Before stepping into the mix, he moved into a shadowed corner and observed. Easing around the periphery, he found the room bigger than it looked. The lighting and the various levels-three steps up here, three steps down there-made the setting intimate despite the dark décor, lightened with touches of gold.
Four big screens scattered through the room played clips of Giselle-from her concerts, her music videos, backstage, rehearsing. A mix of her five current albums played over the speakers, really just background music to the lively conversation. Everyone looked happy and vibrant, drinks and hors d'oeuvres in their hands. A small dance floor off in the corner attracted a dozen or so guests.
He recognized many of the crew floating through the room, the producer, the director, the assistant director, the cast.
When he finally found Giselle, his heart stumbled. She was wearing light cream and the way that dress sculpted to her body made Troy groan out loud. When she shifted, he could see there was almost no back to the dress, leaving her beautiful body bare except for a strip of rhinestones down the center of her spine.
The sight felt like a lightning strike to his groin. Pain and yearning blended into the kind of feeling that made Troy want to drink.
A lot.
She was so fucking sophisticated now. So damn elegant. So…everything he wasn't.
Leaving him was the best thing she'd ever done. She'd had the ability to see the future, while Troy had been blinded by fear.
He shouldn't be here.
His body heat ramped up. His palms sweated. He couldn't do this. He should let her go on believing he was a stranger. He'd just have to find a way to deal with the guilt.
He turned for the doors.
And bumped directly into Zahara.
“Whoa.” He grabbed her arms to keep himself from plowing her down. “Sorry, Z.” She wore a simply elegant sleeveless black dress that showed off her great shape and olive skin. Her hair was up in a fancy, sparkly clip. “Wow, you look great.”
“So do you. I didn't think you'd come.”
“I didn't. Not really. Bad idea. I'm leaving.”
“Really?” she said, challenging. “You went to all the trouble to get dressed up, do that…thing…with your hair to make you look rugged and sexy, and got all the way down here only to leave without even talking to her?” She crossed her arms. “Don't you think you deserve more than that?”
He huffed a laugh. “No. I absolutely don't.”
“Huh. Even I talked to her.”
His stomach turned icy. “What?”
“She's very sweet. Very down-to-earth. Not at all the prima donna-”
“Z, what did you say?”
“I told her we had a mutual friend-Ryker,” she added just before Troy imploded. “We talked about how traveling sucks, hooked her assistant up with Keaton.”
“What? Why would you do that?” The panic started to bubble low in his gut and rise.
“Because she's adorable, she thinks Keaton's hot, which he is, and wanted to know if he was taken, which he isn't.”
Troy closed his eyes and searched for patience. “Please, Z, don't get in the middle. This isn't as simple as you might think.”
“Obviously.” She sighed and slipped a possessive arm through his, turning him toward the bar. “While you're here, you may as well get some free booze. Because if you're not going to talk to her, you'll need to be pretty smashed so you can pass out when you get back to the room, because, boy, she is smokin' hot.”
“Thanks for pointing that out,” he said with all the sarcasm of a pissed ten-year-old. “I hadn't noticed.”
She just grinned as he took a seat at the opposite end of the bar as Keaton and a cute dark-haired woman who looked close to Giselle's age was completely absorbed in whatever Keaton was saying.
“I hope she took a few shots of caffeine,” Troy muttered. “Did you tell her he can talk a freakin' blue streak?”
“She was warned.”