Page 9 of Shadowed Agenda
Oil and water don’t mix, no matter how many times you shake the bottle.
Regan didn’t remotely resemble the type of woman Pavlo went out with—he was well aware he had a type. Smart, beautiful, and as equally disinterested in a relationship as him. Someone who was a delightful conversationalist at events he attended on behalf of Shadow Defense and agreeable to ending the evening with an intimate digestif. No strings attached, of course. The perfect companion.
“Thanks again for your help,” Regan said as she pulled out her hotel key card from her waist bag and opened her suite’s door.
“Isla is meeting us in the lobby at three-thirty. She wants to give us ample time to travel to the late-night show’s studio. I’ll show up five minutes before that, and we can go down together,” Pavlo said. After the attack in Central Park, he’d prefer someone accompany Regan wherever she went. It would have to be him until he could broach the subject of calling in someone from his team.
Regan hesitated, nodded, and shut the door.
He was surprised she didn’t argue. Pavlo felt he would have his hands full trying to keep her safe.
Chapter five
Reganlookedatherselfin the full-length mirror. The dress was as stunning as its price. It would be more stunning if she could afford the earrings the sales clerk kept pushing at her.
“The royal blue goes perfectly with your blonde hair. The fit is perfect. Absolutely perfect,” the woman gushed.
“You’re sure you don’t have the next size up tucked away in the storeroom?” Regan asked again. The only other long-sleeved dress in the expensive boutique off the hotel lobby would have been her first choice. Unfortunately, they didn’t have her size.
The body-hugging dress was a littletoo perfectfor Regan. Sexy wasn’t her style. At least it hid the scratches on her arms and legs.
“All our stock is on the floor. Trust me, dear. It’s the right size. You won’t regret the purchase.”
New York City was having an unusual heatwave, and Regan had packed accordingly—short sleeves, short hemlines, and sleeveless. The couple of gauzy shawls she’d thrown into her suitcase wouldn’t hide the scratches on her arms. She didn’t think the mom jeans and t-shirts she packed for the weekend at the cottage would do for the late-night show.
“Could you cut off the tag so I could wear it now?” Regan asked. She had showered before she’d run down to the boutique.
The unexpected purchase did not fit her budget. Emmeline had been born with a congenital heart defect. The surgeries were costly, and she watched every penny she spent.
Regan’s experience with the men in Central Park had shaken her up more than she’d led Pavlo to believe. She had hesitated to wander far from the hotel and hadn’t bothered looking for less pricey boutiques.
“Of course,” the woman said. “Take another look at the earrings while I fetch some scissors. They match the dress perfectly.”
Regan’s gold hoops would have to do. She had a tried-and-true formula she used when clothes shopping. Each dollar spent equaled the number of times she would need to wear the garment to justify its purchase. They’d be burying her in this dress.
“Have you thought about the earrings?” the sales clerk asked as she returned. She motioned for Regan to turn to snip off the tag.
“They’re lovely, but I didn’t expect to have to purchase the dress or the long pencil skirt and blouse. I’m over budget.” Regan knew it would take a couple of days for the ugly red marks to become less noticeable, so she’d also purchased an outfit she could wear tomorrow.
“Accidents happen, dear. Just be glad you weren’t hurt worse and the dog wasn’t hit.” The woman smiled. “I’ll grab the things you wore from the dressing room to put them in the bag with your skirt and blouse. I’ll meet you at the register.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Regan said.
When the sales clerk had asked about the scratches, Regan had told her a cyclist had run her down in Central Park as he tried to avoid a stray dog. It was the best excuse she could come up with.
Ten minutes later, Regan hung up the skirt and blouse in her hotel suite.
Thank goodness a makeup artist would apply her makeup. Regan rarely wore makeup, and she had no expertise to cover up the two faint scratches along her jaw.
Regan glanced at her watch. She had another thirty minutes before Pavlo would show up. She wished she’d insisted on meeting him downstairs. At least Isla would be there, and Regan wouldn’t be alone with the man. Her cheeks burned as she remembered his arms wrapped around her in Central Park and his hard body pressed against hers. The pounding of her heart had nothing to do with the attack. It had all been due to Pavlo.
So she’d felt a moment of attraction to the guy. She was a grown woman with healthy needs—needs she’d ignored since her divorce.
Looking after a baby with a serious heart condition that required multiple surgeries didn’t leave her much time to socialize. Friends had set her up with guys, but she’d never been interested in a second date. If Regan was to be honest, her disastrous marriage to Nicholas had left her with serious trust issues.
She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and pulled out the pendant she usually wore under her clothes. The sales clerk would have been pleased. It looked perfect. She scooped up her purse and walked to the hotel suite’s living room. Regan had ignored men sexier than Pavlo. Okay, maybenotas sexy, but close enough.
Despite his silence during their walk back to the hotel, Regan was sure Pavlo had come to the same conclusion as her. Isla had let someone on the Senator’s staff know she’d refused to meet with Mrs. Aster. When Regan accused her of leaking the information to Char, Isla was overly defensive and refused to meet Regan’s gaze.