All the same, she felt vaguely disgruntled with her basic common sense as she set about getting ready for the charity ball. It would undoubtedly give her considerable satisfaction to flaunt a flamboyant Josh as her partner tonight, hopefully delivering a metaphorical slap in the face to James Hancock and his opinion of her private life. But the truth was she never did do anything wildly exciting. Perhaps she was overly careful in her weighing up of whether a step was worth taking or not.
The worthy Miss Worthington…
The words stung.
The urge to act in a totally unworthy and outrageous way suddenly held a highly tempting attraction. Especially in front of James Hancock. Free tickets meant free from any responsibility. She could play as fast and as loose as she liked with Josh, knowing there’d be no nasty consequences from him, and if she was going to hand in her notice and find another job, why not do and say anything that came into her head. Puncturing James Hancock’s complacent judgement of her would go a long way towards salving her pride. And hurt.
Lawless Lucy…
She chuckled over the name that had slid into her mind.
Why not?
She stopped burning and started simmering. Attitude, Josh had said. Never mind her clothes or anything else. It was all in the attitude.
It wasn’t like Lucy to be late.
James Hancock couldn’t stop himself from glancing at his Rolex watch yet again. Another few minutes and the crowd of guests enjoying cocktails in the foyer would be moving into the auditorium. She should have been here at least half an hour ago. While he’d been waiting for her to arrive, he’d greeted an endless stream of the beautiful people and he could feel his smile getting very stiff. Damn the woman! Where was she?
His buoyant anticipation had slid through a frazzle of frustration at her continued non-appearance and was now descending into nagging worry. Had there been an accident? Lucy didn’t drive, didn’t own a car—too penny-pinching to buy one—but he knew nothing about this Josh Rogan who was bringing her here tonight. If he was hot stuff behind a wheel and had involved Lucy in a smash…no, surely she was too level-headed to go out with a speed-jerk.
But what was keeping her?
‘Wow! Who is that?’ Buffy breathed, her sexual interest obviously stirred.
James snapped out of his introspection, his male ego somewhat piqued. While Buffy might still be a bit miffed about his lack of appreciation for how long it took to look her fabulous best for him, drooling over other men was hardly designed to win his favour. It was as rude as unpunctuality, another black mark against continuing the relationship.
With a jaundiced eye, he looked where she was looking and was instantly jolted into electric attention. Lucy! Hanging onto the arm of a guy who could be cast as the romantic lead in a movie, and probably was!
He had a matinee idol face framed by a riot of black curls, a smile a dentist would be proud of, and he certainly didn’t mind drawing attention to what was obviously a gym-toned body, wearing a flashy waistcoat with an over-lustrous coloured tie which mocked the regular black bow-ties most of the other male guests, including himself, had automatically used.
A young trendy show-off, James was telling himself, just as Buffy heaved a sigh that undoubtedly set her opulent breasts aquiver for the approaching sex symbol to notice. His teeth grated together as he switched his attention to Lucy, who, he was suddenly pleased to see looked her normal self—hair neatly tucked up, glasses on, the same little black cocktail dress she invariably wore when called upon to attend an evening function.
Except there was something different about her—a jaunty self-satisfied sway to her hips—which struck him as decidedly un-prim. Her mouth, too, seemed to have a more sensual purse to her lips as she gazed up at the self-styled hot stuff, who was apparently amusing her with his playboy patter.
In fact, James began to feel that Lucy’s prim facade was more innately provocative than Buffy’s in-your-face femininity. It was certainly tantalising, posed next to the party guy who was parading her towards the group in which James and Buffy stood, waiting to be joined by these two last table companions.
Waiting, James thought irritably, able to dismiss his concern over Lucy’s absence now. No doubt it was the star act she had in tow who had kept them waiting. He struggled to adopt an affable manner for performing introductions, hoping Buffy would stop ogling and have the decency to remember who her escort was.
‘Ah!’ he drawled with a bright, welcoming smile. ‘Here you are! We’re about to go into the auditorium,’ he couldn’t resist adding to point out their lateness.
‘But there’s time for introductions,’ Buffy pressed eagerly, positively jiggling with eagerness.
‘Lucy…’ James invited, keeping his teeth clamped in a smile.
‘James Hancock, Josh Rogan,’ Lucy obliged with commendable economy.
James braced himself to return a macho handshake but apparently the younger man felt no need to prove himself stronger than Lucy’s employer. He simply radiated self-assurance, his dark eyes twinkling the kind of focused interest that made people feel at ease and pleased by the interest. James recognised the ploy. He used it himself. Josh Rogan was clearly an accomplished salesman.
‘A pleasure, having you with us,’ James rolled out, containing his curiosity while he did the honours. With a sweep of his hand encompassing the group around him, he went on, ‘I think you’re all acquainted with my punctilious secretary, Lucy Worthington.’ Although she had certainly not been punctilious tonight! ‘Josh, this is Buffy Tanner…’
Buffy leaned over as she took Josh Rogan’s hand, giving him an eyeful, but unlike most men who would find the view irresistible, Josh smiled into her face and repeated her name with a happy lilt that could have been applied to a Matilda or a Beatrice. If he was receiving Buffy’s signals, he had no intention of answering them.
The other three couples in their group were given the same treatment by Josh Rogan as he was introduced to them. James could find no fault in his manner. The response to him was instinctively positive, an attractive person putting out pleasant vibrations and getting them back.
‘What business are you in, Josh?’ Hank Gidley, the last one to be introduced, inquired with keen interest.
‘Fine wines. Import and export,’ came the answer that allowed James to slot him into place, though it wasn’t the place he’d first imagined. However, it did explain the polished savoire-faire displayed so far. Josh Rogan was used to dealing with customers who could afford to buy fine wines and he probably charmed them into buying whatever he wanted to sell.