“You’re from New York?” he asked, then said, “Publishing, and that little bit of an accent...”
“I was raised in upstate New York,” she told him. Her wineglass was still full.
“So, since you’re new here, I suppose you don’t know many people.”
“None, actually. A big black-tie charity event...if it’s anything like home, I figured this was the way to get to know them.”
He stood, almost full glass of Scotch in hand. “Will you allow me to introduce you around?”
He’d probably wake up in the morning and find out that he’d had one hell of a great dream.
“I don’t know, Colin Fairbanks,” she said, taking a step back and giving him a saucy grin. Yeah, that dream was getting better by the second. “If I’m seen with you, will it damage my reputation? For all I know, you could be Southern California society’s bad boy.”
For a brief moment, he wished he was. Because he had a feeling she’d like him that way.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Johnson. I’m the guy others don’t like because I tend to see the world in black-and-white—and aim for the white every time.”
“No shades of gray for you?” She ran her finger along the edge of her wineglass and then licked it.
He fought a very strong temptation to bring that finger to his lips but managed to simply shake his head.
“Disappointed?” he asked.
She sipped wine and studied him. “I’m not sure,” she told him. “Can I get back to you on that?”
So she expected to see him again. “Anytime,” he told her, one hand in his pocket.
His clients were probably watching him by now. Any other night, he’d have been out there with them—mingling, being seen, listening.
Appearing to enjoy himself.
Did it show that that night was the first time in a very long time that he actually was enjoying himself?
“What is it that you do?” she asked, still not moving on into the room.
“I’m an attorney. Owner of Fairbanks and Fairbanks.”
“Hotshot corporate lawyer,” she said. Her eyes might have darkened. He couldn’t be sure.
“You’ve heard of us.”
“Who travels in this circle and hasn’t?”
She had him there.
She was welcome to him anywhere.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE WAS OVERDOING IT. She’d never be able to pull off the femme fatale flirtatiousness on a longer-term basis. Chantel took the sexy steps she’d practiced across the room at Colin Fairbanks’s side, reminding herself that she had to be patient. To slow down. She was in this for the long haul.
As long as it took to build a strong enough case against James Morrison. Or to convince herself that, while the man had admitted to beating his little brother to death with a baseball bat, he really wasn’t a wife and family beater.
She smiled, said hello and shook hands as Colin introduced her around. She’d seen pictures of the Morrisons but had yet to see either of them that night. She hoped Leslie’s absence didn’t mean she had new bruises that she couldn’t bring out in public.
Always the cop, Chantel couldn’t ever lose her awareness of the darker side of life. Not even in the midst of a life as beautiful as that glitzy ballroom with its linen chair covers and tablecloths, real crystal glasses and more diamonds than she’d ever seen in one place. The flower arrangements were real. She could smell the roses as she passed.
And felt the heat as Colin’s tuxedoed arm brushed against the skin left bare by her halter-top gown.
“How long have you been in town?” he asked as they left a group of investors in conversation with a lawyer Colin had just discreetly motioned over.
“A week,” she told him. Wayne had gone over her story with her umpteen times. She’d delivered it without a hitch. He’d come up with the idea of her living in a hotel. It was easy enough for her to get picked up and dropped off from a hotel lobby. To take the hotel’s limousine service to functions and then to drive home in her older model Mustang to her small one-bedroom apartment across from the beach.
An added benefit to the plan was that Wayne had done a favor for the night manager at the hotel. If anyone asked about her using the hotel’s car service, or asked about her hanging around, she’d have an alibi.
The writing...that had been her stroke of genius. A job she could “do” without anyone ever seeing her. She had a maternal aunt by marriage whose family was in the publishing business. And their name was Johnson.
She saw Commissioner Reynolds tipping glasses with another man almost straight ahead of them, close enough that she heard their laughter. Colin was going to lead her right to them.