Reminding her that it would be elsewhere on her body. Again. Soon. As they’d agreed.
She’d worn a sedate dark purple skirt and jacket that she’d picked up that morning, along with a few other things, on her way to have her nails done. She couldn’t see someone over and over without more changes of clothes.
And he was taking advantage of the flesh her skirt exposed.
His suit, gray today, didn’t afford her the same leniency. Even if she’d had the balls to reach for him under the table.
Harris had them. Johnson didn’t dare.
Julie reported that the guest list of accepted invitations had grown to beat their highest expectations. She glanced around the table as she spoke and smiled when her gaze met Chantel’s.
If she’d had any worries that Colin’s sibling was going to have a problem with her brother’s preoccupation with the new woman in town, Julie was easily putting them to rest. She’d chattered from the backseat of Colin’s car all the way to the library. Mostly about the financial report she’d read that morning from the wine tasting the night before. And her hopes that the league would be able to grant her request for monies to fund a child-life specialist at the new Santa Raquel Children’s Hospital.
She’d never said a word about Chantel and Colin’s time together—not that Chantel would have expected her to do so. She had far too much decorum for that.
But if she’d had a problem with it, Chantel would expect to detect at least an edge about her.
The meeting didn’t last long—half an hour at most.
Chantel kept a close eye out, but she didn’t notice Patricia Reynolds paying any particular attention to either her or the Fairbankses. Mostly the woman seemed determined to get everyone’s opinion on every single item on the menu for the gala—leaving Chantel starving for the lunch she was going to consume as soon as she got out of Johnson’s clothes and back to her apartment.
Starting with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And then as much of the quart of chocolate ice cream as she could manage. Enough to wash Colin’s fire out of her body so she could be 100 percent present when she donned her badge and hit the streets for her shift that evening.
Julie turned to her just as Leslie adjourned the meeting. “I’ve made chicken salad this morning and cut up some fruit. Colin and I were hoping you’d join us for lunch.”
“Please,” Colin added, standing with his hand on her shoulder. “I have to head to LA for a meeting this afternoon, but I’d like to have a meal with you first.”
Her heart softened dangerously. Until her brain reminded her that Chantel being at home with Julie could possibly help the younger woman open up to her more easily. And more quickly.
“I’d like that,” she said, and added, just to be safe, “Then I have to get to work, too.” She stood, picking up the used but immaculate lavender Coach purse she’d also purchased that morning. “With all the time I spent on the script this week, I’m going to be writing straight through the weekend.”
She noticed the long glance Colin gave her but pretended not to.
“Do you find that when you get into the book, it’s best just to stay there?” Julie asked, loading her papers into the folder and then the small leather case she’d brought in with her. “I do,” she continued before Chantel could answer. “Once it’s flowing I just need to let it flow.”
Thanking fate for another save, for being such a faithful partner on this venture, Chantel agreed wholeheartedly, and quite verbosely, with Colin’s little sister.
“Julie...could you wait just a minute?” Leslie called out as they were about to exit the room. She’d been in conversation with Emily Longfellow, the woman who was in charge of all of the physical arrangements at the library for the big event.
Colin pulled Chantel out the door and into a little room across the hall while Julie went off to speak with her friend.
Was Leslie going to ask how the wine-tasting event went the night before? Apologize for missing it? Would she tell Julie the real reason for her absence?
Did Julie know if Leslie’s husband beat her?
That he beat her. If Chantel was reading this all right.
“Did I hear you right? You plan to work tonight?”
“Yes. And tomorrow. And tomorrow night, too,” she added. She was on shift the next day, starting a new rotation. She had no choice. She had to minimize complication where she could. Being available at his whim was impossible.
But she wanted the “exclusive” part.
It ensured her an “in” at any function that might also include the Morrisons and the society that would allow her to roam freely around Leslie’s life without raising suspicion.