sighed. “Where is that waiter?”
For the next half hour, Simon and Elizabeth nursed their drinks and tried to get a little more information out of Alan, but an endless stream of people coming to the table constantly interrupted them. Elizabeth was trying again when a busty redhead appeared behind Alan and tapped him on the shoulder.
No sooner had he turned around in his chair than she threw a drink in his face.
Alan wiped the water away calmly and stood. “Viv—”
“Don’t you Viv me, I've been waitin' six weeks for you to call,” she said in a brassy voice with an intermittent east coast accent.
“Viv.” Alan tried to take her hand, but she yanked it away. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” she said loudly. “What does that mean?”
“I never meant to hurt you, my dear. You must believe—”
The ringing sound of the slap caused the tables nearby to fall into stunned and eager silence. Elizabeth and Simon, both on high alert now, started to rise out of their seats, but without even looking their way, Alan lifted a hand to stop them.
Alan stood his ground calmly and accepted her anger.
Vivian's pique had burned itself out and now she looked around at the staring faces. She threw back her head with as much triumph as she could muster and marched off. Alan kept his place until she was several tables away. Moments later the conversation around them hummed back to life.
Alan sat back down at the table. His joie de vivre tinged with a sad sort of thoughtfulness. He noticed the unasked question in Elizabeth's eyes. Why had he just stood there and taken that?
“She deserved her moment.” He smiled ruefully and took a deep swig from his teacup. “Everyone should have at least one.”
Elizabeth wanted to hug him, but settled for something else. “Mr. Grant? Would you dance with me?”
Alan smiled, buoyed back to life, and was about to accept when he remembered his manners. “Do you mind?” he asked Simon.
“No, of course not.”
Alan stood and held out his hand for Elizabeth.
“Just don’t let her lead,” Simon said as they started toward the crowded dance floor.
Elizabeth just had time to turn back and stick out her tongue at Simon before Alan spun her around and took her into his arms.
The dance floor was so crowded all anyone could really do was sway. Alan Grant did even that with style. Despite it being packed with people, he managed to move them around the floor gracefully. Most of the couples around them were in formal dress - tuxedos and long gowns. There didn't seem to be any special event. Just going out on the town was the event in itself. Modern life seemed a bit flat by comparison.
“So,” Alan said as he spun them out of the way of a man who'd had far too much tea and whose dancing was more like stumbling. “Who are you really?”
Elizabeth tensed and nearly stepped on his toes. “What do you mean?”
“Do you work for him?” Alan asked as lightly and casually as if he were asking if she'd read any good books lately.
“Work for who?”
Alan looked down at her, into her eyes, and gone was the drunken playboy. His blue eyes bore into her, sharp and keen, just for a moment before they softened again. “No. Not you,” he said, maneuvering them deftly across the floor. “Perhaps you're an angel sent to help me. Yes, I think that is who you are.”
“Do you need an angel?”
Alan pulled her closer. “Doesn't everyone?”
~~~
Simon watched Elizabeth and Grant drift in and out of the crowd on the dance floor. Hopefully, she was learning something. It was damned maddening not to have any idea what they were up against. Was there some sort of supernatural creature after him? Was it a woman scorned? Judging from earlier, that was a definite possibility. How could they possibly protect Grant from something they couldn't see coming?
Simon studied the people around him. None of them seemed particularly out of the ordinary, except for Sam Roth. Sitting just a table away, Simon
For the next half hour, Simon and Elizabeth nursed their drinks and tried to get a little more information out of Alan, but an endless stream of people coming to the table constantly interrupted them. Elizabeth was trying again when a busty redhead appeared behind Alan and tapped him on the shoulder.
No sooner had he turned around in his chair than she threw a drink in his face.
Alan wiped the water away calmly and stood. “Viv—”
“Don’t you Viv me, I've been waitin' six weeks for you to call,” she said in a brassy voice with an intermittent east coast accent.
“Viv.” Alan tried to take her hand, but she yanked it away. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” she said loudly. “What does that mean?”
“I never meant to hurt you, my dear. You must believe—”
The ringing sound of the slap caused the tables nearby to fall into stunned and eager silence. Elizabeth and Simon, both on high alert now, started to rise out of their seats, but without even looking their way, Alan lifted a hand to stop them.
Alan stood his ground calmly and accepted her anger.
Vivian's pique had burned itself out and now she looked around at the staring faces. She threw back her head with as much triumph as she could muster and marched off. Alan kept his place until she was several tables away. Moments later the conversation around them hummed back to life.
Alan sat back down at the table. His joie de vivre tinged with a sad sort of thoughtfulness. He noticed the unasked question in Elizabeth's eyes. Why had he just stood there and taken that?
“She deserved her moment.” He smiled ruefully and took a deep swig from his teacup. “Everyone should have at least one.”
Elizabeth wanted to hug him, but settled for something else. “Mr. Grant? Would you dance with me?”
Alan smiled, buoyed back to life, and was about to accept when he remembered his manners. “Do you mind?” he asked Simon.
“No, of course not.”
Alan stood and held out his hand for Elizabeth.
“Just don’t let her lead,” Simon said as they started toward the crowded dance floor.
Elizabeth just had time to turn back and stick out her tongue at Simon before Alan spun her around and took her into his arms.
The dance floor was so crowded all anyone could really do was sway. Alan Grant did even that with style. Despite it being packed with people, he managed to move them around the floor gracefully. Most of the couples around them were in formal dress - tuxedos and long gowns. There didn't seem to be any special event. Just going out on the town was the event in itself. Modern life seemed a bit flat by comparison.
“So,” Alan said as he spun them out of the way of a man who'd had far too much tea and whose dancing was more like stumbling. “Who are you really?”
Elizabeth tensed and nearly stepped on his toes. “What do you mean?”
“Do you work for him?” Alan asked as lightly and casually as if he were asking if she'd read any good books lately.
“Work for who?”
Alan looked down at her, into her eyes, and gone was the drunken playboy. His blue eyes bore into her, sharp and keen, just for a moment before they softened again. “No. Not you,” he said, maneuvering them deftly across the floor. “Perhaps you're an angel sent to help me. Yes, I think that is who you are.”
“Do you need an angel?”
Alan pulled her closer. “Doesn't everyone?”
~~~
Simon watched Elizabeth and Grant drift in and out of the crowd on the dance floor. Hopefully, she was learning something. It was damned maddening not to have any idea what they were up against. Was there some sort of supernatural creature after him? Was it a woman scorned? Judging from earlier, that was a definite possibility. How could they possibly protect Grant from something they couldn't see coming?
Simon studied the people around him. None of them seemed particularly out of the ordinary, except for Sam Roth. Sitting just a table away, Simon
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