A Glimpse of Fire Read Free Page B

the prospect, she’d be a liar, but the situation was just so way out there. “Pass me some popcorn, would you?”
    “You won’t like it. I used a whole block of butter,” she said, licking her fingers.
    “I don’t suppose you set any popcorn aside for me.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Thanks.” Dallas sighed as she pushed off the purple beanbag chair. Some things never changed.
    They’d been roommates for three years, but Wendystill hadn’t grasped the concept of sharing. She had other good qualities, Dallas reminded herself as she grabbed an apple from the basket of fruit they kept on top of the refrigerator—the only spare spot in the minuscule kitchen.
    “So, you saw this guy, right?” Wendy asked between handfuls of popcorn.
    “Briefly. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a blind date. Just a prank.”
    “What does he look like?”
    “Tall, kind of wiry, athletic-type body, dark hair, hazel eyes, strong square jaw.”
    Wendy snorted. “Just a brief look, huh?”
    “Keep stuffing your face and shut up.” Dallas sank back into the chair and stretched her legs out. “I called that guy Tom’s office. I didn’t talk to him. Just made sure he really worked there.”
    “And what about Saturday night? How do you know it’s legit?”
    “I pretended I was a florist and wanted to confirm the delivery date for the dinner.”
    “Very sneaky. I’m impressed.”
    Dallas groaned. “But I still don’t know if I should do this.”
    “Did Trudie have an opinion?”
    “Please, you need to ask? She thinks I’d be crazy to do it.”
    “Screw it. She’s gotten too conservative since she caved in and got a nine-to-fiver. Go. Be daring. Have fun. What else do you have to do Saturday, anyway?”
    Dallas watched a popcorn kernel slip from Wendy’s hand and fall to the floor to join several of its friends. Dallas sighed. Wendy was right. What else did she have to do Saturday night besides clean up Wendy’s mess?
     
    E RIC FINISHED HIS COGNAC and debated having another one before he slipped out. As usual he’d come late, for-going the cocktail hour and arriving just minutes before dinner had been served, along with a different wine with each course. Easy to get stupid with all that booze. And he made it a policy never to get stupid in front of the brass.
    Webber, of course, was here. It was his house. He always threw the parties. New money. He still had a lot of showing off to do. The firm’s other partner, Joseph Thornton IV, came from old money. Nice guy, old-school polite, but with the exception of Webber, no one from the office had ever seen the inside of his house. At least no one Eric knew of. Not that he was the type to be invited to the Thornton estate. But some day…hell, some day he’d have a nice three-story brownstone like this with a view of Central Park.
    Near the white marble fireplace, Tom and Serena were talking to Harold Carter, the company’s controller and possibly the most boring human being in Manhattan. Eric wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he circled around the room, heading for the bar.
    “Another cognac?” The bartender reached for the bottle.
    “Yep, one for the road.” Eric put down his emptysnifter. Most bartenders had amazing memories. “Go ahead and refill this one.”
    He’d picked up a clean glass but set it aside. “No argument from me. One less to wash.”
    Eric glanced at the guy’s name tag. He remembered him from the Webber’s Christmas party. “Tell me something, Chuck. You ever get tired of these private parties?”
    Chuck shrugged. “They aren’t so bad. Pays the rent.”
    Eric sighed. “Yep, that’s what it’s all about.” He surveyed the plush living room, impeccably decorated in gold and burgundy, a van Gogh over the fireplace and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a couple of Gauguins on the dining room wall. He hated these affairs. Ridiculously formal and mandatory—unspoken, of course. “Money.”
    Chuck grinned. “Nothing wrong with that.”
    “Not a