Lethal Seduction (44 page)

“Uh . . . meeting friends.” A quick glance at her watch. “And dammit—I'm running late.”

“Maybe we'll catch up with each other later?”

“Maybe,” she answered vaguely, thinking,
Not in this lifetime.

Marika, observing this little exchange, obviously expected to be introduced. “Hello,” she said.

“Uh . . . Madison, do you know Marika? My father's . . . uh . . . what do you call yourself, Marika? Girlfriend sounds kind of unimportant.”

“I'm Mr. Blaine's partner in life,” Marika said, snapdragon eyes flashing major danger signals. “Mr.
Leon
Blaine,” she added, in case Madison made the foolish mistake of thinking she was actually with Joel. God forbid!

“Hi,” Madison said. “Madison Castelli.”

“I read you,” Marika said. “You have a distinctive style.”

“That's always good to hear,” Madison said politely.

“Yeah,” Joel said, joining in as if Madison were his best friend. “This is one smart woman.”

“Thanks, Joel,” Madison said, dying to add,
I didn't know you could read.

“I especially enjoyed your piece on Hollywood call girls,” Marika said. “Most informative. And rather sad.”

“Well,” Madison said, anxious to get away from both of them. “Nice meeting you. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to run.”

And she was on the move before Joel could say another word.

A
GE HAD NOT WITHERED
K
RIS
Phoenix. At fifty-something, he was as raunchy as ever—a rock star for the ages, with per-oxide blond hair; intense, ice-blue eyes; a fake tan and rakish good looks. He was wearing well, this rock icon who was once a talented lad called Chris Pierce from Maida Vale, London. Kris still reigned supreme, with hit records, sold-out concerts and a loyal fan base. Plus the women. Old, young and middle-aged—they loved him. They lusted after him. He was their fantasy.

Currently he was involved with Amber Rowe, a coltish young actress who had recently won an Oscar. Amber was tall and lanky with straight brown hair, amazingly long legs and absolutely no tits. In spite of the more than thirty-year age gap, Kris felt he had finally found his match and was seriously considering asking her to move in.

Surrounded by an ass-kissing entourage, he held court in the outer room to his dressing-room suite before his one-night-only Vegas show, which was to take place in the ballroom of the recently refurbished Marigiano Hotel.

Reluctantly, Madison trailed Natalie and her camera crew into the room. Natalie was all aglow in a short, white Versace
dress and python jacket. “It's my rock-star special,” she'd said with a wild giggle. “Since I don't get to cover
real
news, I plan on grabbing as many good times as possible doing this crap.”

“Go for it,” Madison said, fading into a corner as Natalie began to do her stuff.

Amber Rowe moved into the corner right after her. “I
loathe
this publicity circus,” Amber remarked, chewing on her stubby fingernails. “It's bad enough being
me,
but add Kris, and we've got a major problem. We can't do
anything
without a trail of paparazzi. It's
such
a bummer.”

This was not the first time a total stranger had confided in Madison, it happened all the time. People seemed compelled to talk to her—often revealing much more than they should.

“You
could
stay home,” she suggested.

“Ha!” exclaimed Amber, blinking nervously. “Try telling Kris
that.
He can't stand staying home. Always thinks he's missing out on something.”

“Then you must insist. Two or three nights a week wouldn't kill him.”

“Good idea!” Amber said with a girlish grin. “I'll try it.”

Across the room, Natalie flirted outrageously with Kris on camera. He played the flirting game well, but when the interview was over, they both knew what to do. Kris immediately began conferring with his publicist, while Natalie huddled with her cameraman and producer.

Madison and Amber made idle conversation until Natalie finally came over. “Okay, girl,” she said breezily. “We're outta here.
E.T.
is in the room, and that makes me want to
leave!”

“Will I see you at the concert?” Amber asked Madison, a touch wistfully.

“Hey—” Natalie said, zeroing in as soon as she realized who the skinny girl was. “Can we talk on camera?”

“Sorry,” Amber answered quickly. “I only do movie PR. And since I have nothing out now, it's a definite no.”

“Oh, c'
mon,”
Natalie said, flashing her best persuasive smile. “How about a couple of comments about Kris?”

“Can't do it,” Amber said, shrinking away from Natalie, who sometimes came on too strong—especially when chasing an interview.

“An' what's goin' on 'ere?” Kris asked, strolling across the room, all tight pants and spiked hair. “You after my girl?”

“Why not?” Natalie said boldly, with a brilliant smile. “You two
are
together. Can't we talk about it?”

“No, luv,” Kris replied, shaking his head. “Amber don't like to kiss an' tell, so leave her alone, okay?” Taking his young girlfriend's arm, he moved her firmly out of Natalie's way.

“You got it, Kris,” Natalie called out to his retreating back. “See you later, after the concert.” A beat. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

“Can we get out of here?” Madison suggested.

“We sure can,” Natalie said, signaling her producer that she was leaving.

When they got outside, Natalie was steaming. “Let's go get a drink while I tell you how much I hate what I do,” she complained.

“You coanchor your own very successful show,” Madison pointed out. “What's so terrible about that?”

“Talking to ego-inflated assholes, that's my gig,” Natalie said gloomily. “Gossip. Crap. Is Ricky Martin gay? Who's had a face-lift? Who's screwing who? I don't care! I wanna cover hard news—not so-called celebrities.”

“Join the club,” Madison said wryly, as they made their way through the crowded casino.

“At least you get to pick and choose
your
victims,” Natalie remarked.

“With a little help from Victor,” Madison said as they entered one of the many cocktail lounges and sat down at a table.

“I need a drink before I have to sit through his show,” Natalie said, snapping her fingers for a cocktail waitress.

Madison wondered where Jake was and what he was up to. Damn! Why couldn't she get him off her mind?

She ordered a frozen margarita from a jaunty redhead in a
fringed minidress and tried to forget about Jake altogether and concentrate on Natalie, who was still busy putting down her TV show and all it involved.

“The problem
is
the way I look,” Natalie said, pouting.

“So now pretty is bad?”

“I look too sexy.”

“You'd be pissed if you didn't.”

“No I wouldn't.”

“Yes you would. You get off on attention.”

“I do
not,”
Natalie said indignantly.

“And anyway,” Madison continued, “if you wish to be taken more seriously, you'd have to change your image.”

“That's impossible. Where would I hide my boobs?”

“Hmm . . . let me see. Well, for starters you could have breast-reduction surgery.”

“Get fucked.”

“I'm serious.”

“No you're not.”

“Okay, then what do
you
suggest?”

“It's easy for guys. Matt Lauer is sexy, and
he's
taken seriously. I want to be more like Matt Lauer.”

“So turn white, grow a dick and cut your hair.”

They both burst out laughing.

And as they were doing that, Jamie slid up behind them and shouted out, “Surprise!”

“Holy shit!” Natalie exclaimed, jumping up. “Where did
you
come from?”

•

Carrie Hanlon had a dilemma, and she was confused. In the space of a few hours she'd been offered everything she'd ever dreamed of. Not that she didn't already
have
everything. She did. Fame. A successful career. Money. Adulation. What more could a girl ask for?

Only deep down, Carrie possessed a nagging fear that one day it could all be taken away—just like that. Poof! Gone! And
once again she'd be poor little Clarice O'Hanlon from the wrong side of town. And that thought petrified her.

Carrie had experienced her share of rich men willing to offer her anything, but none of them had been anywhere near as rich as Leon Blaine. And quite frankly, none of them were quite as fascinating. There was something special about Leon Blaine. Something powerful and exciting.

He obviously felt the same about her, because before they were halfway to Vegas, he began propositioning her. And it wasn't the usual—
I'll buy you a Bentley, or Harry Winston's entire stock, if you just glance in my direction.
No, this was different.

“I've been around a long time,” he'd said to her. “I've traveled the world and seen many things. But, Carrie, I have
never
seen a woman as beautiful as you.”

She'd heard
that
before, but it was his next words that intrigued her. “You are the woman who is capable of inheriting my fortune.”

“Excuse me?” she'd said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “May I remind you that we only just met.”

“I'm a man of impulses,” Leon had said. “That's how I
made
my money. And for the last ten years I've been looking for someone to leave everything to.”

“Really,” she murmured.

“You see, my dear,” he continued, “Joel doesn't deserve it.”

“Why not?”

“My son is a pathetic joke. He has a trust fund from which he'll inherit a few million to gamble away. But we're talking about billions, and I need them to go to the right person.” A meaningful pause. “You could be that person, Carrie.”

Billions! Carrie had millions, not very many of them, but Leon was speaking of billions! This was worth listening to.

Her eyes sparkled. “And what would I have to
do
to inherit your fortune, Leon?” she'd asked, leaning closer.

“Have my baby. My true heir.”

“I thought you were married,” she'd said, gesturing across the plane at Marika, who was watching her intently.

“Marika is more like my personal assistant,” he'd said. “Yes, we've been living together for a time, but do you really imagine I want that woman to inherit everything? Do you think I want
her
to be the mother of my son?”

“You're a cold man,” Carrie had said.

“And you're probably a cold woman,” he'd answered. “But your beauty and youth are what I desire. And a son. If you can give me a son, I will see that the two of you get everything. Consider this a business proposition, Carrie.”

“A business proposition?”

“Yes. There will be a contract drawn up by my lawyers, and in the contract it will stipulate a certain period of time for you to get pregnant.”

“And if I don't?”

“You will be enormously compensated.” He paused again. “I understand you might find this to be a bizarre offer. However, when you walked onto my plane this morning, I knew at once that you were the one I've been searching for.”

His words had haunted her. Now she was pacing around her suite at the Mirage in total confusion.

Joel had called five minutes earlier to inform her he'd be picking her up in an hour. “What for?” she'd asked blankly.

“We're all going to the Kris Phoenix concert over at the Marigiano,” he'd reminded her.

“Oh, yes,” she'd answered vaguely, remembering her fling with Kris Phoenix a year earlier. She'd soon discovered he wasn't her type. Rock stars expected to lie there and be ministered to. Well, she had news for him, so did models. The two of them had lain side by side on a giant water bed in the Bahamas—both expecting the other to make the first move.

It had not been a magical experience.

Eduardo had been waiting in her suite when she'd arrived. She was so shaken by the unexpected turn of events on Leon's plane that she'd sent him away. “Come back later,” she'd said.

“What time?” he'd asked, disappointed that she didn't want to make love to him immediately.

“Around midnight,” she'd said, quite uninterested.

Leon had given her the weekend to make a decision. And the truth was—wild as it might seem—she was very tempted.

•

“You're bad,” Madison said.

“I'm
bad,” Jamie said indignantly, her cheeks flushed. “How about the prick I left behind?”

“What
is
that dress?” Natalie asked, surveying Jamie, who was clad in a sleek black dress with a neckline that plunged all the way to Cuba. “Girl, your boobs are
out
there.”

“Some welcome,” Jamie said. “I flew here to be with you guys, and
this
is the greeting I get?”

“Will somebody
please
tell me
what
is goin' on?” Natalie demanded.

So they did. Madison started the story, and Jamie finished it.

“Man!” Natalie exclaimed when they were done. “This is unbelievable shit. Peter and another
guy.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Unfuckingreal.”

“I'm
never
going home,” Jamie remarked matter-of-factly. “I've made up my mind.”

“What are you planning to do?” Madison asked. “Take up residence in Vegas?”