“She’ll be here any minute.” Prissy smiled, and Clay felt the heat at the back of his neck.
“I was looking for Flex.”
“Sure, you were. Why don’t you just admit it? For once in your life, you’re hooked.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Prissy. Ellie and I are about as well-suited as a maiden aunt and a pimp.”
“Have it your way. Looks to me like she’s getting over you just fine. She certainly doesn’t seem to be hurting for attention.”
Shep strolled up beside them. “Who’s hurting for attention?” Champagne glass in hand, silver hair gleaming above his tailored black evening clothes, Shep glanced around the room. “I’m the only one hurting around here. And I never did get the attention I deserved.”
Prissy laughed. Turning Shep’s face with her hand, she inspected the fading bruises, now a purplish gray. “Poor Shep.”
“Poor Shep is right.” Then he spotted Martin Saperstein, one of Avery’s entourage, talking to a handsome black-haired man in his late twenties. When the young man caught Shep’s interested look, he smiled back so warmly there was no mistaking the invitation. Shep grinned. “Maybe poor Shep will have a change of luck.”
Shep excused himself and so did Prissy.
Then Flex walked in.
“I’m glad you came,” Clay said, extending a hand.
Flex accepted it with a smile. “I’m glad you invited me. Nice party. Your father’s idea or yours?”
“Mine.”
“Listen, Clay, I’m sorry about what happened. I shouldn’t have hit you, but you have to admit you deserved it.”
Clay grinned. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“She seems to be picking up the pieces.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“You could have let her down a little easier.”
“If I could have, I would have.”
“Which means?”
“Which means it wasn’t easy for me, either.”
Flex’s eyes widened and opened his mouth to speak. Clay stopped him with a warning glance.
“Sorry,” Flex said. He glanced around. “I wonder where she is?”
As if on cue, Ellie swept through the door on Darren McKittrick’s arm. He was smiling at her, totally entranced, and Ellie was smiling back. This time it didn’t appear to be an act, and Clay was suddenly furious.
“Like I said, she seems to be on the mend.”
“So I see.” Without a farewell, Clay left Flex and followed McKittrick and Ellie into the main salon. Heading for the bar, he ordered a Glenfiddich on the rocks, but his eyes never left Ellie.
“Great party, eh, son?” Avery walked up beside him, the blonde still clinging to his arm. Though his father was twenty-six years Clay’s senior, dressed in a black tuxedo, as Clay was, the resemblance between them was striking.
“I think they’re all enjoying themselves.”
“There’s your little redhead.” His dad pointed rudely in Ellie’s direction. “For once in my life, I was wrong. Get her all decked out, she’s a real looker.”
It figured his father would change his opinion as soon as Ellie began to fit in with the rest of the social elite. Tonight, she wore a floor-length designer gown of emerald crepe de chine. There was little trim, just two narrow rhinestone straps that went over her bare shoulders, and a small self-bow in front that subtly emphasized the soft white mounds of her breasts.
