Page 69 of Meet Me on Greenwood

"Two left feet, my dear," she said, not unkindly, studying me with her head tilted. Then she clapped once, sharp and decisive. "We switch to the slow drag. Everyone find a partner."

I looked around for Rita and found empty space where she'd been standing a moment ago, likely already swept off, partnered with someone in a part of the room I couldn't see. I stood there a second too long, exposed in the middle of a room full of people who all seemed to know exactly where they belonged and who they belonged with. I didn't.

As I moved to the edge of the room, the couples around me began to partner up, and the instructor grabbed my hand and lifted it up.

"We have an unpartnered woman. Will anyone dance with her?"

I felt the heat rise in my face and opened my mouth to tell her it was perfectly fine, that I didn't need—

Someone stepped up behind me.

"I'll dance with her."

I turned.

A pair of familiar blue eyes looked back at me, warm and unhurried, as if he had been looking for me since the moment I walked in, and had simply been waiting for the right moment to say so.

Houston.

26

Houston

Not a Friend of Ragtime

"Do you want to go somewhere more private," the woman beside me whispered in my ear. I’d already forgotten her name twice, but I gave her a kind smile. Truthfully, I was ready to leave. It was getting late and I needed to get things sorted at home. My thoughts wandered, thinking of a way to politely extricate myself from Larry and his banking friends.

The only person of interest at the table was a man named Stradford. J.B. Stradford owned the hotel on Greenwood and boasted with pride about the upscale amenities, including a luxury spa and the French cuisine he planned to serve. He'd spent the better part of the evening talking about his next ambition, hosting a ball with mixed company and mixed tables—the kind of evening where the only thing that mattered was having money to spend. I recognized it as the same ball Gema had mentioned.

"Just like this place," he said, spreading his hands, "but high society. The best of everything. Music, food, the finest people Tulsa has to offer."

"Finest people," one of Larry's men repeated, swirling his glass. "You mean your people will be in attendance."

"I mean everyone," Stradford said evenly. The way he held his composure was admirable, like he was a man who wasn’t easily rattled.

"Our wives will never go for it," another said.

"Some will," Stradford replied. "I guarantee, after they experience my hotel they will never want to leave."

The table shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't see why you'd want to mix it," the first man said, and then he said something else, something lower, the kind of thing men say when they think they hold all the power in the room. The woman beside me flinched. It was slight, but I noticed.

I felt the back of my own neck tighten.

Stradford looked at the man for a long moment without changing his expression. "Because I can," he said simply. Then he picked up his cards and revealed a straight flush.

I liked him, I realized. I smirked as he began to pull the pile of chips toward him.

The man who’d made the comment cursed, throwing his cards angrily on the table revealing a meager pair of Jacks.

Larry clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. "Another round. Houston, your turn to deal."

I reached for my cards, but my eyes moved across the room and that is that was when I saw her, a flash of red turning away. Rita was at her heels as they disappeared into the crowd before I could be certain, but I was. I'd have known Gema in any room.

I stood so abruptly, I knocked my poker chips off the table.

"Did you see someone you liked?" Larry guffawed, slapping the table. The men around him laughed. The girl beside me looked up with an expression that said she was trying very hard not to be disappointed.