baroness.
“Bridget, I’m so pleased you could make it,” the stylish silver-haired matron said as Bridget approached. “There’s a lovely couple I want you to meet. I bet they’re in the market for a portrait.”
Though she was booked through the summer, Bridget was always pleased at the prospect of new business. And, who could tell, maybe this couple knew Eric Statler.
She’d thought this romantic goal of Liz’s was crazy at first. But the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d come to realize that Liz would make a good match for Statler. She had the social skills, the assertiveness, the self-confidence to keep up with someone who moved in his circles, whereas Bridget, while appreciating the man’s finer qualities, knew she would prefer a…quieter marriage.
Mrs. Hampton trundled off, dragging Bridget gamely behind her.
NICHOLAS RAINES drained his second gin-and-tonic and stifled a yawn. He despised these functions, but his mother had laid a guilt trip on him about attending. It was for charity, she’d said. It was a chance to see and be seen, make important business contacts, blah-blah-blah. She’d even hinted that he might meet a woman, as if he had time for a relationship. Still, if a mother couldn’t count on her own son to buy a ticket to a charity ball when she was on the committee, who could she count on?
He hoped the charity—a women’s shelter—raked in a bundle. But he’d yet to meet anyone this evening with whom he had the slightest interest in doing business. As for running into an appealing woman, what a joke. Practically every woman here was either over sixty, married or both.
He wondered how long he had to stay. Till the auction, he supposed. If he didn’t bid on something, he’d never hear the end of it from his mother. He was already in trouble because he hadn’t worn a tux. Maybe he could hide behind one of those big potted trees until the—
His thoughts froze. Who was that? She was under sixty, that was for sure. Maybe even under thirty. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, he noticed right away. And he’d never laid eyes on her before, because he would have remembered that face. So she wasn’t a regular among this crowd. They had that in common to start with.
He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and approached the woman, noting with pleasure that she got even prettier the closer he came. She looked up, smiling boldly as he held out his offering to her.
“Oh, champagne!” she said, her blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Thank you. I’m Liz Van Zandt. And who might you…” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze focused on something faraway and over his left shoulder. He turned to look, then felt a momentary deflation when he saw what had snagged her attention.
Eric. Why did his handsome, rich, and well-meaning little brother always intrude at the wrong time? Social situations, business, it didn’t matter. Didn’t he know how annoying perfection could be?
“Is something wrong, Miss Van Zandt?” Now, what the hell was her first name? Faces stayed in his brain on permanent record, but he had an appalling memory when it came to names.
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” The woman returned her attention to Nick. “I believe that’s Eric Statler, near the podium,” she said casually.
“Yeah. That’s Eric, all right.”
“You know him?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah.”
“Really?” She continued to study Eric with undisguised hunger. “Is he as smart and hardworking as everyone says?”
“He’s an okay guy,” Nick was forced to admit. It would be so much easier if he could hate Eric, but he couldn’t. His younger, half brother was pretty cool.
The woman continued to wax enthusiastic. “I was just doing some reading about Eric Statler. This one article said he baled his black-sheep brother’s airline out of bankruptcy, took it over, then fired him. Or the brother quit, no one’s sure.”
“The brother quit,” Nick confirmed, gritting his teeth. That wretched magazine story, back to haunt him again. Eric had bought up a majority share in Lone Star Air so that his half brother would be free to fund a new start-up. That was what Nick did best. Lone Star wasn’t, and never had been, near bankruptcy, but the press loved to twist things around, give commonplace events more drama.
“Oh, so then you must know the real story,” she said. “Not that I’m into gossip, but I had a feeling the magazine account wasn’t accurate. Care to enlighten me?”
“Why are you interested?” Nick wanted to know.
“Because I want to discuss business with him. And I’d like to have the facts before I do.”
Nick shook his head. He’d already spent far too much of his life apologizing for his position within the Statler family. He’d vowed not to do it again. He was over that, on to bigger and better things.
“The matter’s confidential,” he said.
“Hmm. Well, in that case, is there any chance you could introduce me to him?”
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, Nick conceded. This woman was gorgeous, but in the last thirty seconds he’d decided she wasn’t his type. Too brassy, too forward. And she was spreading lies about him, to boot, although not intentionally.
“I might be able to arrange an introduction.” Yeah, he’d like to watch his brother handle this hot potato. Women came at Eric by the dozens, with strategies both subtle and obvious. He was curious to see what this one would try.
He held out his arm. “Come with me, Ms. Van Zandt. I’ll take you to meet my brother.”
“Who?”
“My brother. Eric Statler. You told me your name, but I neglected to tell you mine. It’s Nick Raines.”
He enjoyed the look of discomfiture on the pretty blonde’s face. He could read her thoughts. She was torn. Should she apologize for that “black-sheep” business? Or should she recover her dignity as best she could and make her escape?
LIZ WISHED she could sink right into the carpet. She’d stumbled into a golden opportunity—meeting Eric Statler’s half brother—and she’d bungled it. Foot-in-mouth disease was one of her shortcomings. She was bubbly, talkative, not at all shy like Bridget, and she was tops on the invitation list to just about any party, but she had a distinct problem when it came to tact. Sometimes words just came out of her mouth, bypassing her brain entirely.
“I apologize for any hurtful remarks,” she finally said when she’d recovered her composure. “I hadn’t realized who you were, of course, or I might have been more discreet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been insulted by worse than you,” Nick Raines said easily. “Invitation’s still good. Want to meet Eric?”
Liz swallowed her embarrassment. “Sure, I’d like that.” She took Nick’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her through the crowd. He was a nice-looking man, she conceded, but not her type at all. He had a solemnity to his personality, a shadow in his eyes, that wouldn’t mix well with her fun-loving attitude. She could see him more easily dating someone like Bridget, who could spend hours just reading poetry or studying the play of light and shadow in a tree.
Maybe,
