“Besides,” Wyatt continued, “I’ve always wanted to be a detective. Blame it on my childhood obsession with the Hardy Boys.”
“Huh.” I sized him up. “And which one are you? Frank or Joe?”
“I’d like to think I’m a little of both.” He grinned, looking oh-so-casual and oh-so-good. “Should we work the room?”
A sense of satisfaction brought a smile to my face. “I’ve already got what I came here for.”
I threw back the last of my champagne, set the empty glass on the nearest side table, and strode out the door.
I made it two steps into the hallway before Agnes called me back.
“Emersyn! Will you try a profiterole before you go? It’s a new recipe of mine. My daughter and I are thinking of selling them at our bakery, but we want to get some feedback first.”
By the time she got those words out, she had an arm around me and was ushering me back into Minnie and Yolanda’s apartment.
So much for my grand exit.
I let Agnes steer me over to the food table because if I couldn’t have my perfect mic drop moment, I could at least have more free food. I tasted one of the chocolate-covered profiteroles while Agnes watched with anticipation. The heavenly pistachio and Irish cream filling made me sigh with happiness, much to Agnes’s delight.
While I didn’t have to lie about how delicious the profiterole tasted, I struggled to stay focused after the first bite because my traitorous gaze wanted to follow Wyatt around the room. At the moment, he was chatting with Bitty and Yolanda, but as I watched, Leona slipped in between them, latching on to Wyatt’s arm.
Serves him right,the prickly part of my brain grumbled.
The rest of me felt sorry for him. I tried to silence that part but without success, so I turned my back on Wyatt and focused my full attention on the profiteroles.
Once Agnes was satisfied that I was absolutely sure about my glowing review—I had to eat three profiteroles for her to believe me, though that wasn’t exactly a hardship—I slipped out through the open door. This time, my exit definitely lacked any drama, but at least it was more successful.
I’d just stepped into the elevator when I realized I had no idea how to carry out the plan that had formed in my head. It made perfect sense to take advantage of the fact that Rosario was currently at Freddie’s wake/celebration of life/cocktail party by searching her apartment. The reports of her multiple arguments with Freddie had shot her straight to the top of my admittedly short suspect list. The problem was that I didn’t have Theo with me, and I had no idea how to pick a lock.
I dug my phone out of my clutch, hoping to consult YouTube.
The elevator doors had nearly closed when a hand shot in to stop them.
A very masculine hand.
The doors parted, and Wyatt stepped into the elevator.
I dropped my phone back into my clutch. “Couldn’t you have taken the stairs?”
“Why?” He’d had a grin on his face when he first appeared, but that expression fizzled away, and he suddenly looked stricken and decidedly less at ease. “Do I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable!” Okay, so I was a little, but he wasn’t responsible for that. Unless you could say he was responsible for the thoughts in my head. Thoughts that involved his buttons flying off as I ripped open his shirt to reveal his sculpted chest and abs.
“Are you sure?” It was the first time I’d seen him worried, and there was something endearing and adorable about it. Which only made him hotter somehow.
“Positive.” Did I sound a little breathless? I hoped not. “You’re fine.”
Oh, so very, very fine,a voice in my head piped up.
I fanned myself with my hand. “I’m just a little warm. I think it’s the champagne.”
Yes, that had to be it. The alcohol had gone to my head.
To my relief, the elevator dinged, and the doors parted. I stepped out into the hallway, relieved to be able to put a little more space between us.
“Okay, I’m glad I didn’t make you uncomfortable,” Wyatt said, sounding as relieved as I felt. He followed as I started down the third-floor hallway. “But can I ask why it is that you hate to like me?”
“I don’t hate to like you!” I protested. “I don’t know you well enough to hate to like you or to like to like you.”
