She blushed in response, turning back to Cade. “I think I found him.”
“Reese is a bit of a ladies’ man, which is why we’re standing way over here. If I take you over to Reese, Logan will probably charge over to protect his territory.”
That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, Brontë thought with another sip of her wine. “And you? Where do you fit into the picture? You’ve shown me the professor and the playboy. Where do you fit into all these neat little categories?”
He grinned at her, flashing white teeth. “I am a Lancelot at heart, I’m afraid. I like nothing more than to be of service. You’re looking at the world’s largest Boy Scout. Show me an old lady who needs to cross the street, and I’ll show you a man who will trip over his own two feet to assist her.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s a rather interesting picture you paint of yourself.”
Cade shrugged. “I find that most people fit into basic archetypes if you think about it.”
“Oh? Where do you see me?”
“I don’t know enough about you yet.” He studied her for a moment. “What do you do for a living?”
It figured that he’d ask that. She bit back her grimace and kept her face deadpan. “I’m a waitress. Does that change things?”
His eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “I’m still forming my opinion. You’re definitely more of a Mary Ann than a Ginger, though.”
“Can’t argue with that. Unfortunately, it feels like this party is full of Gingers.”
“These sorts of shindigs always draw a lot of Gingers,” he said sympathetically. “Luckily for me, I’ve claimed the one Mary Ann in the bunch. Much better conversation.”
He was such a sweetheart. She couldn’t help but smile at him. She took another sip of her wine and then pointed at Logan’s broad back as he stood commanding a small group that was hanging on his every word. “And Logan? What is he?”
Cade grinned. “He’s the boss, of course. Just like everyone wishes they could be.”
“Mmm. ‘He who owns a hundred sheep must fight with fifty wolves.’”
He gave her an impressed look. “Who said that?”
Another man moved to her side, and to her surprise, she found it was Griffin. The snob. “Plutarch,” he told Cade with an arch smile. “And you’re keeping Logan’s new friend all to yourself tonight. I’m wounded, especially when I come and find that she’s quoting Greek philosophy to you.”
She put her hand out in greeting. “I’m Brontë.”
“Of course you are,” Griffin murmured, his voice cultured and smooth. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Anne, Charlotte, or Emily?”
“Take your pick,” she said lightly, feeling a bit more comfortable. If he could name all three Brontë sisters, he was probably well educated and would be interesting to talk to.
“I’m chaperoning while Logan has to do the rounds,” Cade said. “Brontë didn’t look as if she was enjoying the stock market conversation, so I was put in charge of her rescue.”
“Wise choice,” Griffin agreed. “So you quoted Plutarch. Are you a big fan of his work?”
“Actually, I don’t know that I am. While I enjoyed his Parallel Lives,” she said, tilting her head to study Griffin’s expression, “I find them rather biased toward his own particular philosophy, which is ironic considering that he castigated Herodotus for doing the same in his works.”
Cade chuckled. “And this is the part where both of you lose me. I think I’m off to get a refill while you two discuss dead Greek guys. Would you like more wine, Brontë?”
“Please,” she told him with a smile. “That would be lovely.”
Griffin stepped closer to her as Cade moved away. “So how did Logan end up with a woman who quotes philosophy? You’ll forgive me if I say that most women he dates don’t seem the type to be able to read anything beyond a fashion magazine, much less ancient history.”
“Well,” she began, smiling at Griffin. “We got stuck in an elevator together in a hurricane.”
***
The party continued on throughout the night, and Brontë caught occasional glimpses of Logan, but every time he paused to speak to her or pull her close for a stolen moment, someone else would appear and steal him away from her. Brontë took it all with good humor. It was fascinating to see just how many people wanted to talk to Logan and seemed to hang on his every word. It wasn’t his party, but he was the star of it.
Cade had courteously remained at her side throughout the night, chatting with her and making her comfortable, introducing her to people. She suspected that Logan had had a conversation with him in advance of the party itself to ensure that she was taken care of when he couldn’t be at her side, but she didn’t mind. Cade was charming, and he shielded her from uncomfortable questions. Griffin had turned out to be extremely pleasant and knowledgeable, too, and she had a standing invite to attend a philosophy salon he was holding at a local college.
She’d even met playboy Reese for a brief moment. He’d approached with a seductive look on his face, kissed her hand, and then backed off when Cade introduced her as Logan’s date. He’d given her a reluctant grin, as if to say “next time,” and moved on to a group of supermodels.
Cade excused himself to meet up with an old friend, and Brontë took the opportunity to escape out onto the balcony. Her head was swimming from all the wine she’d drunk, and she’d eaten very little due to nerves. Fresh air helped, though, and she leaned against the railing of the near-empty balcony breathing in the night air. At the far end of the balcony, a smoker finished his cigarette and returned to the party. Brontë remained, though, staring down at the view with something akin to wonder. Definitely not Kansas City. New York seemed to be a magical place. There was something about it that thrilled her. It was a place where things happened, and she liked that.
“Well, hello there,” a sweet, almost musical voice said at her shoulder.
Brontë turned and smiled faintly at the woman standing before her. She didn’t look familiar. She was gorgeous, though. Long, pale blond hair rippling in the night breeze, a thick fringe of bangs over her forehead. Her body was sheathed in a tight white bandage dress, and she towered over Brontë in platform sandals. She looked like a beautiful, cold ice queen.