A Glimpse of Fire

She climbed out, smiling ruefully to herself. It wasn’t that she was in bad shape. Just the opposite. Working in construction for the past year and a half had probably gotten her into the best condition she’d ever been. This was different. Holding the same position for an hour at a time wasn’t easy. Nothing like it had been eight years ago in college.

A couple of stragglers leaving the store stopped to stare at her. She accepted a robe from Trudie’s assistant and pulled it on over the tiny red bikini before heading for the dressing room. The lights flickered—the store’s final warning for everyone to leave.

“Hey, you wanna go for a drink?” Steve threw his robe over his shoulder.

Drink? Bathroom? Oh, God. “How about a rain check?” she said without breaking her stride.

“Sure.” He shrugged, smiled. “See you tomorrow evening.”

Dallas sighed as he walked ahead of her. He sure was pretty. Young but pretty.

“Excuse me.”

Dallas heard the voice behind her and glanced over her shoulder. It was him. The guy who’d been standing outside a moment ago. Her chest tightened. “The store is closed. You’ll have to leave.”

He gave her a boyish grin. “I know the security guard. Besides, I only need a minute of your time.”

“I don’t have a minute.”

“Look, I want to hire you.” He produced a business card from his jacket pocket. “For Saturday night. Your usual modeling fee, of course.”

She barely glanced at the card. “I’m not a model. I’m doing this as a favor for a friend.” She tried to hand him back the card but he wouldn’t take it.

“Call my office,” he said. “Check me out. Or ask Jimmy.” He inclined his head toward the security guard.

She shook her head. “Look, I—”

“I’m not a kook or a pervert.” His boyish grin took a chink out of her resolve. “Well, my friends may argue that point. But seriously, I only want to play a practical joke on my friend. He was here earlier with me and saw you and…well, we have a company dinner at the boss’s house this Saturday and I thought it would be pretty funny if you showed up.”

Of course she remembered the guy. His face was surprisingly clear in her mind. That strong, dimpled jaw stood out in particular.

“He thinks you’re a mannequin.”

That startled a laugh out of her. Oops! Bad move. She squeezed her thighs together. “I’ll think about it and call you, okay?” she said as she started toward the bathroom.

“Tom!” The security guard motioned the man to the door. “I gotta lock up.”

“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” Tom backed toward the door. “Either way, call me, will you?”

“Sure,” she said, amazed that she was even considering it.

“I THINK YOU’RE NUTS IF YOU don’t go.” Wendy plopped down on the love seat with a bowl of buttered popcorn that she placed between her thighs. “How totally cool. You’d be like the mystery woman.”

If Dallas denied being intrigued by the prospect, she’d be a liar, but the situation was just so way out there. “Pass me some popcorn, would you?”

“You won’t like it. I used a whole block of butter,” she said, licking her fingers.

“I don’t suppose you set any popcorn aside for me.”

“Sorry.”

“Thanks.” Dallas sighed as she pushed off the purple beanbag chair. Some things never changed.

They’d been roommates for three years, but Wendy still hadn’t grasped the concept of sharing. She had other good qualities, Dallas reminded herself as she grabbed an apple from the basket of fruit they kept on top of the refrigerator—the only spare spot in the minuscule kitchen.

“So, you saw this guy, right?” Wendy asked between handfuls of popcorn.

“Briefly. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a blind date. Just a prank.”

“What does he look like?”

“Tall, kind of wiry, athletic-type body, dark hair, hazel eyes, strong square jaw.”

Wendy snorted. “Just a brief look, huh?”

“Keep stuffing your face and shut up.” Dallas sank back into the chair and stretched her legs out. “I called that guy Tom’s office. I didn’t talk to him. Just made sure he really worked there.”

“And what about Saturday night? How do you know it’s legit?”

“I pretended I was a florist and wanted to confirm the delivery date for the dinner.”

“Very sneaky. I’m impressed.”

Dallas groaned. “But I still don’t know if I should do this.”

“Did Trudie have an opinion?”

“Please, you need to ask? She thinks I’d be crazy to do it.”

“Screw it. She’s gotten too conservative since she caved in and got a nine-to-fiver. Go. Be daring. Have fun. What else do you have to do Saturday, anyway?”

Dallas watched a popcorn kernel slip from Wendy’s hand and fall to the floor to join several of its friends. Dallas sighed. Wendy was right. What else did she have to do Saturday night besides clean up Wendy’s mess?

ERIC FINISHED HIS COGNAC and debated having another one before he slipped out. As usual he’d come late, for-going the cocktail hour and arriving just minutes before dinner had been served, along with a different wine with each course. Easy to get stupid with all that booze. And he made it a policy never to get stupid in front of the brass.

Webber, of course, was here. It was his house. He always threw the parties. New money. He still had a lot of showing off to do. The firm’s other partner, Joseph Thornton IV, came from old money. Nice guy, old-school polite, but with the exception of Webber, no one from the office had ever seen the inside of his house. At least no one Eric knew of. Not that he was the type to be invited to the Thornton estate. But some day…hell, some day he’d have a nice three-story brownstone like this with a view of Central Park.

Near the white marble fireplace, Tom and Serena were talking to Harold Carter, the company’s controller and possibly the most boring human being in Manhattan. Eric wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he circled around the room, heading for the bar.

“Another cognac?” The bartender reached for the bottle.

“Yep, one for the road.” Eric put down his empty snifter. Most bartenders had amazing memories. “Go ahead and refill this one.”

He’d picked up a clean glass but set it aside. “No argument from me. One less to wash.”

Eric glanced at the guy’s name tag. He remembered him from the Webber’s Christmas party. “Tell me something, Chuck. You ever get tired of these private parties?”

Chuck shrugged. “They aren’t so bad. Pays the rent.”