In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,6

Cooper threw out.

I shot him a look that should have melted the skin from his skull. At six feet, I was nowhere near short, except in comparison to him and the rest of the giants.

“Or puny?” Locryn offered. “You sure he didn’t say puny?”

Barnes got the same death glare.

Rais’s chuckle was low and warm. “Nope.”

“He had to have said albino,” Shaw teased me, his whiskey-rough voice soothing me even though he was being a dick.

“I’m not—it’s platinum blond, Shaw,” I told him for easily the billionth time. “It’s an actual permutation of blond.”

“Big word for so early in the morning,” Nash informed me, his grin wide.

I really didn’t want to get into yet another hair color discussion with her, so I deflected. “That’s because you only know the frat boys, and I’m not one of them.”

“No, it’s definitely your hair. Do you know how much some women pay to get, and keep, their hair that color? Has anyone ever told you, you look like a GQ model?”

The sigh, if I’d allowed it to escape, would have been eloquent. Thankfully, she was on a roll.

“And not that there’s anything wrong with Brig’s other friends, mind you,” she apprised me, as though worried someone might overhear her speaking ill of them. “I was in a sorority, after all, so I’m not casting aspersions on Greek life, but his friends are just a bit loud and boorish.”

“But all captains of industry,” I volleyed back.

“Working for their fathers,” she added snidely, eyes flicking sideways to me, her grin sly.

I scoffed. “But not Chase, right?”

“Yes,” she said, and I heard it, the sudden freeze in her tone, and all the teasing was gone. “Chase Baldwin. He went out on his own, refused to work for his father at the investment firm. He became a lawyer instead, and now, at thirty-one, he’s made partner.”

I was betting, in spite of her defense, that his family’s business, as well as those of their friends, had helped him on the express track. No one made partner at a law firm that young, not unless they were bringing some serious money, in the form of prestigious clients, to the table.

“Well, good for him,” I announced, grinning at her, offering her my hand. “And my name’s Croy Esca, by the way.”

“Oh my goodness,” she gasped, taking my hand in both of hers, laughing. “I’m such a spaz today. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right; it’s still early where we’re from, and we were both at the airport before sunrise.”

“I still didn’t—what you must think,” she groaned. “I’m Astor, Astor Finnel.”

I couldn’t help but smile, because really, she was a charming person. She seemed fun, didn’t take herself too seriously, and by all appearances, was laid-back and down to earth. I had not expected that when I read the file.

Astor had a degree in the history of art and architecture from Brown University, was a socialite who sat on the board of directors of several charities, and she lived lavishly on her trust fund. Her parents wanted her to marry; she wanted to see the world. She met Brigham in Barcelona, and they’d been together ever since. It must be nice for him to know that his money was of no interest to her since she had millions of her own. Brig Stanton won big when he snared her.

The elevator dinged, finally, and the doors opened into the foyer of the four-thousand-square-foot suite overlooking the Las Vegas Strip. If the day had not been so overcast and gray, I was certain the view from the arched windows that bracketed the fireplace would have been even more impressive, especially when night fell and the neon glow of the city cast its spell.

“Look, it’s Ass.” Someone drawled out the first syllable of her name, and when Astor did a slow pan to me, I gave her a wink.

“Courage, dear heart,” I whispered, and she gave me a nod, recognizing and appreciating that I was quoting C.S. Lewis for her.

When the man called her name again, she turned from me at the same time that he rushed across the room, arms open wide to receive her.

There were no pictures in the file; there never were. Jared didn’t like us to make snap judgments about people based on their appearance. The thing was, though, when people were rich or famous, all it took was an image search in Google to get what you needed.

This was not Brigham Stanton.

Nolan Stanton looked a bit like his brother, but whereas