Page 39 of Tuxedos and Tinsel
“Don’t suppose you read Lorianne’s site,” he said when she’d settled in—her sunglasses remaining in place.
“You mean ‘Blind Item’ number five? How could I resist? You had me intrigued.” Reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. It was a printout of Lorianne’s blog.
This A-plus bad-boy former athlete with the fancy name was seen playing the gentleman for a member of one of London’s most established families last night. He walked the lady to the door and didn’t stay the night. Fluke? Or has he washed his hands of his wild ways?
She folded the paper in half again. “Those are some of the lamest clues I’ve ever seen. ‘Fancy name’ for Champagne Lewis? ‘Washed his hands’ for Collier’s Soap? Was this your doing?”
“I wish. Our driver must have given her the tip. Lorianne’s known for her network. He must have texted her after he dropped us off and Lorianne shoved it in her column.” That was the beauty of the internet. In the old days, the public would have had to wait another twenty-four hours for the news item to go public.
“Interesting, don’t you think?” he asked.
“How so?” Susan replied.
“Good afternoon. Glad you could join us.” It was their waiter, returning with Lewis’s sparkling water. “Can I get you anything? A cocktail perhaps?”
“The lady will have a Bloody Mary.” Lewis ignored the way Susan’s head spun around to stare at him.
“A glass of water will be fine,” she told the waiter, in a no-nonsense tone.
“And the Bloody Mary.”
The poor young man looked from Lewis to Susan and back, clearly unsure who he should listen to. “She’ll have water and a Bloody Mary,” Lewis told him. He leaned in so he could lower his voice. “Hair of the dog, Trust me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll be nursing that headache of yours all day.” A drink wouldn’t ease the pain of her throbbing head necessarily, but in his experience, it helped more often than not. “I’m the expert, remember?”
“Fine.” She told the waiter to bring her both. “If alcohol is such a cure-all, why aren’t you having any?” she asked once the waiter had gone.
“Simple. I’m not hungover. Plus, I don’t drink. Anymore,” he added when she opened her mouth.
“You don’t? Since when?”
Since he’d woken up with one too many hangovers and realized what a mess he’d made of his career, that’s when. “Been nearly nine months now.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize.”
“Few people do.” And those who did, didn’t believe it would stick. “I decided last spring it was time to get my act together. Turn over a new leaf, as it were.”
“How’s the new leaf working out for you?”
“There’s been a few bumps.” Like last night. “Turns out being sober is only half the battle. Dealing with the mess you left behind…”
“I’m guessing last night was a bump.”
“For both of us, wouldn’t you say?” He took a sip of water. “Are you going to wear those glasses throughout lunch?” It was impossible to gauge her expression when it was hidden by those big black lenses. “Feel like I’m having lunch with a Russian spy.” Or a woman embarrassed to be with him.
Although her lips pulled into a smirk, she removed the glasses. “Satisfied?” she asked.
Her excess from the night before revealed itself in a pair of dark circles that washed the color from her face. Her eyes’ warm copper center was still visible though. Lewis had wondered if he’d imagined the unusual color. He hadn’t. He hadn’t imagined the intelligence in her eyes either.
“So…” She dropped her gaze, blocking his view once more. “You said you had a business proposition for me.”
“Yes.” Apparently they were going to get right down to business. Lewis could deal with that. “Now that I’ve retired, I’m hoping to get into broadcasting but no one wants to give me so much as a meeting. They’re all afraid to take a risk.”
“No offense, but can you blame them?”
“Maybe once upon a time, but I’m not the same guy I was nine months ago. I’ve grown up, and if they gave me a shot, they would see that I know my stuff. I’d be damned good.”
