the business. I talked to him for three minutes and knew that much. And he had cold eyes, dismissive, arrogant.”
“I didn’t see that,” Shelby said, surprised by her friend’s assessment.
Victoria waved off her concern. “Not important. I’m just put off by the subterfuge of this whole thing. I prefer the direct route, as you know.”
Calla fisted her hand at her side. “We need to get invited to that investors meeting.” With a sigh, she sat on the tailgate of the van. “Somehow.”
Shelby heard her own frustrated reflection echoed by her buddies, but her regrets were more personal. She knew she should be focused on Max, but Trevor dominated her thoughts. She’d all but thrown herself into the man’s arms at one point. “Why did I blab to him like a starry-eyed gossip?”
Calla stared at her. “Max?”
“Trevor,” Victoria answered before Shelby could. “And you didn’t. You gave him your cover story.”
Shelby resisted the urge to sink onto the floor of the van. “And my business card, my last name and, oh, yeah, yours and Calla’s names and what you were doing at the party.”
“What we were allegedly doing,” Victoria insisted.
Shelby recalled the gleam in Trevor’s eyes—and not just the carnal one. “He knew we were up to something.”
“So?” Calla countered. “He’s probably up to something, and Max definitely is. We’re going to find out what. Remember, to think like a shark, you have to swim with the fishes.”
Victoria planted her hands on her hips. “That metaphor is all wrong.”
“Do sharks even think?” was Shelby’s instinctive question.
“Don’t sharks eat fish?” Victoria added.
Calla waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does if you’re the fish,” Shelby said.
“Which we are not.” Calla helped Shelby out of the van, then they closed the doors. “We are women, hear us holla.”
“That’s roar,” Victoria countered.
Calla shook her head. “Trust me, it’s holla. I recently did a piece on urban slang.”
“It doesn’t matter if we bellow, shriek or wail,” Shelby said, leaning against the van. “We’ll still be two steps behind, and I still won’t know anything about that Trevor character.”
Calla patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. I’m all over that.” She cocked her head. “I’ve seen him somewhere before. I just can’t place the circumstance.”
“And I’ll start asking around about the investors’ meeting and what it’s for.” Victoria slid her arm around Shelby’s waist in a rare show of physical affection. “Max will need money for this new project, so my family will be high on the list. Don’t stress out. We’re going to get this guy.”
Shelby leaned against Victoria and at the same time grasped Calla’s hand. Her friends’ support meant everything. They’d been through bad breakups, job losses and family drama. They’d get through this crisis with the same bond of solidarity they’d shared for years.
Footsteps echoing on the ramp leading from the hotel brought Shelby out of her reverie.
She exchanged brief, wary glances with her friends before peeking her head around the corner of her van to see the source of the interruption.
Trevor.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said as he approached the van.
Shelby, along with her coconspirators, were struck dumb by the breathtaking sight of him.
His glossy hair gleamed blue-black beneath the streetlight. His suit—which had to be handmade—fit his trim body and broad shoulders to perfection. His dark blue eyes glowed with power.
“Nice party,” he said, and stopped directly in front of Shelby.
“Ah … thanks.”
After quick elbow jabs into her sides, Shelby’s best buds fled like vegans confronted with rare steak. They mumbled excuses about checking the suite for leftover supplies, then disappeared.
Ironically similar to Transportation Trevor’s exit from the party earlier.
“Where did you go?” Shelby asked—okay, maybe she accused. “You said you’d defend me if the crab-cake masses attacked, and you were nowhere to be found when the goods ran out.”
“Sorry. I had to take an important call.”
“From whom?”
He moved in, his tempting body nearly brushing hers and laid his palm against her cheek. “My father.”
“Oh.” Given the state of her family, Shelby wasn’t oblivious to the idea that others faced the possibility of caring for their parents. “Is he okay?”
“Irate, but that’s normal. So, yes.”
The look in his eyes, plus his warm hand against her skin scattered her thoughts. “I’m glad, but what—”
Before she could draw another breath, his lips were against hers.
He touched nothing but her lips with his mouth and her cheek with his hand. The moment drew out, romantic, alluring and teasing, as if he was waiting for her approval, as if he knew he’d crossed a line, but was confident he wouldn’t be shoved back.
Shelby had no intention of pushing him away.
She didn’t know him; she suspected him. Of all manner of things.
But she moved closer. There was something about him she couldn’t dismiss or forget. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Leaning into him, she initiated another kiss.
He responded with hunger and experience, angling his head and seducing her mouth with deep strokes of his tongue. Her spine seemed to melt, like chocolate in a double boiler.
She inhaled his warm, sandalwood scent, felt the heat and hardness of his body. He enveloped her like a blanket, though she knew there were layers of unknown to explore, feelings beyond pleasure and comfort.
When they separated, their gazes locked, their breathing labored, she could only manage one comment.
“All in all, it was a pretty damn great party.”
4
The New York Tattletale
April 17
Party Like a Hotel Magnate by Peeps Galloway, Gossipmonger (And proud of it!)
A quick drop-in before your weekend in the Hamptons …
Oh, not spending your days at the luxurious retreat of the well-to-do?
Maybe you’re drowning your sorrows over your tax bill at the local pub. Or possibly spending your generous refund at Bloomys or Barney’s? (I hear there’s a fabulous shoe sale at the later—just ask for Damon.)
Whatever your weekend plans … never fear, dear readers, I’ll make either your shopping or your weekend shift at the tourist trap turn-and-burn palatable.
Speaking of tasty, I hear Max Banfield had an ooh, la, la soireé at his new hotel, The Crown Jewel, last night. Crab, so fresh from the sea the claws were still twitching, and chicken lettuce wraps were among the food offerings, with the night ending in raspberry creme-filled chocolate truffles.
Need I say yum?
No, I’m sure you have your own version of lusciousness to reflect upon.
Didn’t