And really, he told himself, as he listened to Phil Wasserman speak reverently of his dead wife, that was perhaps just as well, for inevitably it would end—and end disastrously. Eventually, he’d have to tell her his true reason for being in America. That would not go well. Not at all. And then he’d actually have to return to England and leave things at sixes and sevens. He really fancied her far too much to create a complete mess of things.
Yes, eventually, anything he started would come to a crushing end, which was why Flynn forced himself to stop seeking Rachel out in that room. Nor did he look at Marlene, who was tragically lacking any curves at all, and instead focused his attention on Wasserman, his reason for being here.
But try as he might, he really couldn’t keep himself from stealing glimpses of Rachel as he sort of trailed along after Wasserman, because she was really a bit of all right. Quite dishy and very sexy with that gold in her hair, and frankly, he could count her bum among the best he’d ever had the good fortune to view. Round and bouncy, the sort a man could imagine really grabbing on to as he . . .
What in the bloody hell was the matter with him? He was working, for God’s sake! And he was not the sort of bloke who was easily confounded by a bird! Besides, Rachel seemed to be enjoying herself at the bar with her sodding bartender. Even if Flynn wanted to have a word with her, he couldn’t really, not with the ever-present Marlene, who was, it seemed, quite pissed after imbibing a lorry load of martinis. Quite pissed, as in plastered, and falling down, making-moon-eyes-and-suggesting-lewd-things-to-him drunk. He had absolutely no idea how to get rid of her.
When he at last convinced Marlene to have a seat at one of the little tables and tried to get her to have a bite, she refused, shaking her head in a slow-motioned drunken way, with her hair sort of flying dramatically across her eyes and whatnot. Flynn had every desire to leave her there, but frankly, he was far too much the gentleman to do it properly.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he looked desperately around for someone who might help. Naturally, his gaze fell on Rachel, who was, as luck would have it, only a few feet away.
“Rachel!” he called out to her as she delivered drinks to a very disorderly quartet of attorneys.
She looked over her shoulder at him, and he could swear her eyes went soft for a moment before cooling off to perfect cubes of ice. She cocked her tray high and walked to where he stood with a smile rather forcefully smashed onto her face. “Drink?” she drawled.
“Ah, no. I rather think not—there’s been quite enough served here as it is. I hate to be a bother, but would you mind terribly locating Mr. Feizel? I’m afraid his guest has had one too many.”
“I have not, Charlie!” Marlene insisted, stabbing her elbow onto the little table to steady herself and almost toppling the thing over.
Rachel looked at Marlene. “Charlie?”
“Long story,” Flynn quickly interjected.
“Go on,” Marlene said to Rachel, waving a loose wrist at her. “Be a sweetie and go get me a martini,” she said, before covering her face with both hands.
Rachel and Flynn exchanged a look.
“I’d really rather you not,” he said. “Do you think you might find Mr. Feizel?”
“I’ll get him right away.” Rachel walked away without another word.
She returned a moment later with Mr. Feizel, who gave Marlene one look and sighed. “Dammit, Marlene, you did this last year.”
“Did what?” she asked, smiling sloppily at him.
He sighed with exasperation and looked at Flynn. “Last year, we let her sleep it off upstairs and she stayed two days. I can’t let her do that again—my wife would kill me.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to stay here!” Marlene said defiantly and tried to fold her arms against her tiny little waist, but couldn’t keep her balance and slid into the table.
“Come on, Ollie, would you mind?” Mr. Feizel asked him, his dark eyes pleading.
“Me?” Flynn exclaimed, surprised. “I hardly know her, Mr. Feizel. I just thought that you might—”
“The thing about Marlene is she’s really a brilliant attorney.”
“The best! No one wins more cases than me!” Marlene shouted, jabbing her chest with her finger.
“But she and gin don’t mix. If you’ll just drive your car up, I’ll help you get her inside of it.”
“I don’t have a car,” Flynn objected, then noticed Rachel, standing behind Mr. Feizel, lift a curious brow at that.
“Come on, man!” Feizel pleaded, ignoring his protests. “Take her home.”
“Dear God,” Flynn said.
“Char—leee, I wanna go home now. I really wanna go home,” Marlene began to whine, working her way to her feet as Rachel stepped out of the way.
Quite a few people were turning around now and, from the look of it, were enjoying Marlene’s slide into oblivion. It was the last sort of notoriety that Flynn needed, and it seemed that the proverbial handwriting was on the sodding wall. “Bugger!” he muttered irritably.
Marlene laughed as she moved to slide her arm around his neck. “I love the way you talk, Charlie,” she said, then hiccupped.