On the next round, when she came to Bastien,he stated, “One top-shelf martini,” and then whispered to her, “Is someone watching you?”
“Yes. I can’t talk.”
“I can protect you,” he said.
His light eyes seemed earnest when he said that, an offer and a solemn promise. His shoulders were thin inside his white shirt, wasted from age and lack of exercise.
Flicka would never be so crass as to laugh at Bastien, of course. When she had been aprincess, her whole job had been to be gracious and kind to people even when they said bizarre or off or even terrible things. That, and managing huge charity events, of course.
But the thought of slim, elegant Bastien throwing himself in front of her, arms spread wide, while Dieter Schwarz stood beside him watching the chaos, when Dieter was three inches taller and a hundred pounds more hulked-outthan Bastien, tickled her funny bone.
She smiled at him. “I’m fine. I’m not in any danger at all, but thank you for your offer. My boss over there by the staircase—don’t look—thinks I’m not moving fast enough.”
“Ah.” Bastien sat back in his chair, the corners of his mouth turning up and a faint twinkle sparkling in his eyes. “Good. But I want you to know, Gretchen, that if you ever need help,you can turn to me.”
Bastien was getting a little creepy.
Flicka smiled at him. “Thank you so much. One top-shelf martini, coming up.”
