NicenEasy (10 page)

Donovan didn’t reveal by the twitch of an eyebrow how he was
feeling, but Allie could feel his coiled-up tension.

Nancy reached into her purse and drew out the little black
portable speaker. After plugging it into the phone, she pressed the speaker
button. Typical. Allie would expect no less from her. No chance of missing any
of this conversation.

“Mrs. Morano, so nice to hear from you. How are you?”

“Fine.” The woman at the other end of the line sounded
clipped, even irritated. “Why was it so important you wanted me to call now?”

Nancy didn’t look up. “I knew we’d have finished most of the
events of the day and I wanted to take the first opportunity to catch up with
you.”

A sigh, quiet but unmistakable, came out of the speaker. “This
is about the pictures, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. It doesn’t seem to have affected his
popularity at the signing.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, at least. Don’t you remember me
telling you Carl has a weak head for drink and to keep him off the hard stuff?
When he’s away he tends to head for the nearest bar and drink the strongest
cocktail he can find.”

Carl’s wife had told Nancy about Carl’s weak head for
alcohol? Sadly, although the news came as a shock, it no longer came as a
surprise to Allie that her boss had kept that nugget of vital information to
herself.

“I don’t remember, Mrs. Morano, and I’m sorry about that. We
did our best to take care of him, but his editor is new to the company and she
slipped up. If you wish it, she’ll apologize to you personally.”

“I don’t really care, unless it affected Carl’s signing, and
from what you’ve just said, he’s fine. However, it doesn’t look good. I think
you have to change editors, just because of that.” Mrs. Morano sounded hard to
Allie. No wonder he looked for comfort outside home. “Are the reports also
true, that he and she—”

“I’m so sorry—”

Mrs. Morano didn’t allow Nancy to finish. “Squash the
rumors, please. Deny them all and get Allison Bartz to deny them too. Whatever
it takes.” Allie doubted Mrs. Morano realized she was on enhanced speakerphone.
“But on a personal note, I don’t care. So don’t worry about having her contact
me. ”

“I understand.” Nancy sounded grave, although her eyes
gleamed with triumph. Now she had Allie. With no big name on her team, that
made Allie expendable and back under Nancy’s thumb. Allie’s heart sank. She had
to tough it out and in one thing, Nancy was right—she should have spent more
time schmoozing the big names. Except she had a strong suspicion that the big
names had seen it, heard it, got the T-shirt. They’d have seen right through
her. But maybe a bit more socializing instead of— She broke off her thoughts
right there.

Donovan glanced at her, seemingly without expression, but
she saw the desire banked down in his eyes. It made her heat up when she was
trying so hard to be cool. How did he have the power to do that?

Without warning, he spoke up. “Mrs. Morano, this is Donovan
Harvey.”

“Who?”

“I’m an author at the convention.” He smiled, not at all put
out that she hadn’t recognized him. “I can personally vouch that Allie didn’t
spend any nights with your husband. She was with me.”

“But—” Nancy sputtered for a bare second before she regained
her composure. “I had no idea.” But now she did, and so did anyone else within
earshot.

Donovan gave her a not-nice smile. “You weren’t supposed
to.” He glanced at Allie. “Nice talking to you, Mrs. Morano.”

“Nice talking to you too. Hey, are you British? Wait,
Donovan Harvey—don’t I know you?”

“Possibly. I write under another name though.” He didn’t
elaborate.

Nancy thanked Mrs. Morano and cut the call before turning to
Allie. No pleasant face now, nothing but hard calculation. “So you let me think
you fucked Carl Morano?”

One good thing. Carl couldn’t blackmail her into sleeping
with him.

“Or he fucked her.” Donovan didn’t hide his reaction to
Nancy now. He gave her a face as hard as the one she was showing to Allie. “Why
not, when Carl was her only card in the game?”

Nancy’s heavily lipsticked mouth dropped open before she
closed it with a snap. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re playing a game, aren’t you, so why is the card
analogy such a surprise? Or maybe you don’t play with the plain truth? Then
hear this.” He leaned forward, facing political maneuvering with something
stronger—honesty. “Using people as if they’re playing cards is plain wrong, and
one day it’ll come back to bite you in the butt.”

“And you know all about the publishing industry, do you?”

“I know a lot about the music business. I choose not to play
games and I’m in a position to do so.” He leaned back. “Didn’t I hear that
Casterbridge was having financial problems?”

“No.” Nancy’s answer came too fast. “Absolutely not. In
fact, we’re willing to add a comfortable amount to whatever you’re getting from
Edsel. Does that sound like we’re in financial trouble?”

He shrugged. “Frankly, yes. But you must know that if you
sign me, I want Allie.”

Nancy sighed. “Yes. If that’s the price, she’s yours.”

Allie had heard enough. “Hey, that’s my life and my career
you’re talking about. Don’t I get a say?”

Immediately, Donovan gave her all his attention, turning a
pearl-gray stare on her, so intent she almost winced. “You get all the say. I
want you to stay here with me, at least until after the concerts. That’s two
weeks. Next weekend in San Francisco and the weekend after in L.A. You know I
want that.” He swung around to face Nancy again. “If she wants to come, I want
you to listen. And nothing bad will happen to her job while she’s away.”

“She can’t continue as Carl Morano’s editor.” For once,
Nancy seemed sincere, but by now Allie knew better than to trust her.

“What do you mean, can’t continue?” Donovan demanded.

Nancy gave a long-suffering sigh. “The media has the
pictures. They’re all over the place. Now people are coming to the sites just
to make fun of us. He needs someone more senior to take care of the mess.”

“Trolls,” Donovan said. “Ignore them.”

Nancy frowned. “We can’t allow that.”

Donovan shrugged. “It happens a lot. Leave it for a while
and something else will come along.”

“They’ll never forget it,” Allie said miserably. “Besides,
I’m not sure I want to go on with him now. We had a great working relationship,
but I’m not sure we can get that back.”

Nancy waved a dismissive hand. “See, you’re much better
moving on. I can handle him.” She sniggered. “No pun intended.”

Neither of them laughed.

Donovan got to his feet and held his hand out to Allie.

Her choice, his eyes said. She could accept the reprieve
he’d won for her, not to mention the hot sex, or she could fight her own corner
on her own.

The sex made up her mind. Getting to her feet, she took his
hand.

Donovan turned to Nancy. “We have a deal? Nothing decided
until Allie gets back to the office?”

Nancy shrugged. “Agreed. I have a few other things to
finalize anyway. Carl has nothing due for a while.”

“I’ll let you know about the book.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Donovan turned away. “No need,” he said. “I’ll contact you
through my agent.”

What had happened? Dazed, Allie followed Donovan into the
elevator, only realizing belatedly that he’d gone into an ordinary elevator and
punched the button for her floor. Before his muscle had a chance to follow him.
He’d given them a pleasant smile as the doors closed and a murmured, “See you,
boys.”

He turned away from the glass part of the car. “I hate
this.”

“What?”

“This part of fame. The way people follow you and the way I
need people to make sure they don’t get too close. Hate it. They needed to stop
this convention being all about me. Do you know how many authors were here?
Some of them had bodyguards too. I should invest in that industry, it seems to
be the only growth area right now.”

“Together with the music industry,” she reminded him.

He still held her hand and he gave it an extra squeeze as
the car reached her floor. “As you say,” he said. “A lot of people are having
to find a new way of making it in music. There are a few, very few artists at
the top, and hundreds, maybe thousands, struggling to survive. Not healthy. Oh
yes, and those reality shows foisting people who can sing just like somebody else
on us for a couple of records. The great stars who came out of those would
probably have achieved their breaks elsewhere.”

Not in a good mood, then. He strode out of the elevator and
she got the feeling he’d forgotten she was there until she planted her feet on
the floor and refused to move.

He turned back, surprise in his widened eyes. “What is it?”

“What’s my name?”

“Allie.”

“Allison J. Bartz and I’m a real person. Not a thing to be
argued over and not a pet or a hanger-on.”

He let out a long breath and his chin dropped. Instead of
tugging her closer, he took a step toward her. “Would you prefer to tough this
out on your own?” He stood completely still and she could see nothing in him.
He gave no clues as to what he was feeling inside. He was good at that.

“What would you think of me if I said yes?” she asked.

“Why would that be important to you?”

Because it was. Because she was coming to see the laid-back
Donovan Harvey as a shrewd operator and a man she should respect. Because
already, in two days, he’d come to mean much more to her than he should. She
wanted his respect. She didn’t want to depend on him or anyone. She didn’t say
any of that, because to make a stand right now would be downright stupid. “If I
walked away from you, I’d be a martyr, wouldn’t I? I’d lose my job and I
wouldn’t see you again. I’m not into martyrdom. I’ll take everything I can get
right now. Otherwise, I’m finished.”

“No.” He lifted his hand and brushed her hair back from her
face, tucking it behind her ear, even though that played havoc with the style
she’d tried to induce into it earlier. “No, you’re not. You’re bright and sharp
and,” he groaned, “utterly gorgeous. And I know I’m not supposed to say that,
but you are.”

As if drawn by a force beyond his control, he kissed her, took
her mouth with a ruthless savagery she instantly adored. He drove his tongue
between her lips and she welcomed him, tasted him and sucked him as she’d once
sucked his cock. His arms tightened around her and she felt safe, which was
ridiculous.

He drew back and held her, gazing down into her eyes.
“That’s the truth. I want you and I’ll do or say anything to keep you just a
bit longer. It’s madness, but I’ve never known an urge to take a woman the way
I want to take you. Every way, every place. I can’t bear the thought of us not
exploring what we have, leaving behind something we might never have again with
anyone else.” He huffed a laugh. “Does any of that make sense to you?”

“Completely.” She’d spoken without thinking, something she
never did with anyone else. But he was right. They couldn’t walk away from
this, whatever it was. They’d stumbled into—this. The only name she had for the
fiery connection between them right now.
This.

Nothing mattered outside exploring it. Every time he took
her in his arms, every time she felt the burn of his skin next to hers, her
rational mind went AWOL. Chemistry didn’t begin to explain the phenomenon. She
suspected some people would call it love at first sight, but to her mind, love
involved more than a frantic need to get naked every time a certain person was
near. But it came fucking close. And she needed to find out. Needed it like her
next breath.

He lifted his hand to tenderly cup her cheek. “I’m calling
it love,” he said, as if she’d voiced her concerns.

“I’m not. You need to know somebody to call it love.”

“I know you. As well as if I’d known you all my life. I knew
what you were feeling back in the bar. I felt your anger and your helplessness.
One born from the other, am I right?”

She nodded. “I hate feeling like that, but I’m not strong
enough to fight back. Especially now I’ve lost Carl.”

“You haven’t lost him yet. Use me, Allie. Anything I can do,
I will, and I have a position of strength. Casterbridge wants me.” He glanced
around and she became aware of two women who’d managed to get in the elevator
before them watching them, mouths agape. “Come on.”

“To my room?”

“So you can pack.” Grabbing her hand, he towed her behind
him along the walkway to her room. “Hurry, before word gets around and we’re
put under siege.”

Despite her concerns, she laughed. “Under siege?”

“Well, let’s say I’m beginning to understand what the
Beatles felt like during their tour of the States. Fish in a goldfish bowl, and
just as vulnerable.”

“Scary.”

“Tell me about it.”

She didn’t argue any more, but opened the door and shoved
her things in suitcases much faster than she’d packed to come here. She made a
pile on the bed and he helped, stuffing her belongings into her smaller wheeled
case. They left the room without a backward glance and descended in the
elevator to find two pissed-off security guys waiting for them, together with a
bunch of fans. Murder City Ravens fans, not fantasy ones.

The guys moved forward and blocked the fans’ access. Behind
them, the elevator doors opened again, and Donovan tugged her back inside,
preventing the doors from closing by the simple expedient of inserting a booted
foot.

“That didn’t take long.” As Donovan spoke, his phone rang
and he answered it after one brief glance at the screen.

“Go to your room,” Chick said. “Get your stuff, then come to
the hotel here. We’re set up here, usual arrangement, we’ve taken a floor. Bob
and Chris will take you down the back way.”

Fucking depressing, but there was little else he could do.
“How did you know?”

“Chris called when he saw the mob. Mostly local fans, but
the ones at the con told the others. Social networks, texting. We’re guessing
they’re organizing a flash mob.”

“That could be fun,” he said, although he didn’t know what a
flash mob would make of the complex songs Murder City Ravens tended to
specialize in. They might find it tricky to emulate the complex changing tempos
of songs like
Sailing Past the Ocean
.

Shit, would he never stop thinking that way? No, not as long
as he breathed. Even this, the rhythm of the situation, got inside him. The
yells of the fans when they saw him, the quiet murmur of the two guards and the
soft gasp of the woman at his side. Especially that, adding the discordant note
that made sense of this whole crazy situation. He’d felt increasingly
uncomfortable with the escalating fame success was bringing to the band, but
she gave him harmony and balance, something he’d sorely lacked recently.

He grasped her hand firmly and felt better instantly.
“Ready?”

She nodded. He jabbed the “Door Open” button and they
rejoined the mob outside. Around fifty, he assessed.

“Okay, guys, off we go. I’ll do a few autographs, but I’m
not answering questions, and Allie doesn’t leave me.”

“Sure thing,” Chris said.

These guys knew their jobs. Just as they’d worked to keep
his presence as low key as possible during the book signing, they moved Donovan
and Allie slowly but surely toward the private elevator that led to the secure
part of the hotel. Donovan signed CDs and photos, and even a few books, something
he felt glad of. He didn’t need his agent to tell him how well the book had
done.

He’d met with Elliott that morning when he’d flown in from
New York, still weak from the flu that had incapacitated him. Donovan hated
that the man had dragged himself out of his sickbed, but appreciated the
devotion Elliott had to his job. He recognized it in his own love for his day
job.

As they entered the suite, they found Elliott was sitting in
front of the fire, huddled over a glass containing a trickle of amber liquid.
Donovan made the introductions quickly.

Elliott pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose and got
to his feet. Donovan loved how Allie’s expression changed from friendliness to
astonishment as Elliott got to his shocking six-foot-six height. Tall, gangly
and totally New York in a way Donovan found it hard to define. Dark-haired,
friendly with an edge of wariness, or streetwise awareness, maybe. Paler even
than usual, Elliott offered Allie a friendly smile. “I won’t shake hands.
Germs.”

“Sorry about that,” Allie said. “I’m really pleased to meet
you. You represent some awesome authors.”

Elliott raised a thick brow. “Thanks. Do I know you?”

“I’m an editor at Casterbridge.”

Elliott’s smile faded. “Really.” His voice chilled. “I had
an author there once. Have you been working for Casterbridge long?”

Allie shook her head. “I always wanted to work in
publishing, but I never made the move. When I got the chance last year, I knew
it wouldn’t come again.”

Elliott’s mouth flattened. “A shame it was Casterbridge.” He
glanced at Donovan. “If you’re planning to move there I won’t support it,
though I’ll help you get the best deal you can.”

“No plans,” Donovan said. “At least, not yet. Allie is
welcome to try to persuade me.” He wondered how Allie was taking the information
about her publisher, how much she knew. He’d asked Elliott to do some research
for him, asking how wise it would be to move there. Now he knew.

“What’s wrong with Casterbridge?” she demanded.

Elliott waved to the seat across from him. “Sit and I’ll
tell you.”

Donovan had read the basics in the text Elliott had sent.
“Let him talk to you while I pack. You’re done, but I still have shit all over
the place. Elliott, the fans have arrived. You can stay here or you can come to
the new hotel with us. Your choice.”

“I’ll think about it, but I have to say this suite impresses
the shit out of me.”

Donovan burst into laughter. “I’m leaving the door open. I
have ears like a bat, so I’ll listen too.”

He went into the bedroom and Elliott explained his
misgivings about Casterbridge to Allie. “Rumors in this business can be lethal
and there are plenty circulating about them. Casterbridge is in talks right now
for a takeover. Nobody’s supposed to know, but it’s an open secret. Over the
last few years the new management has been quietly cleaning house, but with the
publisher in the state it is now, I want something more secure for my people.”

Glad he didn’t have to look at her while she was learning
unpalatable truths, Donovan set to packing, dragging out cases and dropping his
belongings into them haphazardly.

He didn’t have to hear every word to know what Elliott was
telling Allie. During this convention, he’d heard murmurs from fellow authors,
most of whom had accepted Donovan as part of the writers’ community. That was one
of the best things he’d gained from this weekend, but not the very best. She
sat in the living room listening to his agent.

Above most other things, he wanted to give her some space,
but she might not see it like that. He might have endangered his burgeoning
relationship with her to save her career. They couldn’t help that. The burning
conviction inside him that he and Allie were meant to be together was something
he couldn’t explain to anyone, much less himself. He’d admitted just now that
he wanted to call it love, but he’d always known he was a romantic, and how
could he be so sure of someone he hadn’t known existed three days ago? How
could he look into her lovely eyes and see everything he’d ever wanted there?
There for him to claim, for him to keep?

He had no right. He’d never considered himself a possessive
man, but he’d love nothing more than to find a desert island and keep her there
for, oh, a year, maybe two. Something neither of them could afford to do.

Enough. Pitching the bag into the nearest case, he took one
last look around and zipped up the suitcases. Since he didn’t have to worry
about luggage allowance, he had two big cases and the way he was going, he’d
have to buy another before the tour was done. He occasionally sent things home
to his parents, and they wrote back that they’d opened the case, laundered the
clothes and left the rest of the stuff for when he got back. He wished they
wouldn’t, launder the clothes, that was. They could have sent them to his
laundry service.

It wouldn’t be long before he saw them again. He missed the
easy relationship he had with his brother and sister, who treated him like a
person, rather than a thing. Now he had someone else who did that, as well as
the band. Allie.

“Done.” He strode through to the living room to find Allie
and Elliott discussed the publishing industry. He raised a brow at some of the
stories, about authors who couldn’t stop writing, authors who couldn’t start,
some who wrote one book and lived off the proceeds without ever writing another.

Donovan watched Allie’s face and admired the nearly perfect
expression of understanding and thoughtfulness. But a small twitch by the
corner of her mouth told him she wanted to admit to get out of here.

“Coming?” he said to Elliott.

Elliott nodded. “We need to have a talk about your next
move, and then I’m going home.”

“Not staying for the show at the end of the week?”

Elliott hesitated, biting his lip. “I could be persuaded, I
guess.” He gave a brisk nod. Typical of Elliott to listen to a counterargument
and then make a fast decision. That was one of the things that made him such a
good agent. “A few days away from the office to recuperate might do me good.”

“Security’s in place at the other hotel. Not here.”

Elliott grimaced. “I get to join an entourage. Do I get a
room of my own?”

“If you want one. The days of sharing three and four to a
room have gone, thank God.” He fixed Allie with a stony stare. “You, on the
other hand, have to share, I’m afraid.”

She did what he’d hoped. She laughed. Well, it was better
than that flat, stricken expression she’d been so careful to cover up, but he’d
seen it, and he’d bet Elliott had too. He hated it, and he’d do anything to
ensure it didn’t appear on her face ever again. But she had to know. He was
just glad he hadn’t had to tell her.

What followed had become depressingly familiar over the last
few months. Their luggage disappeared and Chris and Bob took the three of them
through the kitchens to a discreet back door where a taxi waited for them. It
whisked them through the streets to another hotel, this one five star instead
of four, but still, they went through the kitchens to a security elevator,
where Chris and Bob handed out plastic cards, the only way to control the
elevators, as well as being keycards to the rooms. They went through the
routine for the benefit of Allie and Elliott. “If you lose these, you tell
security immediately. Never get into the security elevator on the main floor,
because fans will be watching and they don’t yet know which hotel we’re in. Go up
or down a floor by regular elevator or stairs. If anyone approaches you, say
nothing. Not unless you know them.”

Allie glanced at Donovan and he grinned. “Welcome to the
wild world of rock.”

She gave him a grumpy frown and he laughed and pulled her
close for a brief hug. Even this shit was better with her by his side. “It’s
not all like this. It gets better. We’ll try to get some sightseeing in, okay?”

She nodded but he could tell she was doubtful. “Sure.”

Already Donovan knew he could get away with a little
sightseeing if he took care. He might have to take one of the guys with them,
but he’d make sure they did something fun. She needed it, after the weekend
she’d had. He badly wanted to treat her, and wondered if she’d accept it. San
Francisco was supposed to be a fun place, and he’d never visited before. He was
fucked if the only thing he saw was the hotel.

Stir crazy already. He hadn’t felt that at the convention
hotel, but here, with security and the band and the fucking kitchen entrance,
it all came flooding back. The others accepted it with wry amusement,
irritation or defiance, but he plain hated it.

Too close to some parts of his childhood, when his mother
had— Fuck, he didn’t want to think about that now. Or ever, come to that.

This kitchen smelled good though, of something spicy and
light, Chinese or Japanese, if he got lucky. He said so and got a grin from one
of the chefs. “Enjoy your stay here, sir,” he said.

Donovan realized that he probably would, more than he
usually did.

Their floor contained a large sitting area and several
suites. And lots of people, although more would arrive before the week was out.
They’d better.

“Hi!” He felt Allie falter when Jace came out of the suite
in the corner and sauntered toward them. He embraced Jace and slapped his back
before turning to his companions. “Allison J. Bartz, this is Jace Beauchene.
Jace, this is Elliott Moore, my literary agent. He’s staying here a few days.”

Jace raised a dark brow. “Welcome to the madhouse.” His
distinctive Southern drawl infected Donovan and, as always, made him smile. The
blend of characters and origins helped to make the band what it was—eclectic,
exciting and different.

“A change from my usual madhouse, but it’ll be interesting.”
Elliott shook his head when Jace offered his hand. “Germs. I’m getting over the
flu.”

“Fuck that, man.” Jace grabbed Elliott’s hand anyway and
shook it. “Notice I’m not rushing away to wash. You won’t be contagious anymore
anyhow.”

“Where are the others?” Donovan asked.

“Beverley’s out somewhere with Chick. They’re due back any
minute.”

“They went to check something at the venue.” The voice
preceded the person, but once Matt was out of another of the rooms, there was
no mistaking him. Matt had been the band’s vocalist, but now he’d opened his
own studio and produced the third album, the one currently soaring up every
chart it was eligible for. Dark-haired, tall, deep-voiced, Matt had an
unmistakable presence. People looked at him when he entered the scene, any
scene, but his brand of easy friendship usually put people at ease. Especially
since he’d met V, the band’s saxophonist. Sultry, sexy, utterly gorgeous and
totally monogamous, much to Donovan’s regret. Well, he didn’t mind so much now.

Allie followed Matt into the hallway, and then the living
area Donovan had glimpsed through the open double doors. “So which room is
free?” Donovan asked. He made introductions all over again. “Allie’s an editor
with Casterbridge.”

She pulled a wry face. “Not for much longer, unless—”

Elliott raised a brow. “Unless you can get Donovan to sign
with them.”

Allie stiffened, then sighed. “My boss wants me to do it.
But Donovan knows that.” Donovan didn’t want that discussion yet. He’d already
made his decision and he’d bet Allie knew it too. What she did was up to her, but
he wanted to persuade her to think of alternatives. Show her a taste of life on
the road and see if she could tolerate it. Or make the decision that would mean
the band leave him behind. Before Allie, he’d never have considered leaving
Murder City Ravens, but with a potential literary career and a woman he badly
wanted to hold on to, he might not have a choice.