“Hey!” Chance said, peeking in the doorway. “A client from a few years ago just called. He’s selling off some stuff. Michael is going to be stoked.” His brother had the trademark Anderson dimples, which showed up when he grinned like he was now. He was wiry and thin like Michael, but despite his quiet demeanor, he managed to look like a badass even in the suit and tie. Perhaps it was his longer hair or his eight-billionth-degree black belt in karate or whatever he was now.
Their mom had labeled the Anderson brothers from early childhood. Michael was the serious one, William was trustworthy and dependable, and baby Chance was the sensitive artist. Will had always half expected Chance to spin off into all kinds of craziness, but it had never happened. He was probably the best-looking of the three brothers, and girls had always followed him around like puppies. With the exception of a few dates here and there, he just didn’t seem interested, which unlike the dimples, was not an Anderson brother trait.
Since his return from duty, Will usually preferred to be alone, but something had shifted today and being alone tonight didn’t appeal. He hoped it wasn’t a bad thing. “You doing anything later tonight?” Maybe they could meet up after he had a drink with Suzanne.
“I’m stuck here for a while. Plan to order takeout at five if you want to join in. I have a sparring match at eight, but have to finish Polly Guidry’s contract first.”
Well, that effectively took Chance out of play tonight unless he wanted to go to the dojo and watch him face off with another ninja type. Will folded up one of his cuffs. God, he hated dress clothes. “Polly… Old Bart’s widow?”
“Yep. She’s selling off a Rembrandt charcoal and three Fabergé pieces. The auction and wine and cheese party is here in the lobby on Thursday. Super small, invitation-only event, so no real security issues for this one.”
“Is she selling stuff off to finance another European luxury tour?” Will’s other cuff received the same treatment as the first.
“Nope. She’s gone cougar. Buying a yacht for her new, younger man.”
“She must be eighty by now.”
“Eighty-one. He’s seventy-four. Love is timeless.” Chance winked and swung his feet back to the floor. “Dinner early here, then?”
“Can’t. Meeting Suzanne Elliot for drinks.”
Chance’s eyes widened. “Suzanne Elliot, as in the model?”
“Yeah. We bumped into each other out front the other day.”
“I remember her from your engagement party. She’s kind of hard to forget.”
She was hard to forget. Tall, leggy, and in the prime of her modeling career four years ago, she’d captured the eye of the tabloids at the engagement party and stolen the limelight, which really pissed Beth off. It was the first real glimpse Will had gotten into Beth’s selfish, darker side. Sadly, it wasn’t the last.
“Wow. Suzanne Elliot.” Chance stood and gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder. “Good luck, man.”
For some reason, the inference bothered Will. “We’re just going for drinks. Nothing else.” Shit. He hoped Suzanne didn’t have the idea there would be more. Maybe he should call it off after all.
“You’ve been in the desert too long if you’re really expecting me to buy that.”
“Don’t you have some legalese to interpret somewhere so Polly can give her boy toy a yacht?”
Chance grinned. “Indeed I do.”
…
“Holy shit, girl, what did you do?” Heather broke her breadstick in half and wagged it at Claire. “I got phone calls from Bev the Beast and some dude named Jim asking all kinds of things about you. Did you do Michael Anderson or something?”
“No!” Claire covered her mouth and coughed out the bit of wine she’d just inhaled. “God, no.”
Heather shoved part of the breadstick in her mouth, eyes narrowing. “The little brother, then. The quiet one with the long hair. Shit, I’d do that one, no questions asked.” She dragged the other half of her breadstick in marinara sauce and took a bite. “I bet he’s got a wild streak a mile wide. The quiet ones always do.”
Claire raised her wineglass and took a sip, trying to cover up her panic. It unnerved her that people were calling Heather’s temp agency about her. And who was this Jim guy anyway? No doubt the calls had been triggered by Will Anderson’s puzzling interest in her. Claire didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“I did not…do either of them, Heather. I have no idea why this is happening.”
“Liar.” Heather cocked her head, then pointed at the bowl of marinara. “You are the color of this sauce right now. Spill, girl. I’ve known you too long to be fooled.”
Mercifully, the waiter arrived with their food and rescued her from having to answer. Maybe Heather would be so distracted by her huge bowl of lobster ravioli she’d drop it. The middle-aged man, wearing a white apron past his knees, placed the food in front of them, making a big deal about not touching the hot plates.
“So, who is it?” Heather asked before the waiter was even out of earshot.
Yeah, well, so much for dropping it. Claire took a bite of her minestrone.
“Ignoring me won’t work.” She stabbed ravioli with her fork. “I have my sources in that office, and I’m going to find out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”