The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

deeply and looked up again. ‘I’ll admit, we only just met, but I’m in dire need of a really good rebound, and André could really hit the spot. Do you have any idea what he looks for in a woman? Does he have any hobbies? Is he close with his sister? Should I try to be nice to her, too?’
    And, most important, does the next merger-related event call for a plus-one?

Thirteen
    J ANE ARRIVED BACK at the Lowell close to midnight, her head buzzing with a little too much alcohol and way too much of Laura’s gossip.
Some of it was useful,
she reminded herself as she narrowly avoided colliding with the white-jacketed doorman. His face remained impassive, but she noticed that he stood behind the glass door rather than beside it as she passed through.
Occupational hazard,
she guessed, placing one careful ribbon-tied wedge in front of the other on the slick marble floor.
    She made her way slowly towards the elevators, but she really wasn’t in a mood to sleep yet. Late as it was, she had a lot to think about, and the prospect of doing so in her empty hotel room was not especially appealing. A movement in the lobby bar caught her eye and she turned. The bar area was darker than it had been during the afternoon, lit mainly by little tea-lights on each table. André was seated in an armchair like a delicious sliver of fate, nursing the last few drops of what looked like a snifter of cognac. He had chosen a chair at the edge of the shadowy zone, facing out, and Jane felt absolutely positive that he had been waiting there in the hopes of running into her again.
    The certainty mingled with the whiskey in her stomach and warmed her all over, and she pivoted confidently to approach him. The difference in lighting between their two parts of the lobby made her feel as if she were on a stage, crossing it under a spotlight while he watched from the audience. His black eyes followed her every movement appreciatively, and by the time she reached the chair opposite his, she felt as though she might burst into flames. ‘You should be careful,’ she told him, folding her long body into the blue-cushioned chair across from his. ‘I might think that you never leave here.’
    Laura hadn’t known a ton of useful information about André, but it was more than Jane had known before. Unfortunately, all of it added up to ‘Trouble with a capital
T
’, but Jane reminded herself that she wasn’t looking for the love of her life while living undercover.
    He smiled slowly before raising two imperious fingers in the general direction of the bartender. ‘I find the company more pleasant here than any place I have been in New York so far,’ he told her with a courteous nod. The bartender deposited two fresh snifters of cognac on their table, then discreetly retreated back into the shadowy, wood-panelled bar.
    Jane’s better judgment suggested that she should avoid the golden-red liquid in front of her. But André raised his glass in a toast and waited expectantly, and wasn’t she supposed to be getting closer to him? Besides, she didn’t really want to do any more thinking at the moment, and besides
that,
it had been months since she had had a proper glass of cognac, and the sweet, earthy smell wafting from the glass told her unambiguously that this was the good stuff. She raised her glass and tapped it briefly against André’s, sending a soft, chiming note through the empty bar, and sipped. It was sweet, smoky, and strong, like almost-burnt caramel, and she let it spread across her tongue and down her throat hungrily. It tasted just like home.
    ‘It’s always inspiring to meet a man who enjoys his own company,’ she observed tartly once the burning of the cognac had passed. She and Laura had both concluded that André was the type of man who enjoyed pursuit all out of proportion to his enjoyment of the woman being pursued. Flirting with him, she guessed, would mostly be about resisting the force of his attention long enough to intrigue him, and if there was one thing France had taught her, it was the vital importance of being intriguing. She had got a slow start in the art form under the watchful eye of overprotective, thoroughly American Gran, but Elodie and her other Parisian friends had been more than happy to provide remedial classes until Jane was nearly as expert as they were.
    André smiled and leaned back in his chair, all signs pointing to intrigued.
Not that I have to guess what he’s thinking,
Jane realized