“Yup. If you’re not holding it, some will think you’re a recovering alcoholic, if you’re overindulging, you’re going to be labeled as one.”
“Critical group.” Avery pointed to an elderly woman dressed to the nines and well into her wine. “What about her?”
“That’s Mandy Wilson. She doesn’t count. She’s not here to drum up business.”
“Then why is she here?”
“Probably to find a future ex-husband. C’mon, let me introduce you.”
Mandy Wilson looked to be in her late sixties. Yeah, it was apparent she’d had the usual cosmetic surgeries wealthy women did in order to hold back Father Time, but that was something Avery was used to looking past.
“Well, look who is here.”
Shannon smiled at Mandy as she leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “Mandy, I want you to meet a friend of mine.”
She made the introductions, and Avery accepted the thorough once-over from the older woman.
“What brings you two uptown women here? Looking for a husband?”
Avery shook her head and Shannon laughed. “We’ll leave that to you. Any prospects out there tonight?”
Mandy scowled. “Sadly, the place is shy on men. Too many liberated women joining the workforce.”
“Some of us like to make our own money,” Shannon teased.
“Don’t start that with me. Your divorce was public record. Unless of course you’ve blown through it all already . . . have you?”
“What a juicy bit of gossip that would be. I like being busy.”
“The right man keeps you busy at night and has enough money to afford all the pampering and fluff a woman needs during the day.” Obviously this was Mandy’s philosophy.
“So what brings you here?” Mandy addressed Avery.
“Not a husband. I’m with Shannon on that.” She glanced around the room. “Realtors, contractors. I’m in estate sales.”
“Selling dead people’s stuff.”
Avery had said that to herself on more than one occasion. “That would be it. Rich dead people.”
This particular networking mixer was put on by an exclusive company that offered discounts for things like private air travel, high-end cars, memberships to exclusive golf courses . . . all for an annual fee, of course. Not just anyone could get in, and therefore people in entry-level vocations weren’t there.
“I can’t say I know of any contractors here, not for residential real estate, at least. Bowman.” Mandy pointed to a short, balding man talking to a small group of men. “He’s the mayor of . . . oh, what was the name of that town? It doesn’t matter. Mayor and a broker. He might be able to help you. Although he’s a bit pompous even for me. I’d suggest you find out if anyone has recently purchased or sold.”
“Thank you.”
Mandy smiled and turned to Shannon. “And you? You’re still taking pictures?”
“That I am.”
“Mavis Ellendale said something about her daughter expecting a proposal. First marriage.”
Shannon tilted her head. “You’re a gem, Mandy.”
“Yes, I know. Be sure and tell me if you find any ill eighty-year-olds. Rich, of course. But that goes without saying.”
Mandy turned away, and Shannon and Avery moved deeper into the room.
“She’s a riot.”
“Two divorces and one funeral,” Shannon said.
“You’d think she’d be set.”
“Oh, she’s set. She just likes the chase. Her profession is finding a rich man who isn’t put off by the fact that she’s searching him out. At seventy-five, you’d think she’d take a break.”
Avery did a double take over her shoulder. “Wow, I want to know who her plastic surgeon is.”
“Thirty years from now when you need him, he’ll be gone.”
Two hours later, long after Avery had poured out her glass of wine because it became too warm to drink, she’d determined that Bowman was a pompous ass and the small town where he held a position as mayor was nowhere near the league of Brentwood real estate. She did pick up one lead from a financial adviser that sounded promising.
Shannon had planted the seed of her professional photography business to Mrs. Ellendale and her friend. Both of them had daughters in their midtwenties who were in serious relationships.
They worked their way to a sky view restaurant in the heart of LA, where they ordered a proper bottle of wine, intending to drink it.
“How many of those things are out there?” Avery asked once they ordered and were sipping wine.
“More than you can imagine. Paul dragged me to most of the political ones. The problem with those was there weren’t very many spouses that had any form of a job outside of being a wife.”
“None of them had kids?”
“They had kids, they just didn’t raise them. There were very few new mothers that showed a picture of their children, and the older moms spoke only of which school their children were attending or what college they’d been accepted to. It’s a cold group. Not all of them, but most. I plan on raising my children.”
Avery paused. “You want to have more than one?”
“You’re an only child. How did that work out?”
Shannon had a point.
“You have a younger sister, right?”
“Angie.”
“You never talk about her.”
“I never see her. She joined the Peace Corps after two years at Stanford. My parents were furious.”
“She didn’t finish school?”
“She did, only while she was in Spain. My parents cut off her funding, but that didn’t stop her from going after what she wanted. It takes a lot of guts to go from how we grew up to living in places that most people avoid. Last I heard she was educating women and tutoring English somewhere in some remote town in Brazil.”
Avery leaned back. “And our rebellion was divorce from what our parents assumed was a perfect life.”
“That’s because our parents were the kind that married for status and stayed that way, happy or not. I think in my head I thought they’d let loose once Paul and I split.”
Avery understood that. “My mother is worse. It’s all about what I’m doing to find a replacement or how I can get Bernie back.”
“I never understood why money makes so many people assholes.”
Avery buttered a piece of bread and savored it. “And unhappy. I wonder if it’s true what they say about people without anything being the happiest.”
Shannon shrugged. “I’m not willing to flush my money away to find out.”
“Me either.”
“You’re late,” Liam announced when Avery showed up ten minutes past the hour. Wearing a pencil skirt and high heels, she tapped across the gym floor and straight to the locker room.
“Yeah, sorry. Give me five minutes.”
He admired her hips as she ran by and sighed in relief. For ten minutes he’d wondered if she’d show up at all.
Their after session drink the previous week had ended with a smile and a see you next week. But he hadn’t managed to get her phone number or get her to see him outside of the studio.
Truth was, he didn’t ask for either.
She wasn’t ready to give them to him.
Avery was wrapping her hair into a ponytail when she emerged from the locker room. She glanced at the warm-up on the whiteboard and sat down on the mat and proceeded to tie her shoes.
“I thought I’d scared you away.”
She grinned. “Last minute meeting that went late.” She folded over her legs in a stretch.
“What do you do for a living?”
She opened her mouth only to be cut off.
“Less talking, more working.” Brenda emerged from her office and pointed at Liam. “You . . . I’m sure you can squeeze out another twenty push-ups with those guns.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After ten he glanced up and noticed Avery dart her gaze away.
At least she wasn’t completely oblivious to him.
There were a lot of basics Liam had yet to learn in the krav world. So far, he’d been asked to hold Avery down, grab her from behind, and attempt to choke her. All with direction. Each time he filled the place of Brenda, he celebrated the fact that he could get close to Avery. That party didn’t last long. She worked hard to get away, and most of the time she did. Today’s session, Brenda wanted him to be more aggressive.
“Hitting women goes against every cell in my body.”
Brenda’s deadpan stare told him to get over it.
“You won’t actually hit me. Just come at me.”
“Slowly at first. We’ll pick up the pace once you get the feel for it.”
Yeah, right. His mother would kill him.
Still, Liam did as asked and oftentimes found he was the one at a loss for moves.
Avery would wrap his arm and come up short with what would be a punch to his face or an elbow to the back of his neck.
On her third shot of wrapping his arm, he managed to get away by bear-hugging her waist.
She lifted her knee and stopped short of his groin. He bucked out of the way, and she squirmed again, her elbow tapping his neck. With his arms still holding her, he lifted her off her feet.
“Ahhh!” She started to laugh.
Liam set her down.
“No way you’d be able to do that after I smashed your balls.”
Brenda stood with her arms folded over her chest. “Probably not. But someone high on drugs . . . maybe. We’ll start next week where we left off and work on counters.”
Avery looked at the time.
“We’re done?”
Brenda didn’t blink. “I have plans.”
Silent, Avery peered closer. “You’re wearing mascara. Oh my God, you have a date.”
Liam hadn’t noticed any makeup.
Brenda didn’t smile or nod or anything . . . but she did blush.