Hostile Makeover Read Online Free PDF

trade.”
    “I don’t think so.” Felicity snatched up her goodies and scurried away, clearly hoping to find someone more grateful than Lacey Smithsonian.
    She turned her mind to work and pawed through her desk looking for her notes. Interviewing Amanda Manville, the famous celebrity model who was introducing a new line of clothing that she allegedly had designed herself, was slightly intimidating. Ms. Manville was certain to be a masterpiece of physical perfection, no doubt wearing some wispy outfit that flattered her tall yet supermodel-svelte body.
    Next to a perfectly manufactured beauty like Amanda, Lacey was afraid she’d look short and frumpy. She needed both to look her best and to be on her guard, particularly if the celebrated supermodel was also a manslaughterer, as rumored. And Vic’s reaction to her nervous babbling had reminded her just how little she really knew about Amanda Manville.
    She called Miguel Flores, her fashion-industry-insider friend, who was freelancing as a clothing stylist for fashion shoots in New York. He had worked for years for the House of Bentley, and he knew everyone. He would have the inside skinny on any skinny supermodel Lacey could name.
    “Hey, doll! What’s up? God, I’ve missed you! And how’s Stella? Sorry I couldn’t make the funeral, but I hate funerals anyway. All those little black dresses, and not a cocktail in sight.”
    “Missed you too, darling. Stella is Stella, as always. And I’ve got a question for you. What’s the dish on Amanda Manville?”
    “Ah, the prima prima donna. Would you like that dish baked or barbecued?”
    “How about the straight story?”
    “Please, how dull. And straight is so not my forte. Besides, when it comes to Amanda, who knows what’s fact or fiction? She goes through stylists, hair, clothes, and otherwise, as if they were Kleenex. Use once, throw away. Everybody up here has some outrageous Amanda story, even people who usually have to make them up.”
    “So she’s temperamental?” Lacey leafed through her files to find the press release on Amanda Manville’s collection.
    “Some people think that. Personally, I think she’s a screaming psycho. Between you and me, she’s a bitch slapper, and that hasn’t been popular with underlings since indentured servitude went out of style.”
    “But she always seemed so sweet on TV.”
    “Ah, but that was before the makeover. Apparently she got a new soul as well. Or she sold the old one.”
    “Could make for an interesting interview. Will I need a bulletproof vest?”
    “And a sword cane. You are uniquely qualified to interview her, come to think of it.”
    Lacey laughed. “So, her new collection. Did she really design it herself?” She was jotting down notes as they talked. She found the errant press release, with her note on the time and place for her interview, and stashed it in her purse.
    “Oh, please. Do politicians write their own books? And you, of all people, should know how designers—some designers, that is—launch their careers. Thieves, the lot of them. Though I hear the collection cost her investors enough, it should at least be worth seeing.”
    “And Miguel, what’s the story on the old boyfriend? Caleb Collingwood, I think the name was. The one she’s supposed to have killed?”
    “Everyone swears it’s true, only no one knows anything.”
    “No corpse?” Lacey asked.
    “No corpse, no cops, no charges. But we certainly enjoy making it all up.”
    “What about motive? For getting rid of him?”
    “Too ugly to live. I’m serious.”
    “What? That’s terrible.”
    “It’s just what they say. Don’t blame me for being shallow; I’m a product of my environment. It’s the rumor. Or one of them, anyway. Suicide is another popular theory. Too boring, I say. Anyway, after she had the surgery, he didn’t measure up anymore. Amanda was, like, instant Ariel, and he was still the same old Caliban. He wouldn’t go away, so he had to, ahem, go away. So