A Dangerous Widow (A Dangerous Series) by Christina Ross Page A

you aren’t,” Blackwell said.   “I mean, please—he probably was
your first love.   So, why not
embrace those feelings now?”
    “As I said, it’s complicated.”
    “Then, I guess you’ll need to figure that
out on your own.   Anyway, we should
go,” she said.   “Time is running
out, especially if we need to tailor whatever gown we find for you.   Tank, I’ll call you when we’re
finished.”
    “You’ve got it,” the driver said.
    And with that, the three of us stepped into
Bergdorf.

 
 
      *   *   *

 
 
    “Chloe,” Blackwell said to the impossibly
chic blonde woman who met us at the entrance in a flawless yellow suit.   “Hellohoware?”
    “I’m terrific, Barbara.   It’s good to see you.”
    “As if we don’t see each other every day.”
    “It’s still good to see you.   You jolt the day.”
    “Like a bullet to the brain?”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    “Sometimes I have to wonder.”
    “I—”
    “Never mind.   I hate it when you try to recover after
I’ve rattled you to your Manolos—it’s embarrassing.”   Blackwell motioned toward me, and when
she did, Chloe turned to face me.   “This is our science project for the day,” she said.   “Kate Stone, this is that Chloe person I
was talking about in the car.   She’ll either do right by us this afternoon—or it will be
ruinous.”   She looked at Chloe.   “I expect the former.”
    “And I plan to deliver.”
    “We’ll see about that.   But you’ve had enough time to assess
Kate—so what do you have in mind?”
    “Depends on the event?”
    “The Witherhouses are having one of their
monthly parties tomorrow night.”
    “So—couture?”
    “Is that even a question?” Blackwell said.
    “Come with me,” Chloe said.   “A few things came in today that haven’t
even hit the floor yet.   And only we
have them.”
    “Only Bergdorf?”
    “Only us.”
    “Then take us to this treasure trove of
yours,” Blackwell said.   “And do it
fast—because, as I said, we might need to tailor the fit.   You do have a tailor ready for me,
should I need one, don’t you, Chloe?”
    “Of course.   Already reserved.”
    “Just look at how well I’ve trained
you.   Let’s go.”

 
 
      *   *   *

 
 
    We took an elevator to the third floor,
which was labeled Women: Designer Evening
Wear .   I’d been here before, of
course, but that had been years ago, and with Lucas running the show.   But already it was clear that he was no
Barbara Blackwell.   She appeared to
own this place, likely because, through her, Jennifer had spent tens, if not
hundreds of thousands of dollars here.
    “Come with me,” Chloe said.   “We’ll go to one of the private dressing
areas.   Would you like a glass of
champagne?”
    “Count me in,” Jennifer said.
    “And me,” I said.
    “Too many calories too early in the day for me,”
Blackwell said.   And then she looked
at each of us, and paused.   “Though
I might like a sip or two.”
    “That’s my girl,” Jennifer said.
    “Please,” Blackwell said.   “You two are already giving me my cardio
for the day.   I can afford it.   Now, let’s settle in and see what Chloe
has in mind for us.   Because I can
tell each of you this—and I know that you can hear me, Chloe—it
better be good.”
    In fact, it was amazing.
    After Chloe had an assistant bring us each a
glass of champagne, she emerged from one of the back rooms to bring out what
appeared to me to be a full-length black ball gown, which she cradled in her
arms.
    “Oh,” Blackwell said with her fingertips
pressed against her lips.   “You
surprise me yet again.   Good on you,
Chloe.   Naturally, I know it.   Valentino.   I’ve seen it in Vogue .   And I already know for a fact that no
one else will be wearing this tomorrow night—it’s just out, isn’t it?”
    “It is,” Chloe said.
    “Drop it,” Blackwell said.   “Let’s see all of it.”
    When Chloe held it