“Eat first.”
“Right.” She cut more steak, tried to clear her mind so it could brew on what lodged in the corners. And remembered other things, more personal things.
“Ah, anyway. I know that vid awards deal is Sunday.”
Angling his head, he lifted his wine. “You surprise me.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly know, then it came up, so I knew. And I know you like that sort of thing, but—”
“You have a case, and it’s not the sort of thing you like whatsoever.”
“Still.”
Sometimes she wished he wouldn’t be so reasonable. It brought guilt tugging. Then again, plenty of times he wasn’t even close to reasonable, and that was a pisser.
So.
“I could probably work it to have you shuttle us out there in one of your fancy deals, but the thing is . . .”
He waited, half amused, half curious while she struggled through it.
“It’s just a major pain in my ass, Roarke, the whole freaking thing. Not just the getting into some stupid outfit and having stuff slathered all over my face, and having to talk to people in stupid outfits with stuff slathered all over their face. I can handle that okay, sometimes. I do it with you, for your stuff.”
“You do, and it’s appreciated.”
“Okay, good, but this? The damn book, the vid? I’ll be doing my job, and some wit, even a suspect says, Oh hey, I read the Icove book. I loved the vid, whatever, and it’s a weird pain in my ass. It wouldn’t surprise me one damn bit to be reading some fuckhead his rights and have him say: Man, that Icove vid rocked it out.”
When he laughed, she scowled, ate more steak. “I’m serious.”
“I know it.”
“And worse? Oh, it’s worse. I’m about finished reading the Red Horse deal, because Nadine nagged the crap out of me about it. And it’s good. It’s goddamn stupid good, and I had to tell her because, friends. And even if I lied, said, Sorry, it blows, they’d publish it anyway, and make the next vid—they want a trilogy.”
She finished on a windy huff of breath, and he took a moment to choose his words.
“Darling Eve, I’m trying to be sympathetic as your distress is very clear and obviously genuine.”
“Damn straight it is.”
“But you’ve gone and made a very talented woman a friend. A true and good one, and them’s the breaks.”
“Goddamn breaks,” she muttered, and ate some more. “I’m not going to the fancy awards. Just no.”
“One must take a stand, after all.”
“She’ll probably win, just my luck.” Caught up, she brooded into her wine. “So anyway, Feeney and I hashed it out, and we’ll cut Peabody and McNab loose so they can go. They eat this stupid stuff with a spoon, and one of us should be there with Nadine, however it goes, even though she’s taking the rocker.”
He said nothing, only stood, walked around the table, drew her to her feet. And cupping her face, kissed her soft and sweet.
“A ghrá, you are a marvel.”
“I don’t—”
He kissed her again, then just gathered her in. “I love you beyond comprehension.”
“Because I’m not going to some stupid dress-up party?”
“That actually factors. Shall I arrange a shuttle for them? A suite?”