"You're the Peter Morgan?"
The Morgan family was old money, and his name appeared in Fortune 500 regularly. His political candidates, with the sizable donations he offered, could outweigh any organized lobby effort. Her boss had set a clear rule to avoid the corporations that might interfere with their agenda. Morgan Enterprises was on the list. Despite the tension running through her muscles, she gripped her hands together and stood still.
"Your company is in contract negotiations with Century Arms to help supply the army?"
He scratched his chin. "I think so, but that’s a very small part of my business. And your name is?"
A man like this one could have anyone he wanted. The smell of oak trees washed through her. She lifted her chin. "Belle Jordan. I work in contracts for Century Arms."
His mouth opened. "So you are the Belle Jordan once engaged to Colt Collins?"
Her lips pursed. "The same. Can I get you the drink now?"
"I suppose. I usually get the lady her drink."
“Welcome to the twenty first century.” Billionaire playboys shouldn't smell like oak trees. He inched closer to her and more goose bumps spread and were probably on every inch of her skin now.
"Tell you what. Why don’t we go together to the bar and watch the drink get poured.”
“Safe.” As they strolled, she winked, “Don’t trust a woman then. I understand. You should protect your virtue at all costs.”
A smile grew on his face. “I'm surprised you're here for the wedding."
Men like this did not talk to girls like her. She swallowed as they stopped near bar stools. "You and me both."
“I’ll have a dirty martini.” She told the bartender.
Peter nodded. “Make that two then.”
“I thought rich men like yourself drink whiskey neat or cognac.”
“I can live dangerously.” Drinks were ordered and she turned toward Peter. He was so close he might touch her bare arms at any moment.
“That’s good for you. I prefer a more sedate life these days. I’m sure my interests are too simple for you.”
“Interesting. You want simple.” Fire grew inside her as he asked, "Let’s do that. Do you like what you do?"
Perhaps she hadn't just said Century Arms or that she ensured the military had the best options available in weapons. Her mind swirled. She didn't have to say anything. He would have no idea what she did. She pressed her lips together. "I like ensuring I have a roof over my head, that my father can take cruises whenever he wishes now, and that I have a semblance of security."
He tilted his head closer. "I pay people to handle security for me, but I'm surprised Century Arms affords you all that."
She stood still, unsure if she wanted to leave. A warm breeze brushed against her spine.
"I am good at what I do, and I like to do things for myself."
The bartender offered them both their drinks. His gaze narrowed. "Are you always this dry?"
There it was, right on schedule. Men who had everything were usually the worst lots to speak to.
"Yes. I'm quite boring. You should leave now and save yourself the trouble of talking to me. I'm quite sure someone here will find you interesting, like that dark haired beauty who keeps staring."
He didn’t blink in the direction she pointed. His entire focus was on her. She could hardly breath as he said, "I meant dry as in funny and interesting."
Funny wasn’t a word that was usually linked to her. His hands went into his pockets. She glanced at his face and saw the dimples appear. "Ahh. Well then, next time be clear."
"Boom. You don't hold back punches."
‘Go away' was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit her lip closed. Her skin zapped near him. She rubbed her neck. "No, I don't like to waste my time or anyone else's."
"You're not a waste of time."
He must be kidding. His soft voice was sexy. She wouldn't be charmed. She rolled her eyes. "Sure thing, Romeo."
A waiter walked past them with a tray full of champagne. He picked two glasses up and handed one to her. She took a deep breath and accepted the glass. The air around her at the moment was magnetic. She couldn't walk away from him right now.
“This is a lot of alcohol.”
“Drunk women don’t interest me, but I’m sure you can choose what you want.”
She took the champagne as both their martinis were untouched. It seemed a waste, but she held her tongue. As the waiter left, Peter clinked their glasses together. "Cheers."
Was this because they had spoken for more than a minute? She had never spoken to a man that made her stomach get butterflies.
She sipped her glass. "To what?"
"To our new friendship."
She stepped away. Peter Morgan and the entire Morgan family would never be her friends. But being near Peter caused adrenaline to pump through her veins. She'd have to call Emily and find out what was taking her friends so long to arrive.
She needed backup, but right now she shook her head. "We have a friendship? This fast? I’m flattered."
"Belle Jordan, I'd prefer to keep you on the friend list. I'd hate to have you as an enemy."
Enemies were almost easier to handle than her attraction with the head of the Morgan family. She sipped her drink again. "I don't do friendships much with strange men I meet at parties who I’ll never see again."
He brushed his arm against her. "Take a chance. I'll get us out of this party early, and we can go get dinner."
The door would be lovely. Colt kissed his new bride's cheek, and the woman's smile grew. Her lips tingled near Peter. If she left with him, she'd be in worse trouble. She gulped her drink. "Okay. I came to make an appearance. If you can get us out in five minutes, I'm in for dinner."
"Consider it done."
That was the opposite of what she had intended to say. Peter walked away to go speak to Colt. She squared her shoulders and sipped her drink. None of these people knew her. She was safe in a crowd. She swallowed. Alone with a man like Peter, she might act out of character.
A woman with long, black hair and a body meant for a super model almost knocked the practically empty drink out of Belle's hand. She flipped her messy mop of hair away from the glamazon.
The woman pouted and then glared. "Watch where you are going."
Belle clutched her drink stem. "You ran into me."
She'd have definitely been the poster child for the in-crowd of high school. The woman posed with one leg out to her side, like a ballerina about to take off.
"Are you going home with Peter Morgan?"
No. Sex was not on the agenda, but this stranger had no business in her life. She finished her drink with her last gulp. She pressed her lips together and intended not to say a word, but women like the one whose eyes made her feel judged rubbed Belle the wrong way.
"Jealous it's not you?"
A wide, knowing smile flashed. This woman knew Peter, well.