Retribution

Chapter Seventeen

Wesley's languid eyes followed Katherine's feminine gait as she walked over to Johnny; every movement of her body registered in his mind from the straight, pulled back posture of her neck and back, to the bottom of her gown waving slightly with each step, each pivot of her hips, to the click of her red high heels. The only thing missing from the picture was her blue bag. A lump rose in his throat. Despite his heroic speech about being there for her as a friend, it still hurt to see them together.

Her, so beautiful, and him—so not. He didn't trust Johnny. Yet he reminded himself he had to give Katherine the benefit of the doubt. Although, he was beginning to suspect her trust had wavered a bit. After all, her tastes couldn't be that screwed up, and if Johnny wasn't involved in this huge mess he certainly couldn't break up their relationship. Only one way to find out, and that was to get inside Johnny's head. Get to know him personally and see what he was all about. The thought didn't appeal to him.

"Wes, old boy! Those clenched teeth and that deep guttural noise you just made sounded like someone on the pull-up bar. Muscles sore?" Mike, in a tight-fitting white polo shirt had the perfect stance, as he carelessly drank champagne, reminding Wesley of a clothing advertisement from a shiny fashion magazine.

"Actually, they are quite sore." Wesley dramatically stretched his shoulders for emphasis. "Even had to spend some time in the steam room this morning to loosen up."

"That's the way to do it." Mike approved with a broad grin. "Heat works the best for me as well. I tried massages a while back, but the masseuse never could never get the deep muscles. The muscles in my back are just too large." His matter-of-fact tone left no room for humor.

"That's terrible." And he succeeded in keeping a straight face.

"I know." Mike shrugged. "But what can one do? One must take the bad with the good."

"Of course.  Have you met Pamela's parents yet? I'm sure they'd love to be acquainted with you."

"Nope. Been waiting here for a chance to be noticed."

Wesley didn't mention he'd already seen Henrietta's eyes drift over Mike twice. Donovan wasn't one to go unnoticed anywhere. "I'll fix that." He took a few strides and tapped the back of Doug's shoulder like he was typing in Morse code. "Doug, I'd like you to meet Mike, a friend of mine and Pamela's."

And he knew he'd chosen the right words; Doug turned quickly to meet the man of whom Pamela often spoke. And Pamela was surprisingly quiet as she watched with anxious eyes her father's behavior as he met Mike.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Doug's charm was turned up full volume. "My daughter has spoken often of you."

Mike just stood there awkwardly, seemingly at a loss for words, a rare quality for him. Wesley grinned.

"Yes, I—er, it's nice to meet you, sir." They shook hands and Wesley empathized with Doug's wince at Mike's strong grip. Then the awkward silence resumed.

It had to have been a few minutes before Torres, whose focus appeared to have shifted to the other side of the room, abruptly excused himself. Wesley let out a little breath—he felt relieved for the poor man—he bloody well couldn't say anything without his wife correcting or rephrasing his English to the proper form. 

"Wesley, I was thinking . . . "

He turned, startled at Henrietta's approach.

"Next time you're in Rio would be a great time to do that interview." Her large nose crinkled and took on the form of a valley with a thousand rivers running down it as she smiled up at him. "You just started my mind churning with great ideas—how to build you up to the public, how to make you seem, um, more important."