“I think I’d better go find Megan.”
“Oh, no need.” Olivia’s cool smile showed all her straight, white teeth. “I know where she’ll be.”
“You do?”
“We have a VIP room on the top floor. If I know my brother, Miss Carlisle is already there.”
Uncertainty coiled in my belly. I nodded for her to lead the way. She eased through the crowds to a lift that blended into the wall. The thump of bass from the lower levels faded as it sighed upward. The doors opened onto a small, inmate space, softly lit and decorated in warm reds and creams. It was stuffed with comfortable couches and loungers, some in small, screened alcoves in the walls. There was a bar in one corner and about a dozen people sat on the sofas or stood talking together with their heads bent. A card table was set up in the middle with several people smoking and playing poker.
“Lord Aviemore!” I winced and turned to see Jon Ogdell at the bar with two other men and a fairly rigid-looking Meg. “Come and meet some friends of mine.”
“You okay?” I murmured to Meg.
She smiled warmly at me, though the edge in her expression didn’t quite fade. “I’m this close to signing him. You having a good time?”
“Alec,” Ogdell barked before I could answer, slapping my shoulder and pulling me closer. The edges of his words were starting to slur. “Mystery Viscount and Lost Laird of the Cairngorms…” I set my teeth as he indicated the older of the two men. His steel-gray hair was cut severely short and there was a sharp-eyed expression in his pale eyes. “This is a business associate of mine, Hans Karlsson.”
The man held out a thin, dry hand, which I shook with a polite nod. “Pleasure,” he stated in a rich, deep voice.
“Karlsson is a very old friend. A very good friend to have,” Ogdell said, giving me a wink. “And this,” he continued, indicating the tall, slim figure just behind him, “is another good friend and perhaps one…more to your taste? Brody Harris.”
“Hey there,” Harris said with a swaying Californian twang, shaking my hand more warmly than Karlsson. He had ocean-blue eyes and a devastatingly beautiful smile, his teeth extra white in his sun-browned face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to call you?”
“Alec is fine,” I said.
“Think I can handle that.”
I told myself I was imagining the intentness of his gaze, but I wasn’t imagining the effect it was having on me.
“Jon says you’re some kind of aristocrat or something?”
“No. Not even slightly.”
“Really?” he said, tilting his head, sculpted auburn waves brushing his forehead whilst his eyes searched my face. “I mean, all the English seem like lords to me, but there’s something especially…lordly about you.”
“I’m not English.”
“No,” he laughed. “Of course not. Scottish, right? My apologies.”
“You’ll have to forgive Mr. Harris,” Ogdell said. “He’s not been over here long. Brody, you’ll just have to think of a way to make it up to his lordship.”
I flushed furiously. I opened my mouth but Harris laughed—a light, unfettered sound—and drew me aside.
“Ignore him. He’s drunk.”
“Drinks are on me,” Ogdell called and the bartender began gathering bottles from behind the bar. “What say we all get comfy? Joining us, Alec?”
“I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“Nonsense,” Ogdell said, gesturing. “I don’t want it said I don’t know how to throw a party. This way.”
He made for one of the booths, his sister at his side talking animatedly into his ear whilst sliding glances at me.
“What’s going on, Meg?” I whispered.
“Nothing,” she said, squeezing my arm. “They’re just starstruck.”
“They’re setting me up.”
“For what? A date?”
I glared at her.
“What’s your problem? Tall, toned and handsome not your type?”
“Meg—”
“Come on,” she said, pulling at my arm. “I’m sure he doesn’t bite. Not without asking first, at least.”
I let her drag me to the table, where I was wedged in next to Harris. His hip was warm against mine. The waitress came over with the drinks and I swallowed more whisky, the pleasant burn now starting to fuzz the edges of my awareness.
“I bet you’ve got better stuff in your cellars, huh?”
I tried to read the American, but the only thing evident on his face was curiosity. “My father preferred wine. But he drank most of that himself.”
The waitress returned with a glass board on which sat a silver dish of white powder and a miniature serving spoon.
“This is direct from my man in Columbia,” the old European, Karlsson, said with a paternal smile. “Please, everyone”—he gestured—“help yourselves.”
“Now it’s a party,” Ogdell said, spooning the white powder onto the board.
“Only the best for you, hey, Jon?” Harris said with a wickedly charming half-smile.
“It pays to have high standards,” Ogdell said, scraping the cocaine into lines with a credit card. “I’m sure Lord Alec would agree.”
Meg watched everything with a carefully schooled expression. I knew then that she must be a brilliant lawyer. Ogdell bent and snorted the first line.
“Good?” Karlsson asked.
“Hell yeah,” Ogdell laughed, blinking and pinching his nose. “Here,” he said, pushing the board toward Harris. “Tell me how that shit compares to the stuff you got for the wrap-up party.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Harris leaned in, his leg brushing mine, and snorted the second line. Blood rushed into his cheeks. He grinned. “Okay, that’s some good shit.”
Olivia took her own line with the delicate precision of someone sampling an expensive perfume. “Alec?” she said, holding her nose and pushing the board toward me.
“Not done that in years.”
“Go on,” Harris said, winking. “Live a little.”
I felt Meg’s eyes on me but could also feel Harris’ leg pressing against my knee. He wore an encouraging smile. The alcohol was swirling through my mind. I pulled the board over. The coke burned and stung my nose and throat. Blood rushed to my head. Electricity crackled through my brain and down my neck. It stirred memories that would have been painful, had I been sober.
“Good, huh?” Harris murmured.
I nodded, swallowing the sharp taste in the back of my throat. When my focus returned, Ogdell was handing around glasses of champagne. I drank mine and held it out for a refill. The meaningless chatter bubbled on around me. Harris drew me into a conversation about the classic Ford Mustangs he kept at his home in Santa Monica. He’d shuffled closer to me and was watching my mouth as often as he watched my eyes.
My throat was suddenly dry. I swallowed what was left in my glass, trying to remember how many I’d had.
“Alec, do you want go?” Meg’s steadying hand was on my arm.
“Did something happen?”
She shook her head. “No, I just think Mr. Ogdell is, well…beyond business now.”