“Well,” Brooke said, puffing out her chest. “For instance, my sister-in-law, Monica, has an established, professional relationship with Lady Gaga.”
I violently coughed into my fist to cover a snort.
Brooke snapped her head toward me, her eyes flashing with homicidal intent.
Declan, however, seemed intrigued by the name-drop. “Oh, wow. Really? That’s legitimately cool. What does she do for Gaga’s team?”
“She is an elite celebrity makeup artist.”
“Impressive. How long was she contracted with her?”
Brooke hesitated. The structural integrity of the lie was beginning to groan under the weight of direct questioning. “The relationship was… primarily project-based.”
“Okay,” Declan pressed gently. “How many specific projects did they collaborate on?”
Silence descended upon the freezing room. It was thick, heavy, and devastating.
Kyle stared intensely into the remaining dregs of his champagne, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Mom studied the intricate patterns of the frozen rug.
