The guards had looked at us suspiciously until we showed them our credentials.
Then they let us in through the gate, handed us the keys to our own golf cart and waved us off.
“These things are like golden tickets,” Ollie said as he rode shotgun in the cart. “Or all-access passes that get us backstage at a Jonas Brothers concert.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“These are better than a Jonas Brothers concert,” I said, making a face.
“I guess that’s a matter of opinion,” Ollie said, the wind whipping his shaggy wig around his face. I’d hated the hairpiece when I’d first seen it, but it had grown on me. Especially because Ollie looked nothing like himself in it. And that was sort of the point of our disguises.
“But it can’t be this easy, can it?” Ollie asked, gesturing around.
“When you lay a strong enough foundation, the rest builds itself,” I said, steering us along the long driveway toward the Brasko estate.
When we made it up to the main house, I parked our cart and we got out, gathered our things, and made our way inside.
Nobody came to greet us.
That’s not to say there was nobody there.
It was actually quite the opposite.
A couple dozen people milled around just inside the house, busily setting up lights, taping down wires, and strategically placing microphones around each room.
Nobody paid attention to the French woman dressed in a chic, princess-style jacket with two rows of buttons splitting the middle of her chest. I’d admired the coat while we were on a job once. I loved the way that it was fitted at the top, and then how the slippery black material billowed out like a dress from there.
It wasn’t until after I’d stolen it from the countess that I’d found out the frock was worth about $10,000.
I didn’t care.
It could’ve cost a dollar and I still would’ve kept it.
Because I actually liked it. It was chic and classy and could work with so many different personas. It made me feel fancy. Like I wasn’t just a common thief looking to steal a few bucks.
Besides, it was just smart to have a few nice things in your repertoire.
I brushed my own brown wig out of my face and then grumbled in annoyance as it fell back down over my eyes. It was the look I was going for: fine but unstyled. It was meant to blend in while my clothes stood out. I topped it all off with another pair of ridiculously oversized sunglasses. The frames were so big, they nearly took up my whole face.
This was the idea, since it made it even more difficult to get a good look at my face and features, and made it almost impossible for anyone to describe me later.
We walked past all the people scurrying around, stepping over cables as we went. Ollie teetered along behind me, holding a bunch of bags while I held only my small clutch.
I knew that Ollie was sweating by now. He broke out in a sweat on a cold day while standing still, so in here, under the already hot lights, carrying all our stuff—as an assistant would—he had to be soaked.
Luckily he was wearing his own pair of black skinny jeans and a fitted, black Versace sweater with a swirly gold print decorating the front, so you couldn’t see if he was soaking through them. On his face was a pair of oversized gold glasses. The whole look was over-the-top for sure, but I had a feeling nobody would be paying much attention to us today.
Because today was all about Emma and Sam.
It was officially the first day of filming their reality show, and everyone seemed on edge. Or at the very least, distracted. Which was good.
I could work with distracted.
We followed the line of crew members through room after room until we finally found the twins. When we breezed through the door, they were both sitting in makeup chairs, lounging with drinks and magazines, as a group of people worked on them. I looked around and wondered if the glam room had always been there or if they’d built it especially for this.
Now that they were going to be filmed 24/7, I guess it made sense that they would need to be camera-ready. Wouldn’t want to be shiny when we’re being reintroduced to the world, now would we?
“Vous voilà deux,” I said, sashaying over and standing in between them so they could both see me in their mirrors. “Bonjour, mes chers. Êtes-vous prêt pour la journée?”
There you two are! Good morning, my dears. Are you ready for the day?
“Oui!” Emma gushed, wiggling her toes in excitement. “Oh, Brigeet, can you believe this is all happening? This morning I woke up before it was even light out and just watched the sun rise. Have you ever watched the sun rise? And not, like, when you’re heading home from the club and the sun happens to be coming up while you’re half asleep in the back of a town car. I mean, like, waking up and bathing in the light of a new day!”
Emma finally took a breath and looked at me expectantly for a response. I quickly caught up with her rambling and brushed my hair away from my face absently.
“Oui. I’ve had the fortune of witnessing a sunrise or two in my time,” I said in my French-American accent.
“I think I’d rather watch the sun set,” Sam chimed in, taking a sip from his disgusting-looking green juice drink and giving one of the young makeup artists a wink. “More romantic, am I right?”
The girl gave him a flustered smile before starting to paint Emma’s toenails.
A lanky, tall, and disheveled-looking guy walked into the room, hoodie pulled up over his head, hands in his pockets. I instantly took him for an intern. Or some assistant of the assistant.
I certainly wouldn’t have pegged him as the one in charge.
“And how are you guys doing?” he asked, his voice sounding like a parent talking to a child. Sickly sweet but tentative, like at any moment the kid could blow.
I had to appreciate his foresight.
“Fabulous,” Emma said, applying a layer of gloss to her lips while staring in the mirror. “Just finishing up.”
“Oh,” the guy said, looking utterly surprised. “That’s great! Because all the cameras are up and ready to go. And the construction crew have been at the site waiting for you to arrive and kick off the project. So…”
Emma reached over to Sam and squeezed his arm excitedly.
“Awesome,” Sam said, pointing out a section of his hair to the stylist and then closing his eyes so she could spray it with more hairspray.
“So, we should be done here in about, oh…” Emma looked around the room, seeming to make a list in her head. “Maybe forty-five minutes? Definitely in an hour.” “Oh,” the director said, deflating in front of our eyes. “Um, I guess I’ll go to tell everyone to hang tight, then.”
“Thanks, love,” Emma said cheerfully.
As the guy turned to walk away, Emma suddenly sat up straight in her chair, sending the girl painting her nails to the ground as she followed her foot.
“Oh, Derek, wait!” she said. “I’m so rude, forgive me.” A relieved look washed over Derek’s face as he turned back around to look at her.
“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.
“I just wanted to introduce you to Brigeet and her assistant,” she turned to me, searching. “What’s his name again? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. They’re from French Fur magazine and are here to do feature on us and the Pet Palace Project. You’ll give them whatever they need, yeah?”
Derek shriveled up again but took a step toward me and held out his hand.
“Hey. I’m Derek. The director of this whole…thing,” he said unenthusiastically. He gave me a curt smile and then raised his eyes back up to Emma and Sam. “So, thirty minutes then?”
He asked this with hope in his voice.
“Somewhere around there,” Emma answered noncommittally.
“Great,” Derek, the director, muttered before slinking out of the room.
I thought about telling Emma that if she didn’t want to be destroyed by the editors on the show, she should probably start treating the crew a little better, but then I remembered I didn’t care about Emma and Sam.
I was here for another reason completely.
“We will let you two finish up here,” I said, and motioned to Ollie that we were leaving.
“You don’t want to start the interviews now?” Emma asked, frowning.
“I thought you would like to use this time to collect yourselves before your every thought and move is captured on the moving picture, no?” I said, trying to think of an excuse to get out of there without raising suspicion.
Emma stared at me blankly for a minute and I grew weary. Ollie and I needed some time to roam around the estate and try to find the exotics. We weren’t going to be able to do that from here.
Finally, Emma’s face broke out into a smile.
“Of course,” she said, nodding. “That’s an excellent idea. Maybe I’ll do a little meditation and center myself with some breath work.”
She reached forward and grabbed a few cucumber slices and placed them over her eyes before relaxing back into her chair.
I had a feeling she was about to take a nap instead of meditate, but I wasn’t about to stop her. As long as her eyes were closed and she wasn’t focused on what we were up to, I didn’t care.
“Cool,” Sam said, chugging the rest of his drink and hopping down from his chair. “I’m gonna go do some push-ups. I want to look jacked when we start filming.”
He leaned over the stylist to grab his phone, grazing her body as he did it. After giving her a loaded look, he straightened back up before walking toward the door.
“I’ll be in the gym if anyone wants to watch me work out,” he offered to no one in particular.
No thank you.
There’s somewhere else we needed to be.