Someone came up beside me, stopping to stare at the same painting. I turned my head just a fraction to see who it was.
It was her. Rosalyn.
I turned back to the painting, pretending to study it some more while sipping the champagne. I could feel her eyes on me, but I still didn’t acknowledge her.
“It’s a beautiful painting,” she said finally.
I glanced at her. She was wearing a black gown, the fabric close to her tall, willowy frame. Her dark hair was pulled up away from her face and she wore a necklace that probably cost three million dollars. Vaguely, my mind started running scenarios of how I could snatch it without being caught. If sold on the right market, I could make quite a little profit on a piece like that.
I met her eyes—they were brown—and saw she was waiting for my reply. She expected me to say something vague and non-committal about the art. She thought I was just another one of these rich airheads here tonight to throw around my excessive money.
I looked back at the painting, taking another slow sip of my drink. “I think it’s very sorrowful,” I said. “The lines seem heavy. The shadows there”—I pointed—“behind the man seem to come forward as if to consume him, surround him.” Then I looked back at her. She was watching me with interest and I held back my smile. Gotcha. “But you’re right; it is a beautiful piece of art. Sometimes there is beauty in sorrow.”
And then I walked away.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t pause.
I stopped beside the piano and dropped a twenty into the glass fishbowl sitting on the top and asked him to play something a little less monotonous.
I felt her eyes follow me as I moved around the room. She watched me with interest. I was the man who gave her an unexpected answer. The man who didn’t seem to care or even know who she was. And then I just walked away without so much as a backward glance.
I knew her type.
I was driving her crazy.
Good. Let her think it was her idea to come to me. Let her think she was the cat who got the mouse.
When really… it was exactly what I wanted.
* * *
I was speaking with the mayor when she approached. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. The mayor, of course, stopped talking the minute she arrived and he turned to her and smiled. “Rosalyn, you look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you, Mayor Hayes,” she said, her eyes sliding to me.
“Rosalyn, this is…” He began to introduce me only to realize he never bothered to learn my name.
I smiled. “I could bore you with all four of my stodgy names or you could just call me what my friends do.”
“And what is that?” she asked.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” the mayor said, already pulling away.
“Of course,” Rosalyn said and I shook his hand before he walked off to no doubt try to secure another sizeable donation.
“You were saying?” Rosalyn asked when he was gone.
“Charming. Everyone calls me Charming.”
She lifted a delicately shaped brow.
I grinned my best devilish grin. “I left my white horse with the valet.”
She laughed. “That’s probably for the best. Whatever would they say if you brought a horse into the ballroom?”
“Want to find out?” I grinned again.
“Funny and art savvy,” she mused. “I haven’t seen you at any of these functions before.”
“I just arrived in town not too long ago. I’m in real estate. Thought I would come and see if there were any opportunities to grow my business here in Fairbanks.”
“And what do you think of Fairbanks so far?”
“It’s very cold.”
She laughed again. I noticed she hadn’t sipped her drink once since arriving at my side. I caught the eye of a nearby waiter and he came over, clearing his throat. I gently took her half-empty glass from her fingers and then slid a fresh one in place.
“How did you know I wanted a new one?” she asked.
“You just seemed like the kind of woman who enjoyed her champagne chilled.”
She smiled and took a sip, stepping just a fraction closer to me than before.
Got her.
Maybe getting this job done in six months wouldn’t be so hard after all.
I smiled down at the Target when a flash of red caught my eye. I looked up and saw a woman in a red silk dress enter the room.
Red was my color.
It was powerful, unforgettable… and it stood out in this room among the people who were all dressed in black.
The woman wearing it didn’t look like anyone else here. She filled that dress out in a way that made every man in the room turn to look. The dress was low-cut and instead of just showing off her skin, she wore a very long strand of pearls that looped around her throat and then draped all the way to her navel.
Her throat…
There was something familiar about it.
I tore my eyes away from the gown and looked up. Blond hair. Curls. Blue eyes.
What the hell was she doing here?
Just as I was about to turn away, she caught my eye and I swear a sadistic smile curved her lips. Her steps picked up and before I knew it she was at my side, slipping her hand around my elbow and inserting herself into my job.
“There you are,” she said like she’d been searching the entire room for me. “I swear the ladies room must be half a mile away.” She batted her eyes at me and I thought about dumping my drink down her chest.
“Is this your girlfriend?” the Target asked, a closed look coming over her face.
No, no, no. I didn’t have time for this!
I opened my mouth to vehemently deny that accusation, but she beat me to it.
“His girlfriend?!” she asked, horrified. “Good Lord, no.”
Rosalyn smiled and I breathed a sigh of relief.
But George wasn’t done talking. “I’m his sister.”
I choked on my champagne.
George started pounding on my back, like that would somehow help. “Go easy on the booze there, brother.”
Then she looked at Rosalyn and whispered conspiratorially. “This one likes the bottle.”
She. Was. Dead.
“Does he now?” Rosalyn said, glancing at me with a smile.
“Ignore her. She doesn’t get out much,” I replied.
“It’s true,” George sighed. “It’s why I tag along with Charming here”—she hitched her thumb at me—“to all his events.” She released me and turned to Rosalyn. “He told you we call him Charming, right?”