Page 7 of Serving the Mogul

Not because he played up to them, though.

He ignored the cameras, the innuendo, and the rumors, which only enhanced the speculation and gossip.

That he was so ridiculously handsome didn’t hurt.

I paid attention to the media as part of my business. Knowing the whereabouts, homes, and styles of the rich and famous in Houston was vital to keep up with the latest trends.

He was arrogant. Or maybe just confident. He could walk into any bar, and half the women there would join him for a drink and what followed.

But I had enough on my plate and still stinging from a relationship gone bad.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass on your offer.” I gave him a polite smile before gesturing to the double doors of the Prism Banquet Hall. “I need this…issue addressed.”

Maximus blinked. If my refusal surprised or bothered him, that was his only reaction. A fraction of a second later, he inclined his head and nodded to the double doors. “I’ll walk with you. I don’t want the bride’s experience ruined by the party crasher.”

“We won’t let that happen.” I held his gaze.

He didn’t look away. “I respect that, but as thisismy venue, I feel as though I have equal responsibility.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Fair?”

Shit.

I forced a smile. “Of course.”

With no other choice, I strode into the banquet hall with James Maximus at my side. I looked around for the bitter ex-wife.

She was easy to spot.

Two bridesmaids had taken up sentinel, creating a solid line of silk and lace between Mary Jo Henderson and the affianced couple who sat at the head table only six yards away.

Mary Jo was talking animatedly with a smile as brittle as glass, and I quickened my steps. I had images of her ripping through the bridesmaid wall, ranting at the couple right in front of her daughter.

“Some people suck,” I muttered.

Maximus surprised me by laughing. “You’re right on that.”

I half expected him to take charge, but he stayed quiet next to me as I engaged Mary Jo Henderson.

“Ms. Henderson.”

She blinked a pair of big baby blues and turned her head toward me. “My dear...it’sMrs.” She drew in a dramatic breath and pressed a hand to her chest. “I still feel,in my heart, that Michael and I are husband and wife.”

“That must make it very awkward for you to be here,” I said, smiling politely.

Another slow blink. When the woman said nothing else, I pushed on.

“Ms. Henderson,” I refused to play into her drama, “we’ve already told you that this is a private event, and—”

“I—”

I cut her off before shecould interrupt me. “We don’t want to upsetyour daughterby having you removed for trespassing. It is my understanding that, in exchange for the privilege of staying, you agreed not to disrupt the rehearsal.”

She gave me a wounded look. She must practice in front of a mirror because it was excellent.

“So…” I nodded toward the back corner of the room, “please return to your table, and we can discuss the arrangements we’ve made for your meal.”

“Yes.” She smiled tightly. “The meal.Really, is it too much to ask for accommodations to be made for us with allergies?”

“Not at all.” With a cool look on my face, I replied, “That’s why we send out meal cards to every guestinvitedasking about food allergies.”

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