She glanced over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “What about your classes at NYU? Didn’t the fall semester just start?” The mellow notes of a saxophone solo drifted down the stairs.
“Yeah, classes are in full swing,” Roarke said. “Fortunately I have a great TA and I don’t expect to be gone long. But Quentin sees my trip out there as some sort of major deal, so don’t disabuse him of that. I want my free drink.”
“It is a major deal,” Quentin said as he walked up the stairs behind them. “I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Bigfoot, and I don’t like the idea that this mated pair might be turned into a tourist attraction.”
Nadia had no trouble picturing Quentin as a defender of the big, hairy creatures that had little sense of self-preservation. She admired his good heart and his disinterest in lavish living, although he could well afford any luxury he desired.
She looked forward to sharing a table with him for a couple of hours. Judging from the way he’d looked at her when they’d met outside the club, he might be interested in more than that. Now that she had no ties, so was she.
At the top of the stairs stood a tall reception desk manned by Sylvester, Roarke’s and Quentin’s uncle. Tall and silver-haired, Sylvester looked as if he’d been born to wear a tuxedo. He set the perfect tone for Jessie’s sophisticated ambiance.
He smiled in welcome. “I noticed you didn’t arrive together, so was this a planned meeting or a happy coincidence?”
“Happy coincidence,” Roarke said.
Until that moment, Nadia had forgotten about the discreetly positioned security cameras focused on the street. Anyone in the vicinity of Jessie’s would show up on a monitor tucked behind Sylvester’s reception desk. The Wallace pack was extremely security conscious.
Nadia wished the Henderson pack would follow suit, beginning with their principal loose cannon, her little brother Theo. He was under house arrest for attempting to breach pack security last winter, but Nadia suspected Theo had figured out how to outsmart the outdated security system installed years ago at the Henderson mansion.
Sylvester checked the seating chart on his computer. “Will anyone else be joining you?”
“Not unless Nadia’s meeting someone here.” Roarke glanced at her. “I didn’t even think to ask.”
“Nope, I’m here alone. I invited my assistant, Sherry, along, but there was a play she was dying to see tonight.”
“A table for three, then.” Sylvester moved out from behind the reception desk. “Follow me.”
Walking behind Sylvester, Nadia moved through the arched doorway and sighed with delight. Jessie’s was like no other nightclub she’d ever seen.
Although she knew they were inside a brick building deep in the bowels of the city, her senses told her that she’d stepped into a forested glade. The Wallaces had connections in Hollywood, and they’d hired a special-effects team to create Jessie’s.
Trees arched overhead, and through the leafy branches glittered a star-filled sky. Loamy scents of moist earth mingled with evergreen and cedar. The rustic chairs looked as if someone had made them from twigs and branches found on the forest floor, and the tables were slabs of unfinished wood still ringed with bark.
A jazz trio perched on a grassy knoll filled the air with seductive music that beckoned patrons to an intimate dance floor. Nadia imagined herself dancing with Quentin, his muscled body brushing hers, and a wave of heat washed through her.
He probably wouldn’t ask her, though. He’d invited Roarke to have a drink with him, and dancing with her would mean leaving Roarke to drink alone. Not good form.
Sylvester pulled out a chair facing the dance floor and the jazz trio. It was also the middle chair. “It’s a pleasure to have you here again, Nadia.”
“About time, too.” Roarke rounded the table to sit on her left and Quentin took the chair on her right. “I distinctly remember telling you at the wedding that you should call whenever you came to town. I can’t believe this is your first trip since then.”
“Actually, it is.” She used to visit New York more often when she’d thought it would become her home. Now that she wouldn’t be basing her clothing business here, she no longer had to scout out potential office and warehouse space.
Roarke settled into his chair and lowered his voice. “I’ll bet you’ve stayed close to home because of pack business. Rumor has it that you’ll be the next Henderson alpha.”
“You will?” Quentin seemed surprised. “I didn’t hear that.”
“It’s possible.” Nadia kept her voice low, too. Although she hadn’t scented any humans in the nightclub, they could walk in at any moment, so all Weres in Jessie’s had to be discreet. “My father’s always favored Theo for the job, but even he now realizes Theo’s not a good candidate.”
“No, he’s not.” Roarke shook his head. “I know he’s your brother, but he’s . . .”
“I think the clinical term is manic-depressive, but my parents haven’t accepted that quite yet. Still, my dad has listened to his advisors, who’ve convinced him that turning the pack over to Theo at any point in time would be a disaster.”
“And you’d be great in the position. I have always— Excuse me a minute. My phone’s vibrating.” Roarke pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the readout. “I need to take this. Order me an espresso martini, okay? I’ll be right back.” He left the table, walked across the room, and exited through the arched doorway.
A cocktail waitress dressed as a wood sprite arrived and took their order. Nobody mixed an espresso martini like Frederick, the bartender at Jessie’s, and Nadia looked forward to the treat as she ordered one for her and one for Roarke.
Quentin, obviously not a martini fan, chose Scotch and soda. After the waitress left, he turned to her, his expression polite but guarded. “You’re looking great.” The heat had mysteriously disappeared from his hazel eyes.
“Thanks.” Maybe she’d imagined how he’d looked at her out on the sidewalk. Maybe the lust wasn’t mutual, after all. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with you at the wedding reception.”
“Yeah, well, I . . . I’m not into formal events.”
Come to think of it, she had usually talked with him at more casual gatherings like picnics and barbeques. “Not much for suits and ties, huh?”
“Not much. So how’s your business going?”
“Terrific. Sherry and I are meeting with a buyer from Saks tomorrow. Organic cotton clothing is a hot topic these days.”
“Good to hear.”
“How about you? Keeping busy?”
“I am. I’m juggling two jobs for clients, plus I’m . . . well, that’s not really interesting. Tell me more about this appointment with the Saks buyer.”
“There’s nothing to tell. What did you start to say?”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing monumental. In my spare time I’m remodeling a loft in the Village on spec. Might even live in it myself for awhile.”
“I’ve always wanted to design my own living space.” She guessed that he wouldn’t have told her about the loft if she hadn’t prodded him. “I’ll bet that’s fun to do.”
“It is. Usually I don’t allow myself to get attached to a project, but this loft is different. I’ll still probably sell it because it’s too big for me.”
“Sometimes extra space is nice, though.” Her female intuition kicked in. If he had a girlfriend, that would explain the hot glance in the beginning followed by a definite cooling-off period. Instinct had been replaced by reason. Being male, he might not realize the significance of his decision to remodel a loft that was too big for him.
But if his single life should come to an end in the near future, then presto! He’d have the perfect living space. If Nadia’s suspicions were correct, she hoped the Were who’d caught his attention knew how lucky she was.
“This is more than a little bit of extra space,” Quentin said. “I’d rattle around in this loft.” He glanced toward the bar area as their server started toward their table with three drinks balanced on a tray. “Looks like our order.”
“Frederick’s not only good, he’s fast.” She vowed to drink her martini and get her libido under control.
If she was right about Quentin having a girlfriend, that was just as well. She really should be looking for her future mate instead of getting sexually involved with someone who could never fill that role.
She would likely succeed her father as pack alpha and looked forward to doing that. Quentin was a nonconformist who never participated in pack politics. Even if he should choose to, his station as a pack member was far below hers as the alpha’s daughter.
Roarke returned at the same time the drinks arrived. He didn’t sit down, though. “Try not to take this personally, but I’m leaving.”
Quentin laughed. “It’s your loss, buddy. What’s up?”
“Apparently Cameron Gentry, the pack alpha in Portland, thinks tomorrow afternoon isn’t soon enough. He wants me to fly there tonight. He sounds like something of an alarmist, but I’m going to humor him because my dad is worried about the situation out there.”