The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,58

she said. “None of us wants it ruined by some stupid rumor.”

I was confused. “What rumor?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s going around that there was something between Mark and Eliza Compton. The blogs are all over it, talk radio too. Probably that little photographer creep we ran off.”

Dylan. Of course.

Trey kept his eyes on his yellow pad. “Is there evidence?”

“Of course not. What evidence could they have for something that doesn’t exist?”

“Evidence can be misinterpreted.”

“Then it’s not evidence,” Marisa continued, “it’s nonsense, and if Mark takes the energy to deny it, he’ll just look defensive.”

“I still don’t understand why I have to be there this weekend.”

“I want you there because Mark wants you there, so you will be there. Period. Cocktails start at six, dinner at seven-thirty.”

Trey exhaled loudly. Marisa ignored the huff, dropped a file folder on his desk. “Black-tie. I know you’ve got a tux.”

“I do not.”

“So get one, now. Put it on your expense account.” Marisa indicated me with a nod. “Take her with you.”

This caught me off guard. “But Janie—”

“We’ll see that she gets back to her hotel, don’t worry. You stay with Trey.”

She glared at me as she said this. I remembered Simpson’s words: they want to control you. Setting me up with the resident Boy Scout probably seemed a great way to do it. I didn’t argue. Trey was a maze of rules, but I was beginning to get the hang of how they bent. And bend they did.

Trey stared after her, tap-tapping his pen on the edge of the desk as her heels click-clacked down the hall. His expression was blank, but the little wrinkle between his eyes was fast becoming a furrow.

I perched myself on the edge of his desk. “So tell me, where does one go to get a tux in this town?”

He slid the folder into a drawer. “Gabriella’s.”

I stifled a grin. The woman in the photograph Charley had confiscated from Trey’s office, the stunning redhead at his side during the Mardi Gras ball. In Marisa’s efforts to keep me out of the thick of things, she’d thrown me right into the briar patch.

I leaned over and rubbed the spot on Trey’s forehead. He looked puzzled, but he let me do it.

“Stop worrying, Mr. Seaver. Otherwise we’re gonna have to Botox you.”

Chapter 30

Gabriella’s Day Spa and Boutique lay behind Lenox Square Mall, not three blocks from Trey’s condo and within walking distance of the Ritz. It was hardly impressive from the parking lot, especially in the monochromatic gray drizzle, and there was a closed sign on the door. Trey ignored it. I followed suit.

Inside was a surprise. Small but lavish, it smelled of sandalwood incense and beeswax candles. We stood in the boutique area, surrounded by tiny cocktail dresses and pointy-toed heels on marble columns. The spa area lay to the right, through an arched doorway. I heard female voices beyond it, saw some votives shimmering around a soft gold loveseat.

A woman stuck her head around the corner. Her red hair was piled on her head in careless ringlets, and she had enormous green eyes, round like a cat’s.

“Trey!” she exclaimed.

She hurried over, and I noticed that even though she wore white pants and a matching baby tee, her feet were bare. She took his hands in hers, and he let her do it, even let her press a kiss to his cheek, but his face registered no emotion at the contact. She, however, looked positively enraptured.

“You must be Gabriella,” I said.

“And you must be Tai. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her voice carried the vowels of someplace European. France, I decided. I slid a look at Trey, but he was examining this red dress, running one finger along the beaded neckline.

“I need a tuxedo for Friday night,” he said.

“So I’ll see you at the reception after all.” She took his arm. “Don’t pout. Come on back and we’ll double-check your measurements. It looks like you’ve been overworking your deltoids again.”

“It’s the Krav.”

Then they disappeared behind this burgundy curtain, leaving me alone. I examined the red dress that had caught Trey’s eye. It was gorgeous, all right, a glittering length of red beading and tiny sequins with a thigh-high slit like a bolt of lightning. I fingered the price tag, whistled under my breath.

I could hear the two of them talking behind the curtain, but I couldn’t catch what they were saying, so I moved closer. It wasn’t eavesdropping, per se, just paying attention to a conversation of which