“Great. I’ll make arrangements with Donovan.”
“See you tomorrow, Bryan.”
“I’ll be counting the moments, darling.”
She hung up on him. And then she couldn’t help laughing ruefully at the sheer brass of the man.
Chapter Nine
To fulfill Grace’s request to keep the outing public and casual, the foursome chose a popular Italian chain restaurant in west Little Rock for dinner. The place wasn’t as crowded on this Tuesday evening as it was on weekends, of course, but most of the tables were still full.
Grace noted that several of the other diners recognized Bryan, some greeting him by name. Little Rock was a relatively small community and the Falcons had been a familiar part of local society for years. Wearing a lightweight long-sleeve shirt to hide his bandages, Bryan moved through the restaurant with his usual brisk confidence, showing no sign of weakness from his adventures Sunday afternoon.
Chloe and Donovan were waiting at a table when Grace and Bryan finally made their way across the room. Donovan glanced up from the menu he’d been studying. “Well, if it isn’t ‘millionaire investor Bryan Falcon and his frequent companion.’”
“Very funny,” Grace said, sliding into the chair Bryan held for her.
“Isn’t it strange that every article phrases that exactly the same way?” Chloe mused. “Is there, like, an official stylebook that tells reporters how to refer to well-known people?”
Bryan shrugged as he took his own seat. “It just becomes habit. Once someone has been ‘labeled’ by a reporter, the others repeat the label by rote.”
“Just as Donovan is always referred to as Bryan’s ‘close friend and business associate,’” Grace pointed out, repaying Donovan for that “frequent companion” reminder.
Donovan nodded. “Better than some things they could call me, I guess. I’m hungry. Anyone have a recommendation for a good dish here?”
They spent the next few minutes discussing the menu, then placed their orders. While they waited for their food to be served, they carried on the conversation over glasses of wine and slices of herbed bread dipped in olive oil and pepper.
Grace noted that Bryan quickly changed the subject whenever his injuries or the rescue during which he’d incurred them were mentioned. It was obvious that he wanted to put the incident behind him. He was certainly not one to bask in his own heroics. He successfully diverted the conversation by asking Chloe how the wedding plans were coming along. Chloe happily obliged.
They were well into their meal when someone suddenly slapped Bryan on the back, hard enough to nearly knock him from his chair. Because they’d been so involved in their food and conversation, none of them had noticed the man’s approach until he struck Bryan. Donovan started to rise, his expression dark, his body poised for trouble, but Bryan motioned him back into his seat after a glance over his shoulder.
“Hello, Peter,” he said, and Grace detected little pleasure in his voice.
“Falcon. Hope I didn’t hurt you just now. I forgot you got yourself injured over the weekend.”
Yeah, right, Grace thought. She disliked the man on sight. Pompous and phony were the first words that jumped into her mind when she looked at him, with his designer emblazoned clothes, his flashy gold jewelry and his fluffed-and-sprayed hairpiece. He looked familiar, she thought, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully at him and wondering if she had met him before.
“Everyone, this is Peter McMillan,” Bryan said for etiquette’s sake. “Peter’s a local attorney I’ve had some dealings with over the years. Peter, these are my friends Grace Pennington, her sister, Chloe, and Donovan Chance.”
Grace knew who the guy was now. His tacky get-fast-money-for-every-imagined-injury television ads ran frequently on local cable channels. They were so annoying that she always pressed the mute button on her remote control when they came on.
Too bad she didn’t have such a button now.
McMillan looked from Grace to Chloe and back again. “Now, let’s see,” he said. “You were dating this one—” he pointed to Chloe “—and then you switched to this one, right?” His stubby finger stabbed in Grace’s direction.
He was talking to Bryan, of course, but everyone at the table stiffened. Donovan started to rise again; Chloe rested her hand quickly on his arm. He subsided with a low growl and a glare for McMillan.
“Been reading the tabloids, Pete?” Bryan asked quietly.
After glancing rather warily at Donovan, the other man shrugged. “That’s where I find most of my clientele.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. But as it happens, Grace and I have been seeing each other for some time. You’ve made the same careless mistake others have made—mixing up the twins.”
“Did I?” McMillan didn’t look convinced, but since there was no way he could prove differently, he settled for a cap-toothed smile. “That’s not hard to do when they’re so identically lovely.”
If he’d hoped to please anyone, he failed. Only stony silence greeted the compliment.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around the courthouse, Falcon. Enjoy your dinner.”