The brunette eased onto the adjacent seat.
“You don’t remember me, but I was at the Speed-Pro company party the other
night.”
“I remember.” Derian had a good memory for
faces, and she’d noticed the brunette in a low-cut black dress that had
showcased her killer body. She remembered the burly older man whose arm she’d
clung to as well.
“I don’t recall seeing you with anyone.” The
brunette’s voice was a low, smoky purr.
“I’m not here with anyone.”
“Neither am I.” At Derian’s slightly raised
brow, she laughed. “Oh, I am married, but my husband prefers to spend his time
at the tables. We have an understanding, in case something like that matters to
you.”
Derian savored her scotch. “I appreciate you
telling me. It makes things easier, but I’m not looking for company.”
“Everyone’s looking for company of one sort
or another.” The brunette signaled the bartender and he placed another martini
in front of her. “Whether we know it or not.”
“You might be right,” Derian said. “I should
have said I’m not looking for anyone’s company but one particular woman’s.”
“I see. Someone special.”
Derian turned the glass in her hands, Emily’s
face all she could see. “Very.”
“Well, how about another kind of company,
then. For a little while.”
“I’m Derian Winfield,” Derian said, offering
her hand.
“Veronica Riley.”
“Nice to meet you, Veronica.”
They shared another drink, and Derian offered
to see Veronica back to her hotel.
“That’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine.”
“Thanks for the company, then.”
Veronica smiled and Derian walked away. As
the cab brought her back to her hotel through the dark, quiet streets an hour
before dawn, the restless unease of the last few weeks settled between her
shoulder blades with an insistent throb. She’d done what she’d come here to do.
Her business was finished, and what remained held no promise of pleasure. Time
stretched out before her like a prison sentence, but she didn’t have to accept
the verdict. Maybe she’d left this life behind before she’d even returned. She
just hadn’t known it.
When she walked into her suite, the red light
on her phone was blinking and she pushed the button for her messages. Emily’s
voice stopped time—stopped everything as Derian concentrated on the lift and
fall of her voice, shuddered as warmth coursed through her. She steadied
herself with a hand on the back of the sofa. What had she said? The words
hadn’t registered. Derian played the message again, and then again just to hear
her voice. Emily was thanking her for being so kind, so helpful? That was all
Emily had heard?