Romano and Albright 01 - Catch Me If You Can (MM) Read Free

is free. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with the caterer. Nice to have met you.”
    “Wait.” He stopped me with a fast move, his spread hand landing a mere two inches from my chest. He was a big strapping guy and his action startled me. I froze, eyes wide. What the hell? We’d said everything that needed saying, what was his problem?
    He cleared his throat, dropped his hand. “So. What exactly do you do here, Mr. Romano? I’m curious.”
    “Well, in a perfect world, I see to the caterer—which is what I need to do right now,” I said curtly. “My job is to keep everyone happy and out of trouble. Is there something I can help you with?”
    “I’m just interested. You greet the guests by name, and you seem to be the one running the show.”
    He was watching me? Unsettled, I distanced myself by taking a step toward the kitchen. “Yes. That’s often the case. My job is to make sure Peter looks good, that the pieces sell, the evening runs smoothly, and to know everyone here by name—except the gatecrashers, of course.” I gave him an innocent look.
    “I’m here with a friend,” he said smoothly.
    No way. He’d walked in for the free food. “Well. I hope you’re both having a nice evening. If you’ll excuse me, I really do need to check with the caterer.”
    “Is she a friend of yours? The Posh Nosh chick? Do you work with her frequently? I understand she’s in and out of galleries all over the city.”
    I stilled at the too-inquisitive gaze of the frumpy detective. “Yes. Poppy and I went to school together.” What a strange conversation. He was pumping me…like a cop. Maybe it wasn’t that odd, but I was immediately defensive. “I can give you her card if you’re planning a party, Detective.” I dismissed him. “Have a good evening.”
    “I understand.” He glanced around the packed hallway. “Maybe we could talk later this evening, if you’re free?”
    I blinked. Holy hell. The light dawned and suddenly his behavior made sense: the dude was hitting on me. This was a gallery first. I glanced down at the spiffy new blazer Joey had found for me in the garment district. I must look like a sure thing. I gave the cop a once-over beginning with his scuffed loafers, working my way up the surprisingly fit body beneath those rumpled clothes and ending with the strong lines of his face. Was he gay? He stared unflinchingly back, his gaze level. His eyes grew darker as the space between us narrowed and heat flooded my face. I couldn’t decide who was acting more rudely inappropriate at that second.
    A waiter flew through the door, and whatever passed between us evaporated. “Perhaps…uhm…another time.” I extricated myself from the detective with alacrity.
    “Sure.” He handed me his card, which I took knowing I’d toss it, and then he nodded again and I walked away. I felt him watch me, my skin prickling as we parted. Hit on. At a show, no less. I’d be far more amused if Shep wasn’t trolling the hallways like the ghost of lovers past.
    “Caesar.”
    I swung around. My boss floated down the stairwell, his tux neat, his silver hair gelled into submission, his Gucci shoes freshly shined and reflective under the down lights. Suave, dapper, tall and trim, Peter was everything gentlemanly and correct. He had the usual hangers-on hanging on, and he was deep into his moment, as was the entourage. They nodded politely. I nodded back. It was all quite civil. We knew each other by day, but tonight I needed to mind my place. I was merely Peter’s darkly attractive assistant.
    “There you are.”
    As if I was the one sequestered on the plush second floor, surrounded by gushing pseudo celebrities and a bevy of beefy half-dressed waiters—no, I was the one manning the floor. Which was actually my job, so I adjusted my attitude appropriately. “Peter. Yes. You’ve found me. Clever of you.”
    “Now, Caesar, don’t make a puss.”
    I swallowed and croaked, “How can I help you?”
    “There