“Huh? Oh, sorry.” The woman returned her attention to Nick. “I believe that’s Eric Statler, near the podium,” she said casually.
“Yeah. That’s Eric, all right.”
“You know him?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah.”
“Really?” She continued to study Eric with undisguised hunger. “Is he as smart and hardworking as everyone says?”
“He’s an okay guy,” Nick was forced to admit. It would be so much easier if he could hate Eric, but he couldn’t. His younger, half brother was pretty cool.
The woman continued to wax enthusiastic. “I was just doing some reading about Eric Statler. This one article said he baled his black-sheep brother’s airline out of bankruptcy, took it over, then fired him. Or the brother quit, no one’s sure.”
“The brother quit,” Nick confirmed, gritting his teeth. That wretched magazine story, back to haunt him again. Eric had bought up a majority share in Lone Star Air so that his half brother would be free to fund a new start-up. That was what Nick did best. Lone Star wasn’t, and never had been, near bankruptcy, but the press loved to twist things around, give commonplace events more drama.
“Oh, so then you must know the real story,” she said. “Not that I’m into gossip, but I had a feeling the magazine account wasn’t accurate. Care to enlighten me?”
“Why are you interested?” Nick wanted to know.
“Because I want to discuss business with him. And I’d like to have the facts before I do.”
Nick shook his head. He’d already spent far too much of his life apologizing for his position within the Statler family. He’d vowed not to do it again. He was over that, on to bigger and better things.
“The matter’s confidential,” he said.
“Hmm. Well, in that case, is there any chance you could introduce me to him?”
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, Nick conceded. This woman was gorgeous, but in the last thirty seconds he’d decided she wasn’t his type. Too brassy, too forward. And she was spreading lies about him, to boot, although not intentionally.
“I might be able to arrange an introduction.” Yeah, he’d like to watch his brother handle this hot potato. Women came at Eric by the dozens, with strategies both subtle and obvious. He was curious to see what this one would try.
He held out his arm. “Come with me, Ms. Van Zandt. I’ll take you to meet my brother.”
“Who?”
“My brother. Eric Statler. You told me your name, but I neglected to tell you mine. It’s Nick Raines.”
He enjoyed the look of discomfiture on the pretty blonde’s face. He could read her thoughts. She was torn. Should she apologize for that “black-sheep” business? Or should she recover her dignity as best she could and make her escape?
LIZ WISHED she could sink right into the carpet. She’d stumbled into a golden opportunity—meeting Eric Statler’s half brother—and she’d bungled it. Foot-in-mouth disease was one of her shortcomings. She was bubbly, talkative, not at all shy like Bridget, and she was tops on the invitation list to just about any party, but she had a distinct problem when it came to tact. Sometimes words just came out of her mouth, bypassing her brain entirely.
“I apologize for any hurtful remarks,” she finally said when she’d recovered her composure. “I hadn’t realized who you were, of course, or I might have been more discreet.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been insulted by worse than you,” Nick Raines said easily. “Invitation’s still good. Want to meet Eric?”
Liz swallowed her embarrassment. “Sure, I’d like that.” She took Nick’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her through the crowd. He was a nice-looking man, she conceded, but not her type at all. He had a solemnity to his personality, a shadow in his eyes, that wouldn’t mix well with her fun-loving attitude. She could see him more easily dating someone like Bridget, who could spend hours just reading poetry or studying the play of light and shadow in a tree.
Maybe, once she made friends with Eric, she would get Nick and Bridget together. But right now, she had to focus on her own impending moment of truth. Nick was leading her unerringly toward her target, Oaksboro’s golden boy himself.
Even from several feet away she could feel his charisma. He was undeniably handsome, yes, with his blond, suntanned, clean-cut good looks. Piercing blue eyes, square jaw, broad shoulders, commanding height—clearly no one could argue his physical appeal. But it was more than that. He carried himself with a certain arrogance, yet his smile was friendly, and she could tell that he listened attentively whenever anyone spoke to him.
Her heart beat double time. What was she going to say to him? She’d better have one hell of an opening line or she wouldn’t stand a chance, not when so many of his admirers were attractive female types.
Eric looked up as Nick and Liz approached. “There you are,” he said to Nick. “Mother’s been looking for you.”
“Terrific.” Nick pulled Eric aside to where they could converse semiprivately. “Eric, I’d like you to meet Ms. Van Zandt.”
Liz held out her hand, still trying to come up with that perfect bon mot that would catch and hold this magnificent man’s attention. “It’s Liz,” she said smoothly. And then the words just poured out of her mouth. “My sister is very grateful to you.”
“And why is that?” Eric asked pleasantly, shaking her hand. His hand was strong, his grip firm. He listened to her with that same undivided attention she’d seen him devote to others, and it unnerved her.
“Well, she’s pregnant, and in a way you’re responsible!”
Eric’s smile froze. “Ms. Van Zandt, I don’t take accusations of that nature lightly—”
“Oh, wait, that came out all wrong—”
“One more word, and you’ll be talking to my lawyers, is that clear?”
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded—”
“This conversation is over. I don’t wish to make a scene at a charity event, but I trust I won’t lay eyes on you again this evening.” He turned and strode away.
Liz turned toward Nick, so she could at least explain to him what she’d meant, but the crowd had claimed him, also.
“Foot-in-mouth disease strikes again,” Liz murmured. She skulked away, wondering how she was going to explain her utter, humiliating failure to Bridget.
“TEHRE YOU ARE,” Mrs. Hampton said, limping arthritically toward Bridget, who was doing her best imitation of wallpaper. Again. She just wasn’t any good at parties. “My, such a crowd here. You are having a good time, aren’t you?”
“Well, not as good as Liz,” Bridget couldn’t resist remarking. Her sister really knew how to work a party. She mingled, she chitchatted, she glowed.
“Oh, you know how Liz is,” Mrs. Hampton said, patting Bridget’s hand as she pulled her along. “Come, now, there’s someone else I want you to meet. This one is in the art supply business. Now, promise me you won’t talk shop all night.”
“Promise,” Bridget said. Lord, could this get any worse? She wished brazen Liz would just walk right up to Eric Statler and introduce herself. Then Bridget could consider the night a success and go home.
“Here we are. Bridget Van Zandt, meet Fred Santoro.”
“How do you do, Mr.—”
The pudgy, fiftyish man shook her hand while his gaze focused firmly on her cleavage. “Nice to meet you,