A Cowboy in Manhattan(62)
“Boring how?”
“Loves to name-drop and brag about all the important events he’s attended. For a skinny man, he’s fairly obsessed with menus—who served which caviar, that the shrimp was overdone, that the Kobe beef wasn’t, and that the pastry chef was subpar.”
Reed nodded. It was annoying, but nothing compared to what Quentin had done to Katrina.
“By the way—” Reed took the opportunity “—if you ever need a good bakery, I know a great one in Brooklyn.”
“I don’t entertain much in Brooklyn.”
“They do deliver.” Reed signaled a passing waiter and chose a glass of red wine. “If I could get you a discount, would you be willing to try someone new?”
She arched a sculpted brow. “Are you serious?”
“I am. I own a small percentage of one that would like to break into the upscale catering market.”
Elizabeth gave a small shrug. “Send me the information. We can talk.”
“I’ll have them send you some samples. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She nodded across the room. “I see Katrina’s wearing Asper Emily tonight.”
Reed watched Katrina laugh with two tuxedo-clad guests. He tried not to let jealousy creep in. “Is she securing donations?”
“One never knows who will decide to participate financially.” Elizabeth paused. “You know, Katrina has a fantastic future ahead of her with Liberty.” She took a sip of her champagne. “Assuming she stays in New York City.”
Confused, Reed asked, “What makes you think she won’t?”
Elizabeth’s smile was sly. “You.”
Reed laughed at that.
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”
“Don’t worry about it. She hates Colorado a whole lot more than she likes me.”
“She must really hate Colorado then.” Elizabeth wound her arm through his once more. “Walk me over to the piano. I need to speak with Samuel Wilcox, and I don’t want Quentin to snag me along the way.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Several people greeted Elizabeth from a distance as they walked, but none approached her directly. Reed could see Foster out of the corner of his eye, tracking their progress across the ballroom.
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth as Reed handed her off to Samuel Wilcox.
Reed didn’t wait for an introduction, but quickly withdrew and made his way to where Foster stood alone near one of the bars. He ditched the wineglass on the way, wanting both hands free.
“Foster.” He nodded, coming to a halt.
The man’s dirt-brown eyes narrowed. “Have we met?”
Reed scoffed out a laugh. “Right.” If that’s the way the guy wanted to play it, fine by him.
Reed put his back to the polished bar and set his tone low, though nobody was particularly close by. “My message is short. I know you propositioned Katrina. I know about the shoes. And I know where you live—”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Foster sputtered. But his face had flushed ruddy.
“I can also easily access your social calendar.” Reed straightened, noting the bead of sweat that had formed on Foster’s brow. “If you hurt Katrina, if you threaten Katrina, if you lift one finger to harm her career, I will hunt you down and wipe you off the face of this planet.”
Foster pulled himself taller, his voice going shrill. “Even if I did know what you were talking about, I do not respond to threats.”
“Yeah? Well, you might want to make an exception in this case.”
“Uncivilized thug,” Foster spat.
“When it comes to Katrina, absolutely. You’d be smart to remember that, too.” Message delivered, Reed walked away.
Katrina was determined to avoid Quentin. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to rebuff him all over again. He’d been watching her for several minutes now, and he was headed her way. She started for the other side of the ballroom, deciding avoidance was her best strategy.
She couldn’t help but wish Reed was at her side. But last time she’d seen him, he was engaged in what had looked like a serious conversation with Elizabeth. Katrina had to admit, she was rather surprised at how adroit Reed seemed to be at managing the party without much help from her. She’d never had a date give her so much space before.