Party Crashers

his way to being toasted.
    "How do you do, Roger?" Carlotta said. "Do both of you gentlemen work in the industry?"
    "I'm in television production," Kyle offered. "My buddy Roger is a money man."
    Carlotta smiled. "Ah. Sounds like a most fortuitous friendship. You work together?"
    "No," Kyle Coffee said with an exaggerated wink. "I guess you could say we play together, wouldn't you, Roger?"
    LeMon hesitated, then gave a little laugh and turned to look at Jolie.
    She fought the clawing urge to run. The relief that he didn't seem to recognize her gave way to the heebie-jeebies from his lascivious stare. He wet his thin lips, then said to Carlotta, "So, does your friend have that same cute accent?"
    Carlotta gave Jolie a questioning look. "Who, Linda? Well—"
    "No," Jolie said softly, but emphasized the Georgia drawl she'd been raised with and had worked hard to dispel. "That is, I have a cute accent, but it's closer to home."
    They all laughed and Roger inched nearer. The hand in his pocket began to jingle change and his neck loosened with what she assumed was his "hey, chickie baby" stance. "Nice outfit," he said, looking at her boobs.
    "Thanks." Her mind raced, searching for a line of questioning that might lead somewhere helpful. "Where do you live, Roger?"
    He took another drink, as if he were debating on what—or perhaps whether—to tell her. "In Buckhead," he said finally. "You?"
    "Vinings," she said, glad that her real-estate training had made her so familiar with the metro area. "I just moved to town. What did your friend mean when he said you were a money man?" She managed a flirtatious smile. "You don't launder money, do you?"
    Kyle Coffee belly-laughed, blowing his flammable breath all over them. Roger joined in, slightly less amused, a half beat later. "No. I'm an investment broker. What do you do...um—"
    "Linda," she supplied. "I'm an attorney."
    Kyle elbowed Roger. "Maybe she's a divorce attorney." He laughed again, scorching the air.
    Roger's thick, dark eyebrows came together. "Maybe you've had a little too much to drink, Kyle."
    When the silence began to grow tense, Jolie asked, "So, Roger, do you come to these events to network for clients?"
    "No, I come for the same reason that most everyone else is here: to kill time." He lifted his glass for another drink and winced as he swallowed. "Besides, almost everyone here is already a client of mine."
    She glanced around to humor him "I guess that means you deal only with high rollers."
    He shrugged. "Well, not to brag, but my minimum investment for new clients is seven figures."
    The man was so bragging. But with those requirements and Gary's wrecked finances, Gary certainly wasn't a client of LeMon's. "Do you have a business card?" she asked.
    He extended his drink for her to hold, and she took it, feeling a little smarmy just by association. She had the feeling that Roger LeMon was used to people doing what he wanted, especially women. And while some women might find his arrogance attractive, she was repulsed. She watched as unobtrusively as she could as he removed his wallet. On his left ring finger was a gold band—a band he hadn't been wearing two nights ago. He made a show of opening his wallet, which boasted a thick stack of bills, then withdrew a business card and tucked the wallet back into his pocket.
    Jolie glanced at Carlotta, who had noticed the wad of money and seemed to be deep in thought as she sipped her gin and tonic. Unease tickled Jolie's spine, but she cut back to Roger and offered him a beguiling smile as he handed her his business card.
    Feeling bold, she asked, "Is there a private number on your card?"
    He pursed his mouth and stared at her cleavage again, then pulled a pen out of his jacket and clicked the end with purpose. He turned over the card and wrote something on it, then reached forward to tuck the card in a small breast pocket on her jumpsuit. "Call me soon."
    He stroked her breast as he pulled out his finger and she swallowed against the revulsion that rose in her throat. His hands were long and slender, his nails manicured. The edge of a small black tattoo on his wrist peeked out from beneath his shirt cuff. His smile was cocky as he returned his pen to an inside pocket. Her hands itched to throw the two drinks she held in his face.
    "Don't look now, Roger," Kyle Coffee said with an elbow nudge. "Here comes history."
    Both men looked over Jolie's shoulder and fixed smiles on their faces at whoever was