Genuine Lies

pearl-gray suit and lounged against the mantel as he sipped his drink and murmured to the redhead. A sleek woman in an ice-blue sheath with cropped fawn-colored hair served Eve a flute of champagne. The mistress of the house was stunning in royal blue lounging pajamas piped in chartreuse. And she was smiling at the man beside her.
    Julia recognized Paul Winthrop instantly. First, because of his resemblance to his father. And second, from the picture on the dust covers of his books. Like his father, he would always draw eyes and provoke fantasies. His looks weren’t as polished as those of the other man in the room, but they were far more dangerous.
    He seemed tougher-looking in person, she noted. Less scholarly and more approachable. He, at least, had taken the informal rule to heart and wore slacks and scuffed Nikes with his jacket. He was grinning as he lighted Eve’s cigarette. Then he turned, looked at Julia, and the grin vanished.
    “It seems your last guest has arrived.”
    “Ah, Ms. Summers.” Eve glided across the room, silks whispering. “I take it CeeCee has everything under control.”
    “Yes, she’s delightful.”
    “She’s exhausting, but that’s youth. What will you have to drink?”
    “Just some mineral water.” A sip of anything stronger, and she knew jet lag would settle her into a coma.
    “Nina, dear,” Eve called, “we have a teetotaler who needs a Perrier. Julia, let me introduce you around. My nephew, Drake Morrison.”
    “I’ve been eager to meet you.” He took Julia’s hand and smiled. His palm was smooth and warm, his eyes a compelling if slightly tamer version of Eve’s bright green eyes. “You’re the one who’ll dig all Eve’s secrets out. Even her family hasn’t succeeded in doing that.”
    “Because it’s none of my family’s business until I say so.” Eve expelled a slow stream of smoke. “And this is—what was your name again, dear? Carla?”
    “Darla.” The redhead corrected Eve with a pouty lisp. “Darla Rose.”
    “Charming.” Eve’s voice held an edgy amusement that put Julia on alert. A few degrees sharper, and it could have rent flesh. “Our Darla is an actress-model. Such a fascinating phrase. More catchy than that lowering term,
starlet
, we used to use. And this is Nina Soloman, my right and left arms.”
    “Pack mule and whipping boy,” the sleek blond said as she handed Julia a glass. There was good humor in the voice and quiet confidence in the bearing. On closer view, Julia noted that the woman was older than she’d first thought. Nearer fifty than forty but with a sleekness that age rolled off. “I’ll warn you, you’ll need more than mineral water if you work with Miss B. long.”
    “If Ms. Summers has done her homework, she already knows I’m a professional bitch. And this is my own true love, Paul Winthrop.” Eve all but purred as she traced fingers down his arm. “A pity I married the father instead of waiting for the son.”
    “Anytime you want to take a shot, gorgeous.” His voice was warm for Eve. His eyes were cool for Julia. He didn’t offer his hand. “Have you done your homework, Ms. Summers?”
    “Yes. But I always take the time to form my own opinions.”
    He lifted his drink and watched as Julia was immediately drawn into small talk. She was smaller than he’d pictured her, more finely built. Despite Darla’s flash and Nina’s elegance, she was the only woman in the room who could compete with Eve’s beauty. Still, he preferred the redhead’s blatant show of wares and wants to Julia’s cold composure. A man wouldn’t have to dig deeply to learn all there was to know about Darla Rose. The aloof Ms. Summers was another matter. But for Eve’s sake, Paul intended to find out all there was to learn about Julia.
    Julia couldn’t relax. Even when they went into dinner and she accepted a single glass of wine, she couldn’t force the muscles of her neck and stomach to loosen. She told herself it was her own nerves that had her imagining hostility. There was no reason for anyone in the little group to resent her. Indeed, Drake was going out of his way to be charming. Darla had stopped moping and was packing away stuffed trout and wild rice. Eve was cruising on champagne, and Nina was chuckling over some comment Paul had made about a mutual acquaintance.
    “Curt Dryfuss?” Eve put in, catching the end of the conversation. “He’d be a better director if he’d learn to keep his fly zipped. If he