“We replaced them all.”

Destroyed the evidence. “And whose idea was that?”

“A board recommendation. Overkill in my opinion, but I suppose it’s a PR move if you need one. You don’t have a drink.”

“I’m pacing myself.”

She linked an arm with his. “An admirable quality.”

He glanced down to where her fingertips trailed flirtatiously along his bicep. “You know you don’t mean that.”

Her laughter tinkled. “Sorry. Ingrained habit.” She disentangled her arm. “You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“You catching flies tonight?”

“Liberty Ballet doesn’t survive without donations. No offense to your gender, Reed. But men are more likely to pull out their checkbook for a vivacious woman.”

“Do you ever get tired of doing that?”

“Of course not.”

“Liar.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job.” Then she pointed with her champagne glass. “See that man over there, white hair, glasses, laughing?”

“I see him.”

“He donated a substantial sum last year. His business manager called today to say they’ll have to cut that in half. My job tonight is to change his mind.”

“Good luck with that,” Reed offered.

“Thanks.”

“I could probably intimidate him for you.”

Elizabeth’s laughter tinkled again. “That would certainly be a change in tactics.”

“Can’t flirt with him though,” Reed noted.

She looked him up and down. “There is one wealthy widow here tonight, Mrs. Darwin Rosamine-”

“Not a chance,” said Reed.

Elizabeth shrugged. “You look very sexy in a tux. Seems a shame to waste it.”

“What about Foster?” Reed put in. He’d spotted the man a couple of times, and he was waiting for an opportunity to confront him.

“Quentin? I don’t think we should send Quentin to flirt with Mrs. Rosamine.”

“I meant his donation.”

“He donates every year.”

“A lot?”

“One of our top donors.”

“Would you be willing to give me a number?”

Elizabeth drew back, her expression changing from animated to thoughtful as she considered Reed. “That would be unethical.”

He returned her level gaze. “And?”

“And I could get in a lot of trouble for revealing that kind of information.”

Reed waited, but she didn’t cave. He had to admire that. “Hypothetically speaking, a ballpark number, what would you consider to be a top donor to Liberty Ballet?”

Elizabeth’s even, white teeth came down on her bottom lip, and she smiled as she shook her head. “Hypothetically speaking, I consider a top donor to be in the range of two hundred to three hundred thousand a year.”

Reed nodded. “That’s a lot of money.”

She took a sip of her champagne. “I can smile through almost anything for that kind of money.”

“Are you saying you have problems with Quentin?”

“Nothing serious.” She glanced from side to side and lowered her voice. “The biggest problem I have with him is that he’s boring. He’s way too fond of the sound of his own voice, and tends to corner me at parties.”

“Boring how?”

“Loves to name-drop and brag about all the important events he’s attended. For a skinny man, he’s fairly obsessed with menus-who served which caviar, that the shrimp was overdone, that the Kobe beef wasn’t, and that the pastry chef was subpar.”

Reed nodded. It was annoying, but nothing compared to what Quentin had done to Katrina.

“By the way-” Reed took the opportunity “-if you ever need a good bakery, I know a great one in Brooklyn.”

“I don’t entertain much in Brooklyn.”

“They do deliver.” Reed signaled a passing waiter and chose a glass of red wine. “If I could get you a discount, would you be willing to try someone new?”

She arched a sculpted brow. “Are you serious?”

“I am. I own a small percentage of one that would like to break into the upscale catering market.”

Elizabeth gave a small shrug. “Send me the information. We can talk.”

“I’ll have them send you some samples. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She nodded across the room. “I see Katrina’s wearing Asper Emily tonight.”

Reed watched Katrina laugh with two tuxedo-clad guests. He tried not to let jealousy creep in. “Is she securing donations?”

“One never knows who will decide to participate financially.” Elizabeth paused. “You know, Katrina has a fantastic future ahead of her with Liberty.” She took a sip of her champagne. “Assuming she stays in New York City.”

Confused, Reed asked, “What makes you think she won’t?”

Elizabeth’s smile was sly. “You.”

Reed laughed at that.

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

“Don’t worry about it. She hates Colorado a whole lot more than she likes me.”

“She must really hate Colorado then.” Elizabeth wound her arm through his once more. “Walk me over to the piano. I need to speak with Samuel Wilcox, and I don’t want Quentin to snag me along the way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Several people greeted Elizabeth from a distance as they walked, but none approached her directly. Reed could see Foster out of the corner of his eye, tracking their progress across the ballroom.

“Thank you,” said Elizabeth as Reed handed her off to Samuel Wilcox.

Reed didn’t wait for an introduction, but quickly withdrew and made his way to where Foster stood alone near one of the bars. He ditched the wineglass on the way, wanting both hands free.

“Foster.” He nodded, coming to a halt.

The man’s dirt-brown eyes narrowed. “Have we met?”

Reed scoffed out a laugh. “Right.” If that’s the way the guy wanted to play it, fine by him.

Reed put his back to the polished bar and set his tone low, though nobody was particularly close by. “My message is short. I know you propositioned Katrina. I know about the shoes. And I know where you live-”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Foster sputtered. But his face had flushed ruddy.

“I can also easily access your social calendar.” Reed straightened, noting the bead of sweat that had formed on Foster’s brow. “If you hurt Katrina, if you threaten Katrina, if you lift one finger to harm her career, I will hunt you down and wipe you off the face of this planet.”

Foster pulled himself taller, his voice going shrill. “Even if I did know what you were talking about, I do not respond to threats.”

“Yeah? Well, you might want to make an exception in this case.”

“Uncivilized thug,” Foster spat.

“When it comes to Katrina, absolutely. You’d be smart to remember that, too.” Message delivered, Reed walked away.


Katrina was determined to avoid Quentin. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to rebuff him all over again. He’d been watching her for several minutes now, and he was headed her way. She started for the other side of the ballroom, deciding avoidance was her best strategy.

She couldn’t help but wish Reed was at her side. But last time she’d seen him, he was engaged in what had looked like a serious conversation with Elizabeth. Katrina had to admit, she was rather surprised at how adroit Reed seemed to be at managing the party without much help from her. She’d never had a date give her so much space before.

She saw a chance and entered a conversation with another dancer and two of the guests, hoping it would keep Quentin at bay. Unfortunately, they were just saying good-night, and she was quickly on her own again. And her stop had given Quentin a chance to get closer.

She skirted along the edge of the ballroom toward the back, thinking Reed might have gone to one of the bars for a drink.

She didn’t make it.

“Katrina?” Quentin called to her.

Caught, she heaved a sigh and pasted a polite smile on her face. “Hello, Quentin.”

“You look lovely tonight.” Though he uttered the words, there was a distinct insincerity to his tone.

His smile was there, if a bit fake. And there was a tenseness in his posture, a tightness at the corners of his mouth. Like he had a right to be angry with her. If anything, it ought to be the other way around.

“Thank you,” she responded calmly, letting her smile fade. It was one thing to be cordial if he was trying to keep up appearances, but if he wasn’t even going to make the effort, she certainly saw no reason to pretend.

His gaze moved insolently from her face, to her breasts and down the length of her body. “Putting it out for someone special tonight?”

She ignored the rude question and started to leave. “Excuse me. But I’m on my way to get a drink.”

But as she began to move, he grabbed her by the arm. His grip was tight enough to be painful.

Before she could react, he stepped up close, his voice a growl. “You call him off.”

“What? Let go of me.” Had he lost his mind?

“That pit bull of a junkyard dog-”

Suddenly, Reed appeared. He grabbed a handful of Quentin’s shirtfront and pushed him backward ten full paces, slamming him into the wall.

“Reed,” Katrina gasped.

“Did you think I was bluffing?” Reed demanded in a harsh voice that carried. “Did you?”

Quentin’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

Katrina moved swiftly toward them, praying nobody else was paying attention. “Reed, stop.” She could handle this herself, discreetly and quietly. The last thing in the world Liberty Ballet needed was a sordid scene played out in full view of their donors.

But he only pushed Quentin harder against the wall. “I meant every word I said.”

Quentin gasped for breath.

“Let him go,” Katrina begged, glancing around.

Instead, Reed pointed a stiff finger close to Quentin’s nose. “Every word.”

“Security!” somebody called out from behind her.

Katrina groaned in mortification.

Quentin managed a pained but triumphant smile. “Better let me go.”

“It’ll take them at least five minutes to get here,” Reed warned. “I can do a lot of damage in five minutes.”

“You’ll go to jail,” Quentin wheezed.

“Do I look like I care?”

“Reed,” Katrina pleaded, her panic growing.

He glanced her way. “You don’t need to see this.”

“Everybody’s seeing this.”

He turned back to Quentin, his enunciation slow and deliberate. “What’s it going to be?”

The two men glared daggers at each other.

Finally, Quentin glanced away, giving a tight nod of acquiescence.

Reed abruptly let him go, stepping back just as the security guards came into view. Reed backed off farther, straightening his jacket. Then he turned and walked casually toward her, while Katrina stared at him in abject horror.

She felt dozens of pairs of eyes come to rest on her. This story was going to race through the dance world like wildfire. Katrina would be a laughingstock. Whatever Quentin might have done to try to harm her career, Reed had outdone the effort and then some.

Reed stopped in front of her, and she felt her eyes sting with mortification. She didn’t say a word, but dashed blindly for the exit. Ignoring the curious and pitying stares of the other guests, she made her long and painful way to the foyer.

Once there, she went directly to the elevators.

Reed was right behind her. “Katrina, I’m sorry you had to-”

“You’re sorry?” She gasped for breath, barely finding her voice. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “You think sorry cuts it?”

“He had it coming.”

“It was a party, Reed. A civilized party.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“At a civilized gathering, you can’t just beat people up because they annoy you.”

Reed stepped closer, his voice low but no less menacing. “He tried to hurt you. He did hurt you. He sabotaged your shoe.”

“We’ve been through that. It doesn’t make sense.” She wasn’t going to let the fear in.

“It makes perfect sense. Elizabeth said the board replaced every pair of your shoes.”

“So what?”

“It was a board decision. Foster tampered with the others and-”

“Stop right there. He’s an opportunistic jerk, but that’s it. And I could have handled it myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

“Why? Because you fix things?”

“Because he doesn’t get to do that to you. Nobody does. I confronted him. I warned him. And he ignored me.”

“Did he confess?”

“No. But I looked him in the eyes-”

“And you shook his hand? And you’re such an oracle when it comes to judging people that you felt entitled to try and convict him without a shred of evidence?”

“He did it, Katrina.”

She closed her eyes and counted to five. There was a broader point.

“This isn’t Colorado, Reed.”

He coughed out a laugh. “No kidding.”

“Can you at least take this seriously?”