Robert lounged against the door frame and idly inspected his fingernails. “Seen the Wunderkind lately?”
The Wunderkind could refer to only one person: Margo.
Oh, great. Now what’s she done?
In her four days at La-La Land, she had managed to set more tongues wagging than Byron and his sister had in four months of Sundays.
”Uh, no.” He lined up his shot again. “Don’t much care if I ever do, either.”
He began the shot.
”Well, she’s been hanging around with Skeeter Jackson. Says he’s going to teach her to time scout.”
The shot went wild. Kit’s cue actually raked the felt table, leaving an ugly mar in its smooth surface. He swore and glared at his so-called friend, then at Goldie. She widened her eyes and shrugged innocence, reminding Kit unpleasantly of Lucrezia Borgia that night he’d accidentally surprised her in the infamous walled garden ….
”Huh.”
Kit surrendered the table with as much grace as he could muster and said goodbye to the game. Robert LI, whose maternal Scandinavian heritage-fair skin and rosy cheeks-was overshadowed by a Hong Kong Chinese grandfather’s legacy, only grinned. A completely scrutable scoundrel, he settled his shoulder more comfortably against the doorframe to watch. During the next two minutes, Goldie ran the table, hardly pausing for breath between shots. She -spun the final shot off Kit’s scratch, giving the ball just enough English off that long mar in the felt to sink it with a rattle like doom.
”Tough luck,” she smiled, holding out one thin-boned hand.
Kit dug into his pocket and came up with the cash, paying her off wordlessly. Robert, still standing in the doorway, grinned sheepishly as she passed him on the way out.