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“How lovely,” she gushed.
He returned her smile, but the dull flatness in his hard eyes sent a chill down her spine. “Indeed.”
Devin must have felt it, too, because he inched toward her until he was close enough for the heat from his body to dissipate the frigidness the cultural minister inspired.
Annoyed at the relief she felt, she stepped away from him and closer to the other man. “Could I bother you to take my card, so you can reach me when you see her?”
Louis’s smile held about as much warmth as the Arctic Circle. “Of course.”
“You are too kind.” She handed him a white business card that only listed her name and her cell phone number.
He pocketed the card, shook Devin’s hand once more, and left as fast as his little feet would take him to mingle with the other guests wandering around looking for their seats.
Watching him go, she took the opportunity to cast a surreptitious glance at those gathered close by. There were South American versions of Harbor City society’s great dames in color-matching looks fr
om their wide-brimmed hats to their spike-heeled sandals. Men and women who obviously believed in the power of fashion-with-a-capital-F dotted the landscape and were dressed in avant-garde touches—including one woman with a tree-branch fascinator that curved forward to cover half her face. In between those extremes were the “It” girls and fashion forward boys who were here not only to see, but to be seen. It was a people-watching paradise.
But the one person she wanted to see remained hidden.
Reaching inside his jacket, Devin pulled out a pair of aviator sunglasses and put them on before sitting down. “Look, about what happened at the hotel room earlier. I—”
A painful tightness gripped her throat, making her response scratchy. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” He twisted in his chair, turning away from the crowd.
“No.” Her grimace projected back at her from his sunglass’s reflection. “We got caught up in the whole island vibe or were drugged, maybe both. Everything just righted itself back to the natural order of things. But I didn’t leak the story and you damn well know it.”
“You’re right.” He paused. “About almost all of it.”
Everything inside her head screeched to a halt. “What do you mean almost?”
“Well, there!” A voice boomed between them.
Ryder jerked her focus away from Devin, annoyance and the interruption making her snarl. She did a double-take at the giant of a man standing in front of their chairs.
He was the tallest person she’d ever seen not CGIed into a scifi movie. He had to be just shy of seven feet tall, and that wasn’t counting his purple four-inch platform boots. He’d topped his summer white suit with a caplet and a paisley fedora. He looked like a demented villain from one of her nephew’s cartoons.
Judging by Devin’s stiff posture and vein-popping forearms, he wasn’t pleased to see this newest arrival.
“Imagine seeing you in The Andol Republic, Harris,” the man drawled.
“Nigel.” Devin slathered the name with distaste. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
The interloper plopped down in the empty seat to Ryder’s right. “Well, when I heard the wolf of the fashion world was here, how could I miss it?” He pulled out a purple paisley pocket square and dabbed his forehead.
Devin stared straight ahead, working his jaw like a grinder. “What do you want?”
Ryder had the distinct impression that unless Nigel was looking for a swift kick in the ass, he was so out of luck. Damn, if only she had a bucket of popcorn to go with the show.
“You know.” Nigel rolled his shoulders. “A little of this. A little of that.”
“Go look for it elsewhere, then, because I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
Nigel chuckled, seemingly less than intimidated by Devin’s snarling. “So, I shouldn’t even try for a quote about how Dylan’s Department Store is circling the toilet bowl? The word backstage is that you need money—bad. I hope you aren’t so desperate for cash that you turned jewel thief. Half the people here are wearing fake jewels after thieves hit the local hotels last night.”
Ryder’s toes curled in her kitten heels. What a piece of work. It was one thing for her to be pissed at Devin, but quite another for some random dude to hurl insults at her client. She ignored the little voice whispering inside that she’d never been bothered before when that happened with any of her other clients. Her knuckles cracked as she flexed her fingers.
Standing up, Devin loomed over Nigel’s sitting form. “I always knew you had questionable taste. I didn’t realize until right now that you had questionable survival skills, too.”
