Free STROKED (The Stroked Series Book 1) by Meghan Quinn Page B

dog like a mama bird. I wouldn’t put it past her.
    So I knock.
    Within seconds, a man in a butler’s suit, hand towel over his forearm, and white gloves covering his hands, opens the door.
    Dear Lord.
    I push back the eye-rolling from Bellini’s need to show off her money and give the man my best smile. “Hello, I’m Paisley Maccaro, Miss Chambers’s new assistant.”
    “Paisley?” the man repeats. “I don’t believe I have anyone by the name of Paisley on the list.”
    I grit my teeth and say, “What about a Mauve?”
    “Ah yes, Miss Chambers is expecting you. She’s in the back on the patio. I will show you the way.”
    I nod and follow the man through Bellini’s house, taking in the expensive art, wallpaper, and décor that grace the walls. Her style is tacky, exuberant, and abhorrent. Horse heads, gold damask wallpaper, and Jesus Christ candles are scattered around the house, sending mixed signals of their decorating direction. Are they going for a sanctuary for nuns or reliving an episode from The Godfather ? It’s a hodgepodge of extravagant and over-priced crap no one needs in their house unless they are trying to prove something.
    We get it, Bellini, you have money. Too bad money can’t buy the she-beast a heart.
    I still have no clue what Reese sees in her.
    As I draw closer to the back patio, passing a collection of gold-encrusted boar heads on the wall, I can hear Bellini chatting it up about the stylist she has coming over later today to go over her wardrobe for the summer.
    “Miss Chambers, Mauve is here to see you.”
    Bellini’s back is to me, a wide black sunhat gracing her head and a silk robe falling over her shoulders. She turns to face me, sunglasses covering her eyes entirely too big for her face. “It’s about time. What are those weeds in your hand? Are those for me?”
    “Yes, they are from Reese. He wanted to apologize about breakfast.”
    For the record, they are not weeds. They are one dozen white calla lilies, wrapped in lavender tissue paper and cinched together with a deep-purple velvet bow. I spent a pretty penny on the damn things, she better damn well appreciate them.
    In a dramatic fashion, Bellini takes off her sunglasses and brings her hands to her heart. “Oh my gosh, he got me flowers. And here I thought he wanted to break up with me.”
    “Never,” the girl on the right of Bellini says. Her red hair shines in the sunlight, framing her freckle-speckled face and beautiful brown eyes.
    The flowers are ripped out of my hand by Bellini and shoved into her face where she takes a deep breath. “Don’t you just love the smell of fresh-cut flowers?”
    “They must smell extra special because they are sent from your Olympic-star boyfriend,” the girl to the side coos.
    Bellini pauses mid sniff and scowls at the girl next to her. “Pocket . . .”
    Ahh, that’s Pocket. Poor, poor girl.
    “Would you please take your head out of my ass? Despite your ginger qualities, brown doesn’t suit your face very well, so lay off the ass kissing.”
    “I’m sorry, Bellini, I was just trying—”
    “That’s your problem,” Bellini says. “You’re trying too much. Your desperate attempts to make me like you are pitiful and uncomplementary to your five-dollar haircut you get every month at Fantastic Sam’s. Now make yourself useful and take care of these flowers for me. I need to meet with Mauve.”
    “Anything for you, Bellini.” Pocket pops up and takes the flowers. I feel bad for the poor girl. At least I am getting paid to put up with Bellini’s crap. Is Pocket getting anything in exchange?
    “Sit,” she says, pointing at the white upholstered chair sitting across from her.
    From behind, it seems like Bellini is only wearing a robe, but once I round her lounge, I notice the black bathing suit she’s sporting under the robe. It is plain, but cut dramatically low in the front, showing off a great portion of her skin. I am sort of surprised by her choice in bathing