Page 110 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

"Hi there. I'm Miranda Everett and I believe you and I have a meeting."

The woman’s voice, however, the polar opposite of Dame Helen. No, this woman spoke with a southern drawl, one as thick and sticky as a slice of honeycomb. Every inch of her person screamed wealth. The rock on her left hand rivaled the iceberg that brought down the Titanic. It matched the boulder-size diamonds protruding from her earlobes. But the handbag she carried truly took Natalie’s breath away. On her arm hung a pink Birkin. Rory Gilmore’s Birkin. She’d seen wealth in many forms over the course of her career, but never an actual Birkin bag in the flesh. Of course, it coordinated beautifully with the colorful Hermès scarf tied around her neck.

Noah wasn’t kidding. Old Texas money indeed. Lots of it.

She shook the woman’s hand. “I’m Natalie Powell. It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Everett. If you’ll follow me …”

Miranda hesitated. “I’m not really the conference room type, hon. There’s a darling gent named Vonn who would love nothing more than to chauffeur us to Babette. Drinks and an early dinner? How does that sound?”

Babette?

There’s no way.

Even Otto can’t get a table at Babette, and he knows everyone in this town.

“It’ll be my treat … and our little secret,” Miranda whispered.

Noah appeared beside her and quick introductions were made. When Natalie excused herself to run back to her office for her purse, she motioned for Noah to follow. Behind her closed office door, she turned to him, her eyes wide.

“She wants us to talk business at Babette.”

Noah made a face. “Aw, poor Nat. Forced to have a meeting at the hottest restaurant in all of Chicago.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little odd though?” she asked.

“Based on her giant gemstones? No. The woman is a walking diamond mine. She’s probably got the Seven Dwarfs waiting in her limo. When a client’s this rich, we overlook odd.”

Natalie dropped her purse and planner into her leather tote. “So, whatever Mrs. Everett wants?”

“Mrs. Everett gets,” he said with a nod. “And who knows … maybe she’s the investor you’ve been waiting for.”

Natalie's eyes cruised the perimeter of the restaurant, taking in 360 degrees of opulence. How had Mrs. Everett managed to score a table at the last minute? Rumors swirled about a six-month waiting list for lunch alone. Of course, the fact that they'd arrived via private car and driver gave her some indication. Not to mention the thousands of dollars adorning her person.

"Despite my proper southern upbringing, I've never been a fan of the traditional. Sitting in an office is not the way I like to discuss business. I need ambiance and plenty of vodka. Are you sure you wouldn't like something from the bar?"

"I better not, seeing as how I'm technically still on the clock."

"Honey, your nine-to-five has come and gone. We've moved into girls' night out territory. Pleasure first, then business. Now, you strike me as a strong, independent woman. I bet you're a martini drinker."

"I do love a good dry martini."

Miranda reached and gave Natalie’s hand a squeeze, then signaled for the server. "Me too! I knew we were soulmates. I like mine with a slice of jalapeno, for an added kick."

Slice of jalapeno? No freaking way. Must be a Texas thing.

Natalie nursed her martini slowly, hoping to make it last throughout the entirety of their meal. They kept to light topics. Mostly Natalie listened. Mrs. Everett had led a fascinating life and shared a number of lively tales during the years she and her husband resided in Chicago. She seemed to know everyone. Based on her easy-going nature and wicked sense of humor, Natalie guessed she made friends wherever she traveled.

"How long did you live here?" Natalie asked.

"Cecil's first big job was here in Chicago. We were babies then. Lived here for about fifteen years. We're still very close with a lot of our old crowd. I try to come back as often as I can. We left and moved to New York for a while, then back to Houston when Cecil took an early retirement. We're from Houston originally and were ready to be back home. As rough as Houston summers are, I'll take them over Chicago and New York winters any day. How about you, hon? What's your story?"

"Oh, there's really not much to tell," Natalie said, smiling shyly.

"Of course there is. I want to know everything—that is, if you're comfortable with sharing. Let's start with something easy. Where'd you grow up?"

"I'm from Nashville. Lived there all my life until college."

"Another southern sister. I knew that accent was the real deal. Where'd you go to college?"