“Right. As soon as we get Tyler.”
Broch perked. “Aye?”
“No.”
He frowned.
The hotel’s doorman flagged them a taxi to take them to Mo’s design studio. Broch pressed his face against the glass, staring up at the billboards and flashing marquees.
“Excalibur,” he read aloud. “They hae sword fighting. Kin we gae there?”
“Sure. When Tyler is safe.”
“Aye?”
“No.”
Broch fell silent again. “Whit’s a Spearmint Rhino?”
Catriona snorted a laugh. “It’s a strip club. Men go there to watch women dance naked.”
He blinked at her. “Vegas is mad.”
“That’s why they call it Sin City.”
Broch grunted and blinked at the sign as they passed. “The lassie is bonnie though.”
“That’s a high-end place. The dancers are all tens.”
“Tens?”
“It’s a stupid old rating scale for looks. One to ten, ten being the best-looking.”
“Ah.” He looked at her. “Ah think yer a ten.”
Catriona felt her cheeks grow flush and she felt a wave of embarrassment to be so flattered by such a silly compliment.
She snorted a little laugh and let it go.
They left the lights and glitter of the Strip and traveled several miles into the desert to an industrial park. The taxi rolled in front of a large warehouse with the word Modacious mounted to the front wall. The M and O were in red, the rest of the letters in black script.
Broch and Catriona moved from air conditioning to heat to air conditioning again in the warehouse. Inside, rows of clothing on racks created life-sized mazes with people milling in and out, swatches of fabric, dresses and half-finished tops in their hands. In one corner, a tailor pinned a dress worn by a statuesque redhead and Broch stopped to admire her. She waved and he waved back.
“Does she dance at the Rhino?” he asked Catriona.
She chuckled. “I doubt it. But who knows?”
In the back corner sat an office area, fashioned to look like a quaint cottage built inside the larger warehouse. The walls were glass, allowing those inside to monitor warehouse activity.
Catriona headed toward the office, knocking on the glass door to catch the attention of a tall, curvy older woman with bleach-blonde hair coiled atop her head. The woman turned, forehead scrunching behind her large round glasses as she peered over the frames. She motioned for a mousy young woman beside her to open the door.
“Can I help you?” asked the girl.
“I need to speak to Mo.”
“She’s not in. Can I take a message?”
Catriona glanced up at Mo, who stood staring back at her, her already overly plumped lips, pursed.
Catriona turned back to the girl.
“I’m looking right at her.”
The girl shook her head. “She’s unavailable.”
Catriona rolled her eyes and pushed her head inside. She was taller than Mo’s assistant and there was little the girl could do to stop her without throwing her hands above her head and blocking her like a goal-tending basketball player.
“Mo, it’s Catriona. Sean Shaft’s daughter. I work for Parasol Pictures...we met a long time ago.”
Mo’s expression expanded into a smile as she moved to the door, pushing the mousy girl aside.
“Catriona, I deedn’t recahgnize you. You were a teenahgair ze lahst time I sahw you.”
Mo threw her arms around Catriona. Catriona took the opportunity to whisper into the fashion designer’s ear.
“Please drop the accent. I can’t take it anymore. You’ll see why in a second.”
Mo released her and pointed to her worker. “You. Out.”
The minion scurried away and Catriona and Broch entered the office. The temperature felt ten degrees colder inside.
Mo patted Catriona on the arm. “How did you know my little secret?” she said, her French lilt replaced by something decidedly more Midwest. “It’s a pain, but people buy my clothes faster when they think I’m French and not from some Podunk town in Northwest Michigan.”
“I remember you and Sean talking when I was little.” In truth, Catriona mostly remembered Sean laughing while watching an interview with Mo using her cartoonish French accent on television.
Mo fanned herself. “Oh your father. What a sexy, sexy man he was. Is, probably. Is he married now? I might have an opening...”
“No. And that’s sort of what I came to talk to you about.”
Mo turned her attention to Broch. “And who’s this? He looks a lot like—”
“A young Sean. I know. Broch is Sean’s son by blood, and the primary accent in my life at the moment.”
“Enchante,” said Mo, holding out a hand.
Broch took it and kissed the back of it.
“Tis lovely tae mak yer acquaintance.”
Mo pretended to shiver with delight. “Oh, he sounds like Sean Connery, only even manlier, if that’s possible.”
Catriona shrugged.
“He makes me wish I designed men’s clothing. I could dress and undress him all day. I missed out on the old stag, maybe I should set my sights on the young buck?” Mo giggled and slapped Catriona lightly on the shoulder. “So what’s up, sweetheart? I assume you didn’t come here just to bring me him?”
“No. I need a favor.”
“Anything. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to go back to Alain.”
Mo’s expression darkened, her smile disappearing as if her facial muscles had been shot with Botox. “Go back to that little hunk of moldy camembert? Forget it. He’s embarrassed me for the last time.”
“What did he do?”
“I spotted him with a woman wearing one of my dresses before it was available for sale. He gave it to her. I know he did. She was just his type.”
Catriona shook her head. “Oh come on. Alain worships you. He’d never do that.” Catriona had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good.
Mo lifted her nose into
