Page 2 of Close Quarter
Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine." Clipped words. The man stared at the glass in his hand for a moment. Then he set it down on the small table next to the chair. His movements were languid, but his knuckles were white.
Rhys wondered what the drink had been before something creamy had landed in it. It looked like shit now.
The man lifted a margarita glass off his lap and set that next to the other drink. The guy's suit was ruined too.
"I'll pay for it. For it all," Rhys said. He looked at the waiter. "I didn't see you. I... Shit."
Servers with towels descended on them like locusts, pushing Rhys away from the scene. He stepped back and tucked his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. He spied several people with their cell phones out.
Fucking fantastic.He didn't need this. He was supposed to be relaxing, not fucking up someone else's vacation. Not making the news.
Again.
In short order, all the glass was picked up and removed. Towels sopped up much of the spilled alcohol from the tiles. Rhys heard the distinct sound of a cleaning bucket and mop clacking over the floor. In a few minutes, the results of his clumsy inattention would be a memory.
Except for the man he had completely pissed off.
A woman handed that man a towel. He used it to dry his face and blot his lap before he stood. He turned and glared at Rhys.
Oh God.Even with cocktails dripping from his hair, the man was too close to perfection to be real. Beautiful, exquisitely anger. High cheeks, long jaw. Dark hair, brows.
Rhys knew his mouth hung open a little. He took his hands from his pockets, stood straighter.
"Dry cleaning." The words came out as a croak.
"I'll pay."
"I have no need of your money." The man balled up the towel and whipped it at the leather chair. "Use it to buy yourself a brain."
Rhys felt the blood drain from his face. Well, he deserved that.
A moment later, a manager appeared. He ignored Rhys entirely and spoke to the dark-haired man. "Our most profound apologies. We'll take care of your laundry and the tab--"
The man held up a hand. "Yes. Thank you."
There was less anger in his voice now. "This was not Vasil's fault."
The waiter who had been carrying the tray flinched.
Right. Rhys had no desire to ruin yet another person's day. He stepped forward. "It's my fault. I walked right into his tray."
The manager frowned.
Rhys patted his jacket pocket. Thank God the business cards were still there from his last gallery opening. He pulled them out, handed one to the manager. "Whatever compensation you need."
Rhys offered a second card to the dark-haired man. The guy stared at it as if it were a dead fish before he turned and stalked out of the lounge.
Hell.Rhys watched the man's back vanish through the lounge's entrance. "Wait a minute!"
The man didn't even slow down.
Gone. Perfect. Beautiful. Utterly angry, and now gone.
Damn it.He turned back to the lounge manager. "Honestly, I'm sorry. I'm good for it."
The manager raised an eyebrow in that very British fashion and studied the business card. His expression changed. Considerably.
