Hold on Tight (Man of the Month 2)

She shoved her brush back into her purse, then started for the ladies' room exit, only to jump back when someone pushed the door open with so much force it slammed back against the wall. Two women stumbled in, laughing uncontrollably.

"The floor is moving," the dark-haired one said. She was looking down at the completely motionless floor, but then she lifted her head to glare at her companion. "I totally blame you," she said at the same time that Brooke gasped.

"Shelby?" Brooke said, peering at the woman. It couldn't be. Brooke's accountant was about the most straight-laced, calm, and introverted person Brooke had ever met. And although theirs was a mostly professional relationship, Brooke and Shel had gone out socially a couple of times--and Shelby had never ordered anything stronger than Perrier with lime.

So this laughing, stumbling, well-on-her-way-to-wasted woman couldn't possibly be Shelby Drake, CPA.

Except it was.

Shelby blinked owlishly behind aqua-framed glasses. Then her eyes widened in time with a spreading grin. "Brooke Hamlin!" She threw out her arms and enveloped her in a hug. "Isn't this the best party?"

"Um, yeah?"

Brooke glanced up at Shelby's companion, a tall woman with a mass of unkempt curls and an expression that could only be described as amused. "Hannah," she said, thrusting out her hand. "Also known as Shelby's babysitter."

"Like hell," Shel said, then clasped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, dear." She stumbled toward the single, empty stall and locked the door behind her.

Brooke looked between the closed stall door and Hannah. "So, ah, was there an alien invasion that didn't make the news? Because Shelby's been my family's accountant for years, and that's not Shelby."

Hannah laughed. "Isn't it awesome? We're here for a friend's bachelorette party, and I told Shel she had to let her hair down."

"You're evil," Shel said from the stall.

"But you love me," Hannah called back. She tilted her head as she studied Brooke, her eyes a little foggy. She'd clearly been drinking, too. She just had a much higher tolerance than Shelby. Or else she'd drunk half as much. "Have we met?"

"I don't think so." Brooke was sure she'd remember the woman with her wild hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Damn, you look so familiar, but I can't--wait. Are you Judge Hamlin's daughter?"

Brooke stiffened. "Yeah. That's my dad." Formerly a powerful attorney, her father had recently run for a District Court seat. He won, of course. With the exception of her career choice, her father always got what he wanted.

"I'm a lawyer, and I've worked with your dad a couple of times. I think I remember your picture from his office. Or maybe from a fundraiser for his campaign?"

"Maybe," Brooke said, though she didn't remember Hannah at all. But they didn't press the connection because Shel emerged from the stall, then grinned.

"I feel better," she said, then used one of the little cups to squirt out some complimentary mouthwash. She swished and spit, then smiled ruefully at Brooke, who hid her amused grin behind a fake cough.

"Want to join us for a drink?" Hannah asked.

"No, thanks. I need to get going." She'd taken approximately a billion photos of the interior of The Fix, and she wanted to work through her plans for the renovation, this time thinking about it in terms of which design elements to focus on during each of the six episodes.

"You sure?" Shelby pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Because it's really so awesome to see you."

"You, too," Brooke said, catching Hannah's eye and laughing. "Come on. I'll walk out with you, at least."

"We should get back," Hannah said. "That cute bartender said he was making us pitchers of Pinot Punch, and those bitches will snarf it all down if we don't hurry back. Our friends are a cut-throat group," she said to Brooke, her eyes dancing.

Brooke tagged along as they headed back into the main bar area. There was no question where they were headed--straight toward the gaggle of laughing, drinking girls taking up the three tables in the front alcove. It was a primo spot, with the tables tucked in between a massive Austin wall mural and the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the hustle and bustle of Sixth Street.

The girls were talking among themselves, their attention mostly on the pretty blonde in the tacky tiara with BRIDE spelled out in fake gemstones. But a few of the women were looking back at the polished wooden bar, where several guys were seated on stools--and were looking right back at them.

"He's still there," Shelby whispered, bumping into Brooke as she reached for Hannah. "Do you think he's--oh, shit. He's looking this way."

"Just go talk to him," Hannah urged. "He's obviously noticed you. And you have so noticed him."

"Who?" Brooke asked. She wasn't part of the group, and she didn't even really know Shelby. But she couldn't contain her curiosity.

"Him," Hannah said. She started to lift a finger, but Shelby clutched her hand, holding it down.