I wandered into the kitchen and put on some water to boil. Dani gave up on the granola and sliced into a bagel. She was dressed for work, I presumed. Cute little fawn-colored blazer with the sleeves rolled up, pretty ivory cami and a short, frayed denim skirt. Self-tanner and wedge heels showcased her slender, shapely legs. Her long, dark-blonde hair, the exact same as mine, was swept back into a loose, sexy braid, and she’d accessorized with some of my jewelry. A coin necklace and a delicate gold bracelet with opals, which I’d given her for Christmas.
My sister always looked put-together and fashionable. Her job as a fashion stylist and her ego both demanded it.
“So, what’s on the agenda?” I asked her, because her workdays were far more interesting and varied than mine. “You have a shoot today?”
My workdays were invariably spent in one of three ways: in my office, running around town purchasing decor, or in my clients’ homes.
If Dani was on set, she’d be spending her day dressing up famous people—models, actors, athletes, politicians, CEOs; whomever was the star of the shoot. And she could be doing it anywhere. Last week, she’d spent two days in the pool room of some mansion. Today she could be on a yacht or a mountaintop. It just depended what amazing photo shoot or video she was booked for.
“Yes, I have a shoot,” she said, popping the bagel into my toaster. “Are you ever gonna tell me where to find those earrings? Or are you waiting for me to say please?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re the best sister ever.”
“I know. There are three different cream cheeses at the back of the fridge. Including light, for you.”
She dove into the fridge and dug them out, throwing me a butt-kissing smile. “Did I mention you’re the best sister ever?”
“Which earrings are we talking about?”
“The ones I called you about and texted you about like fifteen times last night.”
“Oh.” I knew she’d called. And there were still a bunch of unopened messages on my phone. “I had a client thing that went late.”
“What client?”
“Alyssa. Her spa opening, remember?”
Daniella rolled her eyes. “Jolie’s friend? You can answer the phone. It’s not like you guys were redecorating the Oval Office.”
“It was a big job and it’s important to Jolie. And Madeleine. Just because the client is Jolie’s friend, that doesn’t make it any less important.”
My cousin Jolie and I both worked at our aunt Madeleine’s interior design firm, Voilà Interiors. Madeleine was an interior designer; I was an interior decorator and Jolie, who was currently our receptionist and was still part-time in college, was training to become one.
“What if it was an emergency?” Dani said.
“You texted me that it was a ‘fashion emergency.’ I figured there was some wiggle room on response time.”
“You figured wrong. I have to be at my shoot in fifty minutes. Cough up the earrings.”
“You still haven’t told me which earrings we’re talking about.”
“Those fabulous ones you made, with all the chains.”
“That could describe about a dozen pairs,” I said. “Look under the bed in the rolling drawer things. Earrings are in there now.”
“God. Why are you always reorganizing? Last time they were in the hall closet.” Daniella strode over to the bedroom side of the apartment, cringing as “Master of Puppets” kicked in again. “For real. When does she ever get up?” She shoved up the half-open window and leaned out, shouting in that general direction, “1985 called! They want their song back!!”
When she popped back inside, I told her, “I’m pretty sure that album came out in 1986.”
“Who cares. Seriously. Does she realize any other song exists?”
“It’s her alarm.”
“It’s not working.”
“I noticed.”
