“Feather?” Celeste piped in. “You call herFeather?”
He turned those unnerving eyes of his on Celeste. “She didn’t tell you about my littlenickname?”
A supple groove appeared between her eyebrows. “Why do you call herFeather?”
“Because I’m soft and spineless, apparently.” I was glad to hear my voice grow a littlesturdier.
Jarod’s smilebroadened.
“Unicorn noodle,” Celeste muttered under herbreath.
“Celeste!” I gasped, scouring the air around her skinny black jeans to make sure no purple feather drifteddown.
“Pardon myFrench.”
Jarod chuckled. “I’d never heard that one.” He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. When his steel-gray trouser leg rode up, I caught a hint of ochre-yellow.
Jarod seemed to have a thing for colorful socks, the same way I had a thing for bright accessories. And here I’d thought it impossible to have anything in common with thisman.
“Will your friend be observing theinterviews?”
“Would you mind if shedid?”
His eyebrows shifted, vanishing behind a wayward chocolate-brown lock. Was he surprised I’d asked for his permission? His composure returned swiftly, and he shrugged. “Just don’thover.”
I nodded and started toward the back of the room when Jarod called out my name—well, the name he’d given me. “Feather, sit next tome.”
Istartled.
Celeste pushed onto her tiptoes to align her mouth with my ear. “I’ll go stand by the window. This way, I’ll have your back.Literally.” Soon, her lithe form melted into the shadowed recess between the mahogany bookcase and a small varnished game table topped with achessboard.
As I folded myself into the seat nearest Jarod, he said, “Here are my rules. Don’t interfere with the interviews. Just listen. You get one joker. In other words, one person will benefit from my help thanks to you. Choosewisely.”
At the loud knock, Jarod perched his chin on a closed fist. “Comein.”
His transformation from lively to blasé was startling. I blinked, wondering if I was imagining the hardening jaw or dimming gaze, but the mask he’d worn the night we met—and I wasn’t referring to the masquerade one—was firmly backon.
I turned toward the study’sentrance.
The woman who’d elbowed me when I’d gone ahead of her in line strutted inside, glittery sneakers casting tinsels over the mahogany paneling. “I’m sorry. I thought you were done. Would you like me to wait outside?” Her tone was so syrupy I wrinkled mynose.
Jarod disregarded her question. “What brings you here,Mademoiselle. . .”
She frowned at me but must’ve understood I wasn’t a supplicant. “Guanod,” she finally answered. “Can Isit?”
She started to lower herself into a chair when Jarod said, “No.”
She popped back up. After recovering from the shock of Jarod’s ban, she jutted her pointy chin toward me. “She’ssitting.”
“She’snot here for myhelp.”
“What is she here forthen?”
Jarod flicked his gaze toward Tristan, who pushed away from the wall, his crisp blue dress shirt glinting silver as he threaded himself around thefurniture.
“Mademoiselle Guanod, I’ll ask you one last time before my employee escorts you back out . . . how may I be of service to youtoday?”
Her eyes twitched, as though annoyed she was being treated sounsympathetically.
