Chapter 21
Present day
Julia looked more carefully at their new guest, trying to place her through the haze of familiarity she embodied.
She was obviously famous—she had that polished look of someone whose beauty defied reality. Like Katy, there was a glow about her that could only be achieved with thousands of dollars in facials and subtle cosmetic surgeries.
After the thought crossed her mind, Julia immediately felt bad about lumping Katy in with the celebrity in front of her, because Katy certainly had a realness about her—and no clear indication of cosmetic surgery—that this older woman could only dream of achieving.
In fact, the only way she would be able to do so would be with a time machine, since no amount of surgery could ever replicate youth.
Still, despite the veneer of artificiality, she was stunningly beautiful.
Her honey-brown hair fell over her shoulders in smoothly curated starlet waves.
Her curves were cinched in a white silk belted top with a cream-colored blazer, legs encased in loose-fitting light-colored pants that exuded wealth.
Even her running shoes seemed expensive, glowing white as if they had never touched the ground outdoors, with sparkling star embellishments on the sides.
She was talking to Norman—commanding him seemed more accurate—pointing to her car as a driver appeared to be struggling to pull out a large suitcase and another woman emerged from around the back.
This person screamed normal, which was even more apparent when she went and stood next to their unexpected guest, in her own blazer and pants.
Hers, however, were obviously not as tailored or expensive.
A black polyester blend with a white T-shirt underneath and jeans that looked similar to the ones Julia was wearing.
Her brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and her face was nondescript—neither distinctly pretty nor ugly, just extremely forgettable.
Julia would have felt bad assessing the poor woman that way if not for the fact that it was how she would describe herself. Unremarkable in every way.
Solidarity, sister, she thought grimly.
The group approached just as the other woman, the dazzling one, could be overheard saying to Norman in an exaggeratedly slow tone, “I’m here for the celebrity excursion. Who can take my luggage for me?”
Celebrity excursion? What the—
“Umm…” Julia began, causing the three people on the front porch to turn and look at her, appearing to just notice the arrival of the other group. The driver had deposited the luggage at that point and was hastily taking his leave, apparently eager to get away from their new company.
That does not bode well.
She meant to continue, to ask what exactly was going on and what “celebrity excursion” had they been erroneously informed about, when the female celebrity—Emily, Ethan had called her—did something far more surprising than anyone else had up until that point.
She held her hands out and exclaimed, “Ethan!” before rushing toward the porch to greet them all.
Julia whipped her head around to look at Ethan and saw his face set in a grim line.
So Ethan and this woman knew each other somehow—probably one of the satisfied customers of his public relations scam ring—and she had heard of what he was doing with Katy and Noah and come to get her own piece of the pie.
Julia knew she shouldn’t necessarily be disappointed about new business that could ultimately grow her client base to the point where profits and bill paying were no longer a concern.
But there was something about this woman’s manufactured sleekness and Ethan’s consternation that had alarm bells going off in her brain.
And those bells turned into full-blown tornado sirens when she reached him and threw her arms around him.
Despite the fact that Ethan stood stock-still, hands at his sides, not hugging her back, she obviously relished having her arms around him. Julia was not prone to dramatics—it was simply a fact. The woman leaned against Ethan like she knew him.
And Julia was going to be sick.
“Why, hello!” Maggie chimed in, sidling up next to Ethan and gently inserting her hand between them under the pretense of trying to shake Emily’s. “I’m Maggie. I’m the chef and housekeeper at Donwell Cottage. And you are…?”
Julia heard Katy snort lightly behind her and glanced over just as Noah looked away, biting his lip.
So it was clearly a faux pas not to recognize the woman standing before them.
Not recognizing her was likely something that either would annoy her or perhaps was simply not done. She was apparently a DiCaprio.
Despite knowing her first name, nothing else was catching in Julia’s brain. The only thing on replay now was the way the woman had pressed her entire body, from tits to toes, against Ethan’s when she’d hugged him.
Maggie’s interruption, thankfully, had been enough to cause her to extricate herself from her one-sided hug. She looked down at Maggie’s proffered hand and gave her a cool smile.
“My assistant will handle all the details from here,” she said, her voice saccharine yet without an ounce of warmth.
“I’m just waiting for my luggage to be transported to my room”—the volume of her voice elevated as she tilted her head over her shoulder, commanding Norman, who stood by her luggage, without even looking at him—“and then we can go over the agenda.”
“What agenda are you talking about, Emily?” Ethan finally spoke, running his hands briskly down each of his forearms as if he could wipe away the impression of her on his body.
Julia got no small measure of joy from the action, though the thought of the two of them and whatever was going on between them still roiled in her gut and sent her breathing toward rapid.
“Oh, Ethan.” Julia had never heard a person’s voice resemble a purr the way dialogue tags in books always said someone spoke, but honest to god, this woman’s voice was a purr. It was disgusting. “Did you think I was going to let Nils and Booker get all the fun?”
“Um.” Katy leaned in, giving a wave. “Hi, Emily.”
Emily smiled, a curve in her full lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nice to see you again, Katy. How has your”—her green, tilt-tipped eyes flicked between Katy and Noah assessingly—“romantic getaway been going so far?”
“Good…” Katy responded haltingly. “Er, that is, Noah and I aren’t—”
“Oh, I know,” Emily said, almost triumphantly. As though she had succeeded in the gotcha of the century. “It’s all just a ploy. Trust me, I’m well aware.”
“No.” Noah interjected, his voice terse and borderline upset.
“It’s just that Katy and I are friends. We came for the getaway because it had been recommended to us.
And we’re scoping out a location for, uh”—he looked away quickly before steeling himself to look back at Emily—“our next movie. I think this place is great, lots of potential.”
“Sure.” Emily’s voice was aspartame-sweet—artificial and with a bad aftertaste. “I didn’t realize they sent the actors to find locations now. Budget cuts must be brutal.”
“They are,” Noah deadpanned, and his steely glare and adherence to his own story appeared to throw Emily off for a moment.
“What are you doing here, Emily?” Ethan asked. “How did you even know we were here?”
“As a valued client of Fordham PR,” she responded crisply, dropping the sickly sweet act, “it didn’t require much for me to get the information I needed.
I wanted to get in touch with you, Ethan, to talk about”—she paused meaningfully—”things, like we’d discussed over the phone the other day, and instead of waiting for you to come to me, I thought it was a good idea to take advantage of a little getaway while I was at it. ”
They spoke on the phone? Reeling at this revelation and wondering more about what Ethan wasn’t telling her, Julia tried to get herself back on a level playing field.
“Hi,” she greeted in her best “client services” impression, and held out her hand. “My name is Julia Schaeffer, I’m the owner of Donwell Cottage.”
Emily looked down at her hand, a flash of disdain crossing her face for a brief moment before she shook it and smiled wanly.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, her teeth hardly unclenching. “What’s a Donwell Cottage?”
Ethan groaned out loud while Katy appeared to be stifling a nervous, semi-hysterical giggle. Maggie took the opportunity to step in then.
“Donwell is the name of this lovely bed-and-breakfast,” she chirped.
“Speaking of which, you must be starved. Why don’t you come in, and I’ll see what we can scrounge up for you.
” Maggie, through some miracle, was able to usher Emily into the house.
Even more impressive, she did it without even touching her, a hand hovering at her back rather than on it.
“I can’t eat gluten or dairy…” Emily’s voice faded away as she entered, the woman she had come with rushing behind her as though her life—or perhaps her job?—depended on it.
The remaining people on the patio looked at one another, a feeling of stunned disquiet falling over the group.
Had it really just been twenty minutes ago that they were laughing and carefree, enjoying an autumn respite at the beautiful lake?
Now Julia felt like her world had been flipped with the arrival of this new, unwelcome face.
Emily’s presence felt like a snake’s in the henhouse. Julia didn’t trust her one bit, and she had no doubt the woman’s intentions were not pure, nor were they meant to be helpful to Julia or her business.