The New York City vibe had an effective way of delivering a potent shot of adrenaline to the system. With nervous energy already pumping through him, his pulse stayed at hyper level. He offered up a prayer of gratitude as the limo pulled up in front of the hotel. He needed his feet on firm ground.
A grinning uniformed porter briefly touched the brim of his cap before holding open the limo door. “Welcome to the Winthorpe. It’s our pleasure to be of service.”
“Thank you.” Dresden shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, now feeling more than a bit self-conscious about its average, off-the-rack style. Even the staff outstyled him with their crisp white gloves.
“Any luggage?” The porter looked questioningly at the driver then at Dresden.
“None. I’m here for the Meadows reception.”
“Please step inside with your invitation and you’ll be escorted to the event.”
Dresden retrieved the important gold-embossed passport from his pocket and complied with the porter’s instructions.
In the lobby a dedicated attendant for the reception checked the invitation and escorted him to the ballroom’s entrance. There, a second attendant checked his invitation against a computerized list. Like a baton handed over for the next leg of the trip, a third attendant escorted him into the ballroom.
The expansive size of the room, the over one hundred decorated tables and chairs, the high ratio of staff to guests—all conspired to push his pulse into overdrive. He almost bumped into a passing waiter as he gaped at every drip and drop of glitz and glamour. Lifestyles of the rich and famous gathered under one roof.
As they were about to head down the middle of the room to what he presumed to be the head table, Dresden needed a minute to get the nerves under control. His heart raced as if amped by a massive dose of adrenaline. Although not hit by dizziness, he couldn’t ignore the out-of-body sensation that occurred with each step. He wasn’t in control. This wasn’t on his turf. The realization pressed in on his chest, impeding airflow. He tried not to pant like an out-of-shape jogger.
His escort looked back at the door, probably wishing someone more interesting and actually famous had been his assignment.
“I’m good. Gonna get a drink first.” Dresden pointed to the nearest bar. “I’ll find my way to the principal’s office.” He laughed. The attendant didn’t.
No longer under anyone’s responsibility, Dresden followed through on his word and headed for a bar a few feet away. Too bad the bar didn’t come equipped with stools. He’d gladly grab one and nurse a beer for the duration. No one would ever have to know that he was there. But for actual records, the check-in list would show that he’d arrived. Immediately his mother’s caution piled onto his guilt. The Meadowses weren’t owed his compliance.
* * *
Laxmi would have returned home if Fiona hadn’t spotted her in the room. She felt nauseous by the time she’d gone through the checkpoints to get into the party. At any moment, she expected someone to accuse her of being a faker.
“I’m so glad you made it.” Fiona hugged her tight, making Laxmi gasp. “Thought you would bail on me.”
“Of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Laxmi hid her lie behind a bright grin. “Feels like most of New York is in this room.”
“It’s a good turnout.” Fiona looked radiant. Her fierce detective persona had disappeared behind stylish hair and makeup. She looked gorgeous in her evening dress.
Maybe she shouldn’t have worn the minidress. But she needed the safety net of her former style as the brash, youthful party girl. She could observe the world through that veneer.
“Come. Come. Let me show you to the head table.”
“Oh, no. I could have had a seat in the back. Near the coat check.”
“You’re so silly.” Fiona laughed, but as if sensing the retreat, she hooked her arm through Laxmi’s and guided her to the table.
After introductions were made, Laxmi took her seat.
Fiona patted her shoulder. “Sorry, I’m going to have to leave you. Have to play hostess.”
“Oh, please, go do your thing. I’ll be fine.” Laxmi waved her on and tried to keep her nerves away from her smile.
But once Fiona left, she felt alone. Stranded. No one at the table talked to her. The cousins might have remembered her, but she had been close to only Fiona. With the event not ready to start officially for thirty minutes, she scanned the room for a place to hang. The minibars stationed around the big room seemed good enough. She made her escape.
* * *
“Is this spot taken?”
Dresden shook his head without bothering to look over his shoulder. He wasn’t interested in conversation, even if its owner’s fragrance smelled so damn good it baited his curiosity to check her out. To distract himself, he shifted his focus to the head table and scanned the faces, looking for one specifically—Fiona, the only tolerable Meadow and his half sister.
“Which Meadows do you know?”
Dresden blinked and reluctantly turned to the woman who prodded his attention and who couldn’t read a vibe. Irritation fueled his impatience with the invader. His self-exile was on the verge of a breach.
A smile, bold and bright, greeted him and sucked the wind from his lungs. Its owner held out her hand to match the cheeriness behind her flash of teeth. “Laxmi Holder.”
The second after she said her name he silently repeated Lak-shmee.
He shook her hand and didn’t want to let go. But he had to when her smile turned into a bubbly burst of laughter at his flustered reaction. His face flushed with the creeping heat from his neck up over his cheeks.
An awkward handshake was the least of his problems as his eyes connected with her face.
Sexy, full lips were splashed with a badass red color. Bright eyes popped because of long, dark lashes and shapely arched brows. Add the interesting contours of her face and he might as well have stepped off the edge and fallen into a delightful rabbit hole.
“And you are?” she prompted. She hadn’t broken eye contact now that he couldn’t stop staring at her.
“Dresden.” He sipped his drink to quell the sudden dryness.
“You’re one of those one-name celebrities—like Cher and Madonna?”
He laughed at the idea of being anything but a history professor working on his genealogy as a personal hobby. Still, he jumped on the option to keep his last name out of the mix since he had no idea in what social circle she spent her time. His new fame had brought him into the spotlight with the details trickling in or being sensationalized for the gossip spreads. Any public mention of his life stripped away his privacy that he’d taken for granted. Reading the fictional and even the nonfictional bits about his life sounded insignificant and average when splashed against the Meadowses’ powerful reputation.
“Okay, mystery man,” she said in a husky voice that sounded like an old jazz
