Glitter Baby

“I’m very sad to announce that my talented brother, Michel Savagar, will be sharing his incredible designs with the world in November when he shows his first collection.” She’d caught the attention of the women in the crowd, and this time the applause was more vigorous. She pretended to frown at him. “Unfortunately that means I’ll no longer be his most important client.”

“You will always be most important to me,” he said, his accent heavier than normal, which would have made her laugh if she weren’t the one who’d suggested he emphasize his French roots.

The reporters furiously scribbled away in their notebooks as she announced the details of the showing. She thanked her guests for attending, the jazz quartet began playing again, and well-wishers surrounded Michel. She reached for a champagne flute as Kissy approached. “Good job, Fleurinda. You introduced all your clients except me.”

“I have other plans for you, my pet. As you very well know.”

Kissy pulled her gaze from a hunky music producer. “All Olivia Creighton wants to talk about is her new part on Dragon’s Bay. It’s only six episodes, and it’s not even a lead.”

“I’ll bet it will be when Olivia’s done with it.” Fleur took a sip of champagne. “The nighttime soaps are hot, and she’s perfect for television. I think she could be as big as Joan Collins.”

It had taken Fleur almost a month to convince the Dragon’s Bay producers to let Olivia audition, and then it took another few days to convince Olivia that being forced to audition was less demeaning than doing more condominium commercials. But as soon as the producers heard her read, they offered her the job. The money was unimpressive, but Fleur would fix that the next time around. Olivia’s mature, sexy beauty and confident bearing held a strong appeal to middle-aged women, and Fleur was betting all that would translate into higher ratings for the show.

The hunky music executive disappeared, and Kissy finally gave Fleur her full attention. “You look incredible tonight. A little intimidating.”

“Really? How?”

“Sort of like the ‘other woman’ in the movies. The sophisticated blond bitch-goddess who tries to steal the hero from the rosy-cheeked heroine.”

“Excellent.” A blond bitch-goddess didn’t have to worry about the little things in life. Or the big things-like Alexi Savagar trying to destroy her.

She’d told Kissy and Michel about the fire, but hadn’t yet mentioned Alexi’s involvement. From the moment Belinda had walked into the Orlani Gallery, Alexi had been playing a cat-and-mouse game. The missing invitations were bad enough, but this afternoon he’d gotten serious.

Kissy nudged her. “Have you been watching Michel and Simon?”

“Disappointing.” With his massive size and shaved head, Simon was the most noticeable man in the crowd to everyone but Michel.

“They both have such bad taste in men,” Kissy said. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that they haven’t paid any attention to each other.”

“That little twit Damon won’t leave Michel’s side.”

Kissy frowned. “Michel and Simon are terrific people. The temptation to do some matchmaking is almost irresistible.”

Fleur watched Michel laugh at something Damon said. “It’s none of our business.”

“I know you’re right.”

“Michel doesn’t butt into my personal life, and I owe him the same courtesy.”

“You’re a good sister.”

“So how about a small dinner party in a few weeks?”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

With that piece of business out of the way, Kissy surveyed the crowd. “Didn’t you tell me you invited Charlie Kincannon?” The inquiry seemed casual, but Fleur wasn’t fooled.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you get the impression that he was coming?”

“I’m not sure. Haven’t you talked to him?”

“Not for a couple of weeks.”

“Problems?”

Kissy shrugged. “I guess he’s gay or something.”

“Just because a fabulous man ignores you doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

“He’s hardly fabulous.”

“Christie Brinkley seems to think so. I heard they were dating.” Lying to her best friend was a rotten thing to do, but Kissy refused to take Charlie seriously, and Fleur decided the end justified the means.

“Christie Brinkley! She has to be a foot taller than he is.”

“Charlie’s very self-confident behind his geeky and fabulously rich facade. I don’t think he worries too much about externals.”

“I really don’t care.” Kissy sniffed. “Besides, I’ve never found Christie all that attractive.”

“Yeah. What’s so great about perfect features and a magnificent body?”

“You think I deserve this, don’t you?”

“Oh yes.”

“I haven’t fallen for him, so get that smug look off your face. Charlie’s not interested in me that way. We’re friends.”

Will drew Fleur away to talk to a reporter before she could suggest that Kissy cut the crap. As she finished posing for photographers, she bumped into Shawn Howell, who definitely hadn’t been on her guest list. Shawn’s teen idol face wasn’t nearly as cute at thirty as it had been at twenty-two when Fleur had to endure the dates Belinda had arranged. Since then, his career had tanked, and he reportedly owed the IRS a quarter of a million dollars.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He bypassed her cheek for a direct shot at her mouth. His tongue flicked her bottom lip. “You don’t mind a couple of gate crashers at your party, do you?”

A strobe flashed next to them. “Apparently not.”

“Hey, it’s business, right?” He grinned and rubbed his hand down her spine like a high school boy checking for a bra. “I hear you’re in the market for clients, and I’m looking for a new agent, so maybe I’ll give you a try.”

“I don’t think we’re a good fit.” She started to slip past him, then stopped as a sense of dread swept through her. “What did you mean by ‘a couple of gate crashers’?”

“Belinda’s waiting in your office. She asked me to tell you.”

For a moment Fleur was tempted to leave her own party, but she didn’t run anymore, and this was something she couldn’t put off.

Belinda stood with her back to the door looking at a Louise Nevelson lithograph Fleur had bought with the profits from a delivery of palladium. As Fleur stared at the small, straight line of her mother’s spine, she felt a stab of yearning. She remembered how she used to throw herself into Belinda’s arms when her mother appeared at the front door of the couvent, how she’d bury her face in the crook of her neck. Belinda had been her only champion. She’d defended her against the nuns and told her she was the most wonderful girl in all the world.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Belinda said, still staring at the Nevelson. “I know you don’t want me here.”

Fleur went over to sit behind her desk, using its authority to protect herself from the flood of painful emotion that made her want to rush across the room and hold tight to the person she used to care about more than anyone. “Why did you come?”

Belinda turned. She wore a frilly ice-blue dress and satin French heels with pale blue ribbons that tied around her ankles. The outfit was too youthful for a forty-five-year-old woman, but it looked perfect on her. “I tried to stay away. Ever since I saw the white roses that night at the Orlani…But I couldn’t manage it any longer.”

“What did the roses mean to you?”

Belinda fumbled with the jeweled clasp on her evening bag and reached inside for a cigarette. “You should never have destroyed the Royale.” She pulled out a gold lighter and flicked it with unsteady fingers. “Alexi hates you.”

“I don’t care.” Fleur hated the catch in her voice. “Alexi means nothing to me.”