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It was the thought of his misery that prompted her to return to the party. Gretchen headed back to the dining room.
Before she could open the door, though, Kat stepped out. She looked relieved at the sight of Gretchen. “Hey, kiddo. Can we talk?”
“Right now?” Gretchen bit her lip and gestured down the hall. “Let’s go to the kitchen, then. I need to make sure the desserts are ready to serve.”
They walked down the halls in silence. Once they pushed into the kitchen, Kat whistled, gazing at the enormous room. “This is impressive.”
“There’s three of them in the manor, actually.” Pride for Hunter made her offer the tidbit. “The entire house is lovely, isn’t it?”
“I imagine.” Kat gave her a knowing look and picked one of the slivered almonds off a delicately frosted cupcake and popped it into her mouth. “So is that why?”
Gretchen sighed at her friend. If Kat was going to pick at her creations, she’d have to fix them. She turned and headed for the large walk-in pantry. “Why what?”
“Why you’re with you know who. Scarface.”
She jerked open the door to the pantry and stepped inside, shoving aside cans, searching for the bag of slivered almonds. Irritation flared through Gretchen. Did everyone have to call Hunter names? She didn’t even notice his scars anymore. They gave him character, nothing more. Why was everyone fixated on them tonight? And where the hell were the damn slivered alm
onds?
She pushed aside a bag of chocolate chips with force. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Kat.”
“I just wonder if you and him is about money more than lust. I mean, I get it. I like money, too, but jeez. He’s a lot to take in.”
“You know me,” Gretchen said sarcastically, “I’ll do anything for a paycheck.” If her agent believed that about her, they clearly weren’t as good friends as she thought. Still, Kat did seem to see the world in terms of money. She couldn’t grasp the concept of dating a man simply because she was fascinated by him. Annoyed, she continued to search the pantry. “I can’t believe you even had to ask me that.”
“I just have concerns for you. Do you need money that bad?”
Where were the damn slivered almonds? She shoved aside a tin of baking powder and spotted the bag. Finally. Gretchen grabbed it. “Honey, I always need money. But—”
She turned.
Hunter stood in the doorway of the kitchen and had listened to every word they’d said. His face was mottled red, the scars a livid white against his angry flush.
Kat was still seated, picking at a cupcake. As Gretchen’s voice died, she turned around and sucked in a breath.
“People are asking about you,” Hunter said, his voice cold enough to freeze the Arctic. “I thought I’d come and check on things.”
“We’re coming back,” Gretchen said brightly. “We were just making sure dessert was ready.” She bustled to the doorway and moved to give Hunter a quick kiss.
He sidestepped her embrace, avoiding her.
Hurt spiraled through Gretchen, but she ignored it, keeping a smile on her face. “Shall we get back to our dinner guests?”
“If we must,” Hunter said, his voice still ice cold.
With a sick feeling, Gretchen suspected he’d heard far more than he cared to. She needed a chance to explain.
She wondered if she’d even get that chance.
***
Dinner was an excruciating affair. Her food was praised, but Hunter was silent to all parties, and everyone seemed incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. Kat drank glass of wine after glass of wine, and Brontë kept casting Gretchen concerned looks from the far end of the table. Determined to make the best, Gretchen was a little bit loud, a little bit brash, and kept the conversation going even when it died an awkward death time after time.
Soon enough, dessert was served and demolished, and guests began to slowly trickle out. Brontë and Logan were two of the first to go, and Brontë promised to call her in the morning, no doubt to offer support or simply to get details out of her. Hunter’s other friends quickly followed, until there was no one left but her new editor, Preston Stewart.
As Gretchen walked him to the door, she chatted on and on about the letters and the history of Buchanan Manor.
“It sounds like a fascinating project,” he said. “I can’t wait to see the finished manuscript. When do you think you’ll be done?”
