The Missing Heir(10)
“I’m Kevin Mathews from Highbush Unlimited. I wonder if I might give you my card.”
Amber kept her smile in place. “Certainly, Mr. Mathews.”
He dug into his inside pocket for a business card. “We’re a charitable organization, focused on environmental rehabilitation, primarily in the northwest. I know a lot about Mr. Henderson and Coast Eagle, and I can’t help imagining that he would have been a supporter of the environmental rehabilitation.”
Amber doubted that Samuel had given much thought to the environment, since he flew around in a private jet, air-conditioned the heck out of his mansion and owned several gas-guzzling luxury cars.
But she took the card the man offered. “I’d be happy to pass this along to Coast Eagle’s Community Outreach Unit.”
His expression faltered. “If you have some time now, I could outline for you our—”
“There you are,” came a deeper male voice. “I believe it’s time for our dance.”
Cole Parker appeared by her side, his arm held out, a broad smile on his face.
Amber couldn’t tell if he was rescuing her or about to pitch something himself. But she quickly estimated that the dance floor was more than halfway to the exit. That was progress. She returned his smile and took his arm.
“Please excuse me,” she said to Kevin.
Kevin’s expression faltered, but he had little choice but to let her go.
Cole guided her through the crowd, keeping their pace brisk enough to discourage the people who looked as though they might approach. It was hard on her feet, particularly her baby toes, but there was no option but to keep walking. Gradually, the crowd thinned near the dance floor.
“Am I out of the frying pan and into the fire?” she asked him.
“I’m not hitting you up for a donation, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good to hear.” She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he was persistent enough that he had to be after something.
“I brought you a gift,” he told her.
“Bribery? That’s a bit blatant, don’t you think?”
“I believe in getting straight to the point.” He lifted his palm.
She glanced down, squinting. “You bought me a pair of...socks?”
“Dancing slippers. I got them from a vending machine in the lobby.” He glanced down at her black-and-gold four-inch heels. “Unless I miss my guess, those are two-hour shoes.”
She grimaced. “Is that what they call them?” It was an apt name.
She knew she should be suspicious of his motives, but she couldn’t help but feel grateful.
“Over here.” He pointed to a couple of empty chairs at the edge of the dance floor. “Have a seat.”
She eased down, deciding to accept the gift and remove the torture chambers from her feet. How much could she possibly be indebted to him for a pair of vending-machine dancing slippers?
She unbuckled the straps and slipped her feet free.