The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing Read Online Free PDF Page B

like flowers in that room. 
    “It will be an intimate group,” Babette continues. “Just some of Jonah’s key executive staff, and a couple of German investment bankers who’ve arrived in advance of the event.” Her brow rises with the curl of her lip. “Acclimating to the time difference is always a marvelous excuse to come stateside earlier than needed. Not that I blame them. Orange County is a delight this time of year compared to Hamburg.” 
    An early arrival gives them time for reconnaissance, too. 
    I’m sure Acme already has the summit’s attendee roster in hand, but this information comes in handy, in case one these men has something to do with the assassination attempt.
    “Oh dear, how time flies! I have a meeting with the chef to go over the menu, so if you’ll excuse me,” she says as she walks me to the door. “By the way, the dress code is black tie. Jonah prefers it that way.” As breathy as her air kiss is her murmur. “I’m sure you have something that will please him.”
    Before I have a chance to reply, she shuts the door.
    What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Chapter 4
    How to Choose a Party Dress

    When you’re a guest at someone else’s soirée, your first impression should be also be a lasting one—and certainly not because you either overdressed, or underdressed, for the occasion. When in doubt, keep it simple and elegant: black, with pearls.
    If the dress code is not in the invitation, take the time to query your host regarding the proper attire. 
    Note of caution: should your host’s recommendation include, say, crotchless panties, a naughty schoolgirl plaid skirt, brocade ankle restraints and a head harness with a muzzle gag, be sure to bring along something you’ll know he deserves, for getting on your bad side.
    A cement overcoat will do nicely.  

     
    “Go with the backless one. You’ve got the shoulders to carry it off.”
    I turn around to see who’s offering an opinion on my hunt for the right gown to the Breck shindig tonight. My advisor is a man who sits on a settee in a darkened corner of the Bergdorf-Goodman couture suite, just off to the side of the circular bank of mirrors. 
    While I’ve been scrutinizing my profile, he’s been admiring my shoulders, supposedly. But only now does he lift his eyes—from somewhere far below my shoulders—to meet mine.
    From the look of his suit (made to measure for a man whose fit physique would look great in a gunnysack, let alone a fifteen-thousand-dollar charcoal gray Brioni) he has great taste.
    He should. He is Jonah Stanford Breck IV, one of the wealthiest men in the world.
    Sweetly, I smile at him through the mirror. “You like it better than the blue one?”
    His eyes sweep over me, appraisingly. “Much more so. Albeit the blue sets off your… eyes.”
    I laugh at his ridiculous attempt to avoid the obvious. My eyes are brown. What looks great in the blue dress is my ass.
    We both know it. 
    “Great, then. The blue one’s the charm.” 
    “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
    “Not a ball, really. Just dinner. In fact, I’ll be dining at your place, Mr. Breck.”
    His eyes, gray like his trimmed sideburns, flash suspiciously for a moment before dulling into wariness. 
    “Your wife, Babette, extended the invitation. My daughter, Trisha, has been playing with Janie all afternoon. I presume Babette felt the diversion would be welcomed.” 
    “Ah! How thoughtful of her. She’s right. These business affairs can be deadly without a few petite amusements.”
      As if on cue, a woman in a flesh-toned, sparkly low-cut gown walks out of one of the dressing rooms and over to Breck. She turns her back toward him, just slightly. “Zip me up, will you, darling?” Her murmur is deep and soft, like velvet. 
    Slowly, he runs the zipper along the swayed arch of her back then pats her ass, not so much to let her know he is done with her, but as a promise that he isn’t.
    His eyes stay with her as she makes