Pia said at the same time.
“I’m regrouping and marshalling my forces,” Belinda went on, “including getting a lawyer.”
“In meantime,” Pia said, “I’ll be coming up with some spectacular ideas for Belinda’s second act as a bride.” She added uncertainly, “Or should I say, third act …?”
There was a pause as everyone seemed to wince.
Then Tamara noticed a light flashing on her phone. “On that note, I think I have a call coming in.”
As Tamara ended the call with Belinda and Pia, she wondered for which of the three of them Saturday would prove to be most portentous.
Her parting exchange with Sawyer came back to her.
She’d told him they were done, and he, damn him, had just replied insouciantly, “Not nearly, but it’s been a pleasure so far.”
One week later, Tamara wondered at her rotten luck.
Sawyer, again.
Usually she ran into him only once every few months. Maybe a couple of times a year.
But here he was—at a big fashion party taking place in a large TriBeCa loft. Minor celebrities, socialites and journalists were here to appreciate an up-and-coming designer.
But what was Sawyer doing here?
Tamara had seen a reporter for Sawyer’s newspaper, The New York Intelligencer, at the party. Sawyer’s own presence certainly was not necessary.
She knew he attended his share of parties, but this one was not the type he usually attended. Last time she checked, he didn’t have a particular interest in fashion. In fact, she was sure his suits came from an old and stuffy Savile Row tailor with a warrant from the queen.
Sawyer’s presence was a reason to keep up her guard, but at least she had body armor tonight in the form of a date.
She looked around. Tom hadn’t yet returned with their drinks.
As she scanned the room, however, she noticed Sawyer walking toward her.
Rats.
She turned, but just as she ducked behind the heavy velvet curtain that encircled the perimeter of the room—obviously in place to hide blank walls and elevator doors from the view of the assembled guests—a familiar voice reached her.
“Leaving the field of battle?”
She halted, irritated that his words echoed her own to Belinda, but unwilling to show him any reaction.
Squaring her shoulders, she swung back toward him. “Never.”
He gave a predatory smile. “Good.”
She waved her hand toward the curtain to indicate the crowd on the other side. “I was simply trying to avoid getting blood on the designer labels in our latest skirmish.”
“Thoughtful of you.”
She tilted her lips in the semblance of a smile. “You might try it sometime.”
After a moment, he had the indecency to chuckle.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
“I received an invitation, I accepted.”
She frowned. “I’ve never seen you at a fashion event before.”
“There’s always a first time. Otherwise life would be boring.”
She felt heat stain her cheeks, and shook off the feeling he was making a sexual suggestion about her … them.
“I suppose,” she responded coolly, “though I also know there are certain things I don’t care to try.”
She tried to ignore the fact that her pulse had begun to skitter and skip the minute she’d heard his deep voice resonating behind her.
Her reaction both puzzled and annoyed her. Was it because he’d admitted to entertaining the idea of wedding her? It was only that she felt pursued, she insisted to herself. Surely she hadn’t sunk so low as to feel flattered by his attention.
This was Sawyer, the man she’d spent a lifetime avoiding and disdaining. She wasn’t like some medieval bride, content to be betrothed from birth.
Still, she couldn’t help noticing he made his own fashion statement of sorts tonight. He looked model-perfect in a tieless tan suit and open-collar green shirt. It was about as fashion-forward as she could ever remember him looking. Had it been a long while since her recent encounters with Sawyer, or had he begun relaxing his sartorial standards and she simply hadn’t noticed?
As if conducting his own wardrobe assessment, Sawyer gave her a sweeping look that ran up from her peep-toe slingbacks to her knee-length sheath dress, held up by spaghetti straps.
His eyes paused for a moment at her chest, before he raised them to her annoyed expression. “A redhead who isn’t afraid to wear red. You never disappoint.”
“I’m so glad you approve!” She couldn’t help feeling there was an element of disapproval in his words. He was of her father’s world, after all. Bohemian jewelry designers didn’t fit.
In the next instant, however, he surprised her by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She stilled as he paused to finger a teardrop peridot earring. The contact was intimate—erotic, even—though he wasn’t touching her directly.
“I’m interested in having some jewelry pieces designed,” he said, his deep voice sending an involuntary thrill through her.
Pushing aside how very aware of him she was, she asked, making her voice sugary, “For your current love interest?”
He took his time answering. “You could say that.”
She looked at him with exaggerated disbelief. “Am I to assume that’s why you arranged to intercept me at a fashion event? Because you’re looking for a jewelry designer?”
“Among other things.”
She held on to her irritation because it was easier to deal with than how disturbing his nearness was. “Let’s get back to what you’re doing here. Or should I say, how you knew I’d be here?”
He gave her a level look. “One guess.”
“My father,” she said flatly.
“Correct.”
Her lips tightened. “When I see him again …”
She castigated herself now for revealing to her father some of the details of her social and business schedule in response to his seemingly casual questions a couple of weeks ago when they’d met for lunch.
No question she and her father needed to have a serious conversation. One that
