“Teagan’s mother? What was she like?”
Adrian considered the question. “She was a very beautiful woman. Good taste in art. Not very much like her son though.”
“How’s that?”
He smiled in rueful amusement. “Teagan seems like a nice guy. The first time I met Margaret, she asked if I wanted to fly off for a romantic weekend in Iceland together.”
Darcy laughed. Adrian was a very pretty man, and he looked like he was about her age. She could just imagine an older version of Sloane making a sloppy pass at the uptight artist.
“You have a problem with cougars, huh?” she teased him.
“No, it wasn’t that. My fiancée is a few years older than me, in fact. But that fiancée had just introduced me to Margaret, so...” His voice trailed off. “Teagan’s easier to talk to.”
Darcy raised her eyebrows in commiseration. The crowd of women around Teagan certainly seemed to think so too. He hadn’t even looked over at her since she walked off with Adrian. Not that she’d been checking.
“You must go to a lot of these things with them,” Darcy said, grateful for an outsider perspective. She opened her mouth to ask him what Teagan had been like while he was drinking.
She nearly toppled over as a big weight struck her in the back. She stumbled, nearly knocking Adrian’s wine out of his hands as someone dropped an arm around her shoulders.
The big weight resolved into Sloane, dressed in a shortblack dress with outlandishly puffy sleeves. The girl squealed and hugged her, a little champagne sloshing out of her glass.
“Darcy!” she said. “You’re here!”
Darcy got Sloane steadied on her high heels and more gently returned the sentiment.
“But what are youwearing?” Sloane immediately demanded, raking her blue eyes down Darcy’s outfit. “You look like you’re working tonight.”
“Iamworking tonight,” Darcy reminded her. She didn’t need to feel abandoned by Teagan, or underdressed, or like an ignorant rube. She firmly reminded herself that this evening was not about her, or even her and Teagan. She was here to do a job, and she was doing it.
“I know, but it looks like you’re going to clear tables. You should have borrowed something from me. Something with a little sex appeal. Oh my God, do you like Alaïa? You’d look great in Alaïa. I’ll find something in my closet with room for your boobs.”
“I could wear a little vest like a guide dog,” Darcy said in exasperation, gesturing to her shirt. “You could embroider ‘Sober companion, do not pet’ on it.”
Adrian tilted his jaw. “You’re not Teagan’s date?” he asked in surprise, taking the most minute of steps back.
“I mean, sort of,” Darcy said, abruptly flustered. She didn’t want Adrian to get the impression that she’d been hitting on him, because she hadn’t been.
She also didn’t want him to get the impression that Teagan was her date but he’d ditched her. Teagan didn’t have to take care of her. She was here to take care of him.
Sloane turned to Adrian, sizing him up with evident interest.
“Adrian,” Sloane trilled. “I haven’t seen you in forever! You and Nora are both in town? We should all go out for drinks somewhere.” She beamed at the redhead, who continued to edge away. His expression grew wary and hunted.
Darcy smirked at the change in dynamics. Served him right for not saying right off the bat that he’d painted the ugly horse.
Sloane launched into a stream of meaningless small talk with the ease of long practice. She looked like she belonged in this room. Not like Darcy—also not like Teagan, who was still standing ramrod straight in the center of a crowd.
“I want to hear all about your new series,” Sloane said to Adrian, her words just a little thick. Darcy eyed the champagne glass in her hand with concern. “My mother used to buy and sell so much art for the foundation. And if Teagan won’t do it, seems like I ought to, you know? I could buy one of your paintings.”
“Sloane,” Darcy interrupted her. “Should you be drinking?”
Sloane rolled her eyes, briefly tearing them away from Adrian. “It’s fine. I didn’t have a drinking problem. I had a coke problem. If you see me trying to put this stuff up my nose, you can totally stop me then. Anyway,” she turned back to the artist.
“I don’t think it works like that,” Darcy said before Sloane could get started a second time.
“Ugh. Like anyone can make it through this sober,” Sloane said, tilting her face to the ceiling with a martyred expression. “Look at Teagan. Hehatesthese things. He wants to die right now.”
All three of them craned their heads to locate Teagan halfway across the room. He was surrounded by womenranging from sleek socialites his own age to tiny old ladies with white hair and too many diamonds. Nora had a death grip on his bicep, her wine waving in her other hand. Teagan indeed looked like he wanted to disappear. His color was not great, and he had knees locked as Nora tried to keep him engaged in the conversation.
