These Boots Are Made For Stalking - Plot & Excerpts
Zigzagging through the underdressed crowd, Massie pinky-swore to herself not to let Claire take up one ounce of her mental energy until her mission was complete. Ankle-Bird was priority number one. And Massie was going to track her down the same way she’d tracked down the new Bottega Veneta metallic leather tote the day it had debuted at Saks: with focus, dedication, and a refusal to let a bunch of girls and their puppy-stuffed handbags get in her way. “She’s gawt to be here somewhere,” Massie muttered to her cell. With one hand on her iPhone and the other pulling pieces of Kobe beef from the stash in her clutch, she cut across the grass, leading Bark toward the back of the park. “Is it time for a break?” Dylan huffed in Massie’s left ear, temporarily replacing the delicate notes of Chanel No. 19 that orbited her with the hot stench of blue cheese. “I wanna wish Luke good luck.” “Nawt yet.” Massie recalculated her plan of attack.
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