Worthington did not even flinch. "There's an animal under the couch!" she squeaked.
"Brenda! Eddie!" T.S. had no choice but to get down on his hands and knees and drag the offender out by the scruff. It was Brenda and she didn't look happy. Her yellow eyes were narrowed to tiny slits and her tail switched ominously back and forth as she regarded Sally St. Claire. "So sorry," T.S. apologized. "I'll just be a minute."
He marched his pet to the back bedroom. Eddie was fast asleep on the bed and T.S. plopped Brenda beside him. "Good work," he whispered to her as he searched beneath the bed for his bedroom slippers. He was stalling for time, hoping to fend off the faint pounding that had returned to his temples.
"Nice bedroom. Big." T.S. whirled around to find that Worthington had followed him down the hall.
"Please. Feel free to look around," T.S. told him sarcastically. But the note of indignation obviously went right by the producer, for he proceeded to do just that, picking up objects on T.S.'s dresser and idly examining the undersides to see who had made them.
"Live alone?" he inquired, his eyes sliding to the open closet door.
"Yes." T.S. sat on the edge of the bed and patted Brenda absently. At the moment, Brenda was his only ally and he'd take any friend he could get. Her tail still switched ominously and her eyes were narrowed. She did not like Worthington any more than his girlfriend.
"Ever married?" Worthington asked. He seemed bored.
"No. How about you?" It was a sore point with T.S.. He had never learned to tolerate the undertones that crept into people's voices when they inevitably asked the infernal question.
"Me? Once was enough. Got taken to the cleaners. I learned my lesson."
His lessons had done nothing for his taste in women, T.S. thought grimly. The producer was giving him the willies. He was too smooth, too calm, too bored. Like a rattlesnake pretending to be asleep. Get to the point, man, T.S. wanted to shout, so I can go back to bed. He wondered vaguely if this had been the plan, to separate him from Sally. Was she robbing his silverware drawer even as he sat there?
"About Lilah," Worthington began carefully, immediately grabbing T.S.'s attention. "She's a very nice woman. Cultured. Refined. But she seems to have a bit of a problem loosening up." He replaced a silver clothes brush on the dresser top and switched to fiddling with the blinds. "I see that a lot in older women. I like watching people. I'm a connoisseur, you might say, of human behavior." He turned suddenly and stared at T.S. "I saw that nothing caught your fancy at last night's party." He watched T.S. intently, searching for a reaction.
"Not my style," T.S. hedged, confident that whether he remembered the party or not, it was an entirely appropriate remark.
"That's what I thought. But I want you to be happy. I really do." Worthington's smile was reptilian: the lips slid back silently and T.S. half expected a small, forked tongue to dart out. "I like my investors to be happy," the producer added.
"If I invest," T.S. pointed out. It was clear that playing hard to get was the way to hook Lance Worthington.
"I feel confident that you'll come on board," the producer replied. "It's just too good an opportunity to pass up." T.S. shrugged and Worthington continued. "Tell you what, I've got a treat in mind for you. Something that I think you'll find very interesting. It was a bit hard to set up, but for you, I made the extra effort." He smiled again and handed T.S. a small envelope that was in his pocket. "Be at this address tonight at nine. If you've got other plans, cancel them. Because I think you'll be very, very pleasantly surprised. Then call me tomorrow morning and we'll talk."
T.S. took the envelope automatically and shook the outstretched hand offered to him by Worthington. He would play along for now, then call Auntie Lil and see what she thought he should do next. He was not in the mood to waste any more time with this sleazy pair. He had a feeling that if he didn't cut off contact with Lance Worthington soon, he'd end up on a suckers list for the rest of his life and spend his retirement years fending off endless schemers searching for a gullible investor.
"Don't worry about seeing us out," Worthington told him smoothly. "I've got another appointment and