Page 115 of Nothing More

Toly slid inside.

~*~

Blaire Blanchard, heiress, socialite, reality TV star, wanted to meet in the bar of her father’s hotel, and so that was where they met. People didn’t turn her down; didn’t suggest alternatives. When Blaire asked for something, she got it, whether that was a drink, or a real mink coat, or, on one memorable episode that Raven would deny watching if pressed, a chef flown in from Florence because Daddy’s Little Princess wanted an “authentic” frittata to treat a hangover one morning.

Her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Milo Conrad, did a good job of playing the rich bad boy, but occasionally allowed slivers of practicality to slip through that betrayed his midwestern, suburban upbringing. He didn’t belong in Blaire’s world, hadn’t been born to it, the way she had, and sometimes his new life sat across his shoulders like a too-tight jacket, obvious even through the TV screen.

Today, though, he was on his A game.

Raven crossed the hotel lobby arm-in-arm with Tenny, who was done up in all his theatrical, “Yuri” finest – the fur coat was pink today – Reese trailing along behind them in fake glasses and turtleneck, playing Sergei the stoic assistant. Greg met them at the entrance to the bar, which was made dim with window shades, warm with lamplight; the sort of place where time ceased to exist outside the tinkling of a jazz piano and the rattle of ice in glasses.

Greg turned, smile already on his face at the sound of her heels approaching, but his expression froze when he caught sight of Tenny. “Um. Hello,” he greeted. “Good morning.”

Tenny was wearing his sunglasses indoors, expression bored, head turning so he could scan the area.

“Good morning,” Raven said with false brightness. “Greg, I’d like you to meet my newest model: Yuri Kuznetsov.” In a stage whisper, she added: “He’s going to be on every runway and in the pages of every magazine. I thought he might go a long way toward convincing Blaire.”

Greg’s brows beetled, but he nodded, slowly, after a thorough up-down inspection. Thank God Tenny had an eye for detail when it came to dressing a part. “Is this the brother of your assistant? Tom, isn’t it?”

Tenny answered, accent perfect. “Tomeslav is my brother, yes, and he works for her.” Head tilt toward Raven. “I’ve come all the way from St. Petersburg to work with Raven Blake, because she’s the best.” Said loftily, with finality.

Greg’s brows jumped. “Right. Well, that’s wonderful. Er…”

“This Blaire person will have heard of me, or else she isn’t as smart as she thinks she is.”

Raven patted his arm. “Perhaps don’t insult her to her face, darling. If you please.”

Greg’s gaze went to their linked arms. His mouth twitched when she saiddarling. “Are you two…?”

“Heavens no,” Raven said.

Tenny said, “No. I do not sleep with older women.”

Raven smiled at Greg, stepped on her brother’s toe, and said, “Is Blaire here?”

“Yeah,” a new voice intoned, as Milo Conrad joined them from inside the bar. Like Tenny, he wore sunglasses, but the slackness of his face beneath them, the uneven patching of stubble told her his were necessary, rather than part of a costume. He was dressed in a ripped t-shirt under a leather jacket, several thin gold chains around his throat. Last night’s club outfit, if she had to guess. “You the model chick?”

“The modeling agent,” Raven corrected. “Raven Blake.”

“Right, right. She’s back here.” He turned, and shuffled into the bar, between tables.

“After you,” Greg said, and they followed.

Blaire was ensconced in a corner booth, sipping something bubbly and pink through a straw. Her bag was next to her on the seat, and a tiny, buff-colored chihuahua had its head poked out of the top. Blaire herself was the sort of skinny that came from a near-total lack of food, rather than careful diet and exercise. Deep eye bags beneath her fake tan, and faker blonde hair. Pretty, but a pretty that would fade as the years wore on, if she didn’t start taking care of herself.

Greg took the lead, as they approached the table. “Blaire, good morning, so lovely to see you.”

She flinched from the volume of his voice, pressed fingertips to her temple, briefly, glue-on lashes fluttering. “Yeah. Hey.”

Milo slid into the booth beside her and leaned forward to clasp her straw with his lips and take a long sip.

“Ugh.” She swatted his shoulder. “Get your own.”

Greg continued as if he didn’t notice anything amiss. “This is Raven Blake.” Gesture to Raven. “And her latest modeling client, Yuri Kuznetsov.”

“Hello,” Raven greeted.

Tenny chewed his gum and didn’t deign to speak.