Killjoy by Julie Garwood Page B

couldn’t abide being idle or bored. She hadn’t even taken time off for a honeymoon when she’d married Tony. The short weekend in Baja had felt like a year away from her fledgling company, which was damned ironic considering she had allegedly been in the throes of love at the time.
    The gold embossed reservation from the posh Utopia Spa had arrived three weeks ago—just after their second session with Dr. Prick, and Carrie, after taking one look at the invitation, had been certain that Tony was behind the scheme to get her out of L.A. Her husband had feigned surprise, but she hadn’t been fooled. He’d been urging her to take some time off for months now and use the hiatus to work on their struggling marriage.
    No matter how she nagged him to admit it, Tony wouldn’t ’fess up. He insisted he hadn’t made the reservation or paid the outrageous fee, and because he was even more stubborn than she was, she finally gave up trying to pry the truth out of him.
    The reservation was accompanied by an elaborate brochure displaying the luxurious facility and outlining the treatments available at Utopia. There was also a letter attached with a list of testimonials from famous men and women who were regular clients.
    She had heard of the spa—everyone in Hollywood knew about it—but she hadn’t known how obviously popular it was with the rich and famous. Because the cost was so exorbitant, she hadn’t ever considered it.
    Carrie was torn. How important was it for her to go? Where one was seated at the “in at the moment” restaurants in L.A. was of paramount importance because one was seen and noticed, but a spa? It was so elegantly quiet and hush-hush, who would ever know besides the people attending that she had been there? Would the owner ask her to give a testimonial? God, wouldn’t that be wonderful? If her name went on the list of the rich and famous, what an incredible boost that would be for her company. In her line of work, the only reason for doing anything these days was with the singular goal of impressing others and making them squirm with envy. Only the high rollers who didn’t need to work got work in Hollywood.
    What guarantee did she have that her name would go on that list, though? Carrie did the math, figured out to the penny how much each day would cost, and decided to stay home. She wasn’t about to let Tony spend so much of her money. She would call the spa in the morning and request a refund. No way in hell was she going to fork over that much. She must have shouted those very words to Tony at least five times before he began to read aloud the names of those who regularly attended the rejuvenation spa and sang Utopia’s praises. She stopped shouting when she heard the name Barbara Rolands. Everyone referred to the aging actress with three Oscars under her belt as the best face-lift on the coast. Barbara had disappeared for three weeks just last year, and when she next made a public appearance at a trendy fund-raiser, she looked incredible. Had she had the work done at the spa?
    Carrie snatched the papers out of Tony’s hands. She read the names of the personnel on call to attend to the client’s every need. Two world-renowned plastic surgeons topped the list.
    Would she be getting evaluated by the same physicians who had worked on some of the most influential men and women of the century? God only knew she could use some freshening up. Not a face-lift—she wasn’t even forty-five yet—but the bags under her eyes were getting more and more pronounced, and she really did need to do something about that. Lack of sleep, long hours of work, and twenty cups of strong coffee every day without ever taking time to work out had definitely taken their toll.
    According to the letter, she would fly from L.A. to Denver, then go by smaller plane to Aspen. Utopia was located in the mountains, fifteen minutes away from the closest ski resort. She would arrive in the shank of the evening, and the following