Quietly, without a glance in Sterling’s direction, Mink gathered her things and left.
Otis released the inside button of his elegant black and white houndstooth Versace jacket and steered Sterling to the sofa. Turning over one of the chairs, he sat across from her as she busily brushed food fragments from her hair.
The sharp smell of cognac and champagne grew stronger as it seeped through the room. “Damn, it stinks like hell in here.” Otis snatched a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his shoes.
“Maybe it’s your cologne,” Sterling offered with a snide smile.
“You breathe trouble,” Otis said, straightening his lapel, “you know that?”
Sterling’s gray eyes were slippery with tears. The evil look on her face didn’t represent her true feelings. She wished that her Uncle Otis, or someone, would just wrap their arms around her and say “everything’s going to be all right, baby.”