was staring. She quickly patted her hair and turned to the exit.
Outside there was no sign of Gavin. The little shock of disappointment surprised her. Then she chastised herself. Did she really expect a man like that to wait around for her like a faithful dog?
He was probably already dancing with someone else.
Surreptitiously she scanned the dance floor. Past midnight, so the crowd was thinning. All the men were dressed alike in black tie, but she knew she’d spot Gavin immediately. He had that kind of presence.
A tiny shimmer of relief trickled through her when she didn’t see him.
But did that mean he’d left without saying goodbye? She’d probably never see him again. Why would he call her, of all people?
She lifted her chin and started to weave through the tables to where she’d sat with some of her father’s duller business associates, which wasn’t a very charitable way to think of them since they’d all been nice enough to pony up a thousand dollars per seat. She was relieved to see that they’d all left, and she lifted her beaded bag off the back of her chair and slung it over her taffeta-clad shoulder.
Another quick glance revealed no sign of Gavin. Cold settled in her stomach. So that was it. A lovely evening. A fantastic time.
Possibly the best night of her life.
She swallowed. No doubt everyone who’d stared at her on Gavin’s arm was looking at her now, the same way they always did. Poor old Bree. Perennial wallflower.
She shuffled toward the exit. She usually got a cab home from these things as her father often stayed late to schmooze into the wee hours. Of course it was kind of pathetic that she still lived in the family mansion. But she loved Russian Hill, and the big attic studio she’d turned into her private apartment was filled with special memories of the happy years before her mom died. She used to paint there every afternoon, while Bree played on the floor near her easel.
Bree bit her lip. She was happy with her life. Really! She didn’t need some tall, dark, handsome charmer to waltz in and stir up trouble.
She retrieved her coat from the cloakroom and slid it over her shoulders. She was just about to walk across the marble foyer toward the exit when her heart slammed to a halt.
Gavin. Tall and proud as a ship’s mast, an earnest look on his chiseled features.
And he was talking to her father.
Bree frowned. How did they know each other so well? Her father usually bothered only with mega-wealthy entrepreneurs who could make him a fast and large buck. If Gavin was just an advertising executive—a challenging and interesting job, but still a job—why was her father leaning in to speak with him as if he was Bill Gates? she pulled her coat about herself and started slowly toward them. They both looked up fast when they noticed her, which made a weird knot of anxiety form in her belly.
“Bree, darling!” Her father extended an arm. “Gavin and I were just talking about what a wonderful evening this was. And I have you to thank for forcing me to buy a ticket.” He turned to Gavin. “Bree has a soft spot for animals.”
Bree managed a polite smile.
“It was a great pleasure to meet you, Bree.” Gavin’s eyes met hers.
Instantly a flare of heat rushed to her face and her heart began to pound like a jackhammer. “Likewise,” she stammered.
“Are you free on Friday? The firm is having a cocktail party at the Rosa Lounge to celebrate a new campaign. I’d love you to come.”
Bree’s mind spun. Friday night? That was a serious dating night. And he wanted her to meet all his business associates? Her mouth dried.
“Uh, sure. That would be nice.” She blinked rapidly.
“I’ll pick you up at your house, if that’s okay.”
“That would be great.” She smiled as calmly as she could. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you later, darling.” Her father shot her a tight smile. “I have some friends to catch up with.”
“Sure, I’ll get a cab.”
Gavin stepped toward her. “I’ll drive you home. Then I’ll know where to come find you on Friday.”
He summoned a porter to tell valet parking before Bree could protest.
She inhaled deeply, took his offered arm and walked outside. The light mist of rain that had followed her to the Four Seasons earlier had evaporated, leaving a clear moonlit night that illuminated the sturdy bank buildings across Market Street and gave them the grandeur of real Roman temples. Stars glimmered overhead as Gavin helped her into the passenger seat of his low-slung sports car.
They chatted about the new Louise Bourgeois exhibit at the Modern on the short drive home. Gavin admitted he went often to keep on top of emerging trends so he could impress clients. He was embarrassingly gorgeous and he knew about art?
She leaped out of the car in front of her house, heart pounding. Would he try to kiss her?
Impossible.
Or was it?
Terror streaked along her veins as he rounded the car toward her. He took her hand, which was sweating slightly. A shiver of heat shot right up her arm.
“Good night, Bree.” He clasped her hand in both of his, warm and firm. Their gazes held and her lips quivered with a mix of anticipation and apprehension.
Then he tilted his head. “I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday, if that’s okay.”
“Perfect. See you then.” She flashed a smile, then turned and scurried for the door.
Once inside she literally collapsed against it. And a big, wide, goofy smile spread across her face.
She had a Friday-night date with the most handsome man in San Francisco.
And if she weren’t so freaked out, she’d be pretty darn thrilled about it.
Two
“Gavin, sweetie, how are you?” Marissa Curtis assaulted him as he entered the Rosa Lounge with Bree on his arm. She wrapped her skinny arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks, overwhelming him with that eye-watering fragrance she always wore. “I’ve missed you this week. Were you in Cannes?”
“Yes. Had some meetings.” He’d had a really good time at the film festival, and it had given him a chance to plan his campaign to win Bree Kincannon, who stood rather patiently beside him.
“Marissa, this is Bree. Bree, Marissa.”
“Oh, lovely to meet you.” The blonde smiled, revealing frighteningly white teeth. “Are you Gavin’s sister?”
Gavin exploded into a laugh. “My sister? I don’t even have a sister.”
“Oh.” Marissa tipped her silly head to the side, so her silky hair cascaded artfully
