Hooked

didn’t quite fit.
    In spite of their mostly friendly welcome, Tawny had interrupted their conversation. She needed to be careful and not sound like she was prying.
    “This is a great setup. How many work on a busy night?” The three women stiffened and exchanged glances. “I’m sorry. Is that something I shouldn’t a sk? I mean, are there rules I should know about?”
    “It’s not that,” Tessa said. “It’s―”
    “We were talking about—oh, my God, I can’t.” Tears filled Angie’s eyes, and she dug into her purse for a handkerchief.
    “Did you read about—?”
    But Darlene interrupted Tes sa before she could finish. “No need to bring Tawny into anything on her first night here. She might get the wrong idea.”
    “I did interrupt,” Tawny said. “I’m sorry. If you’d like me to leave—”
    Darlene took control again. “No, of course not. We were talking about one of the girls who used to work here. No big deal. I hate to admit it, but we were being catty.”
    Hell you were. Whatever she interrupted, she’d bet it was one of the reasons she was playing Mata Hari. She wanted to ask more questions, but Darlene had tacitly warned Angie and Tessa to button up. Nothing more here, at least not tonight. She’d have to get one of the others alone to pry further.
    Darlene turned to Tawny. “You’ve had a lucrative career as an independent for a long time. Why sign on with Benny?”
    So they knew about her. Word travels fast. Darlene asked about the circumstances that would have made Tawny suspicious if she were sitting on the other side of the table. She’d anticipated it would come up and had an answer ready. Same answer she gave Benny. She didn’t want them comparing notes.
    “A close family member had a medical emergency she couldn’t pay. Tens of thousands of dollars. She asked me for a loan. I’d already told my regular clients I’d quit and not to refer anyone to me. I’d have been embarrassed to call and tell them I was back in business. It was kismet I bumped into Benny. So here I am.”
    “Lucky,” Tessa said.
    Darlene emptied her wine glass. “Yes, you were.” She stood. “I’m hostess, so I’d better hotfoot it downstairs for the seven o’clock appointments and make sure the rooms for eight are set up the way Benny likes. Those of you with clients at seven,” she checked her watch, “should get to your suites. What time is your client, Tawny?”
    “Seven. Guess he wants some action before heading home to the little woman.”
    All three women laughed. “That’s usually the case.”
    “His name is Mark Seymour. Anyone know him?” They all shook their heads.
    “We’re not supposed to mention names,” Darlene said. “Not unless we’re doing someone together.”
    “Oops. Guess I have a lot to learn. And after all these years.”
    “Sounds like a Paul Simon song,” Tessa said. “What was it? Still Crazy After All These Years ?”
    “Yup, that’s me,” Tawny said. “Older but I doubt wiser. Better get going.”
    “My appointment’s at eight,” Angie said. “He’s a regular. Unmarried, rich, handsome, and desperate to avoid attachments. I think I’ll have another glass of wine.”
    “So where are the others?” Tawny asked. “Don’t they come up here?”
    “They go directly to their engagements. No schmoozing. Business only. You gals have early dates. Most appointments don’t start till nine or later.”
    “Gee,” Angie said. “I hope Cindi’s all right. Anyone know who her client was the other night or who was hostess?”
    “I was supposed to hostess that night, but I was sick, remember? Benny was here. He must have handled the clients.”
    Darlene glared at both women, neither of whom noticed.
    Gotcha! Cindi must be the name of the disappearing act Walsh mentioned. Now all Tawny had to do was find out Cindi’s last name and the name of her appointment. Something else struck her as strange, but she couldn’t remember what. She’d think of it. Right now, she had an appointment with the mysterious Mark Seymour.

Chapter Eighteen
    Surprise

    T awny entered the room and set her tote in the closet. A plate of caviar and crackers sat on the coffee table in the sitting room. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver wine cooler. She wished she knew this client, knew what he liked, but Benny couldn’t give her any background because Seymour had never been a client at Upper Eighties before. Benny guaranteed the man an exceptional evening with