“Right, right. Of course.” James waved a hand. “Was that Tucker Quentin I just saw you talking to? I’d love an introduction.”
“He was called away,” Reece said, and the note of dismissive coolness in his voice made Shelby glance over at him in question. He’d been so relaxed talking to Tuc, but now his shoulders were tense, his smile tight and no longer easy. What was he doing? He was going to ruin his chances to secure the deal with James if he kept this up. Was it because he was still feeling uber-protective of her? James was an ass toward women, so maybe Reece was bracing for an off-color comment. If that was the case, she should excuse herself.
Across the room, she noticed Charlotte James speaking to several other women, including Alicia Porter. She gave Reece’s arm a little squeeze to get his attention, then excused herself with a polite smile for James.
On her way toward the women, she snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She was going to need it.
“Shelby!” Charlotte said and leaned in for a hug and an air kiss. “I was just saying I hoped you’d make it tonight. We’re so looking forward to the show, aren’t you?”
Show? Reece hadn’t mentioned she’d have to sit through a show tonight. “Yes, I’m excited.” For a nap, she tacked on silently. Because that’s what she’d end up doing if she was forced to sit through an opera.
The women spent several minutes chatting about the show, the singers, and spreading around some juicy bits of gossip about people Shelby didn’t know. She nodded and smiled and made all of the appropriate noises until Alicia leaned in.
“I noticed you’re not wearing your wedding ring,” she said in a hushed tone. But not hushed enough because the other women stopped talking and focused in on their conversation. “Is everything okay between you and Reece?”
“Oh.” She gazed down at her empty hand.
I don’t want this to end.
Nerves fluttered in her chest at the memory of Reece’s words, and she curled her fingers around the stem of her glass. Amazing how after such a short time as Mrs. Wilde, she’d gotten so used to wearing her ring that she now felt naked without it.
“Shelby?” Alicia’s expression filled with alarm. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. But we, uh…” She floundered for a moment, grasping for an excuse, then decided the truth was the best course of action. Since there was a police report, the robbery would probably be posted in the newspaper tomorrow. “Well, honestly, we were robbed earlier this evening.”
The women all gasped.
“Then why on earth are you here tonight?” Alicia asked, eyes wide.
Shelby sipped her champagne to wet her suddenly parched throat. “Reece wanted to cancel, but I told him no. This is exactly what we need to take our minds off the robbery.”
“Oh my goodness.” Charlotte James pressed a hand over her diamond necklace as if protecting it. “Nothing too valuable was taken, I hope.”
What a materialistic bitch.
Shelby winced at the venom in her thoughts. Maybe Reece was right and they should have cancelled, because she was finding it so much harder than usual to play her part for these women. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and all she really wanted to do was go home with Reece, curl up on the couch, and watch a Japanese monster movie together.
“No,” she managed, beating down her annoyance. “Just my ring, a few paintings, and Reece’s laptop. Not the business one,” she added. She didn’t want Charlotte saying something to her husband about DMW having shoddy security. “The business files are all perfectly safe.”
Charlotte fanned herself with one dainty hand. “Oh, you poor thing. I don’t know how you’re so calm about it all. I’d be an absolute wreck!”
“I’ll tell you how she’s so calm.” Lena Schilling, who had been lurking like a vulture on the outskirts of their little circle, pushed her way forward. “Shelby’s used to dealing with scum. Isn’t that right?”
Unable to keep a straight face, Shelby scowled at the woman. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” She leaned in close and her breath reeked of vodka. “I know all about you, Shelby Wilde. Or should I call you Shelby Bremer? Though you’re certainly not from the California Bremers like we thought.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. A cold sweat broke out at her temples, and she resisted the urge to swipe at it. “You’re drunk, Lena. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Shelby Bremer, not of the California Bremers, daughter of Katrina, a drug addict and occasional prostitute. And from the looks of things, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She pulled a handful of photographs from her jewel-studded purse and flung them. They scattered across the floor.