Page 39 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

"So, Ms. Fitzpatrick,” he asked. “You work for Cookie?"

"Not exactly. We’ve been friends for years. He's trying to woo me. Wants to parade me around in my own show," she said.

"You're an artist?"

"A sculptor, yes. I teach at Rice."

"Really? What medium?"

"Bronze."

"I understand that's a pretty labor-intensive art form."

"Very. I also work in oils."

"What a coincidence. I do too."

"What’s your style? Realism, abstract, impressionism …"

"Petroleum.”

She palmed her face. "You've been waiting all night to use that line, haven't you?"

"I'll never tell.”

Drinks in hand, they returned downstairs. Miranda and Cookie were debating a canvas the size of a billboard. Dash and Kate delivered their drinks, then slipped away to a quiet bench.

Kate shook her head and made a tsking sound. “Champagne earlier and now Scotch?”

“You think that’s the wrong play?” Dash asked.

“My father says you should never switch horses.”

“Wise man.”

They talked about everything—cocktails, board games, movies, books, and travel. With every laugh, her eyes sparkled. God, she was clever. Hilarious. Comfortable in her own skin. Her smile and charming accent won him over in the first five minutes.

"Want to take a stroll?" Dash asked.

"As long as it's slow. These heels are killing me."

They grabbed fresh drinks then stepped onto the balcony. The lights of downtown sparkled like jewels, as did a flirtatious tension in her eyes. He motioned to two stools near the railing. Side by side, they took in the beautiful Houston skyline for a minute.

Kate stilled. "Do you hear that?"

Dash listened. Soft music drifted from a cluster of potted plants. Probably an outdoor speaker.

Kate’s eyes fell closed. "Now there's a true artist."

"I agree. My mother loved her."

"She's coming to Houston soon, you know," Kate said, swaying.

"Want to go?" he asked.

Her eyes widened. "You have tickets?"

"No. But I can probably score some."