Page 40 of Velvet Vaughn

They went up the steps and through the brass doors. The Khorassan Ballroom opened before them. It was a wide, luminous hall with coffered ceilings and crystal chandeliers throwing warm gold across a room full of people who wore it well. The string quartet was playing something neither too festive nor too somber near the far windows. Waitstaff moved efficiently, and everywhere Leo gazed, someone he recognized was holding a champagne flute and having an important conversation about nothing.

He’d worked rooms like this for six years. Tonight it looked different, and he couldn’t entirely blame the lighting.

Anja’s hand rested in the crook of his arm with a relaxed, natural ease that would’ve read, to anyone paying attention, that she was comfortable beside him. He was aware of her against him, of the dark blue of her dress against the surrounding sea of black and silver, and more specifically, the back of the gown. Larisa Morozova had apparently built an empire on knowing exactly what she was doing.

Leo had realized it in the boutique. He hadn’t mentioned it because he’d understood that commenting would mean losing a point in a game he hadn’t been told the rules of. He was choosing to count that as self-control.

Earlier, he’d almost swallowed his tongue when Anja emerged from his guest room wearing the dress. It accentuated her toned body to perfection. Her hair had been piled on her head, with a few strands escaping to frame her face. God, she was gorgeous. He was so damn proud to have her on his arm tonight.

They’d barely cleared the second row of tables when a familiar voice cut warmly across his shoulder.

“Leo, you brought someone, and you spoke not one word about her to me.”

Marcy Bell stood with a champagne flute, wearing a gown in deep burgundy, her reading glasses for once not perched on the end of her nose. Her attention had moved past Leo and fixed on Anja with frank, delighted curiosity. She’d managed his calendar for six years and knew for a fact there had been no standing dinner reservations.

“Marcy.” Leo smiled despite the night, despite everything. “This is Anja. Anja, Marcy runs my professional life and most of my personal one, and she’ll tell you I’d be lost without her, which is true.”

“He doesn’t say it nearly often enough.” Marcy took Anja’s offered hand in both of hers and held it, openly studying her. “My word. You are a vision in that dress, with that face and body. And here I thought I’d given up hope he’d let anyone get close enough to matter.” She slid a pointed look at Leo. “Six years I’ve worked for this man. Six years of ‘no calls after seven, Marcy,’ and ‘cancel the setup my mother arranged, Marcy,’ and not once a whisper of a girlfriend. And then he walks in with you.”

“He’s a man of many secrets,” Anja allowed, with a warmth Leo wasn’t sure was entirely performance.

“Oh, he is the worst. The genuine worst.” Marcy was beaming now. “How long has this been going on, and how much of it has he been hiding from me?”

“A few months. And all of it, apparently.”

“A few months.” Marcy pressed a hand to her chest in mock injury and turned the full force of it on Leo. “A few months. I scheduled your dentist around your week and you couldn’t find ninety seconds to mention her?”

“I was being careful.”

“You were being you.” She squeezed Anja’s hand once more before letting it go. “It is so good to meet you, dear. He works too hard, and he carries too much. He could use someone who sees it. You keep an eye on him.” She lifted her flute a half-inch. “And come by the office. I’ll tell you everything he won’t.”

“That’s a date,” Anja promised. Marcy moved off into the crowd looking thoroughly pleased with the entire evening.

Leo watched her disappear, oddly touched. “She likes you.”

“People tell their secrets to the person who runs the calendar.” Anja’s attention shifted. “Who is that? Two o’clock. Blue tie.”

Leo found who she was talking about without moving his head. “Brad Hatton.” Brad was mid-laugh at something his wife was saying, but his eyes were on the door. “He gets here early, usually.”

“He’s watching the entrance.”

“Brad always does. It’s how he poaches clients.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t sound convinced.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned to find Curtis Lennox had materialized from the crowd.

“Leo.” Curtis gripped his hand, firm and genuine. He was sixty-eight, silver-haired, with a build that hinted at the tight end he’d been at Missouri and a handshake that remembered it. “Glad you made it.”

As if he had a choice. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Leo’s smile was the one he’d built for rooms like this. “Curtis, this is Anja. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months.”

Curtis turned to her with his full-beam attention. Surprise flickered in his eyes at the unexpected news, then smoothed into a warm, easy greeting.

“Anja.” He took her hand in both of his. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Leo keeps his personal life close to the chest.”

“He does,” she agreed. Her voice was warm and relaxed, the professional lockbox entirely out of sight. “I’ve heard so much about you, though. He thinks very highly of you.”

“Well.” Curtis glanced at Leo with a satisfied expression. “That means more than you know. What do you do, Anja?”