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“Do you think he knows Roarke just saved his life?” Peabody wondered.
“Did he really call me honey? I think my ears deceive me.”
“Apologies, Lieutenant.” Valerie offered a coolly professional smile with the apology. “Mr. Steinburger’s giving a hundred and ten percent to this project. He expects the same from everyone involved.”
“Where does he get the extra ten?”
Valerie’s smile tensed at the corners. “And promotion is part of the whole. If you find you have any time, any at all, please contact me. I promise I’ll vet everything, and only make the best possible use of your time.”
“I wonder if she called him ‘Mr. Steinburger’ when they used to bang like hydrohammers in his Hollywood office,” Marlo murmured when Valerie walked away.
“No, she called him God,” Matthew said, “as in, ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God yes!’ I’ve heard her. Sadly, the office has been quiet since we got to New York.”
“Oh, they ended it months ago, before we left the Coast.”
“Got Publicity Chief on the project out of it. Sorry.” Matthew flashed that quick, charming smile at Eve again. “We’re shallow, overly obsessed about who’s doing who.”
“Like high school,” Eve suggested.
He laughed. “Afraid so. Plus gossip passes the time between takes.”
“Darling Eve!”
The Irish was a bit more ripe in the voice, and no, the eyes not as stunningly blue. But Julian Cross hit the gorgeous mark, and moved well.
In fact he moved straight to Eve, yanked her into a quick, hard kiss, with a hint of tongue.
“Hey!”
“I couldn’t help it.” The not-quite-blue-enough eyes twinkled at her. “I feel like we’re close.”
“Think that again and they’ll have to write a fat lip into your next scene.” She caught Roarke, eyes narrowed, across the room. “And possibly a broken jaw.”
“Julian, behave.” Nadine Furst sent Eve a sympathetic eye roll as she latched firmly onto Julian’s arm. “Are we the last ones here?”
“K.T. hasn’t showed up,” Marlo told her, and tipped her face up as Julian leaned over to kiss her. “Julian, you haven’t met Detectives Peabody and McNab.”
“Peabody!” With enthusiasm, he reached up, popped her right off her feet. She let out a kind of woo before he kissed her. Then she said, “Um.”
“My girl,” McNab said.
“McNab!” Julian didn’t pop McNab off his feet, but he did plant one on him.
Eve wondered if tongues were involved this time.
“Hollywood.” Matthew laughed, lifted his hands. “We’re a bunch of assholes.”
“Some of us more than others,” Marlo murmured as K.T. walked in and scowled at everyone.
DINNER TURNED OUT TO BE LESS FORMAL AND more freewheeling than Eve expected. She figured that was Connie’s deal—the menu of plenty, the variety of wine, the spikes and rolls of conversation.
Since she was cornered between Roundtree and Julian, Eve noted the pattern of the seating arrangement plugged what she thought of as actual people beside or across from their true and fake connections. Peabody between Matthew and McNab, Dennis between Mira and Andrea Smythe—who had an appealingly dirty laugh she used often.
Roundtree, a man who obviously enjoyed his life and took his position at the helm as a matter of course, owned an endless supply of stories. She’d heard of most of the people he talked about, but wondered if she should have taken a who’s-who-in-Hollywood primer before the evening.
“I read that you and Roarke met because he was a suspect in a murder.” Julian smiled at her in a way she imagined made a woman feel she had his entire focus and admiration.
Maybe it was even sincere.
