In that fake accent of hers, she announced, "But I'm quite certain that he's here."
I frowned. Even for Imogen, the accent sounded way off.Was she slurring?Between the accent itself and the chatter of the crowd, I couldn’t be sure either way.
As for the concierge, his reply was too hushed for me to make out. Still, the set of his jaw told me everything I needed to know.Whatever she was selling, he wasn't buying it.
Imogen's voice grew shrill. "But surely you can tellme.I'm his fiancée, for God's sake."
I rolled my eyes.Fiancée my ass.
Okay, it was true that Jack and I hadn't spoken for way too long. And we might even be broken up. But I wasn't so stupid as to believe that he'd gotten engaged during the last two weeks, to Imogen no less.
I stalked up behind her and asked, "So, when's the wedding?"
At the sound of my voice, she whirled to look. From the expression on her face, she was just as delighted to seemeas I was to see her. She eyed me up and down before slurring, "What areyoudoing here?"
Her breath reeked of booze. What kind, I had no idea. But she was definitely drunk.
I crossed my arms. "I might ask the same."
"Don't bother," she slurred, half-forgetting the accent. "In case you didn't notice, I'm having a private conversation."
It hadn't beenthatprivate, considering that I'd heard her voice all the way from the elevators. Still, I couldn’t help but smile. "Oh really? With who?"
She looked at me like I was a total idiot. "Isn't it obvious?" She turned around, only to belatedly discover that the concierge had mysteriously disappeared.
It wasn't a mystery tome. I'd seen him leave with my own two eyes. He hadn't been slow about it either.
Imogen whirled back to me and demanded in a drunken voice that was All-American, "Where'd he go? Iknowyou know."
Yup, I sure did.While her back had been turned, he'd slipped into that big, private door behind the front desk.
But Imogen wouldn't be hearing this fromme.
With a loose shrug, I replied, "Maybe he's getting dressed for the wedding."
Her brow wrinkled in obvious confusion. "Whose wedding?"
Seriously?Either she had no sense of humor, or she'd totally missed the point. "Yours," I said.
She gave a drunken scoff. "Well it's not like we'd get marriednow.It takes time to plan a wedding, you know."
I did know. But she was missing the point. I tried again. "So, where's your ring?"
She scrunched up her face for a long moment before replying, "Maybe at the jewelers? Getting resized?"
It was such a sorry excuse that I had to laugh. "Oh yeah? If that's the case, I'm the Queen of England."
She gave a drunken snort. "You are not. You're not even English."
"Yeah. And neither are you."
"So what?" she slurred. "It's called branding."
"What?"
"Branding," she repeated. "Just like Jack." She leaned closer to me and mumbled, "We'resomade for each other.He'ssomeone else. AndI'msomeone else." She gave a little sideways stagger. "See?"
Oh yeah. She was someone else, all right.
