Free The Groaning Board by Annette Meyers Page B

sharp blue
eyes—was disturbing. His eyes caught hers again and held for a long instant,
until Wetzon pulled away, unsettled. She’d felt the caress although he’d never
moved his hands. Jesus, she thought, I’m over my head here.
    “Do you like olives?” His voice was
husky with innuendo.
    “What?” She felt her cheeks go hot.
    “Olives,” he said, offering her one
from his martini.
    “Oh.” She shook her head. “I love
olives, but not the ginned ones.” He was freshly shaven, she saw, close and
clean. No shadows, like Silvestri. She wondered how old he was. Early to
mid-fifties perhaps. Senior partner. He wore a spicy scent that made her dizzy.
Or was it the beer? She pushed away her half-empty glass.
    “It’s funny what a small world it
is,” Veeder said.
    “What do you mean?” Could he see the
thumping pulse in her throat? She tugged at her scarf. It was choking her.
    “One of my clients mentioned you the
other day.”
    “Really? Who?”
    “Hem Barron.”
    Hem Barron, she thought. Wouldn’t you
know? She said, I met him briefly a couple of weeks ago, with a friend.” She
caught herself frowning and realized all at once she was taking this too
seriously; she’d forgotten how to flirt. Or maybe she d never ever known. Lighten
up, Leslie, she told herself. She took a swallow of beer and smiled at
Veeder. You have the upper hand here, lady. Keep it that way.
    Yes, Hem was a little concerned that
you might say something premature about the offering—”
    Oh,” she said, not hiding her
disappointment, “is that "'hat this mysterious drink is all about?” She
looked out at 116 City. The vanishing rays of sunlight were yellow arrows 0ri the
glass and steel buildings.
    “No,” Veeder said. “Not at all. Just
coincidence, really. It’s something I’ve wanted to do since...“ He watched her
with a terrifying self-assurance as Wetzon flashed automatically back to the
Christmas party not six months earlier. Smith had dragged her to his law
firm—to see the annual tree-lighting ceremony at Rockefeller Plaza.
    When Veeder had observed she didn’t
drink champagne, he’d taken her to his office for a special single-malt scotch.
They’d watched the tree lighting from his window. Disarmed by the moment,
Wetzon’s defenses were almost breached by the sexuality of the man as he stood
so close to her they might have been lovers. That word again.
    She shook her head to block the
memory. Outside, shim-mery lights in all the surrounding buildings made the
City seem surreal. She looked at Bill Veeder. “No,” she said, making the leap.
    “Why not?” The blue eyes didn’t
blink. He knew exactly what she was referring to.
    “I’m in a relationship...“ The words
came out so lukewarm, it staggered her. She looked down at her fingers worrying
the paper napkin to shreds.
    “I have a wife.” His hand reached
across the table suddenly, fingers touching her breast. “Your button is open,”
he said. He buttoned the blouse for her while she held her breath.
    “Bill, how nice to see you again.” A
woman’s voice, behind Wetzon.
    Veeder rose to his feet to shake
hands with the woman and her companion, whom he greeted with “How’s it
going-Rog? We really have to get together on that Garelick-Weis-man merger.”
    “I’ll call you,” Rog said. He looked
down at Wetzon with what seemed a knowing grin. “Aren’t you going to introduce
us?”
    Wetzon felt herself shrinking into
her seat. What she wanted most was to be out of there, never to have been there
at all.
    “Forgive me,” Veeder said smoothly.
“Of course—”
    He doesn’t want to introduce me,
Wetzon thought, choking back a nervous giggle.
    “I’d like you to meet two of my
colleagues, Leslie. Roger Asher and—”
    A wave of nausea hit Wetzon.
    “Leslie and I already know each
other, don’t we?” Rita Silvestri said.

Chapter Seventeen

     
     
     
    “H ow DO YOU KNOW RlTA SlLVESTRI?” VEEDER DEMANDED after Rita and Rog had