Sweet Olive (9780310330554) Read Free Page A

and the circle of men offered good-humored welcomes at the arrival of a handsome newcomer in a suit.
    “What are you all so worked up about?” he asked, moving easily into the crowd. His gaze landed on her as he spoke, and his eyes widened.
    His suit was tailored. His shoes shone. Camille had a mental image of a valet leaning over and giving the leather one last buff before he stepped into the party. His hair was dark brown, with a hint of curl. His eyes were almost the exact color of the hand-blown cobalt-blue vase sitting on a nearby end table.
    His perusal made her heart beat faster and hers confirmed that he was, indeed, the guy from the driveway.
    “Be careful of this one, Camille.” Slattery poked the man in the arm as if they were in a high-school locker room. “We’re still trying to figure out whose side he’s on.”
    “Now, Senator …,” the man said, “if you’re not careful, you’re going to start sounding like my mother.”
    The words elicited a quick frown from Slattery. “This lady is Ms. Camille Gardner.” Slattery sipped his cocktail. “Isn’t she the best-looking landman you’ve ever seen?”
    Camille, agitated at the appearance of the good-looking stranger, tried to hold back a groan at the tired joke and emitted a choked cough. Her eyes watered, and she knew her face was red.
    The man gave her a quizzical look before handing her the glass he held. “Rough day?” he asked, his calming smile and enticing voice the only remnant of their earlier encounter.
    She fingered the pearls around her neck and took a sip. “You’re quite the lifesaver, Mr… .”
    “Marshall,” Slattery blared, as though speaking into a megaphone.
    “Mr. Marshall, thank—”
    Before she could finish, Slattery chuckled. “Marshall’s his
first
name.”
    “Marsh Cameron,” the man said, extending his hand. His grip was solid, a wholehearted kind of shake. “It’s good to see you again.”
    Slattery’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Camille to Marsh. “You two know each other?”
    “Not exactly,” they said at the same time.
    She took another swallow of the club soda. Despite Marsh’s starched look, Camille felt as though she had discovered a friend in a sea of strangers.
    The daydream had not fully taken shape, though, when the lovely woman from the BMW sashayed their way, Ginny edging nearer at the same time.
    With ash-blond hair swept back from her face and curled below her shoulders, the other woman glowed under thechandelier. Her lips were colored deep coral, and her green eyes were open wide. Her posture was perfect.
    Wearing heels twice as high as Camille’s, she stopped to give “don’t-smash-my-outfit” hugs to a trio of women. “Valerie, this gala is
wonderful
!” one woman said, making the last word sound almost like a cheer. Camille tried to recall if she’d ever heard the word
gala
used in a sentence.
    “Oh, darling, how gorgeous you look,” a society maven with an expensive cashmere suit said. “You are stunning this evening,” another called out. “Absolutely stunning.”
    “The lemming chorus speaks,” Ginny muttered under her breath.
    Camille was unable to resist staring. Not one inch of the woman’s body seemed left to chance. Her hair must have been professionally styled, her nails manicured, her makeup heavy—and, in spite of all of that, she was classically lovely.
    The way she carried herself, she could have been on a fashion runway, and she glided into the knot of guests as though working a receiving line.
    “How’s everyone doing?” Her tone was warm, but her eyes were cool as she looked from Camille to Marsh to Ginny. A light floral scent followed her.
    Slattery stepped forward and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Here’s my girl. I’ve hardly seen you tonight.”
    “Hi, Daddy.” She barely acknowledged him before turning her back on Ginny and moving closer to Marsh. “We missed you at the beach,” she said in a syrupy voice. “Your mother was so