Page 38 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

A parking attendant waved him around a limo and motioned over to the curb. Dash parked and turned to Miranda.

"You promised Cecil you'd behave tonight."

"You promised Cecil. I promised nothing." She checked her lipstick in the visor mirror.

Dash tossed his key fob to the attendant and ushered her inside. The restored warehouse buzzed with wealthy Houstonians. Bright white walls and ebony wood floors highlighted pop-culture inspired works by the latest and greatest Houston unknown.

"How 'bout that one?" Dash pointed to an enormous canvas closest to the entry, a violent collection of angry colors.

Miranda wrinkled her nose. "That's vile."

"But I bet the price is right. I can have it loaded in two seconds, and we can be on our way. The valet hasn’t even moved my car."

Miranda snatched two champagne flutes off a passing tray. "You're not getting off that easy. You're mine, remember? Cecil won you fair and square. Now smile and mingle."

Arm in arm, they strolled through the main floor, stopping every few feet to critique various works or tolerate small talk. After an hour of the same conversations, Dash’s social tank hit empty. He preferred acquiring art ninja-style—find something obscure in a far-flung shop, buy it, and leave. No schmoozing necessary.

"Gallery owner headed this way," Miranda whispered.

Dash spotted a figure wearing all black, head to toe. He walked toward them with deliberate steps, but it was the woman beside him who stole Dash's breath. Tall, elegant, legs for days, and an emerald-green dress hugging every curve.

"Miranda, darling … " the man kissed Miranda’s hand.

"Cookie, you've outdone yourself. Nestor Rubin’s work is divine," Miranda raved.

The man’s eyes slid to Dash. "And who is this tall, dark, and handsome creature? He’s far too young to be Cecil."

Miranda tweaked Dash’s tie. "This is my cabana boy. Cleans up well, doesn't he?"

Dash didn’t even register the jab, so taken with the beautiful woman in green. Miranda elbowed him, and he jumped to attention, offering his hand.

"Dash Benning." Dash extended his hand to the gallery owner.

The man scanned him a second time. "I’ve heard of you. I’m Cookie Lehman."

Miranda gestured toward the woman. “And this vision?”

Kate extended her hand. “I’m Kate Fitzpatrick.”

Dash shook her hand. “Pleasure. And this is my mother, Miranda Everett.”

"Your what?" Miranda shot him a look.

Dash put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a playful squeeze. "I'm sorry … lover, I meant to say lover.”

The foursome fell into easy conversation. Dash's gaze held fast to Kate. Her green eyes, strawberry blond locks, and her wicked wit. She matched Cookie quip for quip yet spoke about art with grounded intelligence. Each time he glanced at her, he found her looking back.

Well, well…

"Ladies, you look about a quart low." Dash took Miranda’s empty flute then turned toward Kate. "What are you drinking?"

“French 75. But I can get it."

Cookie tapped her backside. “Be a love and bring Daddy a Cosmo?”

She rolled her eyes at Dash. "Of course. Whatever Daddy wants."

Dash followed her up to the bar on the second floor.