Capital Wives by Rochelle Alers

of his unprovoked threat. It was another week before he’d called the lawyer back to arrange a meeting.
    He saw Spencer sitting at a round table for two in the rosewood-paneled bar reading a newspaper. There were half a dozen couples sitting at tables, talking quietly to one another.Recessed light bathed Deanna Tyson’s husband in a halo of gold, highlighting the red in his cropped hair.
    â€œTyson.”
    Spencer’s head popped up and he came to his feet, extending his hand. “Paxton. Thanks for coming. Please sit down.” Damon shook his hand, then sat opposite him. “What’s your poison?”
    â€œExtra dry gin martini with a splash of Dubonnet and a twist.”
    Raising his hand, Spencer caught the attention of the waitress, giving her Damon’s drink order. “I took the initiative to order a few appetizers. I’m scheduled to work late tonight, so I need to have a clear head.”
    Unbuttoning his suit jacket, Damon crossed one leg over the opposite knee. “I never knew this hotel existed. It’s nice and off the beaten track.”
    Spencer ran a hand over his dark gray tie. “I found it completely by accident.”
    â€œHow convenient. It’s the perfect place for a liaison.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know about that. I come here for the bar.”
    â€œAre you saying the drinks are that good?”
    â€œGood drinks and service.”
    Tiny lines fanned out around Damon’s eyes when he smiled. “It’s the same at the Four Seasons, Ritz-Carlton Georgetown and the Hays-Adams Hotel.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Spencer agreed. “Maybe I should’ve added discretion to the list.”
    Damon grinned broadly. “Now you’re talking.”
    He stared at the wide gold band on the large left hand wrapped around a double old-fashioned glass half-filled with ice and an amber liquid, wondering if the brilliant litigator thought he was that naive. Those familiar with the Victoria knew it was where men hid their mistresses, because Damonhad been one of those men when he was married to Jean. One of his friends had referred to the hotel as a “safe house.” Everyone associated with the establishment, from its owner, doorman, chef and housekeeping personified discretion.
    â€œAre you saying you cheat on your wife?”
    Damon’s smile faded. “That’s not what I’m saying, Tyson. What I meant is if I did think of cheating this would be the perfect spot. Now, tell me why you wanted to have drinks.” He had decided to cut directly to the chase. Over the years he’d played enough mind games with elected officials to last several lifetimes. The people who paid him the big bucks to influence their interests didn’t care how he conducted business. And they continued to throw money his way until he gave them what they wanted.
    Spencer rolled his head from side to side, then took a deep swallow of Scotch on the rocks. “I wanted to apologize to you.”
    â€œYou already did that.” Damon paused when the waitress placed a glass coaster on the table before setting down his glass. Rising slightly, he reached into the pocket of his trousers to give her a tip, but Spencer reached over and caught his wrist.
    â€œI’ll take care of her.”
    He nodded, acquiescing. “Thanks.” Picking up the glass, he took a swallow, savoring the taste of the expertly prepared martini. “That’s real nice.”
    Spencer was grinning as if he’d personally mixed the cocktail. “I told you the drinks are excellent.”
    Damon took another sip, enjoying the iciness in the back of his throat, then the burst of warmth settling in his chest and belly. He was anxious to get back to why he was sitting in a hotel with a man who was as brilliant as he was a liar. “I’d like you to answer one question for me, Spencer.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œWhat led you to believe