The woman clutching Ben’s arm in a rather possessive manner was so completely unlike what Lauren had been expecting that she could only stare at her in bewilderment. Lauren’s own sister Julia was dainty and feminine and adored high fashion – just like their Aunt Maddy – so she was certainly used to refined, elegant women. But Elle Kimbrough reminded her of royalty, as though she were a modern-day princess of some tiny European principality. It might have been her perfect posture, or the way her sleekly coiffed raven hair rested on her long, graceful neck. Lauren knew quite a lot about fashion, even if she eschewed most of it herself, and recognized Elle’s deceptively simple cream cashmere sweater, black wool skirt, and low heeled black leather pumps as Prada. The discreet diamond studs in her ears, and the slender gold Piaget watch also shrieked money and class – lots and lots of both.

Elle was almost ethereally slender, with small, neat breasts and boyishly slim hips, but was still unmistakably feminine in every limb of her body. Her Anglo-Indian heritage was evident in the light coffee tone of her skin, dark brown eyes that were almost black in the bar’s dim light, and the smooth ebony hair that was arranged in a tidy knot at her nape.

And she looked as out of place in this boisterous corner bar – the one the team tended to frequent after assignments so they could let loose for a couple of hours – as Karl and Chris would look at the opera. Lauren just guessed it had been Ben’s idea to come here and join them for a drink, and that he’d had to do a real sell job on his girlfriend to convince her to even walk through the door.

“Hey, guys,” greeted Ben with a smile, evidently including Lauren in his casual greeting. “Karl told me I’d find you all here, thought it would be a nice opportunity to introduce Elle to you. That is, if you don’t mind us joining you for a quick drink.”

Elle’s aristocratic little nose seemed to twitch just a bit as she glanced around the homey but hardly upscale interior. “We’re due to meet some friends for dinner at Tao at seven, but we did want to stop by for a few minutes,” she added.

Her voice was melodious and soft, and Lauren easily picked out the very upper crust British accent. She knew without asking that Elle must have attended some real hoity-toity girls school in England to have acquired that particular style of speech.

Ben quickly made the introductions, with Elle giving Karl and then Chris a brief, polite smile. George, the ultimate kiss-ass that he was, practically slobbered over himself as he shook Elle’s hand enthusiastically, telling her what a pleasure it was to meet her. Elle smiled at him much more warmly, evidently finding his wool slacks, argyle sweater, and leather loafers a more pleasing sight than Karl’s jeans or Chris’s knit cap.

“And this is Lauren McKinnon, our photographer.”

There was no trace of recognition in Elle’s serenely lovely face as she heard Lauren’s name, so evidently Ben had yet to inform his new love about his old one. The devil inside of her that she allowed to surface at will longed to shout out something entirely inappropriate at this moment, making sure that the prim, regal Elle knew that Lauren had fucked her boyfriend’s brains out too many times to count over a very memorable ten day period.

But to do so would not only alert her co-workers that she and Ben had a history, but also piss Ben off to no man’s end, enough to cost Lauren the job she loved almost as much as she’d once loved him.

So instead, she put on a bright, cheery, and completely false smile, and merely said, “So nice to meet you, Elle. Please, have a seat. And,” she added with a mischievous wink, “order whatever you like to drink. George was foolish enough to make a bet with me while we were in Australia, and the loser has to pick up tonight’s tab. Which reminds me.”

As Elle stared wide-eyed, Lauren quickly bolted down her last shot and then beckoned Riley over to their table.

“Hey, sweetie, we’ve got two new additions here,” she said, indicating Ben and Elle. “And I don’t know about my boys here, but you can definitely line me up with six more of the same.”

George’s mouth tightened in annoyance, but he didn’t reply as both Karl and Chris ordered another beer.

“I’d like a glass of the Joseph Phelps Sauvignon Blanc, please,” said Elle as she folded her slim hands in her lap.

“And for you, sir?” Riley asked Ben, who took his seat slowly.

Ben hesitated for a few moments, glancing from Karl’s near-empty Stella to George’s pretentious martini. His brow lifted as he spied the six empty shot glasses lined up neatly in front of Lauren.

“Corona, please. With a lime wedge. Can’t have one without the other, can you?” he asked softly, as though daring Lauren to look his way after the subtle reminder of what she’d offered him to drink the first time they had met.

But Lauren looked at Elle instead, and wasn’t all that surprised to note the look of mild distaste that crossed her refined features when Ben ordered a beer. Lauren guessed that Elle rarely let that tightly coiled-up hair of hers down – figuratively or literally – and had probably never tasted something as common as beer in her whole life. No, Elle would definitely be the white wine, champagne, or occasional girly drink type.

‘Christ,’ thought Lauren with mild revulsion, ‘even Jules lets her bad girl take over once in a while and ties one on. And I thought my baby sister was uptight. Elle makes Julia look like one of those chicks from the Girls Gone Wild videos.’

Elle’s big eyes widened as Riley cheerfully plunked six more shot glasses down in front of Lauren. “Those aren’t all for you, are they?” she asked in disbelief.

Lauren gave her an impish wink before going through her little ritual of licking salt off her palm, bolting the shot, and then sucking on a tart lime wedge. “Of course they are,” she grinned. “But I’d be happy to share if you want to try one.”

Elle shuddered, not even trying to conceal her distaste. “No, thank you. I’m afraid I never acquired a taste for hard liquor. Especially tequila. It’s, well, a little too raw for me.”

Karl laughed. “Not this brand. Her Majesty here likes the good stuff when it’s available. That’s Patron Gran Platinum she’s bolting back like it’s iced tea. Thirty bucks a shot. Good thing it’s Happy Hour here,” he added mischievously, inclining his head towards a bug-eyed George. “Otherwise they’d be full price.”

While George’s flushed face grew even redder with outrage, Elle arched a perfectly plucked brow inquisitively. “Her Majesty? Why do you call Lauren by that title?”

Lauren’s spine stiffened as Elle cast a discreet but haughty glance at her jeans, boots, and long sleeved, hip length white T-shirt. The outfit was admittedly much more casual than Elle’s own sophisticated garb, but Lauren guessed that the cost of her 7 for All Mankind jeans, James Perse tee, and the Bottega boots were at least in the same ballpark as the Prada ensemble. Even though Lauren wasn’t the fashionista her twin was, their Aunt Maddy made sure that both of her nieces wore high quality attire in their preferred styles of dress.

Chris chimed in with the story of how Lauren had come to be known as the Queen of Confrontation, and how that title had eventually been shortened to either Queenie or Her Majesty. And since Lauren’s family had once owned an Australian Shepherd named Queenie and she had refused to be called by a dog’s name, it had been the latter title that had eventually stuck.

Elle gave a little shake of her head, and a vaguely apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t get it. But then I’ve never watched this Seinfeld program you referred to, so perhaps it would make more sense if I had.”

Chris, who was a diehard fan of too many TV shows and movies to count, and who could recite full scenes of dialog from certain episodes, was appalled that Elle had never watched even a single episode of his all-time favorite series. He began to describe it to her in earnest, either not noticing or not caring that she clearly wasn’t interested, and continued to regard him with barely concealed impatience.