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“Sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
Brodey’s gaze traveled over her cashmere sweater, worn jeans and loafers, then came back up, lingering on her face, making her cheeks fire. My goodness, the man has a way. Had she known she’d be seeing anyone, particularly the intriguing detective, she’d have dressed more appropriately. But at 4:00 a.m., that thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “The colours for the kitchen were driving me mad. Where’s your sling?”
“You’re here by yourself?”
“Of course.”
“Anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous for a woman to be driving around a city alone in the middle of the night?”
Prior to her panic a minute ago, she hadn’t even questioned it. Maybe she should have. But that was the trusting part of her. The part that didn’t include the male species and wanted to see pretty things instead of danger. She wasn’t a complete lunatic and understood the world to be a dangerous place, but when it came to her creative process, certain things, like possible danger, couldn’t get in her way. “I live ten minutes from here.”
“A lot can happen in ten minutes.”
The Detective
Adrienne Giordano
ADRIENNE GIORDANO, a USA TODAY bestselling author, writes romantic suspense and mystery. She is a Jersey girl at heart, but now lives in the Midwest with her workaholic husband, sports obsessed son and Buddy the wheaten terrorist (terrier). For more information on Adrienne’s books, please visit www.adriennegiordano.com or download the Adrienne Giordano app. For information on Adrienne’s street team, go to facebook.com/groups/dangerousdarlings.
Table of Contents
Lexi Vanderbilt’s mother taught her two very important lessons. One, always wear coordinating lipstick, and two, recognize an opportunity when it presented itself.
Standing in the ballroom of the newly renovated Gold Coast Country Club, Lexi planned on employing those lessons.
All around her workers prepared for the throng of club members who would descend in—she checked her watch—ninety-three minutes. As the interior designer about to unveil her latest masterpiece, she would spend those ninety-three minutes tending to everything from flowers to linens to centerpieces. A waiter toting a tray of sparkling champagne glasses cruised by. She took in the not-so-perfect cut of his tux and groaned. The staff’s attire wasn’t her jurisdiction. Still, small details never escaped her. At times, like now, it was maddening.
Oh, and just wait one second. “Excuse me,” she said to a woman carrying a stack of tablecloths. “The sailboat ice sculpture belongs on the dessert table by the window. The Willis Tower goes by the champagne fountain.”
The woman hefted the pile of linens, a not-so-subtle hint that the sculptures weren’t her problem. “Does it matter?”
If it didn’t, I wouldn’t ask. Lexi sighed. “It matters. Unless you’d like to tell your boss, who specifically requested the placement of the sculptures, that it doesn’t.”
For added effect, Lexi grinned and the woman rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the busboys to move it.”
“Thank you.”
One minicrisis averted. And maybe she could have let that one slide given that the club’s manager had to be 110 years old and most likely wouldn’t remember which sculpture went where, but why take a chance on something easily fixed?
Besides, tonight everything had to be perfect.
Functions attended by the richest of the rich were a breeding ground for opportunities. Opportunities Lexi craved for her fledgling design company. At twenty-nine, she’d already been profiled by the Banner-Herald and all the major broadcast stations in the city. She was quickly gaining ground on becoming Chicago’s “it” designer, and that meant dethroning Jerome Laddis, the current “it” designer. He may have had more experience, but Lexi had youth, energy and fresh ideas on her side. A few more
