“Okay, so where were we? Oh! That’s right! We were talking about Q inviting your ex-neighbor to an event that’s costing more per head than some of the nicest weddings I’ve been to.” She rests her chin in her palms, smugness dripping off her like the condensation of the cocktails she’s been serving. “But I thought you hate each other.”

“Listen, you don’t even want to know all of the details behind him asking her, but let’s just say I wasn’t happy and he has since apologized.”

“Oh, you are so wrong about that. I always want details.” She stands up straight and looks over my shoulder. “And if you didn’t have an incoming visitor, I’d want them now. But I can be patient . . . well, patient-ish.”

I brace and turn around, thinking Donny has come back to torture me again, but instead I’m met with the skeptical smile of Mr. Mahler and the swirling smoke of his wife’s cigarette in a long cigarette holder.

And as that sick feeling I had walking to Mr. Mahler’s office five weeks ago returns, I realize that I would much rather talk to Donny.

I guess there really is a first for everything.

Fifteen

“There you are!” Mr. Mahler’s cigar-rasped voice calls out over the music.

“Mr. Mahler.” I paste on my prettiest smile and extend my hand as he gets closer. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”

Even under the dim lighting, Mr. Mahler’s unnaturally tan skin stands out . . . as does the bright white of his teeth. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

That’s nice to know now, after he ignored the email I sent him about the event and the formal invite I hand delivered to Gemma for him.

His wife, unimpressed by our conversation, comes to stand right beside me. “Brynn, darling!” She takes a deep drag from her cigarette holder and blows the smoke out of the corner of her mouth . . . and directly into my face. What a peach. “You remember my drink, don’t you?”

“Like I could ever forget.” Brynn grabs a martini glass. “The dirtiest martini for the dirtiest woman!”

My eyes widen a fraction and my heart stops until I hear Mrs. Mahler’s gravelly laughter.

“That’s why you’ll always be my favorite,” she says.

And now it’s no wonder Brynn wasn’t disappointed Mrs. Rafter wasn’t an eccentric millionaire; she has an eccentric billionaire of her very own.

Now that I know Brynn isn’t going to cost me my job by insulting my boss’s boss’s wife, I focus my attention back on Mr. Mahler, who is busy shaking hands.

“Elliot!” he calls me over. “I’d like you to meet one of my business partners, Charles Carlin. Charles, this is Elliot Reed. She’s the one who’s planned this event we’re putting on.”