“I’m about to tell you how I really feel about those news anchors procreating—by the way, congratulations and good luck with that. Plus, you’ll get an all-access pass to my newfound freedom and fashion as I find myself, and, yes, as one of my divas likes to say, as I find the fine-ass men.
“Y’all, it’s true. I’m on the market again! And no, you won’t catch him by stalking my every move. But don’t worry—I’ll share all the salacious details. Like the fact that I’ve created a starter profile with a dating concierge and I’ve got my first consultation tomorrow!”
She crosses her fingers.
“Wish me luck. And let’s just hope my days of Missionary Mondays are soon to be a thing of the distant past.
“I’ll take you along with me as I plan the wedding of the century at the architecturally stunning Madison Manor, currently being restored by Bridges Heritage Conservation. Congratulations to Hailey Winston and Donovan Livingston on your engagement. So stay tuned.”
Fittingly, she steadies the crown atop her head.
“For now, pause, peace, power. Signing off, the Divorcétante.”
The video starts to replay, and I close out of the app, feeling…restless? Inspired?
I’m not sure, but I feel like I’ve just watched one of those underdog sports movies when the tables turn, and I’m left with this overwhelming sense of pride for her.
I’m still reeling as I duck back inside to rejoin the group as Ebony walks Cornelia and Hailey through the wedding night sparkler send-off.
She’s beaming and beautiful, and I’m blown away by the prospect of Ebony King’s return.
Glancing at my phone, I silence it and hit play on the video again, watching her light up the screen as she speaks her truth. Without a second thought, I follow her account.
Chapter Nine
Outmaneuvered
Ebony
The second the manor’s doorshuts behind Hailey and Cornelia, it’s like a confetti cannon goes off in my chest.
“Cele-bra-tion time,come on.” I moonwalk through the foyer, singing Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration” at the top of my lungs. Digging deep, I then drop my voice for the low notes.
My skin buzzes with excitement as I make my way to the library, prepared to lock up, say a quick goodbye to Lincoln, and sprint to my car. I feel like I’m in a parkour video as I quickly, but carefully, run down the hall toward the grand ballroom, switching off lights and vaulting over debris and cords, still bustling with energy.
A scream leaps from my gut into my throat as I turn and spot Lincoln’s interior designer, Vincent. Even on a Thursday, he’s dressed to kill—kelly-green button-down, perfectly tailored khaki slacks, and a dark brown leather belt that matches his loafers—and he’s grinning and doing some ridiculous conga line dance behind me.
“Ooh,shit. You scared me.” I close my eyes, smiling, and clutch my chest.
“My bad.”
I raise my free hand, thumb and forefinger nearly pinched together. “Just a small heart attack. No big deal.”
He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop with a small laugh. “Hey, I was just taking my cue from you, ma’am.”Vincent does a full-body shimmy, then spins around while continuing the lyrics, eighties heartthrob-style. “I mean, with the sheer creativity behind those enthusiastic lyrics, I’m guessing you and Linc crushed it with Cornelia and Hailey.”
My smile stretches across my face. “Your guess would be correct, sir.”
“Oh, do tell.” He chuckles.
A few minutes pass as I lock up the terrace and patio doors while bringing Vincent up to speed on the tour—and the magical vision of Madison Manor I painted in their minds. When I’m done, he gazes around the grand ballroom the same way I did opening those doors this morning. He’s in awe. Not of the room, of course. The room looks like crap. But of my ability to win my clients over without their seeing it first.
“I can’t believe it either.” I shrug, looking around. “I basically had to hypnotize them to see my vision, but we made it through.”
Vincent dips his chin, a challenge flickering in his soft brown eyes.
I shrug, laughing. “Obviously, this was Cornelia, so it goes without saying she threw in a few savage one-liners.” I roll my eyes, then mimic her snooty tone. “‘Ebony, the restrooms are outdated. Mr. Bridges, the outlets are poorly placed.’ Both of which, mind you, I already warned him about.”
“Oh, trust me. I said the same thing.” Vincent nods, and his eyebrows climb up to his tapered hairline. “But let me guess—did Cornelia take one look at this place and frown? I can just imagine her tone, cold and resigned as ever. Her stony façade in place as she cleared her throat. ‘There’s nothing grand about the state of this ballroom.’”
