Only more handsome. And he thought she was a troll, the only woman in Napa Valley he didn’t deem worth flirting with. Heck, he’d even flirted with Clarice!
Emma pulled herself upright and squared her shoulders. What Josh thought of her didn’t matter. How convenient the location of his office was didn’t matter. She had to stop wasting her time and energy on pointless thoughts and try and come up with a reasonable plan.
As if he could hear her thoughts, her phone buzzed with Todd’s ringtone. She pressed it to her ear, sighing.
“I don’t want to talk to you, little brother.”
“C’mon Ems, don’t be like that,” he said, cheerfully.
Emma considered lifting her head from the desk, but thought it probably wasn’t worth it. “What do you want?”
“Have I ever told you that your eyes are a really striking shade of green?”
It was so not what she was expecting him to say that she was momentarily stunned. “Aw, thanks T-rex. I was sure you were going to say something—”
“We need to get you some contacts. In case you run into Owens at the ball.”
“—about the stupid ball,” she finished with a grimace.
“What?” he said. “Look, I doubt you will. There are going to be over 300 people there, right?”
Emma sat up, a little surprised. “Where are you getting your information?”
“None of your business,” he replied. “Better you not know.”
Fear seized her heart at those words. Was her little brother in more trouble than he told her?
Bigger
trouble? The idea sent an icy shaft of pain through her chest.
“Todd—”
“Fine, fine. Geez. I have a friend who happens to also be friends with Owens’ assistant.” She could practically hear him preening.
“Wait, what? For Christ’s sake, Todd, if that’s the case, why doesn’t your friend just get Martin Kellar to steal the watch back for you?”
Todd sighed. “He already asked. Or hinted, anyway. But Martin is a hundred percent pro-Owens. It was a no-go. I don’t know why. Owens probably pays the guy pocket change to do all his dirty work. You know how those types are.”
She did know. She had to work with them all the time. She had, in fact, thought that exact same thing about Josh Owens with regard to Martin Kellar in the past. Martin was always hustling somewhere doing errands for Josh. Could the man do nothing for himself? Apparently not. His poor assistant had to do everything.
Except plan this particular party
, her perverse mind noted. But it’s not like that redeemed Josh. He was probably doing it for the same reason men did most things: to impress one bimbo or another. She snorted.
“Fine,” she acquiesced. “Why would I need contacts?”
“Color contacts,” Todd clarified. “Brown ones. In the very unlikely event you run into Josh at the ball, your green eyes could be a dead giveaway.”
Emma groaned. “Please don’t use that term.”
“What term?” Todd asked, bewildered.
“Dead. That’s what we’re going to be if we’re caught.” Which was why she had to come up with a different plan. Fast.
Todd scoffed. “Stop being so melodramatic, Ems. The worst we’d get is some jail time.”
Emma’s tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe she could beseech a higher power. “‘Jail time,’ he says. As if ‘jail time’ were synonymous with ‘Brussels sprouts time’.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Brussels sprouts are awful. Jail is just jail.”
Emma could hear the grin in his voice, but her stomach was tied in knots. “Not funny, T-rex.”
He sighed. “Okay, you’re right, it’s not. Look, you don’t even have to worry about that because we’re not going to get caught. You’re the master of disguise, remember? And Owens won’t even realize the watch is gone until you’re out of the house. Even if he suspects me, there’s no reason for him to suspect you. And he won’t be able to prove anything against me because I won’t be anywhere near the watch. Hence, the beauty of my plan!”
Emma rubbed her temples. “Where do you even get color contacts? Don’t you need a prescription for that?”
“I know a guy.”
“Of course you do,” she sighed. “Fine. Get the contacts. But only because I always kind of wondered what I’d look like with brown eyes.”
“You’re the best sister in the history of siblings,” Todd said, and hung up.
Emma was absolutely not shopping for an evening gown. She was just enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon, strolling through the shops, and happened to see it. Anyone would admire it, she told herself. It was a lovely creation: a halter neck with the dress’s front cut into a deep V that would nearly reach the wearer’s navel. The back plunged daringly low, as well. The skirts were full, long and ruffled, but asymmetrical, rising nearly to the thigh on one side, reminiscent of a flamenco dress. The fact that the silk and sequin confection was a deep ruby red was just a coincidence.
She fingered the soft fabric lovingly. Lacking friends and all but the most awkward romantic prospects, Emma had never attended a formal school dance, or even gone to her own prom. The most dressed up she’d ever gotten was—she struggled to recall—six years ago. She smiled, recalling one of Todd’s elaborate lies to a high school buddy. Her little brother had been roped into some scheme (according to him; Emma thought it more likely that he was the instigator) and, in a frantic attempt to extricate himself, he claimed he had to go to his sister’s wedding. When that excuse was brushed aside, Todd called her in a panic, begging for her help.