“Oh, good.” Amber disappeared.

Sinclair straightened the Castlebay files, hoping her makeover went a whole lot better tonight than it went today.

Ethan hadn’t noticed, Amber was afraid of her, and who knows what Roger had thought? She’d hardly wowed them here on the home front.

Freshly shaved, in his dress shirt and tuxedo slacks, Hunter looped a silk bow tie around his neck. Sinclair would be wearing her most elegant dress tonight, and he wanted them to go well together. Although they were trying to keep their relationship under wraps-okay, their former relationship under wraps-he seriously wanted her to shine. And he was planning on at least a couple of dances.

He stepped in front of the hallway mirror in the Oslands’ New York apartment and leveled the two ends of the tie.

Then his cell phone rang.

He retrieved it from the entry-room table and flipped it open. “This is Hunter.”

“Two things,” said Jack.

“Go,” Hunter replied, squinting at a strand of lint on the crisp white shirt. He brushed it off.

“The incumbent president of Paraguay just dropped dead from a heart attack.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

Hunter sat down on the entryway bench. “Did you use the mine as collateral?”

“I did.”

“Damn.” That was a setback.

“And two,” Jack continued. “Frontier Cruise Lines is filing for Chapter Eleven tomorrow morning. There are three ships up for sale in the next twelve hours.”

“And our cash position sucks.”

“It sucks.”

Hunter paused. “You really want to get into the cruiseship business?”

“Kristy loved it.”

Hunter could relate. Sinclair loved the spa business.

Wait.

He shook the comparison out of his mind. He had to get used to thinking of himself and Sinclair as separate entities, not as the same thing.

“Where are you?” he asked Jack.

“Sydney.”

Hunter glanced at his watch. “Banks open in London in four hours. You serious about this?”

“What does your gut say?” asked Jack. “You’re the quick thinker.”

“There’s no denying the quality of Frontier ships. And it’s an expanding market. We could dovetail Castlebay marketing with a new cruise-line marketing strategy, maybe even put Castlebays on each of the ships.” Hunter clicked through a dozen other details in his mind. “You have a sense of the Frontier prices versus market?”

“Fire sale.”

“We might be able to do something with the Lithuania electronics plant. Restructure the debt…”

“Gramps will kill us.”

“Welcome to my world.”

There was silence on the line.

“You know,” said Jack. “I think I’m understanding the appeal of this. It’s like Vegas.”

“Higher stakes,” Hunter quipped.

“No kidding,” said Jack.

Hunter glanced at his watch. “I’d have to go to London.” The Lithuania banking was done through Barclays, and they needed the time-zone jump start to pull it together.

“That a problem?” asked Jack.

Hunter’s mind flashed to Sinclair. She’d be all right at the ball. Truth was, he was merely window dressing tonight. She was so ready for this. And, anyway, he could make it up to her later.

“I need to make a couple calls,” he said.

“You get the financing in place, and I’ll nail down the contracts with Richard.”

“Where is he?” asked Hunter.

“L.A.”

“Too bad.”

“Should I send him to New York?”

“It’d be better if you could get him to London.” Hunter paused. “No. Wait. New York will work. Tell him I’ll call him around 4:00 a.m.”

“Perfect.” It was Jack’s turn to pause. “And, Hunter?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“All part of the game, cousin.” Hunter disconnected.

He dragged off the bow tie and released the buttons to his shirt.

On the way to the bedroom, he dialed Simon and asked him to have the jet ready. Then he changed into a business suit, put another one into a garment bag and called down to his driver to let him know they’d be heading for the airport.

Sinclair stood in the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel. She hadn’t expected Hunter to pick her up and escort her every movement. It wasn’t as if they were on a date. Still, she would have felt a little less self-conscious with somebody at her side.

Tuxedoed men accompanied glittering women dressed in traditional black or brilliant-red evening gowns. The couples were smiling and laughing as they made their way past the sweeping staircase and a central glass sculpture. Plush armchairs dotted the multi-story rotunda, while marble pillars supported sconce lights and settees along a lattice-decorated walkway to the main ballroom.

Flashbulbs popped and cameras rolled as the media vied for footage of the A-list event. The PR person in Sinclair was thrilled with the hoopla, the woman in her was disappointed to be there alone. She squelched the silly, emotional reaction and answered a few questions from a reporter for a popular magazine. But then the reporter spotted someone more exciting and quickly wrapped it up.

“Sinclair,” came Sammy Simon’s voice.

She turned to see one of the Lush Beauty Lavender suppliers decked out in a black tux and tie.

He took both of her hands in his. “Lovely,” he drawled appreciatively, taking in her strapless white satin dress. It had a sweetheart neckline and tiny red hearts scattered over the bodice. The hearts gathered into a vertical, then cascaded down one side of the full skirt.

Sammy kissed her on the cheek. “I had no idea you were a fan of haute couture.”

She gave him a laugh. “A little something I picked up in Paris.”

He squeezed her hands. “Find me later for a dance.” And he joined the throng headed for the party.

“Sinclair,” came another voice, and an arm went around her shoulders.

“Mr. Davidson.” She greeted the owner of a chain of specialty shops that had featured Lush Beauty Products for years.

“This is my wife, Cynthia.”

Sinclair smiled and leaned forward to shake the woman’s hand. As she did, Wes Davidson’s hand dropped to an uncomfortable level near her hip.

“And one of my store managers, Reginald Pie.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pie.” Sinclair shook the man’s hand.

Wes Davidson spoke up. “It’s such a pleasure to see you, Sinclair. I’ve been meaning to arrange a meeting to talk about the new product lines.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

“I’ll call you,” he said. “Great to see you looking…so…great.”

Mrs. Davidson reddened.

Sinclair gently pulled away. “Oh, look. There’s Ethan. I need to say hello. So good to see you Mr. Davidson. Mrs. Davidson.”

Sinclair slipped away.

She made a beeline for Ethan. He was talking to two of their distributors.

“But if the price breaks don’t work for the small retailers,” one of the men was saying, “you’re going to compromise your core business.”

“Hello, Ethan,” Sinclair broke in, grateful to find a safe conversation.

The men stopped talking and turned to stare at her.

“You remember Sinclair,” said Ethan.

What a strange thing to say. Of course they remembered her.

“Sinclair,” said Ron. “You look incredible.”

“Fabulous to see you again,” said David.

Then the conversation stopped dead.

Sinclair glanced from one man to the other. “You were talking about price breaks?” she prompted.

David chuckled. “Oh, not tonight,” he said. “You look incredible,” he repeated Ron’s sentiment.

“Thank you.” But that didn’t mean her brain had stopped working.

There was another strained silence.

“I’ll see you all inside?” Sinclair offered.

The men seemed to relax.

“Yes,” said David.

“Looking forward to it,” said Ron.

Ethan winked.

Sinclair walked away and immediately spotted Chantal.

She was surrounded by admirers, and she didn’t seem to mind they were focused on her looks and not on her business savvy. She was a glittering jewel in low-cut bright red, and she seemed to revel in the role.

Sinclair, on the other hand, was having serious reservations about her makeover. Men used to take her seriously. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so awkward in a business conversation.

Her cell phone rang in her evening purse, and she welcomed the distraction. She picked up the call.

“Can you hang on?” she asked, not expecting to be able to hear the answer.

She sought out an alcove behind the concierge desk, next to a bank of phone booths.

“Hello?”

“It’s Hunter,” came a welcome and familiar voice.

“Hey, you,” she responded, her voice softening, and the tension inside her dissipating to nothing. “Are you out front?” She glanced at the foyer, straining to see him coming through the main doors.

“I’ve had a complication.”

“Oh?”

He was going to be late. Sinclair tried to take the news in stride. She really had no expectations of him. At least, she had no right to have any expectations of him. But in that split second, she realized she’d been counting the minutes until he’d arrive.

“I’m on my way to London.”

“Now?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“There’s a couple of cruise ships, and a bankruptcy, and a complication in the Paraguay election.”

“I understand,” she quickly put in.

“I’m sorry-”

“No need. It’s business.” She’d been warned he’d hurt her. Hadn’t she been warned?

She heard him draw a breath. Traffic sounds came through his end of the phone.

“We only have twelve hours,” he told her.

She forced a laugh. “Another quick deal?”

“Jack’s on board this time.”

“That’s good.”

“We can get a really great price.”

“Of course.” She tried to ignore the crushing disappointment pressing down on her chest. She had no right to feel this way. He’d done so much for her already.