Slow Hands. Leslie Kelly

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      “OUR STEPMOMMY DEAREST is about to buy herself a gigolo.”

      Madeline Turner, who’d been signing a foot-tall stack of documents at her desk, dropped her pen, leaving a blot of black ink on the second quarter Profit and Loss Statement from a major local firm. Looking up, she could muster no surprise when she realized her sharp-toned visitor was her older half sister, Tabitha, looking as enraged as she sounded.

      Enraged…but beautiful, as always. The stunning fashion plate had inherited all her mother’s tall and slender genes, blond hair and elegance, which suited her lifestyle to a T. Madeline, meanwhile, had been gifted with their father’s more short and round frame, plus her late mother’s nearly black hair; dark, laughing eyes and dimples. Which did not suit her lifestyle as a nose-to-the-grindstone bank manager to an R or a squiggly S, much less to a T.

      Tabitha tossed her designer handbag onto an empty chair and kicked the door shut with the heel of one pointy-toed, five-hundred-dollar shoe. “Maddy, did you hear me?”

      “I think the construction workers twenty floors down heard you,” Madeline mumbled, wondering why Tabitha always had to be so damned melodramatic. Something else she’d inherited from her jet-setting mother.

      “The money-grubbing witch is going to cheat on our father.”

      Considering Tabitha had cheated on one of her husbands and one of her fiancés, Maddy figured her sister had better jump off that moral high ground upon which she was perched before it crumbled out from underneath her. Still she frowned, not happy with the news that their father’s newest wife—his fourth—was already looking around for more adventure than her older husband could provide.

      Tabby might loathe Deborah, but Maddy had never had anything against her. The woman wasn’t exactly warmth personified, especially not to her adult stepdaughters, but she was a lot better than some of the alternatives. Their father could have married a twenty-five-year old…someone younger than Maddy or her sister. At least Deborah, aside from being in her forties, was well-spoken, graceful and successful. She had once run her own successful ballroom dancing studio—that’s where she’d met Maddy’s father—and seemed to make him happy, first as a dance partner, now as a wife.

      So she really hoped Tabby was wrong. “How do you know this?”

      “I got it straight from Bitsy Wellington.”

      Their stepmother’s best gal pal. “Why would she tell you?”

      “Well, you know Bitsy. She can never resist causing trouble.”

      True. The woman was completely toxic.

      “Besides, she wants the man for herself. He’s some European gigolo being auctioned off at that Give A Kid A Christmas charity gig at the InterContinental tomorrow night.”

      A gigolo being sold to benefit a children’s charity. There was some serious irony in that. Leave it to the Ladies Who Lunch of Chicago to come up with the idea of buying a stud to raise money for a worthy cause. And then, to compete over him.

      Tabitha lowered herself to one of the chairs across from Maddy’s broad desk, sniffing slightly at the messy files strewn across it. Her big sister liked the money that came from the bank their great-grandfather had founded several decades ago. She just didn’t particularly like the stench of work that came along with it.

      Sometimes Maddy wondered if one of them had been СКАЧАТЬ