and a silk blouse. Elegant, understated, sophisticated. Too bad her dark eyes were flat and mean as a shark about to bite.
“Slumming, Storme?”
“Following me again, Wheaton?” she drawled.
The woman drew herself up and flicked her a cold glance. “As if. We were at the Met and decided to stop for a drink.”
Interest stirred. “ Pagliacci ?”
“Yes. It was divine, as I thought.”
“How was the final arietta?” The opera was her second favorite, haunting and constructed for the real diehards of opera. Its earthy, raw nature bespoke its Italian heritage, and the tragic ending always gave her sleepless nights.
Allison lost her edge for a moment and sighed. “Breathtaking. Canio has a voice as dark and deep as bittersweet chocolate. And Nedda is able to linger and lengthen a note for what seemed like decades. I’m so ruined I needed other music to drown out her voice.”
Miranda made a mental note to get tickets no matter who she dragged with her. “Well, Tony Bennett should accomplish the feat.”
Her nose twitched. “Not really. I’m not sure how I feel about this brand new lounge. I see the overall concept to achieve but don’t think it works.”
Protectiveness roared up. “I think it’s exactly what’s needed in this area. A combination of old and new world we rarely see.”
“You trashed this place. What are you doing here?”
“None of your business. Go find your own restaurants to trash.” Her gaze settled on the man walking up behind her. “Are you still with that dirtbag?”
Allison sucked in her breath. Glints of rage spit out at her. “You’re just jealous he stayed with me after you threw yourself at him.”
Miranda clenched her fists and lowered her voice. “I told you over and over. He came on to me while you were in the other room. I kneed him in the balls and did you a favor by telling you. Even you’re better than this, Allison. And that’s not saying much.”
The famous French chef, known worldwide for his sauces and philandering, pressed a kiss to Allison’s shoulder and cut her a cold glare. “Darling, we should go. I don’t like to see you upset.”
Miranda snorted. “Good luck, buddy. She’s upset twenty-four hours a day.”
Allison stuck her nose in the air. “Check out Gourmet magazine’s issue this month. I’m featured.”
“No way. They’re supposed to run my featured interview this month.”
Triumph shone from her features. “Let’s just say I pulled a few strings and got them to change their mind. You’re on your way out, Storme, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Jealousy fought with her need to stay civil. How was it possible? Gourmet always booked months in advance, and she’d been counting on the publicity to raise stats for her new column. “You’re not going any place good, Wheaton, if you’re still with him .” She jerked her thumb at her companion, who stiffened. He hurried her rival out, soothing her with sugary words that meant nothing, and Miranda drained her glass. Adrenalin rushed through her, a normal response when confronting Allison. She stood up from the table and decided to hunt down Gavin to take her home. She was exhausted and she needed to do some rational thinking about her actions. Did she want to see Gavin again? Her body slammed to life with the answer of hell, yes. Her heart cringed in mortal fear. She’d go home, make some tea, and think in a quiet space.
Satisfied, Miranda threaded her way through the crowds toward the kitchen. Then stopped at the scene in front of her. A group of three men, including Gavin’s father, leaned over a small card table, smoking. One of those smokeless fans had been set up but it wasn’t doing its job, from the trickle of smoke surrounding them. Cards flew through their hands and snippets of their conversation drifted toward her.
“Nah, the rat pack from the fifties were better than the sixties. Can’t mess with Bogie, he was the master.”
A man dressed impeccably in a
“Slumming, Storme?”
“Following me again, Wheaton?” she drawled.
The woman drew herself up and flicked her a cold glance. “As if. We were at the Met and decided to stop for a drink.”
Interest stirred. “ Pagliacci ?”
“Yes. It was divine, as I thought.”
“How was the final arietta?” The opera was her second favorite, haunting and constructed for the real diehards of opera. Its earthy, raw nature bespoke its Italian heritage, and the tragic ending always gave her sleepless nights.
Allison lost her edge for a moment and sighed. “Breathtaking. Canio has a voice as dark and deep as bittersweet chocolate. And Nedda is able to linger and lengthen a note for what seemed like decades. I’m so ruined I needed other music to drown out her voice.”
Miranda made a mental note to get tickets no matter who she dragged with her. “Well, Tony Bennett should accomplish the feat.”
Her nose twitched. “Not really. I’m not sure how I feel about this brand new lounge. I see the overall concept to achieve but don’t think it works.”
Protectiveness roared up. “I think it’s exactly what’s needed in this area. A combination of old and new world we rarely see.”
“You trashed this place. What are you doing here?”
“None of your business. Go find your own restaurants to trash.” Her gaze settled on the man walking up behind her. “Are you still with that dirtbag?”
Allison sucked in her breath. Glints of rage spit out at her. “You’re just jealous he stayed with me after you threw yourself at him.”
Miranda clenched her fists and lowered her voice. “I told you over and over. He came on to me while you were in the other room. I kneed him in the balls and did you a favor by telling you. Even you’re better than this, Allison. And that’s not saying much.”
The famous French chef, known worldwide for his sauces and philandering, pressed a kiss to Allison’s shoulder and cut her a cold glare. “Darling, we should go. I don’t like to see you upset.”
Miranda snorted. “Good luck, buddy. She’s upset twenty-four hours a day.”
Allison stuck her nose in the air. “Check out Gourmet magazine’s issue this month. I’m featured.”
“No way. They’re supposed to run my featured interview this month.”
Triumph shone from her features. “Let’s just say I pulled a few strings and got them to change their mind. You’re on your way out, Storme, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Jealousy fought with her need to stay civil. How was it possible? Gourmet always booked months in advance, and she’d been counting on the publicity to raise stats for her new column. “You’re not going any place good, Wheaton, if you’re still with him .” She jerked her thumb at her companion, who stiffened. He hurried her rival out, soothing her with sugary words that meant nothing, and Miranda drained her glass. Adrenalin rushed through her, a normal response when confronting Allison. She stood up from the table and decided to hunt down Gavin to take her home. She was exhausted and she needed to do some rational thinking about her actions. Did she want to see Gavin again? Her body slammed to life with the answer of hell, yes. Her heart cringed in mortal fear. She’d go home, make some tea, and think in a quiet space.
Satisfied, Miranda threaded her way through the crowds toward the kitchen. Then stopped at the scene in front of her. A group of three men, including Gavin’s father, leaned over a small card table, smoking. One of those smokeless fans had been set up but it wasn’t doing its job, from the trickle of smoke surrounding them. Cards flew through their hands and snippets of their conversation drifted toward her.
“Nah, the rat pack from the fifties were better than the sixties. Can’t mess with Bogie, he was the master.”
A man dressed impeccably in a
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