Blonde Ops by Charlotte Bennardo Natalie Zaman

Author:Charlotte Bennardo, Natalie Zaman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL

Never give it all away—not everything you know, everything you are, or what’s underneath that fabulous wardrobe. Nothing is as alluring as a little mystery.

18

“I told you to stay out of the way—not disappear and then try to brain the First Lady of the United States with a piece of masonry!” Candace snapped, then added, “This is why I don’t have kids. I’m not going to let you out of my sight when we’re at St. Peter’s Square. I’m beginning to feel sorry that I decided to keep you.”

What was I? A dog?

My eye roved over the crowd as she made her way back to the First Lady, the photographers, and Taj. Lidia caught my eye and scowled. Angelo took a few more photos with Taliah, Adele, and Marina, now in different outfits, who posed like nymphs. Their long, flowing—and almost sheer—green dresses did not hide the fact that they were only wearing thongs underneath. It didn’t seem to faze the First Lady, who smiled and posed elegantly.

A breeze seemed to come out of nowhere, pulling Mrs. Jennings’s diaphanous silk scarf from her shoulders.

“Bec! Chase down that scarf!” Candace shouted.

Run, Bec. Fetch, Bec. Heel, Bec.

At first I didn’t move. Candace glared at me.

“That’s an Hermès, and you’ll be paying for it if it goes AWOL!”

With my nonexistent intern paycheck? Knowing I was pushing Candace’s patience—and considering that I’d almost killed the First Lady—I obeyed. But before I could sprint toward the fleeing scarf, a cyclist weaving through the crowd caught my attention. And Nelson’s. The police shouted at him to stop but too late, the biker raced past the officer at the barrier and into the square.

Shouts rang in the air. A few police ran after the bike, but they weren’t agile or fast enough to catch him. Mrs. Jennings was surrounded by a human cage of agents even though the biker wasn’t near or heading toward her. In a flash he whizzed by me. I caught a flash of mirrored shades, long limbs, and tanned skin. Faster he went, head down, body straining forward, like he was aiming—for Taj.

“Look out!” I screamed, and forgetting the scarf, changed direction.

At the last moment, the bike rushed past Taj—so close!

Taj spun around and shouted something, angrily waving his hands at the departing cyclist as he whizzed around an unmanned wooden blockade and disappeared down a side street.

A local police officer, an older man with longish gray hair, a big nose, and a limp, hobbled over to Taj. The agents, seeing no threat, gave Mrs. Jennings some space although they looked tense and on high alert. It seemed like ever since she’d arrived—or earlier, ever since she’d been expected—things had gone wrong. There’d been too many accidents.

Ortiz went over to Taj and put a hand on his shoulder. I stopped short, watching while they talked for a few moments. The policeman walked away, and finally Ortiz returned to her post, scanning the area. I managed to retrieve

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