The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

nodding sagely. ‘Maybe not for long term, because you wouldn’t want to be stuck with that battleaxe of a sister, but he seems to have inherited
all
the charm in the family. I spent pretty much their entire welcome party just watching that man work the room. Of course, Auntie Lynne spent it fuming that after we’d gone all-hands-on-deck – like, they called Ford McCarroll back from fucking Sri Lanka – the Dalcaşcus sent only two people.
Two!
But then she decided that it wasn’t so much an insult as a sign that they were less . . . they couldn’t afford to send more. And it works for us if they’re, um, cash-poor, I guess, so then she was all happy again. Which I was already, because instead of trying to control every little thing in the world I was just focusing on André’s ass in these fabulous leather pants he had on.’
    I totally get that,
Jane thought fervently, but just then a memory clicked into place. ‘Welcome party? So he’s on the other side of that merger thing you mentioned yesterday, along with the woman you had to take shopping?’
    She clutched her fork so hard that the handle bit into her palm, but Laura was too busy chatting to notice. ‘Yeah, that’s Lynne’s big thing. It’s really like she can’t cope without a giant project. There was Malcolm’s wedding for a couple of months, and then, well, you probably know all about
that
fiasco. And she’s still in the papers sounding all panicked about it, but not even two weeks had gone by before she was completely focused on this wild intercontinental merger business. She’s just dropping quotes to reporters now and then, but behind closed doors she’s totally over it. Honestly, can you even blame her son for taking off? I mean, I’m totally against drugs, but who
wouldn’t
have some problems, growing up like he did? Obviously Belinda screwed up Blake about thirty different ways, but his poor cousin probably got it even worse.’
    Jane felt almost winded by the time Laura finished speaking.
Why isn’t Lynne worried about Malcolm – does she know something about where he is? Does Laura really believe the drug nonsense? Who the hell are these people, and how did I find myself needing to get even
more
mixed up with them?
‘Malcolm, um, Doran?’ she asked casually, although she felt fairly sure that the fork would leave a permanent welt on her palm. ‘I think I read about some drama he had last month. I assumed it would all be settled by now, though.’
    ‘Not at
all,’
Laura countered, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘Lynne’s bribing half of South America for information, but so far he’s still missing, and the wife, too. And after she threw that wedding! My parents could barely bother to sober up for mine, and God knows Belinda was
no
help. Meanwhile Lynne’s flying in caviar from the Caspian and orchids from Cuba, and she’d only known the girl for, like, a month. Blake and I dated for
years,
and . . .’
    Jane bit her lip as Laura went further and further off the topic that Jane cared about the most.
South America?
Did Lynne think that he was there somewhere . . . or did she know it? Was Malcolm pinned down, or was he still staying well ahead of the pursuit? Jane had no idea, and she had no way of finding out unless Malcolm came through with his promised email. She checked her phone compulsively, but so far that day all she had got was an update from Dee about her awesome first day of work at her totally perfect new job, three ads for cheap Canadian medications, nine requests from total strangers to add Ella Medeiros as a Facebook friend, and yet another discount offer from theknot.com , which apparently was the only entity in the world that hadn’t already heard about Jane’s disastrous wedding.
    She longed to shake Laura until the woman’s brassy highlights rang and demand to know what the South America stuff was all about. But she had a plan, she reminded herself firmly, and she didn’t have enough time as Ella to screw it up. She had to get into Lynne’s house, and no matter how friendly she got with Laura, Laura was just one stepping stone towards the front door. André, however, could turn out to be even more useful, so it was only prudent to keep working on both angles . . . and leave Malcolm out of it altogether.
    Jane set her fork back down on the yellow tablecloth, smoothing a stubborn crease in the heavy fabric. She heard the song of clinking crystal somewhere off to her left, and she inhaled