Evelyn remembered the incident vividly because there had been something a little strange about the maid’s appearance. For one thing, she’d worn a really bad wig.
And she’d seemed nervous. She kept glancing over her shoulder until Celeste had let her in.
Evelyn had watched in amazement as the woman came out a few minutes later and headed straight for the elevator. Again, Evelyn’s attention was drawn to the wig. It looked slightly askew, as if she’d pulled it on in a hurry, but the real giveaway was the Boucheron diamond glittering on the woman’s finger. No maid owned a rock like that.
It was obvious to Evelyn that the two women had switched places, but why? And who was the imposter in Suite 3A pretending to be Celeste Fortune?
Where was the real Celeste? Off somewhere romantic and exotic with Owen?
It would be just like that bastard to plan such an elaborate scheme so that he could steal away for a few days with his mistress. And the real kick in the teeth? His devoted wife was probably picking up the tab for the whole affair.
Hands trembling in outrage, Evelyn carefully removed her own wig. Setting it aside, she smoothed back white tufts of hair as she reached for the phone.
CHAPTER FOUR
CASSIE COULD BARELY contain her excitement. Metro was one of the trendiest, not to mention priciest, restaurants in the Montrose-Westheimer area, and from what she’d seen so far, worth every penny.
Easy to say, of course, considering her cousin was picking up the tab.
Dinner at Metro was one of the outings Celeste had arranged, and despite lying awake half the night worrying about the conversations she’d had with Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard and Olivia D’Arby, Cassie had been looking forward all day to finally spending an evening away from the hotel.
The restaurant catered primarily to the arts and theater crowd, and as she gazed around, Cassie still had a hard time believing that she was actually there, seated on the terrace and blending into the bohemian atmosphere as if she truly belonged.
She sighed happily. This was the Houston she’d longed to discover since she’d arrived in town over a week ago. The museums, the bistros and art galleries, the colorful parade of people along the streets. She wanted to be a part of it all.
Oh, my, she thought with a slight shock as she watched a chicly dressed transvestite sashay by in an exquisite pair of Manolo Blahniks. You would not see that in Manville.
You wouldn’t see a lot of things in Cassie’s hometown, which was why she’d been hankering to get out ever since she’d graduated from high school. Her mother had gotten sick, though, during Cassie’s senior year, and she’d stayed home to take care of her and to watch from afar as her cousin had gone off to first Houston, and then Hollywood, to seek fame and fortune.
Cassie hadn’t been jealous. Truly, she hadn’t. She was happy for Sissy’s success. And she didn’t begrudge the time she’d spent caring for her mother. The two of them had been very close, and Cassie still mourned her loss.
But at the same time, she couldn’t help luxuriating in her newfound liberty. Her mother’s death had freed her in more ways than one. It had allowed her to take a long, hard look at her life and to decide once and for all which parts were worth keeping and which ones needed to be tossed away.
Her schoolteacher’s wardrobe had been the first to go.
Danny Cantrell had been the second.
Even now, Cassie felt a prickle of guilt for the way she’d broken things off with him. She should have worked up her courage long before they’d arrived at the church, but it wasn’t like Danny had taken her decision all that hard. Mostly, he’d just been hungover from the night before.
Only after his family had goaded him had he and his friends started harassing Cassie. All of a sudden, she’d had a rash of flat tires and threatening phone calls, and after Earl Cantrell had almost run her down one morning, she knew it was time for a change.
So here she was.
She placed her order with a very cute waiter and contentedly sipped her Grey Goose vodka—thank you, Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard—cocktail as she watched the street. A few minutes later, her attention was distracted by a man seated a few tables over from her. When she glanced in his direction, she caught him staring at her.
Quickly, she averted her gaze, wondering if he was coming on to her.
Maybe he simply found her attractive, she decided. After all, that wasn’t such a stretch, was it? She might not be in her cousin’s league, but she wasn’t exactly a carnival sideshow, either.
And tonight she looked especially stylish, if she did say so herself, in her new Diesel jeans and Juicy Couture T-shirt—also compliments of Celeste. Of course, those jeans were undoubtedly a size or two—or three—larger than her cousin normally wore, but Cassie wouldn’t dwell on that evil. Instead, she glanced down at her feet, admiring the way her pink-polished toenails peeked out of her new Jimmy Choo slides.
A girl could get used to this life, she thought with an inward sigh.
And then in the next instant, as she stole another glance at the stranger, she wondered, Does he think I’m her? Not Celeste Fortune, necessarily, but a woman who could afford five-hundred-dollar shoes and Stella McCartney sunglasses and who knew which vodka to order and which sushi bar to frequent?
Or could he see right through her? Did he know she was a fake?
Cassie couldn’t tell from his expression since he also wore sunglasses, but she knew he was looking at her. He was the kind of man who had always intimidated her a little because he so obviously came from a world she coveted. His hair was very short and very bleached, his dark glasses, ultracool and high tech. He had the look of an artist or a musician or even an actor, someone for whom the bohemian lifestyle was as natural as breathing. And his attitude was that of a man who didn’t give a damn what the rest of the world thought of him.
Cassie was instantly smitten.
And wary. A man like that would undoubtedly be interested in Celeste Fortune, but plain old Cassie Boudreaux? Only when hell froze over.
Still watching her, he slowly removed his sunglasses, and when Cassie saw his blue eyes, a thrill raced up her backbone. She found herself reaching up to take off her own glasses.
And then their gazes met.
Clung.
It was like something from a movie, Cassie thought with another shiver. It was fate. Providence. Very good karma.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she scooped an ice chip from her drink, ran it over her lips and slid it into her mouth.
His gaze on her deepened. And then very deliberately, he ringed the edge of his glass with his fingertip. When his finger dipped inside, a shudder went through Cassie’s whole body.
Oh, my God, she thought in alarm. What was she doing?
* * *
HOLY—
Jack cut himself off and drew a deep breath. Were they doing what he thought they were doing?
So much for an inconspicuous surveillance, but hell, who cared? Celeste Fortune was hot.
And way out of your league, Jackie, he could hear Cher warn him.
Okay, okay, but she was hot. Her hair. Those eyes. Those…lips.
He groaned inwardly when she slid the ice cube into her mouth yet again. If they kept this up, he wouldn’t be walking out of this place with his dignity intact, that was for damn sure. If they kept this up—
A movement on the roof of the building across the street momentarily caught his attention and he glanced up with a frown. Something flashed in the deepening shadows, like light bouncing