Page 60 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

Julia would have felt bad assessing the poor woman that way if not for the fact that it was how she would describe herself. Unremarkable in every way.

Solidarity, sister, she thought grimly.

The group approached just as the other woman, the dazzling one, could be overheard saying to Norman in an exaggeratedly slow tone, “I’m here for the celebrity excursion. Who can take my luggage for me?”

Celebrity excursion? What the—

“Umm…” Julia began, causing the three people on the front porch to turn and look at her, appearing to just notice the arrival of the other group. The driver had deposited the luggage at that point and was hastily taking his leave, apparently eager to get away from their new company.

That does not bode well.

She meant to continue, to ask what exactly was going on and what “celebrity excursion” had they been erroneously informed about, when the female celebrity—Emily, Ethan had called her—did something far more surprising than anyone else had up until that point.

She held her hands out and exclaimed, “Ethan!” before rushing toward the porch to greet them all.

Julia whipped her head around to look at Ethan and saw his face set in a grim line.

So Ethan and this woman knew each other somehow—probably one of the satisfied customers of his public relations scam ring—and she had heard of what he was doing with Katy and Noah and come to get her own piece of the pie.

Julia knew she shouldn’t necessarily be disappointed about new business that could ultimately grow her client base to the point where profits and bill paying were no longer a concern. But there was something about this woman’s manufactured sleekness and Ethan’s consternation that had alarm bells going off in her brain.

And those bells turned into full-blown tornado sirens when she reached him and threw her arms around him.

Despite the fact that Ethan stood stock-still, hands at his sides, not hugging her back, she obviously relished having her arms around him. Julia was not prone to dramatics—it was simply a fact. The woman leaned against Ethan like sheknewhim.

And Julia was going to be sick.

“Why, hello!” Maggie chimed in, sidling up next to Ethan and gently inserting her hand between them under the pretense of trying to shake Emily’s. “I’m Maggie. I’m the chef and housekeeper at Donwell Cottage. And you are…?”

Julia heard Katy snort lightly behind her and glanced over just as Noah looked away, biting his lip. So it was clearly a faux pas not to recognize the woman standing before them. Not recognizing her was likely something that either would annoy her or perhaps was simplynot done. She was apparently a DiCaprio.

Despite knowing her first name, nothing else was catching in Julia’s brain. The only thing on replay now was the way the woman had pressed her entire body, from tits to toes, against Ethan’s when she’d hugged him.

Maggie’s interruption, thankfully, had been enough to cause her to extricate herself from her one-sided hug. She looked down at Maggie’s proffered hand and gave her a cool smile.

“My assistant will handle all the details from here,” she said, her voice saccharine yet without an ounce of warmth. “I’m just waiting for my luggage to be transported to my room”—the volume of her voice elevated as she tilted her head over her shoulder, commanding Norman, who stood by her luggage, without even looking at him—“and then we can go over the agenda.”

“What agenda are you talking about, Emily?” Ethan finally spoke, running his hands briskly down each of his forearms as if he could wipe away the impression of her on his body. Julia got no small measure of joy from the action, though the thought of the two of them and whatever was going on between them still roiled in her gut and sent her breathing toward rapid.

“Oh, Ethan.” Julia had never heard a person’s voice resemble a purr the way dialogue tags in books always said someone spoke, but honest to god, this woman’s voice was a purr. It was disgusting. “Did you think I was going to let Nils and Booker get all the fun?”

“Um.” Katy leaned in, giving a wave. “Hi, Emily.”

Emily smiled, a curve in her full lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nice to see you again, Katy. How has your”—her green, tilt-tipped eyes flicked between Katy and Noah assessingly—“romantic getaway been going so far?”

“Good…” Katy responded haltingly. “Er, that is, Noah and I aren’t—”

“Oh, Iknow,” Emily said, almost triumphantly. As though she had succeeded in thegotchaof the century. “It’s all just a ploy. Trust me, I’mwellaware.”

“No.” Noah interjected, his voice terse and borderline upset. “It’s just that Katy and I are friends. We came for the getaway because it had been recommended to us. And we’re scoping out a location for, uh”—he looked away quickly before steeling himself to look back at Emily—“our next movie. I think this place is great, lots of potential.”

“Sure.” Emily’s voice was aspartame-sweet—artificial and with a bad aftertaste. “I didn’t realize they sent the actors to find locations now. Budget cuts must be brutal.”

“They are,” Noah deadpanned, and his steely glare and adherence to his own story appeared to throw Emily off for a moment.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” Ethan asked. “How did you even know we were here?”

“As a valued client of Fordham PR,” she responded crisply, dropping the sickly sweet act, “it didn’t require much for me to get the information I needed. I wanted to get in touch with you, Ethan, to talk about”—she paused meaningfully—”things, like we’d discussed over the phone the other day, and instead of waiting for you to come to me, I thought it was a good idea to take advantage of a little getaway while I was at it.”