Tony leaned back against the door and watched her with troubled eyes. “The usual. Things went wrong. The money people never got their act together. The studio lost interest. The jerks who were handling the project dropped the ball. It's all over, Desdemona.”
“I was afraid of that. I'm so sorry, Tony.”
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Yeah, well, it's sort of the story of my life, isn't it?”
“You're a fine actor. You just haven't had the right breaks.”
“I know, I know. The right breaks.” He ran a hand over his handsome face in a weary gesture. “Sometimes I don't think I'm ever going to get them, kid.”
“You will, Tony.”
“Nice to know you believe in me.”
“The whole family believes in you, you know that,” she said.
“Like Uncle Augustus always says, the only things Wainwrights can depend on are each other.” Tony made a graceful, careless movement of his shoulders. “Look, I won't need a job forever. I finished a script while I was waiting for things to gel in L.A.”
“A script?”
“It's called
Dissolving
. I'm going to talk to Ian about staging it at the Limelight.”
“The Limelight is in trouble, Tony,” Desdemona said dubiously.
“Okay, so we'll have to find an angel to back the production.” Tony began to pace the small room. “We can do it. Ian needs a great script to save his theater, and I've got one for him. The thing is, I need a day job until I can get
Dissolving
staged. How about it?”
Desdemona smiled. “Okay. You're back on the payroll.”
“Thanks.” Tony stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “Sorry I embarrassed you in front of your date last night.”
“Don't worry about it.”
“How was I to know you'd be bringing a man home with you? Especially a guy like that. Is he the one who got you into the bondage and feathers stuff?”
“Don't be silly. Kirsten gave me that stuff a few days ago as a thank-you present. Sort of a joke, really. She's going to open Exotica Erotica soon.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about her ladies' sex boutique.” Tony eyed her closely. “So how serious are things between you and this techno-nerd?”
“Don't call him a nerd.”
“Excuse me. How serious is this thing between you and Mr. Stark?” Tony said with elaborate sarcasm.
Desdemona blushed. “I don't know yet, but I have hopes. Tony, I've got to get dressed. If you want to get back on the payroll, go put on a uniform. You can help Henry and Vernon.”
“He's not your type,” Tony said softly. “He's not one of us.”
“So they say,” Desdemona said
Y
ou gave your stepbrother a job?” Stark halted in the middle of the dance floor and stood glowering at Desdemona. “What is it with you, anyway? Do you have to find work for every single one of your unemployed relatives? Can't any of them hold down a real job?”
“Hush, you're causing a scene.” Desdemona glanced uneasily around the crowded room. “The jobs at Right Touch are real jobs?”
It was after ten on Wednesday night, and the Arts for the Future Guild ball was in full swing. The glittering downtown hotel ballroom was thronged with a curious mix of the elegant and the avant-garde as wealthy members of Seattle's social elite hobnobbed with a host of artists, actors, musicians, and writers. Tuxedoes and shimmering silk gowns mingled with tacky sequined jeans and studded leather bustiers.
Stark seemed unaware of the impropriety of halting in the center of a dance floor. His attention was focused completely on the subject of Tony. “I know the guy is your stepbrother, but that's no reason to give him a job.”
“Oh, come on, Stark, he's family. Tony just needs a day job to tide him over until he and Ian can find a financial backer for Tony's new play.”
“I don't give a damn if he's family. What's that got to do with anything?”
“You ask me that? After you just agreed to take in your two half brothers for the entire summer?” Desdemona pushed forcefully against Stark's shoulder in an effort to get him moving again. It was like trying to restart a freight train.
“That's different.”
“How is it different?” Desdemona wished she had resisted the impulse to mention that she had given Tony a job. The evening had been going rather well up until that point.
“Kyle and Jason didn't have anywhere else to go,” Stark muttered.
“Neither does Tony.”
“He's, what? Thirty-two? It's time he learned to fall back on his own resources.”
“Wainwrights fall back on each other.”
“They fall back on you.”
“It works out for all of us,” she said.
“You know what your problem is?”
“No, what is it?”
“You're a sucker when it comes to family. Face facts, Desdemona, there's nothing sacrosanct about family. Every con man, thief, and embezzler who ever lived was a member of someone's family.”
A flash of uneasiness shot through her. She searched his face anxiously, telling herself that Stark could not possibly know about the unfortunate incident that had occurred ten years earlier when Tony had been falsely accused of embezzling funds from a small theater.
“Oh, now, that's a very shrewd observation,” she retorted. “And utterly meaningless. You know what your problem is? You've worked with electronic encryption techniques and computer security problems for so long you've become permanently paranoid.”
“I am not paranoid. I'm looking at this situation with the sort of logical, unemotional, analytical detachment that you don't seem to be able to manage.”
She eyed him intently. “You really don't like my brother, do you?”
“He's your stepbrother, not your real brother. And you're right, I'm not overly fond of him.”
“You don't even know him,” she exclaimed, exasperated.
“Calm down, you're getting emotional.”
“I'm a Wainwright. I was born emotional. It goes with the territory.”
“You were not born a Wainwright,” he reminded her grimly.
“How I became part of the family doesn't matter. The only thing that's important is that I
am
part of the family.”
“Then you'd better find yourself a keeper before you lose your shirt trying to employ all of your shade-tree relatives.”
“Is that so?” Desdemona no longer cared if anyone overheard the argument. “If you don't like the way I operate, maybe you'd better find yourself another caterer to put on retainer. Someone with a nice, logical, analytical way of doing things.”
Stark's eyes became ice-cold emeralds. “Lower your voice before you cause a scene.” He took her arm and marched her off the floor.
“I've got news for you, Stark,” Desdemona said with great relish, “you've pushed me too far. I'm past the point of worrying about whether or not I make a scene.”
“In that case, I'm taking you home.”
“You wouldn't want to do that.” She fixed him with a smile intended to outshine the chandeliers. “This isn't a real date. We came here to do some business, remember? We haven't turned up any new customers for Stark Security Systems or for Right Touch.”
“You want to do business?” He came to a halt near the buffet table. “Then my advice is to start acting in a businesslike manner.”
“You're a fine one to give advice. You started this.”
“In that case, I hereby declare the subject closed for now.” Stark picked up a tiny slice of toast topped with an herbed cheese spread.
“Who gave you the right to close the sub—
Umph
.” Desdemona broke off as Stark gently stuffed the little round of toast between her lips. She glared mutely at him while she chewed.
She was so incensed that it took her a few seconds to realize that Stark was no longer looking at her. He was gazing at someone who had come up behind her.
“Hello, Pamela,” Stark said very calmly. “I didn't realize you would be here tonight.”
“Good evening, Stark,” Pamela Bedford said quietly.
Desdemona nearly choked on the cheese toast.
“Desdemona.” Pamela regarded her with an air of genuine surprise. “I hadn't realized that your firm had done the catering for this event.”
“It didn't.” Desdemona finally managed to get the last of the cheese toast down. She turned to face Stark's ex-fiancée. “I'm not here in an official capacity.”
“Desdemona is with me tonight,” Stark said.
“Oh, I see.” Pamela smiled tremulously. There were fine lines around her mouth and an unmistakable anxiety in her blue eyes.
She was dressed in a discreetly cut sapphire blue gown that underscored the pale gold of her hair and left her fine shoulders bare. A diamond choker circled her long neck. It matched the earrings that dripped delicately from her ears. Pamela appeared to be fashioned of spun gold, moonbeams, and pearls.
Dressed in a narrow black gown with only a black velvet ribbon around her throat for ornament, Desdemona, still seething with irritation, felt like the bad-tempered witch of the west.
She was acutely aware of the tension in the atmosphere. It was impossible to tell from Stark's expression what was going through his mind.
Pamela gave Stark a wistfully apologetic look. “I thought we'd better get this first public meeting over. We can't go on avoiding each other forever now that we move in the same circles, can we?”
Stark picked up another slice of cheese toast. “Hadn't planned to avoid you forever.” He bit strongly down on the toast. “Hadn't planned on avoiding you at all, as a matter of fact.”
“I'm glad to hear that.” Pamela slid a sidelong glance at Desdemona. “I know I left you in a very awkward situation at the wedding.”
“What wedding?” Stark asked.
Pamela blushed. “I've been dreading this encounter. I knew it was going to be difficult.” She turned to Desdemona. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes? I think Stark and I should finish this conversation in private.”
“Desdemona and I were just about to leave,” Stark said.
“Nonsense,” Desdemona murmured. “You two go right ahead and chat. I believe I'll freshen up in the ladies' room.”
“Desdemona,” Stark began in a warning tone.
“I'll be right back.” Desdemona waved cheerfully, whirled around, and plowed straight into the crowd. The throng of people closed behind her.
Desdemona headed for the nearest ballroom door. She was less than three yards from her goal when Dane McCallum stepped into her path.
“Fleeing the scene of the accident?” he asked. Wry amusement lit his eyes.
Desdemona grimaced. “I'm a coward at heart. Can't stand the sight of blood.”
“I don't blame you.” Dane glanced across the crowded room. “It was bound to happen sooner or later, though. They couldn't avoid running into each other forever.”
“That's what Miss Bedford said.” Desdemona followed his gaze, but she was not tall enough to see over the heads of the guests.
“It was Pamela's idea, I suspect.”
“What? To force a meeting tonight? Yes, I think so,” Desdemona agreed.
“Christ knows, Stark wouldn't have bothered. He sees things the same way a computer does. On or off. When something is finished, it's finished. Especially a relationship.”
Desdemona studied Dane thoughtfully. She had seen him at the cancelled wedding and spoken to him briefly at the cocktail party Right Touch had staged for Stark, but she did not know him well. The only thing she really knew about him was that he was one of the few people Stark considered a friend.
He was taller than Stark, about the same height as Tony. He was built along the same lines as Tony and the Wain-wright men in general, a lean, graceful man with long fingers and patrician features. By any traditional standard he was definitely better-looking than Stark, but Desdemona was unimpressed by that fact. She discovered to her surprise that she had developed an odd and totally unaccountable taste for men who were fashioned like sturdy medieval warriors.
“Running into each other tonight must be awkward for both of them,” Desdemona said.
Dane smiled briefly. “I'm sure it is for Pamela, but I doubt that Stark's having much of a problem with it, at least no more of a problem than he generally has in social situations.”
“I'm sure it's every bit as hard on him.” Desdemona tried to peer through the crowd to see what was happening near the buffet table. “I just hope he doesn't cause a scene.”
Dane chuckled. “Don't worry, he won't make a scene tonight. He's not the kind to explode in public. I've never even seen Stark explode in private, for that matter. He never gets very emotional about anything. Not his way.”
Desdemona frowned. “She did stand him up at the alar.”
“Trust me, from that moment on, he wrote her off as a mistake. As far as he was concerned, she became just another blip on his computer screen. A temporary glitch.”
“You talk as though he's a computer or something.”
“A lot of people think he is,” Dane said simply.
“That's crazy. Stark has emotions just like everyone else. He hides them well, that's all.”
“I've known him a lot longer than you have, Desdemona. His detachment is real enough. And I'll let you in on a little secret. I almost envy him at times.”
“That's ridiculous. Please excuse me.” Desdemona turned on her heel and marched toward the open doors.
It was a relief to escape the noisy, crowded ballroom. Desdemona hurried down the carpeted hall toward the rest rooms. She wondered how long she should give Stark and Pamela together before she returned to reclaim her client.
Then she wondered what she would do if Stark was not eager to be reclaimed.
Perhaps Pamela Bedford was having second thoughts about walking out on the relationship.
Desdemona pushed open the rest room door and stepped inside. A quick glance around told her that she had the place to herself. She heaved a sigh of relief and sat down on one of the velvet-covered stools in front of the mirror.
She contemplated her image for a long moment. The Wainwright intuition blazed in her wide, shadowed eyes.
“Damn, I've fallen in love with him.”
The words were a soft whisper in the empty room.
Not nearly enough presence, considering the momentous nature of the occasion.
Desdemona leaped to her feet and slapped her hands down on the counter. She leaned very close to the mirror.
“
I've fallen in love with him
.”
The words rang out loudly, bouncing off the walls and echoing down the row of empty stalls.
Much better. A bit more of Richard III defying all to seize his own fatal destiny.
“This is impossible,” Desdemona said to the woman in the mirror. “Okay, I'm attracted to him. But I can't possibly be in love with him. He's my exact opposite. McCallum may be right. Stark may not be able to love anything except another logic circuit. The family is right, too. Stark's not even theater people, for God's sake. Wainwrights always marry theater people.”
The door opened behind her. Pamela walked into the rest room. Desdemona met her eyes in the mirror.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Pamela asked gently.
“No. I was just talking to myself.” Desdemona sank slowly back down onto the stool.
“I thought I might find you in here.” Pamela came forward, he, eyes never leaving Desdemona's in the mirror. “Stark is looking for you.”
Desdemona drew a deep breath. “Did you two finish your conversation?”
“I don't know if you could call it a conversation.” Pamela smiled wryly. “It was a little too one-sided for that. Rather like carrying on a dialogue with a computer.”