"I don't give a damn how he goes about finding jelly-ice," Clementine said. "All I care about is that it's made him a very important person here in the city." She leveled a finger laden with several steel rings at Amaryllis. "I'm counting on you to convince him that even if there's no psychic vampire hypno-talent involved in this case, he got exactly what he paid for from Psynergy, Inc."
"Right, boss."
Clementine stood and planted her hands on her hips. "Trent is contracting for a professional, highly skilled prism, and that's just what we'll give him. Whatever answers he gets when he links with you are his problem."
"I trust you'll remember that when it's time to hand out the yearly bonuses," Amaryllis said politely.
Clementine gave a crack of laughter. "Don't worry, you've already earned your bonus. Hell, I couldn't lure a class-nine talent through the door until you came to work for me. Nines are snobs to the bone. They insist that any prism they work with must have a string of diplomas and degrees. Even eights are awful damn fussy."
Byron made a face. "Too bad Trent's talent is such a boring one, hub, Amaryllis? The job might have been kind of exciting under other circumstances. I mean, this is real security work. We don't get a lot of that."
"Mr. Trent's particular talent may not sound thrilling, especially since we're highly unlikely to uncover a real, live hypno-talent at work," Amaryllis admitted. "But I think the job will be quite interesting in its own way. At least it will be a change of pace for me. This will be the first time I've gone undercover."
Byron brightened at that news. "Where will you be working?"
"I'm going to hold a focus for Trent on Thursday night at the reception that the New Seattle Museum is hosting to celebrate the opening of the relics wing."
"What's this about working undercover?" Clementine frowned. "I thought this was just a straight security check gig. No one said anything about undercover work."
"It's no big deal," Amaryllis assured her.
Byron refused to be discouraged. "I'll bet Trent has arranged for Amaryllis to masquerade as a member of the catering staff at the reception. That way she'll have an excuse for being nearby when he wants to link."
Clementine's brows rose. "I can see her now in a snazzy little black and white server's outfit carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Let's be sure to get a photo before she leaves for the assignment. We can frame it and hang it in the reception lobby. Put a little slogan under it. You know, something along the lines of We Go All Out to Serve Our Clients."
Amaryllis drew herself up very straight in her chair. "For your information, I won't be serving canapés or champagne on Thursday night."
"No?" Clementine eyed her with grave interest. "Is Trent going to get you into the reception as a journalist or as a member of the museum staff?"
"Not exactly." Amaryllis tried to look calm and composed. "I'm posing as his marriage agency date for the evening."
The effect was immediate and not especially gratifying, in Amaryllis's opinion.
"You're going to the reception as a marriage agency candidate for Lucas Trent?" Byron looked stunned. "I don't believe it."
Clementine whistled soundlessly. "Hot synergy. Who'd have thought of that?"
"What's so strange about it?" Amaryllis angled her chin. "Mr. Trent happens to be in the process of registering at a matchmaking agency. He told me so himself."
Clementine's eyes danced. "Talk about life's little ironies, hub? What would your aunt and uncle say?"
"Aunt Hannah and Uncle Oscar don't know about this, and I have no intention of telling them." Amaryllis fixed Clementine and Byron with a warning glare. Her aunt and uncle, together with most of the rest of her family lived an hour's drive from the city in the rural farm town of Lower Bellevue. There was no reason for any of her relatives to ever learn about Thursday night's activities. "Furthermore, if either of you blabs, I will personally exact a terrible vengeance."
Byron held up both hands, palms out. "Don't worry, Clementine and I won't breathe a word."
"We won't have to," Clementine said dryly. "The museum reception will be heavily covered by the media. You can bet that a lot of the out-of-town papers will carry the story. Nelson Buriton himself will probably be there. Trust me, Amaryllis, on Friday morning your aunt and uncle will open the Lower Bellevue Journal and see a lovely picture of their precious niece clinging to the arm of one of the richest men in the city."
"Oh lord." Amaryllis dropped her head into her hands. "I forgot about the press."
Byron's eyes danced with mischief. "This assignment is starting to sound more interesting by the minute."
Amaryllis glowered. "That's enough out of you, Smyth-Jones."
Clementine held up one hand for silence. "That's enough, boys and girls. We're trying to run a business around here. Save the squabbling for later. Amaryllis, you'd better take the rest of the afternoon off."
"Why?"
"Because in about forty-eight hours you'll be attending the major social event of the season in the company of one of the most important businessmen in the city. Something tells me that you haven't got a thing to wear."
Panic assailed Amaryllis. "Good heavens. I've got to go shopping."
Byron eyed her with critical appraisal. "Try one of the new flutter dresses. Green would be good on you."
"He's right, Amaryllis." Clementine paused in the doorway. "Try that boutique on Fifth Avenue. That's where Gracie does a lot of her shopping. Tell the store to send the bill to Psynergy, Inc." She winked. "The dress will definitely be a business expense."
"The best part," Byron said with unconcealed envy, "is that you'll get to ride in his car."
"What's so special about that?" Amaryllis asked.
"It's an Icer. I saw it parked outside. What a beauty."
With any luck, she would finally exorcise Lucas Trent from her mind tonight.
Amaryllis slipped the new flutter dress over her head and watched in the mirror as it floated into place. Experimentally, she took a few steps, watching her reflection. The green, jewel-toned scarves that comprised the cleverly designed gown wafted gently with every move. The silky material seemed to be in constant motion. When she turned slightly, it clung briefly at hip and thigh. When she walked, it drifted around her legs and danced on the air.
She took two quick steps, pirouetted, and whirled around to peer at her image in the mirror. The scarves settled demurely into place. She touched the neckline, wondering if it was just a bit too low, and then reminded herself that this was an evening affair. Many of the gowns would be cut much lower than hers. She checked closely to be certain that the straps of her white bra did not show.
It was a sensible, functional, well-made bra, designed for long wear and many trips through the washing machine. She had bought it during the semiannual underwear and foundation sale at a major downtown department store. It was a practical, serviceable piece of clothing. She had half a dozen others just like it in the top drawer of her dresser. But she knew that it was not the sort of bra that one wore under a flutter dress. She wished she had a silky little scrap of lingerie to go with the gown. Something in black lace, perhaps.
On the other hand, she would probably never have an opportunity to wear the flutter dress again, so it was just as well that she had not invested in a fancy designer bra to go with it. It would have been a waste of money.
Pleased with the dress and with the fact that she was ready ten minutes before Lucas was scheduled to arrive, Amaryllis walked out of her bedroom. She felt calm and collected, just the way a good prism was supposed to feel before an intensive focus session.
Then the reality of what was about to happen hit her again. She was going to spend the evening with Lucas Trent.