Everything You Need To Know. HelenKay Dimon
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scanned the Highwater Observatory, the fancy room housing the reception. It was one of three ballrooms at the tony hotel on the edge of Georgetown. Jordan had to fight the urge to grab her phone and figure out how much the room rental cost. Something with skylights and “observatory” in its name couldn’t be cheap. Add in the paneled mahogany ceiling, glitzy chandeliers and rich golden fabrics and you had a very expensive few hours of dancing and cake.
She didn’t know one person in the room. That’s what happened when you crashed a wedding to scope out a groomsman. Word was Nick Asher enjoyed sleeping with bridesmaids—any bridesmaid—and sometimes skulked around weddings looking for sex partners. Sex, as in having it, then sneaking out before the hotel-room bill was paid.
He was a real classy guy, this Nick. Just went to show money couldn’t buy manners.
Right now she watched him move, circling a petite brunette and following her as she walked out the towering doors to the terrace. Jordan guessed it was time she got some fresh air, as well. She pivoted around one of the fancy columns at one end of the room and came eye-to-mouth with a guy.
At least it was a hot mouth, and the rest of the face...well, damn.
“How do you know Bitsy?” Forest stood there, dressed like James Bond, all sleek in a tux that fit him as if some dude stripped Forest naked and measured him for it.
Jordan felt all the blood leave her head. It had to be a reaction to the impressive outfit. No way was she responding to him. “What?”
“Bitsy.”
Clearly the rushing sound in her ears drowned out part of the conversation. “Is that a person or a thing?”
“She’s the bride.”
Jordan decided this would teach her not to do more investigation on the bride and groom before crashing a wedding. She’d gotten a tip about Nick being a groomsman and showed up without any planning. It was a hotel, after all. Not exactly a security-protected event.
But none of that solved the six-foot-something problem in front of her. Damn, she couldn’t see anything past Forest’s broad shoulders. That couldn’t be normal.
She waved her hand and gave a chuckle. “Oh, sure. Bitsy.”
He shifted as he folded his arms over his chest. “No one calls her that.”
Shifty bastard. “Why did you?”
“To see if you knew her or were even invited to this event.”
“What makes you think I’m not supposed to be here?” Other than that being the truth, of course.
“You’re not talking to anyone.”
Jordan snorted before she could stop it. “So?”
He put his palm against the column behind her head and leaned in. “You were hiding behind the post and ducked when the bride walked by. You’re not giving anyone eye contact and I haven’t seen you talk or eat or even sit down, probably because you don’t have an assigned seat.”
“Yeah, that’s not creepy or anything.”
“What?”
“Your stalking problem.”
The corner of his mouth lifted but just as quickly flatlined again. “You’re not exactly engaged in normal wedding-guest behavior.”
“Clearly you don’t go to many weddings.” Jordan had been to seven for her mother alone, so she considered herself a bit of an expert. And, really, hiding was the only way to get through them.
He held out his hand. “Okay, let’s see your seat-placement card.”
He sounded ridiculous saying that, but she bit back a laugh, mostly because of the ball of anxiety racing up her throat to choke her. “Were you invited?”
A young girl barreled by them and knocked into Jordan. The girl was off with a muttered apology. Jordan’s balance took a bit longer to settle out.
With quick reflexes, Forest reached for her arm and pulled her closer to his side even as the fingers stayed wrapped around her elbow. “Elizabeth’s father works in my accounting department.”
“Well, of course he does.” All of these rich, powerful folks knew each other. It was some weird exclusive club where admittance required stacks of cash.
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