Part 216 (1/2)

”Thank you. Give my best to your parents.”

”I will.” It was jealousy, he told himself, plain and simple jealousy

that made him want to grab her away from her husband.

”Michael,” she said as Drew began to pull her aside. ”Keep in touch.”

”Sure.” He grabbed a gla.s.s off a pa.s.sing tray as he watched them move

away. If it was only jealousy, he wondered why every instinct had him

itching to bash Drew Latimer's pretty face in.

Because he's got her, Michael told himself ruthlessly. And you don't.

DREW WASN'T DRUNK. He'd nursed two gla.s.ses of champagne during the

long, and excruciatingly boring evening. He wanted to be clearheaded

and in control. He prided himself that kissing up to Brian McAvoy would

reap rewards. Any fool could have seen that Drew Latimer was devoted to

and besotted with his wife. He should have won a tucking Oscar for the

performance.

And all the while he'd been playing the doting husband, she'd been

flaunting her success, her snotty boarding-school education, and her

society friends.

He'd wanted to slap her around right there in front of all the cameras.

Then the world would have seen who was really on top.

But her daddy wouldn't have liked it. Not him, or any of the producers,

promoters, and b.u.t.toned-down executives who fawned over the great Brian

McAvoy. They'd be fawning over Drew Latimer before long, he promised

himself. Then she'd pay.

He'd almost decided to let her have her glory. Then she'd had the nerve

to hang all over that ”friend.” She needed to be taught a lesson for

that. And he was just the man to do it.