Private Affair(3)

“Is this worse than being on the runway?” he asked.

“No contest.”

“Why?”

She hated when he asked probing questions that she’d rather not answer. Revealing her insecurities wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal, but this was a bad time to start an argument with him. Even if he was the arguing type, which didn’t seem to be true.

“Because I never liked playing charades,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice even.

“Don’t you play a part every time you put on a designer outfit? Or when you do a TV commercial?”

“That’s different,” she shot back.

“How?”

“For one thing, when I’m working, I’m separated from the audience. For another thing, I don’t have to get emotionally involved with my work,” she snapped, then wondered if she’d given away too much.

When he made a snorting sound, she added, “And because of Angela. Someone coming to this meeting could be the one who…” She swallowed. “Who killed her…” As her voice trailed off, she raised one shoulder.

“Yeah,” he answered. “That’s the main reason we’re here.”

He glanced at her as she pressed the back of her skull against the firm support of the headrest, feeling the solid barrier through her thick hair. It was long so she could wear it up if she needed a high-society look, or she could keep it down and appear to be barely out of her teens. But neither of those were the part she was currently playing. Tonight her hair was a sexy blond mane flowing around her slender shoulders. And her makeup was runway perfect, as always. At least her looks were something she could be confident about, which had basically always been true.

“You know your lines. Everything’s going to be fine,” Max murmured.

Impossible. It wasn’t going to be fine. She’d known that well enough from the beginning. But she’d come up with the plan because it was a quick way to pick up some useful information. When she started to nervously twist the strap of her purse, Max reached out and stilled her hand.

The pressure of his warm fingers on hers made her go very still. Through her lashes she glanced up at him and saw something she hadn’t noticed earlier. The rigid look on his face told her his emotions were as conflicted as hers.

This was the only time she’d seen him look jumpy, and she didn’t know whether to be glad or worried that he was reacting, too.

Just then, movement on the other side of the car window caught her eye, and she seized the opportunity to shift her attention away from the man who had pressed his hand over hers. As she looked past Max’s shoulder, she saw a group of people she recognized crossing the parking lot. The first one to register was the large bulky form of Tommy Larson, former Donley star quarterback. He was still well-muscled, with shoulders as broad as North Dakota. She remembered he’d married Bunny Raymond, former captain of the cheerleading squad. But he wasn’t with her now. Instead he had another woman on his arm, someone even more stunning than Bunny.

Olivia had heard that they’d gotten married a couple of years out of school. She’d been surprised that two people with such swelled heads could live in the same house. Apparently it hadn’t worked out. And now Tommy was going the same route with another beauty?

He glanced in her direction, stopped and squinted, then did a double take as he apparently recognized her—and maybe Max as well. Obviously he hadn’t expected to see either one of them here today. But she’d gone to considerable trouble to make the meeting—with Max at her side.

Instinctively, she slid closer to him, and he slung his arm possessively around her shoulder as he followed the direction of her gaze and saw her react to the approaching couple.

He turned so that his warm breath fanned her ear, like he was getting ready to nuzzle her in a sexy move. Nice thought, but instead he was sticking to business. “That’s Tommy Larson,” he said, either remembering the former football player from the way he’d strode around the halls of Donley High or recognizing him from the yearbook and Web pictures he’d studied.

“Yes,” she managed, goose bumps rising on her arms—and not just from seeing her former classmates. She was reacting to Max, and she didn’t want to. Not now. And not ever.

Two newcomers emerged from the darkness farther down the parking lot and joined the man and woman looking in their direction. Mark Tate and Sue Harrison. Again, Olivia couldn’t stop herself from making a quick evaluation. Mark looked kind of stressed out, his face aged more than the ten years that had passed since she’d seen him, and his dark hair was thinning. Sue had put on a few pounds and was wearing a knit shirt that did nothing to hide the ripples of fat around her middle.