Katie was going to be the maid of honor at Amber’s wedding next month. They’d bought the bridesmaid dress in Paris. Oriental silk. Flaming orange, which sounded ridiculous, but was interspersed with gold and midnight plum, and looked fabulous on Katie’s delicate frame.

Hargrove Alston was the catch of the city. And it wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with him. At thirty-three, he was already a partner in one of Chicago’s most prestigious law firms. He had a venerated family, impeccable community and political connections. If everything went according to plan, he’d be running for the U.S. Senate next year.

She really had no cause for complaint.

It wasn’t as if the sex was bad. It was perfectly, well, pleasant. So was Hargrove. He was a decent and pleasant man. Not every woman could say that about her future husband.

She downed the rest of her martini, hoping it would ease the knot of tension that had stubbornly cramped her stomach for the past month.

Royce signaled the bartender for another round, and she let him.

He polished off his own drink while the bartender shook a mixture of ice and Gray Goose that clattered against the frosted silver shaker. Then the man produced two fresh glasses and strained the martinis.

“His name is Hargrove Alston,” she found herself telling Royce.

Royce gave a nod of thanks to the man and lifted both glasses. “Shall we find a table?”

The suggestion startled Amber. She gave a guilty glance around the lounge, feeling like an unfaithful barfly. But nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to them.

She’d started dating Hargrove when she was eighteen, so she’d never taken up with a stranger in a bar. Not that Royce was a stranger. He was the best man, brother of her father’s business associate. It was a completely different thing than encouraging a stranger.