again, wondering if the one sip of alcohol was enough to have him seeing double. No, there were two of them. The second woman’s dress was scoop-necked and she wore her hair in a lower tail clipped back rather than banded.
“Who are the dynamic duo?” He lifted his chin in the direction of the girls and Ray shifted in his chair to see who he referenced.
“Ah.” His friend’s blue eyes lighted on the women with unerring precision. “They are Lauren and Tori Randall, my event coordinators. They handled the premiere of Pretty Little Witches a few months ago.”
A dark brow lifted at that. Even cooped up convalescing, he’d heard of the successful event.
“The movie flopped,” Ray went on. “But people are still talking about the premiere. When I decided to throw a party, I had my assistant call them. The name of their company is By Arrangement.”
Garrett’s mouth quirked up at the clever name, a nice play on their being twins. Actually the name sounded familiar. Probably in connection with the premiere. The women broke up, his valet heading to the kitchen, the other moving off in the other direction. Garrett turned away. The woman had already taken up too much of his time.
He nailed Ray with a pointed stare. “When are you going to be finished with my house?” He’d rented his place to Ray for his current film project Gates of Peril while he stayed at the family manor adjacent to the studio. The drive was easier on his leg, but he’d like to get away from it on the weekends. “I’m getting tired of the dusty old manor.”
“Not much longer. Maybe a month.”
“A month? What the hell, Ray? I happen to know you’re also over budget.”
“Yeah, but the special effects are sick. Another month and two million should see a wrap.” The director shook his head. “The set is a circus. All kinds of people underfoot. Jenna Vick is stellar, but she just got engaged and she’s distracted by her fiancé. And the effects coordinator has his kids on-site because his sitter was in a fender bender.”
“Those are not the studio’s problems. You’re supposed to be finished with my place and shooting on the West Lot. Another movie is scheduled for that lot in two weeks. The studio takes a hit if they can’t start production.”
Ray shrugged. “Add it to the budget.”
Garrett shook his head. That’s exactly the attitude that led to the studio’s teetering reputation. “Ray, I love you like a brother, but the days of open budgets died with my dad. You have two weeks and one million. I’m closing your set to all nonessential personnel. Get your people under control, and get it done.”
* * *
Tori popped a candy-coated peanut in her mouth and surveyed the candy table. Perfect. Sticking to the colors red, black, silver and white, she’d used martini-shaped glasses large and small to create her design. Drops, gummies and foil-wrapped candies filled the dishes. White letters filled with dark chocolate-covered mints spelled out RAY. A black satin table cover and silver and red ribbons pulled the whole look together.
No sooner did she step back than guests converged on the treats. Oohs and aahs followed her retreat. In spite of her less than fortuitous encounter with Black, Tori counted tonight as a success. She’d received lots of compliments on the food and given their card to three prospective clients.
Reminded of Black, she moved to the entry and lingered near the living room where she had a view of the front door. Matt had found the claim ticket for the Maserati in his jacket pocket and brought it to her to pass on to the owner. She grimaced, as if she needed another run-in with Black.
As if her thoughts had conjured the man, he suddenly appeared from the crowd. And he was headed directly for her.
She summoned a smile. “Mr. Black, is there anything I can get for you?”
He lifted a dark brow at the use of his name. He glanced to the left where the food filled the table and a crowd surrounded the candy display, and then dropped to the martini glass she’d filled for herself.
“This will do.” Taking the glass from her, he dumped half the contents into his hand. “Thanks.”
Surprised by his sweet tooth and offended by his rudeness, she warned him, “Careful, I’m a peanut fiend, so I hope you aren’t allergic.”
“Nope. Did you enjoy driving my car, Ms. Randall?”
“It was the highlight of my night.” She stifled any reaction to the use of her name, unable to determine if it was a good thing or bad.
“Which reminds me.” With a sheepish smile she dug into her cleavage and retrieved his claim ticket. “I forgot to give you this.”
He accepted the paper, looked from it to her bust. Heat flared in his gray eyes before they lifted to meet her gaze.
“Sorry,” she murmured, shrugging, “no pockets.”
“No need to apologize.” He flicked the ticket with his thumb. “I may have to keep this as a memento of the evening.”
Okay, what did that mean? Good gracious. Was he hitting on her? Wouldn’t Lauren love that? As for Tori, sure he tipped the studometer, but his aloof, brooding attitude triggered one of her hot buttons, putting him off-limits even more than the fact he was a client.
Of course there was that gorgeous car. “If you need a designated driver, I’m happy to be of assistance.”
“Do I appear drunk to you, Ms. Randall?” The gravel in his voice took on a gruffness.
Oops, she’d upset him again. “No, but a girl can hope.”
“Very amusing.”
She shrugged and was rewarded by him taking the last of her candy.
“You don’t mind, do you?” he challenged her.
“Of course not.” Jerk. “I can get you one of your own if you’d like.”
“No, yours is good enough.”
Was he trying to outdo himself in boorish behavior or was it simply his default mode? Whichever, charming he was not. Then again she didn’t remember ever hearing the word attached to his name. Hardworking, brilliant and brooding were the words used to describe him. Usually as a director. Looking into his pale eyes she didn’t doubt the truth of them.
As a guest, he could use a lesson in playing nice with others.
“Good night, Ms. Randall.” He stepped past her toward the door.
“Drive safely, Mr. Black,” she said to his back. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to his beautiful car.
LATE MONDAY AFTERNOON Tori worked on a spreadsheet displaying the menu for a fiftieth wedding anniversary scheduled for Thursday. She was making the final notes to the grocery list when the bell over the front door sounded.
“Be right there,” she called out as she took a moment to save her file. A quick
