“I haven’t decided yet.” She turned back to Trent with a polite smile that had all the warmth of a closed door. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
Trent looked at Isaac, looked at her, and did the math he was capable of doing, which wasn’t much. “Yeah. Sure. No problem. Have a good night.”
He wandered off toward a cluster of guys near the auction tables. Isaac watched him go, then turned back to the woman. She was already watching him, those gray eyes steady and unimpressed.
“Smooth,” she said.
“I have my moments.”
“Does that work on everyone, or just guys like him?”
“Guys like him are easy. They don’t want a confrontation any more than you did.”
Something shifted in her expression. A flicker of reassessment, quick and gone. “I wasn’t avoiding a confrontation.”
“No?”
“I was avoiding a scene. There’s a difference.”
Isaac almost asked why the distinction mattered. He didn’t. Instead, he held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
She looked at his hand, then at the dance floor where a few couples were swaying to something slow, and back at him. “You don’t even know my name.”
“You don’t know mine, either.”
“That’s true.” She took his hand. “Fallon.”
“Isaac.”
He led her into a simple frame amongst the other couples—his right hand settling against her waist, her left hand landing on his shoulder. She was lighter than he’d expected. Small-boned, fine-featured up close—black hair pulled up, a few loose pieces against her neck, high cheekbones above a jaw that came to a point. Nothing soft about her face.
Her dress was simple. Dark. No jewelry except a thin chain that caught the light when she moved. She looked like she’d walked in from a different party—one that didn’t require trying as hard as most of the people in here were doing.
She found the rhythm immediately and matched him without effort.
“So,” he said. “Are you actually here alone, or is someone about to come hunt me down and pull the same move?”
A half smile pulled at her mouth. “I’m here alone. Working, technically.”
“Yeah? What sort of work?”
“Scoping out for an event. I’m supposed to be taking notes on the layout and the lighting.”
“And instead, you’re dancing with a stranger.”
“The lighting is terrible and the layout is predictable. My client will hate it.” Fallon glanced around. “How about you?”
“Working, too.”
“In a tuxedo.”
“The tuxedo is part of the job.”
That almost earned a real reaction. Her mouth moved—not quite a smile, but close. “Must be a good job. What do you do?”
“Tonight? Mostly stand by a pillar and wait for someone to show up late.”
She held his gaze for a beat. He watched her register the deflection, weigh whether to push, and decide not to. “Fair enough.”
