Connections in Death (In Death 48)

“Exactly.” Roarke sent Quilla a wink.

“So anyway, I can take the gift, too, unless you want to give it to her, like, personally. We’ve got a gift table in the morning room.”

“‘Morning room’?”

“I don’t know why it’s called that,” Quilla said to Eve. “But we’re putting the hostess gifts in there.”

“Great.” She shoved the fancy bag at Quilla.

“Chill. Okay, hope you have a kick.”

“A kick at what?” Eve wondered as Quilla headed off.

“I think it means have a good time. Which should speak to you,” Roarke added, “as you enjoy kicking things.” He trailed his fingers down her back. “Let’s get you a drink.”

“Let’s get me several.”

The passage to the bar, however, proved fraught with obstacles: people she knew. And those people had something to say, which cornered her into saying something back.

She was spared cold-sober small talk by passing waitstaff and Roarke’s quick hands.

His quick thinking and smooth moves also saved her from the chatty chat of one of Nadine’s researchers. “Darling, there’s Nadine. We need to say hello. Excuse us.”

With a hand on the small o

f Eve’s back, he steered her away.

Nadine stepped in from the terrace. Eve deduced the party do—lots of tumbling curls—as Trina’s handiwork. Though far from Nadine’s usual polished, professional style, Eve supposed the streaky blond curls suited the dress. Strapless, short, snug, in hot-tamale red.

Those cat-green eyes scanned, landed on Eve and Roarke. She met them halfway, rose to the toes of her skyscraper red heels, and kissed Roarke enthusiastically.

“I’d say this proves our place is perfect for entertaining.”

“‘Our place’?”

Nadine smiled at Eve. “Well, it is Roarke’s building. A lot of your crew’s out on the terrace. It’s heated, and there’s a small bar setup, another buffet.”

Despite the fact that friendship often baffled her, Eve knew her job. “So where is it?”

Nadine fluffed her hair, batted her cat-green eyes. “Where’s what?”

“Well, if you don’t want to show it off—”

“I do. Yes, I do.” Laughing, Nadine grabbed Eve’s hand. With the skill of a running back, she snaked through people, wove around furniture, bolted up the curve of stairs and into her pretty damn swank home office. It held a couple of sofas in classy blue, chairs that picked up the classy blue in a swirly pattern on white, tables in slate gray that matched the T-shaped workstation in front of a killer view of New York City.

A square, recessed fireplace flickered in the left wall. The gold statue stood on the mantel above it. Eve moved closer, studied it. Weird-looking dickless gold dude, she thought, but the nameplate read NADINE FURST, and that’s what counted.

But if they weren’t going to give him a dick, why didn’t they give him pants?

“Nice.” Curious, she lifted, it, glanced over her shoulder. “It’s got weight. Blunt-force trauma waiting to happen.”

“Only you.” Nadine slid an arm around Eve’s waist. “I meant what I said in my acceptance speech.”

“Oh, did you say something?”

Nadine added a solid hip bump and, with a laugh, Eve set the award down again.

“It’s all yours, pal.”