A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(14)

Lance walked across the weathered floorboards toward the women. "What's so funny?" He glanced at their smiling faces.

Most of the regulars from the office had filtered into the Barrel between 5:00 and 5:30 to enjoy their T.G.I.F. celebration. It was now quarter past six, and their first glasses of wine had taken effect. Camaraderie flowed like the libations. The week's victory stories were more impressive, and the jokes were funnier. Humboldt agents had become "us," their clients, "them". Gwen wondered why she'd hadn't done this more often.

"Gwen thought the Real Estate Killer was after her," Maricela said.

"But it turns out he just wanted to measure her hips." Caroline giggled.

One-half of Lance's mouth turned up, and he raised his eyebrows at Gwen.

"It was nothing. That Chicago couple I've been carting around wanted to see my Dana Point listing again, but only the husband showed up. I let my imagination run away with me."

"Wait a minute," Lance said and raised a finger to summon the proprietor. "What happened to the buddy system?"

"I didn't have time—"

"She didn't think," Maricela said. "She's very impetuous. She's like my daughter, Julissa, always getting into trouble then telling me, 'Mama, I didn't know.' But, Julissa has an excuse. She's fifteen, not almost—"

"What was I supposed to do?" Gwen interrupted before Maricela mentioned her age. A vanity maybe, but she was feeling self-conscious about her fortieth right around the corner. "He was at my elbow the entire time. And he's very sensitive—not a chip on his shoulder, a two-by-four. I could see it, 'Excuse me, Mr. Paul, I need to call my office just in case you're a murderer. Can you hold up a minute?'"

"Mo, can I have another merlot please," Caroline said when the wine shop owner came over with Lance's glass.

"And are we having the Braided Vine or the Adele Cellar?" he asked.

"I had the Braided, but which do you like best?" Caroline asked and fluttered her eyelashes. Mo sniffed and pulled out the Adele Cellar.

Caroline was interested, Gwen thought with amusement. But why not? She was only a little younger than the man was. Gwen wondered what he'd look like without the omnipresent ship captain's cap he wore. His features were nice enough. He wasn't her type, but he had a refined way about him she imagined was attractive to some.

"I put an app on Julissa's phone," Maricela told Lance. "She turns it on, and I know where she is. She's very worried about appearances. She doesn't want to have to check in with me in front of the other kids."

"Ooh, I should get that. But who'd care where I was?" Caroline's expression went from excited to depressed in three seconds flat.

"So it works? You can keep track of her?" Lance leaned over Maricela's phone, and she showed him the features.

His profile was almost perfect. It reminded Gwen of a Greek bust she'd seen at the Getty Museum. If she were a director, she'd cast him as a young Caesar, or Pericles, or even an older Romeo.

He glanced up at her. She realized she'd been staring, jumped up and walked to the bar. Mo acknowledged her with a nod. She ordered more Cabernet. She hadn't been planning to have another, but it was the first deflection that came to mind. Now she would have to stay, not only until it was drunk, but also until she wasn't.

It didn't matter. Art wasn't going to be home until late. He and the kids were going to a school concert, then out for pizza. Gwen felt a little guilty she hadn't attended, but she'd promised Maricela she'd meet her for a glass of wine. Besides, she was making a point by her absence.

If Art wanted to be el presidente of St. Barnabas, God bless him. She didn't plan to be la primera dama. Her mother had been her father's wingman, the wind beneath his wings, his guardian angel, whatever. He'd had many names for her. All lovely. But none of them stopped him from abandoning her when a younger cherub flew into his life. Art would have to accept that he and she were a team with different, but equal, roles.

"So you were almost strangled with a tape measure." A warm voice close to her ear startled her. "That seems a fitting death for a Realtor." Lance sat on the stool next to her.

"Better for an interior designer."

"True." He nodded. "I guess if I were going to kill an agent, I'd suffocate her under a mountain of paperwork."

"Or bludgeon her with a 'For Sale' sign," Gwen said.

"Seriously, though, that was a pretty stupid thing you did today, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

"Yes, but I want this deal. And," Gwen lifted her glass in a toast, "it looks like I'm going to get it."

Lance didn't return the gesture. "But what if he'd been the guy?"

Gwen shrugged. Since the shock and fear had worn off, the whole event seemed more humorous than dangerous. "What if you get hit by lightning when you leave here tonight? That's more likely than me becoming the Real Estate Killer's next victim."

"Lightning just struck twice in the same county." Lance sipped his wine.

That was another thing that annoyed Gwen about Lance; he always had to have the last word. A bubble of laughter burst at a high top table where the Humboldt agents sat. She slid off her stool and wandered over to the group.