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I look out over the crowd of people. Fancy dress. A string quartet. Waiters carrying trays with champagne. Anthony takes a drag of his brandy.
“Not a fan of mingling?” I ask.
He shakes his head. At his height, and so close, the cut of his jaw is sharp. “I can’t stand small talk.”
I grimace. “God, neither can I.”
The sound he makes is skeptical.
“What?” I ask. “You disagree?”
“You’re the definition of someone who loves small talk,” he says. “What do you do with all of your clients? Small talk.”
“Oh, that’s different.”
He turns his torso my way, his dark gaze landing on me. “Is it?”
“Yes. I have a purpose. It’s all about finding out more about the person, never about just making idle chitchat. People reveal a lot when they think they’re saying very little.”
“So you’re a good judge of character.”
“I like to think I am. In my line of work, you certainly have to be. We’re all about the personal touch at Opate.”
Anthony narrows his eyes. “And yet you thought I’d hit it off with that model. Ciara.”
“It was apossibility,” I say, taking a sip of my champagne. “Tell me I’m wrong, though, and that men like you would never enter a dating situation like that.”
He looks at me over the edge of his brandy glass. Something burns in his eyes, but then he relents. “I know men who would have taken the bait,” he admits.
I beam at him in victory. “Right. Before I suggested Ciara, I had no way of knowing which camp you belonged to. And now I do.”
“So it was a reconnaissance date? Your tactics are more refined than I’d expected, Miss Davis.”
“Oh, I have a ton of tricks up my sleeve.”
His gaze drops to my lips, lingering for a second before it falls to the brochure in my hand. “Rainforest conservation,” he says. “That’s the charitable cause.”
“Oh!” I set my now-empty champagne glass down on the bar and open the brochure. “I like that.”
“It’s inoffensive,” he says. “The perfect non-political choice. I’m surprised they didn’t choose orphans or cancer research.”
“Are you always so cynical?”
“Are you never?”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling and open the first page, scanning through the list of items and experiences up for auction. My eyes widen at the starting prices. “You’re really going to bid on these, are you?”
“I’ll have to buy something.”
“It’s all for show?”
“Something like that,” he says, staring out at the crowd again. “We’re four co-owners, and we all should, really. Buying will look good in the papers, not to mention encourage others here to bid, buy and donate.”
“Hmm.” I look through the list, the small print, the images.
“Find anything good?”
“The starting bids are very high,” I say. “I mean, significantly higher than what these things might retail for.”
