“Wait!” he called out before he even realized he’d intended to speak.
But Craggedy Ann ducked behind the slender bartender working the bar, who in turn spun around to see what Craggedy was hiding from. When she saw Cole coming toward them, her eyes widened in panic. For all of two seconds. Then she began to look at him with an expression that troubled him even more than the openly sexual looks he’d been fielding from groupies for days. Because the only thing scarier than a sexually predatory woman was a financially predatory one. And this chick, whoever she was, had “Gimme” written all over her.
Not that there weren’t a lot of men out there who would have probably been glad to provide for her. She was a beautiful woman, her black hair offset by clear aquamarine eyes and an Angelina Jolie mouth, all of it arranged beautifully atop some more than decent curves that even the mannish white shirt, black trousers, and splashy necktie couldn’t diminish. But she wasn’t his type. His type was…
Well, normally, he would have said his type was any woman whose body had produced estrogen at some point in her life. At the moment, however, he was thinking in more specific terms. Specifically, any woman whose body had produced estrogen at some point in her life and didn’t look at him as if he were a big ol’ ATM. Even if he had, in the past, dated more than one woman he knew was interested in him primarily for one thing, and that was the fact that there were so many numbers before the decimal point in his annual income. That hadn’t mattered to him, though, because he’d only been dating those women for one thing, too, and although it had involved numbers—and letters, too—they had nothing to do with the women’s earning potential and everything to do with a label inside an article of lingerie they wore.
Craggedy’s friend Goldie Digger, he had to admit, would actually fill that requirement—and that article of lingerie—nicely. In spite of that, his gaze was still drawn to her friend. Who, he noted with some regret, wouldn’t fill much of anything.
In spite of Craggedy Ann’s obvious attempt to hide from him, Cole moved forward again, this time ignoring all the greetings, hands, and questions until he could circle the bar and see her pretending to study a drink menu with the same sort of fascination a high school freshman might show for the periodic table. Smiling, he covered what little distance remained between them until he was standing right behind her.
“Hello, again,” he said, ducking his head close to her ear to ensure she heard the words. And also to see if she still smelled like patchouli. Which she did. Which made him feel even luckier for some reason.
She spun around to look at him, her eyes even bigger and more panicked than before, her mouth forming a perfect surprised O.
“Hello yourself.”
But it wasn’t Craggedy Ann who spoke. It was her friend, Goldie Digger.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Goldie continued. “Didn’t we meet at the Cannes Film Festival last year? Or George Clooney’s place in Malibu? Or was it that fundraiser at Bill Gates’s compound?”
Wow, Cole thought. If she shoveled it any higher, they were all going to be bagged up as Miracle-Gro.
“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder to Goldie. “Never been any of those places.” To Craggedy, he quickly added, “We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves when we bumped into each other Friday. I’m—”
“Cole Early,” Goldie said, sounding a little frazzled. “That’s the name I was trying to remember.”
When Cole didn’t acknowledge her remark, she leaned across the bar as far as she could, and damned if she didn’t manage to insinuate herself between him and Craggedy. Her feet had to be dangling above the floor on the other side to have managed the feat, but that didn’t deter her from wriggling closer still. Even more annoying, Craggedy did nothing to stop her friend from coming between them. In fact, Craggedy inched a few steps to her left, away from him, stopping only when the presence of another body at the bar prevented her from going any farther.
But she didn’t stop looking at him, Cole noticed. Unfortunately, she didn’t stop looking panicky, either.
“I know we’ve met somewhere,” Goldie hurried on, tossing her hair in a way that probably would have been provocative if she hadn’t been hanging over a bar like a limp sausage.
Cole looked at her face long enough to take in the big eyes and full mouth and cheekbones sharp enough to hew logs. Definitely a beautiful woman. And definitely not one he wanted to get to know better. Now the woman on the other side of her…
Well, it wasn’t that he wanted to get to know Craggedy better, either, he hastily amended. It was just that she was a familiar face in unfamiliar surroundings, and Cole was tired of feeling uncomfortable. In situations like this, comfort was found with those who offended you least. Craggedy, by virtue of her appearance at the realty office Friday, was the first friend he’d made in this town. Hell, considering how he’d been juggling his days between the farm in Shelbyville, meetings at Churchill Downs, and a seemingly endless list of Derby-related functions, she was the only friend he’d made in this town.
“I’m Sabrina Calhoun,” the woman he wasn’t interested in getting to know better went on. “Bree to my friends. So you should definitely call me Bree. In fact, I’m sure you’ve already called me that. Probably from the other side of the bed.” She threw him a dazzling smile that said, “Just kidding…but we could change that right now.”
“Nice to meet you, Sabrina,” he lied, deliberately using the name she’d told him not to. “Who’s your friend?”
She seemed stumped for a minute, as if she couldn’t believe Cole
