He didn't have much choice but to follow. By unspoken agreement, he and Ron quickened their steps until they had pushed the lackey out of the way and positioned themselves on opposite sides of her. At the end of the mirrored hallway, they passed through the doorway into Jason Keane's private dining room.
Dan had known Keane for nearly ten years. They'd partied together a few times, played some golf. Once they'd spent a liquored-up weekend deep-sea fishing in the Grand Caymans with a couple of lingerie models. Keane had always attracted women and, from what Dan had heard, turning forty hadn't made him want to settle down.
The small dining room looked like the library of an English manor house, with Oriental rugs, leather club chairs, and dark wooden paneling. Heavy crown moldings framed an ornate ceiling of plasterwork medallions and vines that flickered with shadows cast by the burning logs in the fireplace. Heavy velvet draperies had been pulled shut at the window, hiding a view of the ninth green beyond. The damask-covered oblong table was set for six with ornate silver and china banded in deep burgundy and gold.
Jason Keane, along with two of his cronies, stood next to the fireplace with heavy crystal tumblers in their hands. The atmosphere was decidedly masculine, and as Dan entered the room with Phoebe dressed in her bondage clothes, the uncomfortable memory of one of Valerie's favorite pornographic books came back to him. He shied away from the ugly feeling that Phoebe was O, and that he was about to offer her up to the brotherhood.
Keane came toward them, hand extended. The multimillionaire developer was a cool customer, but he couldn't quite hide his astonishment at Phoebe's dress. That astonishment quickly changed to something more intimate, and Dan had all he could do not to shove himself in front of Phoebe and tell Jason to set his sights on somebody else's bimbo.
Keane shook Dan's hand. "How's the golf game coming, buddy? Able to sneak in eighteen on any road trips?"
"Afraid not."
"Why don't we play Pebble next month?"
"Sounds good."
Keane greeted Ron, who introduced him to Phoebe. To Dan's disgust, she went into her whole routine: breathy voice, come-hither eyes, centerfold breasts straining to break free of that narrow black band. While she was showing off her goods to Keane and his boys, she didn't once glance in Dan's direction.
Dan watched with a combination of disgust and fury as Keane curled his palm over Phoebe's naked shoulder and drew her toward the fireplace. Keane was all millionaire playboy charm in his custom-made tux and white tucked shirt with its half-carat diamond studs. Of average height and build, he had dark, straight hair and a high forehead. Until that night Dan had considered Jason an okay-looking guy, but now he decided that his nose was too big and his eyes too weasely.
Dan took a drink from a waiter and exchanged greetings with the other men present-Jeff O'Brian, Jason's administrative assistant, and Chet Delahunty, his attorney. As soon as he could get away, he sauntered over toward the fireplace to eavesdrop. Ron obviously had the same idea because he trailed along.
Phoebe had her back to them, and he was almost certain he could make out her bottom-crack under that slinky dress material. She was licking Jason with her eyes and leaning into him as if he were a street corner lamppost. Dan's blood pressure shot into the stratosphere.
"I can call you Jason, can't I?" she cooed. "Especially since we have so many friends in common."
Dan waited for the drool to slide right out of Keane's mouth. "Like who?"
"Half of Manhattan." She rested her hand possessively on his sleeve, her red fingernails standing out like drops of blood drawn from the lash of the whip. "You know the Blackwells and Miles Greig, of course. Isn't Miles a scamp? And then there's Mitzi Wells, you devil."
Jason was obviously feeling the effects of all those gamma rays of adoration that were blasting away at him because his smile blossomed even wider. "You know Mitzi?"
"Of course I do. And you almost broke her heart."
"Not me."
She lowered her voice until it was a sultry whisper, then sucked on her bottom lip in a way that made Dan feel as if the top of his head were blowing off.
"If I confess something to you, will you promise you won't think I'm awful?"
"Cross my heart."
"I asked her to introduce us-this was before the two of you started to date seriously-and she refused. It nearly broke up our friendship, but now that I've met you, I can understand why she was so protective."
Dan could see Jason trying to spot the fastenings on Phoebe's cathouse dress, so he wouldn't waste any time getting her out of it later on. With a murmur of disgust, he tilted back his head and drained his glass. Keane would unfasten that dress over this ol' boy's dead body.
Dinner was ready and they took their places around the table, with Jason at the head and Ron and Phoebe on each side of him. Dan sat at the foot between Jeff O'Brian and Chet Delahunty. The meal seemed to drag on forever. By the time the main course was removed and dessert was served, the men at the bottom of the table had given up on even a desultory attempt at conversation so they could eavesdrop.
Dan watched Phoebe suck an out-of-season strawberry with her X-rated mouth. As she gazed into Keane's eyes, he told himself he was going to propose to Sharon Anderson that very weekend.
Ron had barely looked up from his dinner plate all evening, but as the coffee was poured, he finally seemed to come to life, about ninety minutes too late, as far as Dan was concerned.
"Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, Phoebe, but I think it might behoove us to discuss the reason for this meeting tonight."
Phoebe looked at him so blankly that Dan wanted to shake her. Was she so eager to add Keane to her scalp collection that she had forgotten why they were here?
"Reason?" she said.
"The stadium contract," Ron reminded her.
"Oh, pooh. I've changed my mind, Ronnie. I don't want to talk about that tonight. Why don't you just relax and enjoy yourself? Jason and I are friends now, and everybody knows you shouldn't do business with friends."
"A woman after my own heart," Jason chuckled.
"All Ronnie thinks about is business. It's so boring. There are more important things in life than some silly old contract."
Dan straightened in his seat. Something was wrong here. Phoebe did care about the contract, and she never called her GM Ronnie.
Keane gave Ron a smug smile. "Why don't you have some more wine, McDermitt?"
"No, thank you."
"Don't pout, Ronnie. You can call Jason tomorrow and tell him what I've decided."
"What is there to decide?" Keane said smoothly. "Everything's pretty much cut-and-dried."
Once again, she curled her fingers around his sleeve. "Not exactly, but let's not spoil tonight by talking about business."
Keane grew almost imperceptibly more alert. "We've sent you a fair contract. The same one your father signed. I hope you're as satisfied."
"I'm not satisfied," Ron said with a forcefulness that earned Dan's admiration. He waited with interest to hear Phoebe's response.
"Oh, I'm not satisfied either," she giggled. "Ronnie made me so upset about the bad deal the Stars were getting that he convinced me I had to do something." Like a small child reciting a well-learned lesson, she said, "Ronnie keeps reminding me that I'm a businesswoman now, Jason. And even though I'll probably only have the team for a short time longer, I have to think like an owner."
Dan kept his expression carefully blank as he leaned back in his chair to watch the show. What was his brainy little bimbo up to now?
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Phoebe Somerville isn't enough of a businesswoman to make the tough calls, but that just isn't true."