The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [8]
“That’s all right, I know my way around,” Alice assured him, and then, in case he thought she was snooping, added, “I’m Flora’s sister.”
“Really?” He glanced at her in surprise.
Alice bristled, just imagining the comparison that was going on in his mind. It was always the same, whenever people heard that they were related. Blond and ethereal, she wasn’t. But this time, the man simply gave her a teasing grin. “You don’t seem to have inherited her love for all things pink.”
She relaxed. “We’re stepsisters,” Alice explained. “The pink is definitely in her genes.”
“I guess that settles the nature-versus-nurture debate.” He laughed.
“Someone should alert the media,” Alice agreed.
There was a pause, one of those natural conversational spaces Alice knew signaled the time for a polite retreat, but this man was such a welcome, friendly break from the forced conversation that she lingered.
He stuck out a hand and introduced himself: “Nathan Forrest.”
“Alice”—she shook his hand firmly—“Alice Love.”
“Good to meet you.”
“So…How do you know Stefan?” Alice asked, curious. He didn’t strike her as the hedge-fund type, but perhaps there was a Rolex lurking under those sleeves and a mansion in Holland Park waiting at night.
Nathan hesitated. “It’s actually kind of an embarrassing story.”
“Really?” Now it was Alice’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You have to tell me, with a buildup like that.” When he made a face, she laughed. “You should have just lied, said you met through work or something.”
“We did, kind of,” Nathan explained, leaning back against the wall. “It was one of those corporate parties, a couple of years ago. I was trying to impress a potential client, this Russian oil guy, and for some reason, he was determined to set me up with his daughter.”
“Lucky you.”
“Nothing lucky about it.” Nathan shook his head at the memory. “She was eighteen, and way more interested in flirting with the bartender than hanging out with me. So the party goes on, I notice the kid’s gone, and when I go looking, I find her stumbling out of a supply closet with not just the one guy but a busboy too!”
“Ouch.” Alice watched him, charmed by the note of self-deprecation in his voice.
“Wait, it gets better,” Nathan told her, with a rueful grin. “The guys make a hasty exit, leaving me to try and get her dress zipped—when who should show up?”
“Daddy dearest?”
“Yup.” Nathan grimaced: “I was this close to getting ‘disappeared’ to Siberia by his hulking bodyguards when Stefan appears from nowhere with a bottle of twenty-year scotch. We manage to get the man so drunk—he doesn’t even remember, come morning.”
“That’s Stefan,” Alice said, laughing. “You can always rely on him in a crisis.”
“The man should join the UN,” Nathan agreed. “What about you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her. “Are you an artiste like Flora?”
“Oh, no.” Alice shook her head quickly. “I’m a lawyer. I never really had the creative spark.”
“No? Some lawyers are the most creative bastards I know, at least when it comes to their billing,” he added with a grin.
“I wish. I just stick to contracts,” she explained. “I like the order of them, the structure. Everything has to be precise, or the whole thing falls apart.” She stopped, realizing how boring she must sound, but Nathan was nodding.
“It’s all in the details. Still, aren’t you tempted to slip some small print in sometimes?” he asked, “You know, ‘I the undersigned do pledge my soul to Satan…’”
Alice widened her eyes in mock outrage. “Mr. Forrest! Are you implying I’m ever less than scrupulously professional?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Ms. Love.” Nathan dipped his head in polite contrition. “I’m sure you’re the model of good business and decorum.”
They laughed.
“It has crossed my mind sometimes,” Alice confided. “Not to bargain their souls away—my boss takes care of that—but to slip something in. Move a decimal point, maybe, just