Logan cast her a knowing look.
Oh, hell. She’d just done her nervous laugh again. She quickly shook Doyle’s hand, humiliated.
“Thank you for inviting us tonight,” Logan said smoothly. “And for letting me bring a friend on such late notice.”
“But of course,” Rita said generously, smiling at Brontë and then at Logan. “Would you excuse me? I just want to make sure that the caterers have everything under control.”
She slipped away, leaving Brontë and Logan with Doyle.
Doyle turned to Logan. “Don’t suppose that you saw what the Dow closed at today? It was a bloodbath in there.”
“I was in meetings all afternoon.” Logan casually snagged two glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to Brontë. “What happened?”
“News report about more banking scandals, of course,” Doyle said with a chuckle. He turned to Brontë. “Do you dabble in investments, my dear?”
She clutched her wineglass, resisting the urge to touch the necklace at her neck to make sure it was safe. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
He gave her a friendly smile. “Well, you should consider it. You’ll never make any money if you don’t risk any money.”
“Of course,” she said, flustered. This was really not going well.
“Logan, you old dog. When did you get back?” A man’s cheerful voice boomed behind Brontë, making her jump.
She turned, and to her surprise, she saw Logan clapping hands and a slapping backs with a large blond man.
“Cade,” he said in the same easy voice, “I’d like you to meet my date. Brontë, this is Cade.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said in a small voice.
“Cade is also a business partner of mine,” Logan said smoothly.
“I prefer the term ‘friend,’” Cade said with a grin. “You know, like regular people.”
She laughed, feeling instantly more comfortable at Cade’s words.
“As I was saying, Logan . . .” Doyle’s reedy voice rose a bit. “I wanted to talk to you a bit more about the meeting this afternoon.”
“Of course,” Logan said, and glanced at Cade. “Would you mind introducing Brontë to a few people? I’m sure this won’t be interesting for her.”
“I would be delighted,” Cade said, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
“Sure,” she said, placing her hand in his arm and letting him lead. She gave Logan a reluctant wave good-bye and allowed Cade to pull her away and into the mix of the party. She looked up at her escort. He seemed friendly enough, and the expression on his face was kind. Handsome, she supposed, if she were looking, but everyone paled in comparison to Logan’s cool, austere good looks. “How do you know Logan?”
“We go way back,” Cade said easily. “College. Dartmouth. We studied business there together. Same frat and everything.”
She smiled at the thought. “Same frat? Logan doesn’t strike me as the party boy type.”
“He’s not. Even back then, he’d glare at us over our drinks and remind us that we had a test in the morning. He’s always been excessively responsible, I’m afraid. He tries to keep everyone in line.”
She laughed. “That sounds like Logan.”
“So how do you know Logan?” he asked her. “It’s been a long time since he’s brought a date to one of these sorts of things.”
“We met under inauspicious circumstances, I’m afraid. Did you hear about his trip to Seaturtle Cay resort?” At his interested glance, she filled him in on the details—their meeting in the elevator and how they’d been stuck there for nearly a day, their nights spent curled up in the stairwell as the hurricane raged around them, their day spent on the beach, and Jonathan’s timely rescue. She omitted her own subsequent return home due to hurt feelings. That seemed a bit too personal to share.
“I suppose we can credit Hurricane Latonya for bringing you both together, then. Logan seems happy enough.”
Brontë took a sip of her drink, smiling politely. “Does he?”
“Indeed.” Cade seemed amused. “From what I’ve heard, he hasn’t been at work nearly as much since returning, and we were speculating as to why. It seems I’ve found out the answer.”
“We?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Who is we?”
“Logan’s closest friends. Would you like to meet a few?”
“Please.” She was intrigued.
“Hunter’s not here tonight. He never attends these sorts of functions. But he and Logan are very close. I’m sure you’ll meet him at some point. Griffin’s over there, by the ice sculpture. The one with the glasses.”
She turned, studying the crowd until she located a man with glasses. He was tall and lean, almost lanky. His face was handsome, his style and poise suggesting he was at ease in these surroundings. The expression on his face betrayed sheer aristocratic boredom.
“He seems . . . nice,” she lied.
“Oh, Griffin? He’s a snob,” Cade said easily. “His family’s British aristocracy. Very old money. Grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and a polo pony at the ready. He’s extremely intelligent. Good guy, once you get to know him, though.”
“I’m sure,” she said in a noncommittal voice.
“He doesn’t take kindly to strangers, though, which is why we’re standing over here talking about him instead of introducing you. If you were on a committee or wanted to discuss funding for a university project, I imagine he’d talk your ear off. Most of us run in fairly exclusive circles, you understand.”
She was beginning to understand, all right, she thought with a sinking feeling. Did all of Logan’s friends have money and success? How on earth would she fit into his world?
“Reese is also here tonight. See the man to Griffin’s left with the women hanging off of him?”
Brontë scanned the room and spotted a well-built, dark-haired man with a rakish look. Two gorgeous women were laughing at something he said, and as Brontë watched, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair off of one of his companion’s shoulders in a very intimate move.
He glanced up, as if noticing Brontë’s stare, and winked at her.