Scooter wasn’t quite sure who’d let Veronica St. Vincent into the Howards’ house, except that it wasn’t him. Because if he’d seen her coming up the walk with the piles of boxes and bags she had in her arms, he might have barricaded the door.
As it was, he was hard-pressed not to flee for his life.
“No, no, no, darling,” she said, putting bags on the floor and tossing boxes on the goldenrod bed. “That will never do, you’re not fit to be seen in public. Here, take that off—oh, for goodness’ sake, stop, I see naked people all day—and try this on. You’ve got no sense of your own colors.”
Scooter took a deep breath and realized he had exactly two choices; he could run screaming (and she’d probably find him and drag him back) or he could submit to being treated like a life-sized Barbie doll.
