Page 14 of Conrad

He held on to the edge, gulping in breaths, fighting.

“You eat something bad?” Stein again. “Don’t tell me you had something to drink.”

Conrad held up a hand. Swallowed.Maybe . . .He turned to Stein. “No.” But suddenly, his stained shirt, the dampness against his body, made him shiver. “Just . . . yeah, something didn’t sit right.”

Like running smack into his dark night of the soul.

He ran a hand across his mouth. “You working for Stone?”

Stein lifted a shoulder. “Short-term gig. How’d you know?”

“You have a look.”

“I’ll work on that.”

“Good luck. You were born with it. How’d you get that gig?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you about it next weekend at Doyle’s party. But this isn’t about me. What happened in there?”

What was he going to say? The last,verylast thing he wanted his family, especially Stein, to know was that the panic had returned. In force.

See,this was why he shouldn’t do calendar shoots and public events and . . . generally leave the safety of the ice?—

The door opened, and of course Penelope came out into the darkness.Aw . . .

He walked over to her, still wobbly. “Sorry to leave you?—”

“Are you okay?” She put her hands on his arms, concern in her beautiful eyes.

“Probably the quail,” Stein said, arms folded.

“Really? Are you allergic?”

He didn’t want to lie, but . . .oh . . .“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I’ll get your keys,” Stein said and headed around the building to the valets at the front.

Conrad blew out a long breath. “You’re cold. Go back inside. I need to go home.”

She blinked, swallowed, then nodded, stepping back. “Okay, I, uh . . .” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Right.” She took another step away, and he fisted his hands at his side to keep from doing something crazy, impulsive, even pedestrian like reaching for her.

Telling her that he sort of, a little, might like her.

After one date that wasn’t a date but a rescue, really?

No.Still, “Can I text you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea . . . ”

And as his heart stilled, a rock in his chest, she added, “This was fun, Conrad. You’re . . . Anyway, thanks for what you did in the bathroom. Take care.”

Then she turned and quick walked back into the mansion, leaving him standing in the dark parking lot.

Again trying not to throw up.

By the time Stein returned with his keys, Conrad was leaning on the back of his car, arms folded, sufficiently chilled, breathing easier. Still, as Stein handed the keys over, he wore a question in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” Conrad said. “Like you said, bad quail.”

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