Page 51
Bad haircuts.
Embarrassing crushes.
School dances.
Teachers who seemed determined to ruin lives.
By the time they reached the topic of fashion disasters, both women were laughing so hard they could barely speak.
Their shoes had been abandoned somewhere on the floor. Madelaine sat cross-legged on the sofa while Skye leaned against the soft pillows, equally relaxed.
The scotch bottle wasn't empty but it was noticeably lower when, forty-five minutes later, Paulo and Andrei finally emerged from the office and found the ladies in the blue room.
Paulo pushed open the door and both women looked up. "What are you doing?"
"Talking," Madelaine replied innocently.
He was instantly wary, crossing his arms over his chest. "About what?"
Madelaine grinned, which only increased his wariness. "Things."
"What things?" he asked.
"School."
The answer should have been reassuring.
Instead, both men became even more suspicious.
Madelaine took another sip of scotch and leaned back against the cushions.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "it's amazing how much information women can exchange in forty-five minutes."
Neither man liked the sound of that.
Across the room, Skye hid her smile behind her glass while Paulo and Andrei exchanged the look of two men who suddenly realized they were no longer the ones in control of the situation.
And whatever had been discussed in this room was probably going to become their problem very soon.
Chapter 34
Madelaine tilted her head, studying the splashes of color on the fresh canvas. The way the leaves fanned outward, the flowers crowning the tips like tiny jewels, was just right. Alive. She smiled softly. “Perfect,” she whispered.
“Madelaine!”
The bellow ricocheted through the house. She smothered a laugh, but her lips betrayed her as Paulo filled the doorway, fury radiating off him like heat. She thought about calling Catarina and telling her about what she’d done, or even Skye. But first, she needed to figure out what she was being accused of now.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, hoping her expression seemed innocent enough.
Apparently, it wasn’t. From his hand dangled a tangle of knotted socks.
“Did you do this?” he demanded, waving a fist full of socks at her.
Madelaine arched her brows, feigning innocence. The twitch at the corner of her mouth ruined it, and his dark eyes narrowed in recognition.
“Do what?” she asked, trying for lightness. Her tone wavered as her laughter threatened to burst free.
“Madelaine.” His growl curled around her name like a warning, low and intimate. He tossed the socks onto a chair, then stalked toward her, bracing both hands on the back of the sofa to loom over her. The move trapped her in as he leaned close enough that she had to tilt back to keep from brushing against his chest. The faint scent of his soap, sharp and masculine, filled her lungs.
