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He gave a careless shrug. “A little digging on Pia Lumley Wedding Productions. It wasn’t hard.”
Pia, he’d discovered, now lived on the fifth floor of a modest white-brick doorman building. The older man downstairs—more guard than doorman—had glanced up from his small television set long enough to ring Pia and announce Hawk’s arrival. Even though Hawk had been privy only to a brief one-sided conversation—and from the guard’s end at that—he’d sensed Pia’s hesitancy when she’d been informed of his unexpected arrival. Still, moments later, he’d been directed to the elevator, and then the guard had gone back to viewing his talk show.
“Naturally,” Pia responded now with a touch of sarcasm. “I should have expected you’d do some digging of your own. With a business, I’m easy to find, whether I like it or not.”
Despite her words, she stepped aside to let him into the apartment, and then shut the door once he’d entered.
“In a way, I’m glad you’re here,” she said as he turned back to face her. “It makes matters easier.”
He quirked a brow. “Only in a way?” he queried with dry amusement. “I suppose I should be happy there is at least one way.”
“I’ve been having second thoughts.”
“Of course you have.” He let his mouth tilt upward. “And that’s why I’m glad I’m here.”
Hawk watched as Pia sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be wise for me to accept the job as Lucy’s wedding planner.”
“She’ll be devastated.”
“I’ll find a suitable replacement.”
“A rival?” he questioned sardonically. “Are you sure you want to?”
“I have contacts—friends.”
“And I’m not one of them, presumably.”
Hawk glanced around. The apartment wasn’t big, but nevertheless bigger than he expected.
The living room was dressed in a pastel theme, from the peach-colored couch to the rose-print armchair. Wedding colors.
Binders of various wedding vendors—for invitations, decorations, flowers and more—stood out on the cream-colored bookshelves.
He glanced down as a cat sauntered in from an adjoining room.
The animal stopped, returned his stare, still as a statue, and then blinked.
“Mr. Darcy,” Pia announced.
But of course, Hawk thought. A wedding planner with a cat named after Jane Austen’s most renowned hero.
Hawk’s lips twisted. Pia had wound up with Mr. Darcy, so all should be right with the world. Except Mr. Darcy was a damn cat, and Hawk surmised that he’d been cast as the villainous Mr. Wickham in this drama.
Still, he bent and rubbed the cat behind the ears. The feline allowed the contact and then moved to rub himself against Hawk’s leg, leaving behind a trail of stray animal hairs on Hawk’s pants.
When Hawk straightened, he caught Pia’s look of surprise.
“What?” he asked. “You look astonished that I’d cozy up to your cat.”
“I thought you would be a dog person,” Pia responded. “Aren’t all of you aristocrats fond of canines? Fox hunting and such?”
Hawk smiled. “Afraid I’d feed Puss ’n Boots here to the dogs?”
“The possibility wouldn’t bear thinking about except that you’ve already proven yourself to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Pia retorted.
He gave a feral grin and then, just to annoy her, allowed his gaze to travel over her. “And are you Little Red Riding Hood? Is that the fairy tale you prefer these days?”
