After the Climb (River Rain #1) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,33

I thought making a big deal about it and pressing explanations on my son, when it was not a big deal at all, and would soon be easily explained away when I could get home and resume normal programming, was not a good idea.

Thus, I let it be.

The third reason was that I had a variety of wardrobe changes, and for some reason I could not even begin to understand, because this was not a big deal at all, I’d changed clothes to go to dinner with Trisha and Scott.

An outfit that Chloe brought over a couple of weeks ago.

Slightly faded dark-gray jeans. Slim black belt. Shiny, silky, blousy off-black top cut low. Stretchy black tank under it. And sexy red pumps that gave some serious toe cleavage.

I’d had a stylist, who Chloe fired, saying, ‘The woman dresses you like you’re Betty White. You’re fifty-two, not one hundred and two.” And although this was not entirely true, including the fact Betty White was not that old (though she was close), it wasn’t entirely false either.

Now Chloe was my stylist. And after self-appointing this role, she’d dumped half my closet (and by that I meant she auctioned it off for charity), declared my look was “edgy elegance” and then she proceeded to fill my closet with that.

I had to admit, since she took over, I’d made a lot of best dressed lists.

And wearing the clothes she selected for me, I felt like I’d somehow come back to myself.

But this was an issue now.

Because instead of looking like this was casual and it didn’t mean anything to me, and thus I showed at drinks in the same outfit I’d been in at lunch, it looked like I’d made an effort.

Or I was up myself and I couldn’t take Hollywood out of Prescott, which would be totally up myself.

I had a defense.

Mary had not packed a single thing that did not scream “Edgy Elegance!”

In fact, the only non-heeled shoes I currently had access to were the slides I’d packed myself.

But I could have worn those slides with this outfit.

Or I could have not changed at all.

And I did not do either.

The next reason this was not a good idea was that it was not lost on me that picture had made the rounds, and now there we’d be, at a public bar, Duncan and me.

If anyone took another snap, and it was a good possibility they would, it’d be a fan to a flame.

However, I felt it was less of a good idea to ask him to come up to my suite to chat.

No.

After the knee brush at lunch, I knew that was a very, very bad idea.

The last reason this was not a good idea was that I’d asked for this meeting with Duncan at all.

We did not need closure.

We’d had closure.

Twenty-eight years of it.

But did that stop me from asking Mary to get me his cell phone number?

No.

What was I doing?

“Genny.”

I turned on my stool and looked up at Duncan.

And I didn’t miss the casual plaid shirt he’d been wearing with faded jeans at lunch was gone and a nice button down with dark-wash jeans had taken its place.

He looked really, really good.

Oh hell.

We weren’t going for closure.

We were both behaving like we were on a date.

“Duncan,” I greeted.

He looked to the barkeep, who was coming our way, but he was unable to order.

Our attention was taken by a beautiful, impeccably dressed African American woman who was now at our sides.

Damn.

A fan.

“Ms. Swan, Mr. Holloway, I’m Sienna Sinclair.”

Not a fan.

Or maybe still a fan.

But also the owner of the hotel.

“If you’d like to follow me, I think it’ll be more comfortable for you to be seated in our brand-new VIP area,” she finished.

Her gaze then slid to the side, and I twisted to look over my shoulder to see a rather cozy corner booth recessed in an alcove in the back, in front of which two members of staff were erecting an attractive, freestanding folding screen.

“If you’ll give me your order, Mr. Holloway, I’ll have it brought to your table,” she said.

That cozy booth looked cozy.

But the way they were positioning that screen, someone would have to be very intent on getting a picture of us around it.

And it was much better than speaking with Duncan in my suite.

I grabbed my drink and slid off my stool.

Duncan ordered something that sounded like it was beer.

I expressed my thanks to Ms. Sinclair, who inclined her head before she led the way, and