Chase and Seduction (16 page)

Rounding the corner, he brushed past them, his mind racing around a scarred track. Were they right? Wasn't he good enough for her? Was he destined to ruin her life? He found the lobby and headed toward the door and some fresh air.

Drake came up behind him. “Chase. A moment, please.” He walked to the side.

Chase glanced at the exit, just a few steps away. He could be out and free of this whole cluster fuck in seconds. But curiosity won out over the urge to escape, and he followed Drake into a small room.

The man looked sincere, but Chase didn't trust him.

"I care for Reno,” Drake began. “She is a major talent in the literary world. She deserves a chance to excel, to share her gifts. She has a bright future, you know."

"I realize that, Drake. And I'm guessing you found this teaching job for her in France to get her away from the likes of me."

Drake jerked back as if slugged. “You're perceptive. Yes. Reno earned this opportunity to see what her life could be like.” He made a dismissive gesture. “All this movie making business was quite unsettling to our friends."

"
Our
friends?"

"Reno and I associate with a certain...quality of people."

"Uh huh,” he growled, squaring his shoulders. “Better than what I am, you mean."

"I wouldn't insult you by saying that. I'm merely pointing out that you and she have different objectives for your lives. And Reno has yet to realize her full potential. Given optimal circumstances, she can achieve a level of prominence that even I could never reach."

"And she can't do that with me, right?"

Drake heaved a dramatic sigh. “You're looking at this as a personal affront. When I sincerely mean it to be a cautionary tale."

Shit. He had no idea what this fancy-boy was talking about. “Yeah, I'll give it my immediate attention.” He saluted and stormed out.

He retrieved his hat from the coat check room and left the building. As he walked out the front door, the valet looked at his hat and asked, “You're in Ms. Linden's limo?"

Yeah. Just along for the ride. Not much good for anything else except hanging on her arm, hauling her down to his level, making her look bad in front of important people. Holding her back from the career she hungered after.

He nodded, and the boy radioed for their limo.

Then it hit him. Her speech, her comfort in this crowd. She talked to these high-and-mighty people like she belonged here. This was the social level she rose up to. And him, shit, he was drowning her, dragging her down.

She was a masters degree, he was a G.E.D. This lifestyle was what she deserved. A future filled with intelligent conversation, educated friends, opportunities to do new things, like teach wherever she wanted to, and learn from the best writers in the world.

What kind of an asshole would hold her back? Chase Tanner, that's who. “Shit.” He was bad for her. A pain shot into his chest. Did she deserve better? Would it be best to let her go?

He looked down the street. It would be easy to disappear. He could leave a note, have the valet give it to her. It was the coward's way, but he never claimed to be a hero.

Quick high-heeled footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to see Reno's panicked face. When she spotted him, she hurried over. “You disappeared on me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"What?” She stared at him. “No. What makes you think that?” She looked so perfect tonight, holding her plaque, the proof that she was too smart to get mixed up with a man like him.

Their limo pulled up, he took her arm and guided her to it, helped her inside, and said, “I'm going to walk."

Slamming the door, he took off.

Behind him, the limo door opened, and Reno's running footsteps tapped behind him. “Chase, wait!"

He walked faster.

"Don't run away from me.” She sounded frustrated. “Not tonight."

Great. Her big night, and he'd screwed everything up.

"Can we talk about this?” But she wasn't running after him anymore. Maybe she'd just let him go.

He kept up the fast pace, putting space between them.

She called, “Walk and clear your head. I'll see you at the hotel."

At the corner, he turned to look at her. One last time. She stood under a streetlight, watching him.

Damn him to hell. He couldn't do anything but hurt her. Lifting a hand, he touched the brim of his hat then walked away. It was the best thing for her. The best thing for him. They came from different worlds, and lived in separate universes.

But he'd always remember her.

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Three weeks later, Reno finished packing and hauled her suitcase down the stairs to the front door. Her brother and his wife would be looking after her place while she was gone. Of course, she'd endured Cody's “I told you so's” for a week while she fused her phone to her hand waiting for Chase to return her calls.

A week ago, she finally boxed up the suitcase full of clothes he'd left at their hotel room, and shipped it to him. The note she enclosed said,
Nothing happened the night Drake stayed at my house. When I confronted him after you walked away, he told me what he said to you. Chase, this is all you need to hear—to hell with the rest of the world. We can make it work. Reno.

No response. She left voice messages, sent texts and e-mails. Via online fan sites, she followed his concert tour. The amateur videos taken by the audience showed a happy, crowd-pleasing Chase. Had he gotten over her already?

Maybe he needed time. His life was busy right now, but when things slowed down, he'd realize how much he missed her. She stared out the window at the bright February-thaw day. Melting snow from the roof dripped off the eaves and pooled in muddy puddles in the yard. She wouldn't be here to see her tulips bloom this spring. She'd be in Paris. As alone and lonely as she'd ever been in her life.

She'd told him she could forgive him anything. But how much was too much? Was he back to his old ways? Sleeping with anything in a skirt? Still, the idea of a life without him was unimaginable. She wiped the wetness off her cheek.

"Stop it.” She'd cried far too many tears for him. And the students and faculty of the Sorbonne deserved her full attention. She walked to the table and sat, her uncompleted letter in front of her. She'd finish writing it, and she'd mail it. And any time she felt the urge to cry, the need to yell and scream, or the longing to be in his arms, she'd write another one and send it to him.

Maybe one day she'd hear back from him...No, she probably wouldn't. He was stubborn, he thought he was doing what was best for her. “Stupid idiot.” She'd give him time. Give him space. Then, if she hadn't heard from him, she'd corner him and bully him into admitting how he felt about her. “Yeah. Easier said than done."

Almost three weeks on the road, and Chase couldn't concentrate. Everything he did made him think of Reno. Meeting the president, he wished she was there to see that he had some high-and-mighty friends, too. Singing for a group of sick children in a hospital in Maine, he wanted her by his side to help him hug the little ‘uns. And every concert, he walked the stage, scanning the crowd, looking for her. But she'd never come. He saw to it. Deleted her messages and e-mails, made her think he was done with her. “Shit.” Would he ever get her off his mind?

Before heading out on tour, he got piss-drunk, started a fire by the pool, and burned everything he owned that reminded him of her, including the suitcase full of his clothes that she sent him. And when the fire department swarmed his ranch, he'd been just about to burn the letter she'd sent with it. But the firefighters were a sign, karma, and he kept the letter. Unopened. Some day he'd be able to read it, but not yet. She was still too fresh in his memory.

Four months later, Chase sat in a big, red-leather chair in his dressing room drinking tequila and washing it down with beer. Alone. On his birthday. Where the hell was he? Chicago?

He glanced at himself in the wall mirror. He looked like shit. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to get it to stay down, but he'd fallen asleep after his shower, and it rooster-tailed all over his head. The dark circles under his eyes made him look old, and his skin was red and puffy. Like his dad.

Staring into his reflection, he told himself, “You screwed up bad.” Worse than anything his dad ever did. Two weeks ago when he went home for a few days, his housekeeper gave him a huge stack of his personal mail, including about twenty letters from Reno. And one postcard.

The envelopes he stuffed in a drawer, but the postcard got to him. A picture of the French countryside, flowers and trees, a river, rolling hills. Probably what her place in South Dakota looked like in the summer. He made the mistake of turning it over and reading. Her loopy writing made him smile, but her words brought an ache to his heart.
Chase, It's beautiful here, my work keeps me busy, but my nights are lonely without you. Please come and visit. Reno.

He tossed it into the drawer with the other letters and backed away. Backed right up to the liquor cabinet and filled his glass to flood out the pain. Then two days later, in one of his drunker, weaker moments, he told his housekeeper to go out and buy a dozen sappy birthday cards. Ones that said something about, “for the woman in my life."

She'd brought back about twenty, wordlessly handed them to him, and stormed out the door. He didn't blame her for being disgusted. He'd turned into a drunken asshole. Just followin’ his old man's footsteps.

He read the cards and picked the perfect one. Not too mushy. Then he yelled for Sue Lynn, had her address it to the return address on Reno's envelopes. She pointed out that he hadn't signed it. He said, “I'm not signing it. And don't put my return address on it.” He waved her out. “Go to the post office and have them send it the fastest way possible."

She tsked and stomped away, and he passed out.

The next morning, he woke on the couch, his bleary eyes staring right at the birthday cards spread across the coffee table. “Shit!” What the hell had he done? He picked up the cards and threw them in the trash, then dove head-first into a bottle.

Now, on his birthday, things were falling apart. Two solid weeks of drinking affected his performances. But thank God he hadn't heard back from Reno. If she was smart, she'd drop his card in the shredder and move on with her life.

A knock on the door shook him out of his daydream. “Come in."

"Chase, my best client.” It was his agent, Harwood Rossburg. And he wasn't alone. Every year on his birthday, Harwood brought him a couple gifts. Two beautiful blonde hookers. Expensive ones.

Harwood put his hands on the girls’ lower backs. “This is Velvet, and this is Lace. They're a team, and they're yours for the rest of the night."

They were perfect. Both of them tall and thin, big tits in tight shirts, one in velvet booty shorts, and the other in a lace miniskirt. Both of them smiled seductively. In the past, Chase took advantage of the gift, before, during, and after his concert. But tonight, he didn't feel much like doing anything but drinking.

Chase stood and wobbled a bit. “Harwood, man, you've outdone yourself this year.” He took each of the girls’ hands and kissed them. “Pleased to meet you ladies. Would you mind...?” He gestured to a door behind them, leading to the adjoining room where he got his hair and makeup done. “Harwood and I have to talk for a minute, but help yourself to anything you'd like."

The girls leaned in on their four-inch heels and kissed him on each cheek. One said, “Don't be long.” The other one said, “We'll be waiting for you.” They giggled and strutted through the door.

His agent laughed. “What do you possibly have to talk about that can't wait until you've shot your load into those girls’ mouths?"

Chase flopped back onto the chair and blinked to clear his vision. “I'm having trouble writing."

That got his agent's attention, and he pulled up a chair. “We've promised your label a twelve-song CD by the end of the year. What's going on, buddy? What can I do to get your creative juices flowing?"

He shrugged. “I don't know. I wanted the album to come out with the movie. But I've hit a wall."

"You have the
Prairie Fire
song. That's going to be a number one."

He sighed. The mention of the song he'd written for Reno made his chest contract. It was too personal. A love song meant for one perfect woman. He rubbed his forehead. “I might need to get some songwriters in.” Damn it, he'd never had writers’ block before.

"Okay, okay, whatever you need. Just tell me who you like, and I'll have them waiting for you at the end of the tour."

Chase's phone rang. He stood and shook Harwood's hand. “Thanks. And thanks for the gift.” He gestured to the closed door into the next room. Although he sure as hell wouldn't be enjoying them.

Harwood clasped Chase's shoulder. “Happy birthday, Chase. Keep in touch.” He walked out.

Chase answered his phone. “Yeah?"

Mr. Tanner, it's security at the loading dock. There's a woman here who says she's your girlfriend."

He'd heard this one before. “I don't have a girlfriend."

The man's voice was muffled, then he said, “She says to tell you it's Reno."

Reno? Here? Chest pains, couldn't breathe—goddamn. What did she want? He'd been ignoring her for months. Couldn't she take a hint?

"Mr. Tanner?"

He snapped, “What's your fucking hurry? Shut up a minute."

"Sorry."

Shit, he'd been snapping at everyone for months. Things were just starting to get easier, he was beginning to forget what it was like to hold Reno, make love to her, and sleep with her spooned against him all night. Then in the morning, her amber eyes looking at him with tenderness, then with a naughty gleam as he took her from behind. “Fuck."

She must have come back from France when she got that birthday card. Why had he done it? He knew, straight up, she'd be better off without him. She should stay in Europe. Marry somebody at the college, have smart kids. But she wouldn't break if off clean, she wouldn't believe it was over, until he showed her what an ass he was. He looked at the door to the next room where the hookers’ giggles echoed loudly.