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I’m not particularly unhappy to see Winnifred here. I am, however, considerably drunk, which means now’s not the time to talk to her. She is not as easily maneuvered as she seems, and I still haven’t squeezed all the information I need from her.
Turning back into my group of friends, I say, “I’m heading back home.”
“Not before Arya makes a speech.” Christian moves in front of me to block my way. “She worked really hard putting together this event.”
“I don’t think you understand.” I smooth my tux. “This wasn’t a request, but a stated fact.”
“Why, if it isn’t my favorite boss,” a sweet southern drawl greets me from behind.
“Boss?” Christian asks in surprise, peering behind my shoulder. “Arya’s not gonna love that.”
“You must have the wrong person, sweetheart.” Riggs flashes Winnifred a smile, clapping my shoulder. “This man right here can’t be anyone’s favorite anything. He’s about as lovable as a juicy, pus-filled zit.”
“Thanks for the image.” I shake his touch off, turning around to face her.
“Hey, Winnie.” The redhead air-kisses Winnifred.
“Hey, Tiff! Heard you killed it in that romcom pilot.” My employee gives her a warm hug. Her need to be cute and selfless grates on my nerves. She turns her attention back to me. “Didn’t know you were the philanthropic kind.”
“He isn’t.” Christian tucks a hand into his front pocket. “I dragged him here kicking and screaming.”
“Don’t forget the wailing,” I deadpan. “I was inconsolable.”
Despite being an annoying Goody Two-shoes, she doesn’t look horrid in her simple dress and ponytail. The realization is unwelcome and alarming. I don’t even like blondes. This must be Mother Nature’s way of telling me it is time to stick my dick somewhere wet and warm. It’s been almost a year, after all.
“Arsène?” Winnifred frowns. “Everything okay?”
I haven’t acknowledged her existence in the two minutes she’s been standing here. Oops.
I clasp the small of her back, brushing my lips against her cheek noncommittally. “Winnifred, would it be improper to tell you that you look beautiful?”
“No, which is why you wouldn’t do it.”
I laugh. The most surprising thing about this boring, one-dimensional, cookie-making blonde is that she possesses wit. Or something that resembles it, anyway.
She studies me intently, like a concerned parent. “Are you . . . okay?”
“Never better.”
I’m waiting for her to leave. I’m drunk, tired, and not in the mood to milk information out of her.
“You sure you don’t want me to call you a taxi?” She frowns.
And she would. Little Miss Sunshine.
“Positive, but thank you.”
“Well . . .” She lingers. “Enjoy your night.”
“I intend to.”
When she leaves, both Christian and Riggs look at me, openly aghast.
“I’ve never seen you like this.” Riggs’s smile is slow and taunting.
“Like what?”
“A teenager ushered into the ER with his ball sack stuck between his girlfriend’s metal braces,” Christian articulates poetically. “You looked flushed. Uncomfortable. Dare I say it? Embarrassed.”
“Mortified.” Riggs knocks back a drink. “He blushed. I saw him. Did you see him blush, Tiff?”
“Yes!” Tiff, grateful to be more than a decorative ornament at this point, joins my two friends eagerly. “His face is all red. That’s so sweet. Winnie’s a great gal.”
I’ve managed to get through an entire week without cornering Winnifred at Calypso Hall for more information. The rented Paris apartment was a big revelation. What else does she know? What else did she miss?
Bringing her back to New Amsterdam is a big no. She assaulted Cory. The man had to get two stitches, which I generously paid for to keep his mouth shut. I bet it was her first brush with doing something less than perfect, and I take pleasure in knowing I corrupted her, even if just a bit.
“I didn’t blush,” I say shortly.
“Yes, you did. You’re going to have to explain the last five minutes to us,” Christian announces.
“Nothing to explain. She works at Calypso Hall,” I say.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Arya moving in our direction at rapid speed. Time to wrap up this little girl talk.
“And, for your information, even if I wasn’t still mourning the untimely death of my fiancée, pursuing an employee is tacky and frowned upon.”
“I’m getting weird vibes.” Riggs licks the ball of his index finger and raises it in the air, closing his eyes. “Yup, there it is. There are horny winds coming from the east.”
I stand to the moron’s east.
“Even if there are hurricanes of horniness, I demand you don’t act on them.” The voice belongs to Arya.
I turn around, studying her. “I don’t like to be ordered around. What’s your angle?”
“That girl is an angel on earth. She visits the children at Saint John’s hospital once a week. Dresses up as a fairy and paints their faces. They love it. They love her,” she says desperately. “And I love her! She’s a widow, you know. She knows what pain is. I don’t want her to get hurt again.”
