Page 14 of Air Affair

Hank found himself with a brunette named Sarah. “I work at a flower shop, and everyone says I have very discerning taste!” she yelled to him above the din.

He smiled indulgently. Normally, he would be turning on the charm, but for some reason he wasn’t feeling it this evening. He listened politely and danced politely, and when she said it was time for her to go, he didn’t try to stop her.

“What’s with you?” O’Donnell asked when the brunette he’d been entwined with all evening went to the powder room. “She was cute. You’re not still pining for your heiress, are you?”

“’Course not,” he said quickly, attempting a nonchalant laugh. How could it possibly have anything to do with Rory? That would be ridiculous. “She just didn’t interest me that much.”

“Ha! Sure. You know, there’s a cute blonde over there alone by the bar. Maybe she can take your mind off a certain other blonde who remains nameless?”

With limited enthusiasm, Hank made his way to the buxom blonde by the bar and introduced himself. She had kind, warm brown eyes that made him feel instantly at ease. He asked her for a dance, and she obliged. Then she let him buy her a drink. She told him about her job as a telephone operator, and he listened attentively, wondering why he felt no spark with her. Normally, a girl like her would light him up like a Christmas tree, but if he was being honest with himself, he was going through the motions.

He leaned in and kissed her, willing himself to muster some heat, but the kiss was as tepid as bathwater, at least for him. She seemed enthusiastic enough. He tried to imagine making love to her as he nuzzled her neck and ran his hands up and down her back. It was appealing in theory, but he felt numb, detached. Maybe he’d had too much to drink?

At that moment, the door opened, and in walked a silver-haired man oozing power. This guy had to be a politician or a business executive, someone who was accustomed to bending others to his will with a rakish smile and daunting eyes the color of ice. His perfectly tailored gray suit looked like it cost more than Hank’s annual salary. And on his arm was…

Oh no.

5

The moment Rory walked in, she spotted him. Her pilot. What were the odds? Seeing him draped over some blonde at the bar, something inside her caught and burned wild. Even though it was none of her business. Who was he to her? Just an idle daydream.

The bartender waved at Edward. That was odd. Surely, Edward didn’t know the bartender. Edward didn’t respond, so it must have been a case of mistaken identity. This was definitely not the sort of place Edward usually frequented. For heaven’s sake, there were peanut shells on the floor, and there was a propeller on the wall.

Edward steered her to a table. “They’re all watching us. I like that dress you’re wearing. Very attention catching.”

She gave him a half smile. Yes, she looked good. Her dress was the latest fashion from Paris, made of dusky pink silk with a low square neckline and the merest whisper of transparent fabric hinting at sleeves. The skirt draped like the robes on a Greek statue, asymmetrical folds clinging to her shape. It fell to mid-calf, as short as propriety would allow. A long string of pearls dripped to her waist, and her hair was in a chignon, with ornately beaded ribbon in a band around her head.

Edward looked dapper as usual this evening in his gray, worsted wool suit with a midnight-blue silk tie. To all the world, they looked like a match made in heaven. Only she seemed to care that his eye wandered constantly. He ordered them drinks and an assortment of bar snacks.

She glanced at Hank, who was not looking in her direction at all. Good. That was as it should be.

“Are you all right? You seem a bit distracted,” Edward asked, settling back in his chair.

“Hmm?” she said. “Oh, I’m fine. I thought I saw someone that looked familiar, but I was wrong.”

“Familiar? At a place like this? Not likely,” he said with a laugh.

The sense that he was withholding something grew, but she did her best to ignore it.

Their drinks arrived, and he raised his glass. “To the Belmonts.”

She sighed inwardly. He was toasting her father, not her, but she would take what she could get.

“Well, I can’t argue with that. To me.” She clinked her glass against his and took a sip. Mmm. Thank heavens for Manhattans.

At that moment, a new singer took the stage, an oddly familiar redhead in a gown even more clinging than her own. Edward’s expression suddenly turned into an appreciative leer, and the singer looked straight at him, then glanced at Rory and looked away.

Rory’s stomach lurched. Her nails bit into her palms as something within her clicked. She could see Edward’s hands on the perfectly round red silk-encased buttocks on stage. The singer from the engagement party. The absolute nerve of this man…

“Edward?” she said as lightly as she could manage.

“Hmm?” he said still staring at the stage.

“Edward,” she hissed. He turned at last, blinking rapidly.

“What is she doing here?” she demanded.

He shrugged and took a drink. “What is who doing here?”