“Coldwell. He isn’t here. I thought you said this was his event.”
“It is. He’ll be there. He's probably somewhere in the building screwing a socialite he just met.” Elaina’s tone rang with resentment.
“What’s your deal, sis?”
“None of your damn business,” Elaina said. “Just stay put and do everything mom and I told you to do. Trust me, he’ll show his face. Don’t screw this up, Abby.” Silence echoed on the other end of the line.
Abby stared at the phone slack-jawed as the screen flashed call ended. With a huff, she shoved the phone back into her purse. Obviously, something had gone down between Elaina and the mysterious Damian. Abby knew bitterness when she heard it.
“Is there a man in this state Elaina hasn’t slept with?” She asked herself, but her words were drowned out by a hum of chatter, classical music and laughter. Elaina said to trust her. It was laughable. As if a bone in her sister’s body could be trusted. Elaina had proven time and time again when they were growing up that she had no one’s back but her own.
Minutes ticked by, and her patience grew thinner. How rude of Damian Coldwell to not show up. If she didn’t see him soon and put her plan into motion, she might lose her nerve. “Show up you bastard,” she mumbled, wishing her words would make him appear. They didn’t, though.
Giving up hope, Abby grabbed two flutes of champagne and squeezed through the crowd, aiming for the subdued lighting of the balcony. It was freezing outside, but she needed a few minutes away from the crowd with their cloying perfumes, Botox-stiff expressions and fake smiles. Abby might have grown up as one of the privileged few, but she never did fit in, nor had she ever wanted to.
Stepping onto the balcony, she was hit with a puff of frigid air. “Son of a bitch, it’s cold.”
A low chuckle carried on the wind from the darkest corner. “Then go back inside.”
Abby whirled in the direction of the voice, causing champagne to slosh over the rim of the two glasses. She swore again, jumping back just in time to avoid getting her dress wet.
Another deep chuckle which seemed to wrap around her resonated. It had to be the sexiest laugh she’d ever heard. The mystery man spoke again. “Such colorful language coming from such a pretty lady.”
Abby peered into the darkness. “I’ve never claimed to be a lady, but thanks for the compliment.”
That laugh wound its way around her again and she frowned, confused by her body’s reaction. She didn’t even know what the man looked like. For all she knew, he was another Henry Sullivan, overweight and old enough to be her father. Not that she was shallow enough to be interested in someone based solely on their looks—she didn’t even consider herself to be a great beauty. But, everyone appreciated a decent appearance. Her frown deepened. She couldn’t be interested in some faceless stranger with a silky voice that sent images of erotic nights flitting through her mind. She was at the event for only one reason.
The girly part of her that wanted to have fun kept her rooted on the balcony though. Since Damian was nowhere to be seen, why not entertain herself by conversing with a stranger who hid in the dark like a killer waiting to strike? That last thought gave her pause, and she eyed the door leading back into the ballroom. All thoughts of skedaddling fled when he spoke again.
“Two glasses of champagne at the same time?” he asked, amusement lacing his words. “Does someone have a problem?”
Abby found herself wondering if his smile was as nice as his voice. “Boring night.”
“Boring? With all those beautifully dressed rich folk? Impossible.”
The clear, sarcastic note in his voice made her smile. She liked the guy already. “Yeah, I’ve always found listening to debates about whose yacht is bigger and whose summer vacation cost more to be rather titillating.” Her own words were bloated with sarcasm, and to her pleasure, the mystery man gifted her with the sound of his laughter.
“You’re among the crowd, meaning you must be one of them.”
“Consider me the black sheep of the wealthy. I generally balk at all the grandeur they’re so eager to flaunt. After all, it isn’t like you can take any of it with you.” Abby felt a twinge of grief move through her. Her father had worked tirelessly to make money on top of money—for