He had no idea, like he hadn’t known what had driven him to ask her out on a second date to begin with. He was all reaction when it came to her.
It was best he hadn’t caught her, he supposed. “Nah. It may not have even been the woman I’m thinking of,” he lied.
“Maybe you’ll see her again. It’s a small world, you know.” Aunt Belle patted his arm.
The burst of pleasure at that thought was way out of proportion, but he embraced it.
“Tina gave you your agenda, right?” Aunt Belle fell into step beside him as they walked back the way they’d come.
“She did, yes.” Samson wasn’t sure he was going to be able to sleep tonight, which was a problem. He had a full day tomorrow. He’d told Matchmaker to utilize him as much as possible, which meant leveraging whatever infamy or fame he had attached to his name to promote Matchmaker. This was a big conference, covered by a good amount of media.
So big, he didn’t understand why Aunt Belle had pushed herself to even attend, let alone commit to so many things. Perhaps because Jennifer had usually handled all this stuff? But Jennifer and Annabelle had taken care of two very different sides of Matchmaker’s business.
“William said you have an interview tomorrow, right? Do you think you’ll be well enough for that?” He didn’t judge her for not getting up on that stage, but he did worry she might have set herself up for more anxiety than she needed.
“Oh, I’m sure I will.” Belle waved his concern away, a slight blush telling him she didn’t want to talk about her anxieties. “Is there anything else you need?” She dropped her voice. “Has anyone been mean to you about your past?”
He patted her back and pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “No, Aunt Belle. Everyone’s been really nice so far. I’m good.”
Annabelle’s nose wrinkled before she lowered her veil. “You return to the party if you truly want to, but I’m retiring for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m so proud of you, darling. Thank you for all your help.”
Warmth spread through his chest. He accepted a hug and kiss from Annabelle and watched her walk away before he turned to head back to the ballroom, a smile pasted on his face. No one would be able to guess how fake it was.
He was here for a reason. He had a purpose. And it had nothing to do with the beautiful, furious woman who had run from him. Again.
Chapter Three
HE’D SMILED at her.
That motherfucker.
Rhiannon fought the urge to curl her lip, for fear that the makeup artist might think it was directed at her. The poor girl didn’t deserve snarling, especially when she was working so hard to disguise the dark under-eye circles that were a testament to how little Rhiannon had slept the night before, tossing and turning in her posh hotel’s luxury bedding.
Lakshmi appeared at her elbow. Today, Rhiannon’s tall and sturdy assistant was bright and cheerful in a yellow crop top and high-waisted black pants with rainbow suspenders. Her black hair was swept up to the side, revealing an undercut that was dyed purple and dotted with glitter in the shape of a star. Her brown skin glowed with good health and the effects of her daily ten-step skin care regimen.
They were in a different hotel from the one Rhiannon had been in last night, in a small room near the ballroom and the stage where Rhiannon and Annabelle would be interviewed live in front of a huge audience of CREATE conferencegoers. Tech people bustled right outside the door.
“Do you need another coffee?”
Since Lakshmi considered fetching drinks way below her pay grade, Rhiannon figured she must really look a mess. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
Lakshmi waited for the makeup artist to finish and leave the room and then used two fingers to swivel Rhiannon’s face toward her. She critically examined the makeup job, then reached for the blending sponge. Rhiannon waited patiently while Lakshmi redid her face with slightly darker foundation and powder. Lakshmi understood makeup and hair far better than most artists, especially when it came to brown and black skin, and Rhiannon trusted her implicitly to make her look her best. “How was the party?” Lakshmi asked.
“Fine.”
“I heard Annabelle didn’t speak.”
“No, she was ill.” Rhiannon studiously avoided thinking about who had come out on the stage. Or how he’d smiled at her, like he was thrilled to