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After taking the last gulp of her drink, she pulled herself out of the chair and scanned the room. "Which one is Michael Ferrington?" Hoop nodded toward the buffet. Maggie saw a rather round man chatting with Angela. His glasses slid down his nose and he shoved them back up, all the while keeping a polite smile plastered on his face. "Might as well wait 'til he's out of the Ice Queen's clutches. In the meantime, you should go give Nick a dose of feline flirtation." Her head shot up. "What?" she croaked. "Flirting. Nick. Remember?" "You said 'feline.'" "Wouldn't want that cat suit to go to waste." He looked at her, a question in his eyes. "I was just kidding around. What's the deal?" They'd been just words. She took a breath. Really, she had to quit being so jumpy or someone would figure her out. "I'll go now." Hesitating, she licked her lips. "Hoop? Will this work?" "I don't know, kid. Just do your best." She nodded and scanned the room for Nicholas, finally finding him near an archway. Staring at his watch, he seemed oblivious to the party. She started toward him, then turned back to Hoop. "Why are you helping me?" He spread his hands wide. "Hey, I'm a hopeless romantic. Can't you tell?" She cocked her head, considering. "Yes. I can." Surprise flashed across his face, and she smiled at him before turning away. Hoop caught her elbow and pulled her back. "You barely know the guy. And if what you say is true, you don't remember half of what you do know about him. But you're really in love with him, aren't you?" She nodded. "Why?" How could she explain to Hoop the way Nicholas made her feel? The way he cared for her. The way he protected his sister. The way he smelled. The way he laughed. She didn't really have the words. "Everything about him, all put together," she finally said. "I tripped." "Tripped..." Hoop's face cleared. "You fell You fell in love." "He saved me. I'm going to save him back." Chapter Seven The big hand passed the nine, and Nick sighed. Fifteen minutes. Either Deena had contracted some dreadful stomach disease, or she was hiding out in the ladies' room. He'd lay money on option number two. A few more minutes ticked by. Nick counted ten different types of flowers in the pattern of the nearby wallpaper. No Deena. He wondered how the tuxedoed waiters kept those trays balanced on one hand. Still no Deena. Well, hell. Ladies' room or not, he'd just have to go in after her. Right. Sure. He could do that. After one quick glance to make sure no one was looking, he grabbed the polished brass handle, yanked the door open, and ducked inside. He entered a parlor. The place was nicer than most people's living rooms, and it sported a solid wall of mirrors, baskets of potpourri, big comfy chairs, and a couch. There was even a basket of magazines. No wonder women always went to the rest room in groups. They were escaping to Oz, having tea at the Ritz, and getting the hell out of Dodge. And to think, in the men's room he felt lucky when the paper towel dispenser was stocked. The lushly carpeted, L-shaped parlor opened up onto a tiled area. He didn't have the full view yet, but he'd gamble that around that corner lay more familiar bathroom territory. Muted voices filtered toward him and he cringed. Voices meant people, and people meant Deena wasn't alone. So maybe this wasn't the greatest idea after all. He eased back toward the door, hoping nobody would walk in and catch him. Headlines flashed through his head local attorney arrested FOLLOWING BATHROOM BRUHAHA. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my brother the Peep-ing Tom." Deena appeared from around the dividing wall, then leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest, amusement dancing across her face. "We need to talk." He headed for the door, then looked over his shoulder. She hadn't moved. "Deenie, you want to get a move on, here?" "Um... let me think." She tapped a finger against the corner of her mouth, frowning. "Nope. Definitely not." She glided over to one of the chairs and sank into the overstuffed cushions. "I think I'll just stay here." Heels clattered on the tile, the sound preceding two women a redhead and a blonde who headed through the room, then stopped dead when they noticed Nick. He held up a hand and tried a polite smile. "Hi, there." The redhead giggled furiously and dragged her friend toward the exit. They both took one last peek his way before the door swung shut. Nick pictured them circulating through the party, telling everyone in the room that the birthday boy was hiding out in the ladies' lounge. He shut his eyes. This was a nightmare. A total nightmare. "So, brother mine. What's up?" It was time to get a grip. He wasn't about to let his baby sister know she'd thrown him for a loop. He'd conducted negotiations in 747s, over grease-stained tables in barbeque joints, in smoke-filled basements, and in intimidating, mahogany-paneled boardrooms. If he could do that, surely he could cope with the ladies' room. With determined casualness, he picked up a basket of wrapped mints and headed for the other chair. "I should be asking you what's up." She waved a limp hand toward herself. "Moi? Whatever do you mean?" "Maggie. I mean Maggie." "I like her, Nick. She's got all the qualities Angela doesn't. Including a personality." "Very funny." The door opened and an elderly lady stepped in. Nick held out the basket. "Mint?" The woman didn't bat an eye. "No thank you, young man," she said, then disappeared toward the stalls. Nick grinned at Deena, and they both laughed. Nick cast a glance toward the door. No way was he having this conversation in Grand Central Station. He got up and hung the closed for cleaning sign on the outside of the door. That oughta hold 'em for a while. "Look, kid," he said when he'd returned. "I just want her out of my life, okay? Send her back where you found her. Now." Deena squinted at him. "Back where I found her?" Why was this so hard for her to comprehend? "Yes, dammit. Get her out of here. It was funny for about five minutes, but the show's over. Pay her and send her back where she came from." A slow smile spread over her face. He knew that smile. That smile meant trouble. "What?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |