The Pagan Stone by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

her whisk at him. “And no peeking. We were just talking about the boutique, paint chips, that sort of thing. How many eggs do you want?”
    “A couple. Three.”
    Layla sent Cybil a satisfied smile when Fox leaned in to nuzzle her and cop some bacon behind her back.
     
    THE BUILDING THAT WOULD HOUSE LAYLA’S BOUTIQUE had an airy feel to it, good light, good location. Important pluses, to Cybil’s mind. Layla had years of experience in fashion retail, as well as an excellent eye for style—other major advantages. Added to them was her shared ability with Fox to sense thoughts, and that sense of what a customer really wanted would be an enormous advantage.
    She wandered the space. She liked the old wood floors, the warm tones of it and the wide trim. “Charming or slick?” Cybil asked.
    “Charming, with slick around the edges.” Standing at the front window with Quinn, Layla held one of the paint chips up in the natural light. “I want to respect the space, and jazz it up with little touches. Female, comfortable, but not cozy. Accessible, but not altogether expected.”
    “No pinks, roses, mauves.”
    “None,” Layla said decisively.
    “A couple of good chairs for customers to sit in,” Quinn suggested, “to try on shoes, or wait for a friend in the changing area, but no floral fabrics, no chintz.”
    “If this were a gallery, we’d say your stock would be your art.”
    “Exactly.” Layla beamed over at Cybil. “That’s why I’m thinking neutral tones for the walls. Warm neutrals, because of the wood. And I’m thinking instead of a counter”—she waved the flat of her hand waist-high—“I might find a nice antique desk or pretty table for the checkout area. And over here—” She pushed the chips into Quinn’s hand, crossed the bare floor. “I’d have clear floating shelves in a random pattern, to display shoes, smaller bags. And then here . . .”
    Cybil followed as Layla moved from section to section, outlining her plans for the layout. The image formed clearly—open racks, shelves, pretty glass-fronted curios for accessories.
    “I need Fox’s father to build in a couple of dressing rooms back here.”
    “Three,” Cybil said. “Three’s more practical, is more interesting to the eye and it’s a magickal number.”
    “Three then, with good, flattering lighting, and the tortuous triple mirror.”
    “I hate those bastards,” Quinn muttered.
    “We all do, but they’re a necessary evil. And see, the little kitchen back here.” With a come-ahead gesture, Layla led the way. “They kept that, through its various retail incarnations. I thought I could do quirky little vignettes every month or so. Like, ah, candles and wine on the table, some flowers—and a negligee or a cocktail dress tossed over the back of the chair. Or a box of cereal on the counter, some breakfast dishes in the sink—and a messenger- or briefcase-style handbag on the table, a pair of pumps under it. You know what I mean?”
    “Fun. Clever. Yes, I know what you mean. Let me see those chips.” Cybil snatched them from Quinn, then headed back to the front window.
    “I’ve got more,” Layla told them. “I’ve sort of whittled it down to those.”
    “And have your favorite,” Quinn finished.
    “Yeah, I do, but I want opinions. Serious opinions, because I’m as scared as I am excited about this, and I don’t want to screw it up by—”
    “This. Champagne Bubbles. Just the palest gold, really just the impression of color. Subtle, neutral, but with that punch, that fun factor. And any color you put against this will pop.”
    Lips pursed, Quinn studied the chip over Cybil’s shoulder. “She’s right. It’s great. Female, sophisticated, warm.”
    “That was my pick.” Layla closed her eyes. “I swear, that was my pick.”
    “Proving the three of us have excellent taste,” Cybil concluded. “You’re going in to apply for the business loan this week?”
    “Yeah.” Layla blew out a breath that