NicenEasy (18 page)

She switched her phone to speaker and put through the call
she needed to make. If she were packing, speakerphone would seem practical. She
just hoped Donovan wouldn’t realize that a sensitive call like the one she was
about to make wouldn’t usually go on speaker. “Sorry to call you at the
weekend, Nancy. No hard feelings about Carl.”

“No problem.” Nancy sounded smug. “Duane told me he wants
you to stay, pending the reorganization. Is it about that?”

Allie badly wanted to tell Nancy to fuck herself but instead
she forced a friendly tone. “I’m not sure I can get Donovan so quickly. I might
have to stay here a while. He’s going to be harder to hook than we thought. So
I thought I’d ask your advice. After all, you put me on to him in the first
place.”

Nancy thought she was agreeing to Duane’s request. “Sure,
honey. You can do it. It’s easy. Flatter him, listen to him, take notes. Hide
them in the john if you have to. You have a couple of weeks’ vacation and I’m
sure you can do it by then.” She laughed. “You’ve been discreet with the press.
Maybe more exposure will help. In any case, I have something else for you to
think about.”

Allie felt rather than heard Donovan come to the bedroom
door to listen. Her heart breaking, she continued. “What’s that?”

“Murder City Ravens is a really secretive band. They don’t
allow photographs other than carefully controlled ones. A few have crept
online, one of Jace with Beverley Christmas—what kind of fucking name is that,
anyway? A supply of them would be dynamite. And a kiss-and-tell memoir? Let’s
put it this way, honey. You’d be in solid at Casterbridge. Everybody’s doing
it. You won’t be breaking any rules.”

Allie would just bet. So Nancy wanted Allie to sneak around,
make up shit for a sleazy book, reveal what she and Donovan got up to in the
bedroom? “Does it have to be gospel?”

“Not if we put a disclaimer in front. You know, your opinion
only.”

Sure, then she’d be liable and the company wouldn’t. Did
Nancy really take her for such an innocent? Yes, she probably did. As Nancy’s
unwilling minion, she’d spent a year keeping her head down and getting on with
work.

“I can do that.” Tears misted her eyes as she stared at the
T-shirts she’d carefully folded into her case. Reaching in, she touched one,
the one Donovan had taken off her the first time they’d slept together. She
might not wash that one ever again. “Okay, Nancy, that sounds good. I’ll snag
Donovan for Casterbridge and I’ll work on an outline for the memoir. I’ll get
back to you.”

She blinked away the tears, took a deep breath for courage
and turned around.

She’d never seen Donovan so furious. His eyes snapped cold
fire and he looked as if he’d burn her where she stood. “So you want to take
advantage of us? Do you know what I just fucking did for you? I resigned. Do
you know how hard that was?”

“Then we’ll need the money,” she said. It nearly killed her
to keep the choking despair from her voice.

His voice turned hard and dark. “Give me your camera.”

Mutely she handed it over. “How do you know I haven’t
downloaded pictures to my laptop?”

“I don’t, which is why I’m keeping that too. Much though I’d
like to grind them into the carpet, I’ll make sure the pictures and whatever
you’ve written are securely deleted, then you’ll get them back. Get out.” His
voice shook.

Neither of them could take much more of this, but she could
think of no other way. She could argue with him until she was blue about not
leaving the band, but he wouldn’t listen. To make him think her a shit of the
first order was the only other thing she could think of right now.

She left her computer case with all the flash drives and the
details of her visit on the bed and zipped up her case. “A girl’s got to make a
living somehow.”

Leaning against the doorjamb, he blocked her way. “Why? Why
would you do this? Short-term gain? Or maybe you want to be famous too? It’s
not all it’s cracked up to be, darling, but you won’t get a chance to find
out.” This cold anger was much, much worse than pure fury.

She wanted him to yell at her, give her a reason to walk
out, but he didn’t. Tightly in control of himself, he straightened and moved
away from the door. “You mention a word of what we did or what we said in
private and I’ll make sure Chick wrecks everything you’ve got. Clear?”

She nodded, glanced away on the pretext of finding her bag
and walked past him.

She hadn’t realized he’d brought someone else in with him.
Head held high, she left the room in frozen silence. The door slammed behind her,
a foretaste of what her life would be like from now on.

The elevator was waiting and she stepped in, trying not to
look at the hallway, busy with staff organizing breakfast. Just as the doors
were closing, a hand was thrust between them, forcing them to open again.

Elliott stepped inside and waited until the doors closed. He
had his suitcase with him but then he’d planned to leave today. “What the fuck
was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The sooner she got away, the
sooner she could give way to the tears welling up behind her eyes.

“Yes you do. All that shit with Nancy? You wouldn’t give
anybody a kiss-and-tell. And in any case, Casterbridge can’t meet your price.”

So that was it. “Can you?”

He met her gaze straight-on, his dark eyes glinting with
amusement. “I know someone who could. Not that I intend to ask.”

Relief surged inside her. At least Donovan didn’t have to
worry about Elliott. “No.”

“Neither do you. My offer still holds. Even more, now.”

“What?”

“Come work for me.”

“Why would you want me?” He’d probably heard every word of
her conversation with Duane. Why didn’t he think she was a sleaze?

“Because you have a good heart, and there’s not many of
those in my neck of the woods.” He put a hand on her arm. “I’ll pay for your
seat to New York, and that way we can talk more. So don’t even think about
saying no. Listen, my mind isn’t clouded by love or passion, and I saw what you
did back there.”

On the ride to the airport, Elliott held her while she cried
and then let her mop her tears and blow her nose.

In the VIP lounge at the terminal, he listened to her. “I
couldn’t take him away from the band. He loves them, and more than that, they
need him. He tried to tell me they could find other bass players, but I saw
them, Elliott. They have a dynamic I’ve never seen anywhere else. The fans
would lose out, so it’s not just me, it’s thousands of people.”

He shrugged. “Their loss. If I thought that was what he
really wanted, I’d have blown your cover the minute I heard it. See, I know
Nancy and I know you. You don’t belong at Casterbridge and you know it. Don’t
you?”

She couldn’t deny it to this perceptive man. “Yes.”

“The minute I heard that convo, I knew it was for Donovan’s
benefit. And it worked. He was sore from the meeting with the band. He told
them he wanted out and left before they could really respond. He wanted you,
I’m guessing. Maybe he wanted to take you back into the great room to confront
them. Instead, he heard you betraying him. Everyone in that band is real
sensitive about privacy. They’re not used to the level of attention they’re
getting, not yet. They barely tolerated me, which is one reason I decided to
cut my losses and go home rather than stick around to be outlawed.” He
scratched his head. “Anyhow, when I arrived with the offer for Donovan, it took
me about half a day in that suite to realize they needed him more than I did.
You just have to watch them to see how it works.”

She nodded. “I watched them rehearse and work on a new song.
It’s an intimate time for them all and I was privileged to see it. I wouldn’t
be just betraying him, I’d be betraying everyone in Murder City Ravens. So he
felt responsible.”

“Do you have any copies of the pictures left? A smart
operator would have had two or three backups and one in the cloud.”

“No. I never planned to use them for anyone but myself. But
I could let him think I did, couldn’t I? He told me that he was going to give
up the band for me. How long before he blamed me for that? And if he never did,
how long before my guilt ate me up? He was born to play bass. He might think
the drawing works for him, and it does, but it’s a hobby. He has this romantic
notion of fulfilling a childhood dream, but life doesn’t always work like
that.” She shrugged, her lips turning into a wry smile. “I’m living proof of
that. My dream of becoming an editor morphed out of reality, and when I found
myself doing it, it wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t fit, you know?”

Elliott nodded. “Why not another publisher?”

“I could. But I don’t have much of a record yet. I was planning
to go back and work until I had a solid two years’ experience.”

“A reasonable plan,” Elliott said. “If you work for me, you
get a chance to make the contacts you’ll need to build a strong career in the
business.”

“Thanks.”

“But,” Elliott continued, “it won’t take long for him to
work out you didn’t mean it. He could quit and come for you.”

She stared at him, startled. “I thought I’d punched all his
hot buttons.”

“You did. He’s not stupid though. You did it a bit too
convincingly.” He touched her hand. “You got him in a vulnerable moment. He’ll
work it out. So, baby girl, part of my reason for employing you is to keep
Donovan happy. If he knows you’re secure, he’s more likely to stay with me.
He’s hot property right now, agents will be tripping each other up to get to
him. But you don’t get to work with him at the agency. I deal with him
personally. Always.”

“That’s fine by me.”

“If I keep him happy, I’ll get more out of him. If I pushed
him for that contract, I’d get it, but working at that pace isn’t for everyone.
I don’t think it would work for Donovan.” He shot her a grin. “I don’t intend
to give up on him. I want more books, but he can take his time. Less money but
better for him. I tried to tell him that, but he was all fired up. He wanted it
all now.”

She sighed. “I know. He’s really impatient when he’s made up
his mind. I never expected that from him.” She met his gaze. “Donovan the man
is so much more than Donovan the rock musician.”

“I know.”

By the time they reached New York, she felt better. Still
wretched, but improved from the wet rag she’d been when she left the hotel. She
could do this. It would take one painful day at a time, but she could do it.

“Where is she?”

Donovan’s low growl interrupted Chick’s concentration on his
fucking laptop. He took his time looking up. “Who?”

“Allison J. Bartz. Where is she?”

“Why do you care?”

“I just fucking do, okay?”

Chick leaned back, his arms folded over his chest. “If
you’re afraid she’ll publish the happy snaps she took, don’t be.”

“Why should I be? I took her camera and her laptop. Which I
hope you sent back once we deleted them.” Donovan told himself it was because
he didn’t want her coming back with complaints but he knew he was lying to
himself. Why else would he have taken copies of the pictures for his own
computer before he destroyed them on hers? Why would he have spent so long
looking at them, seeing himself from her point of view and sometimes the other
way about when he’d taken the camera off her? There was nothing X-rated, much
to his sorrow. He’d have liked a reminder of that lithe, beautiful body and
their wicked games.

“Yeah, I sent them back. She should have them by now.”

“Which means you know where she is.”

Chick nodded. “I wanted to keep tabs on her in case we
needed to serve her. So far, nothing.”

Donovan grunted. “It would take a while.”

“Would? What happened to will?” Chick made a shooing gesture
to the security man in his office who was presumably flapping his ears too
hard. The man left.

Once they had the room to themselves, Donovan admitted, “It
doesn’t sit right. What I heard that day doesn’t jibe with the woman I got to
know.”

“You’re hot property, kid. You’ll get targeted by better
than her. She got a few things, sure, but I can put out that fire, no problem.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a fire.”

Chick shrugged. “That’s why I’m here. To protect you
trusting innocents against the big, bad world.”

Donovan sniggered, the nearest he’d come to a laugh all
week. Since she’d left, really. Just as well Murder City Ravens didn’t
specialize in happy party music.

Only the band had noticed his lack of yuks, and most of them
had put it down to a bad breakup. They’d ride it through, just as they’d ridden
much worse things in their time. After all, breaking up with a girlfriend of
one week didn’t compare to nearly dying from a drug overdose as Matt had done
once, did it?

A shame it felt like that to Donovan.

He couldn’t forget her. Every morning he woke up and reached
for her. It didn’t matter that she’d never been in this bed, in this town.
She’d spent a week by his side, making love, listening to him.

It had taken him two days to realize that his
hypersensitivity about honesty hadn’t helped him when he’d heard her talking to
scuzzy Nancy. Or, for that matter, that his mother’s, “It’s a shame, she was a
nice girl,” had more to do with her desire for him to give up the band and
settle down rather than any concern for his actual welfare. Or for any concern
about Allie, come to that.

Through it all, even when he’d wholeheartedly tried to
believe that Allie had targeted him so she could make a quick buck and some
notoriety by shacking up with a rock musician for a week, thoughts had niggled
at the back of his mind. Her reticence for them to be seen together in public,
for instance. Her discussions with him in the early hours of the morning, about
thinking hard about what he really wanted. And her horror when he told her he
wanted to give it all up for her. He’d handed her the gravy on a plate. She
could have leeched off him to her heart’s content, but she’d walked away. Left
him to the band and his music. She’d lied, thrown herself on the pyre for him.
No way.

“So where is she?”

“New York.”

“Back at Casterbridge?” Working for Duane or Nancy?

Chick glared at him. “You really want to know?”

“I really do.”

“She’s working for your so-called literary agent, Elliott
Moore. They left together last week in the same taxicab. How’s that for
collusion?”

“You think Elliott will publish a kiss-and-tell?”

Chick’s attention went back to his screen. “I’ve just been
checking out his site. From his client list, that doesn’t seem to be his style,
but anyone can change, especially when there’s serious money in it for them.”

“He won’t.” That was one thing Donovan knew for sure.
“Elliott’s in it for the long haul. He reckons that although publishing’s
changing, there’ll always be room for a good agent. He’s never let me down.”

Chick’s upper lip went up in a sneer and he folded his arms
across his massive chest. “You fucking think so? When he went behind my back to
offer you a contract to leave the band?”

Donovan shook his head. “He didn’t do that. He couldn’t tell
you first, because that would have been a breach of agent etiquette. He had to
pass on the offer to me.”

“Did he tell you to take it?”

“No. He left it up to me. A few days ago he called me to see
if I’d come to any conclusion.” Realization struck him. “He didn’t mention
Allie though.”

“He wouldn’t. Doesn’t want to lose you.”

“Or doesn’t want to lose her.” Just like him. “Maybe he
wanted me to ask if he knew where she was. After all, they went to the airport
at the same time.”

He’d let her down. It had taken this long to understand what
she’d done. Exactly what she’d done. He’d been too busy to work it all out.
What with flying to L.A. preparing for the two concerts at a venue much larger
than the one in San Francisco, and fending the questions of the numerous
journos Chick threw at them, not to mention the live appearance on the
Today,
Tonight
show, he’d hardly had time to do more than his job and fall into
bed at the end of every day.

The night before he’d overheard the conversation with Nancy,
Allie had asked him if he was really sure about his decision to give up the
band. She hadn’t seemed happy with his decision to leave, something he’d
briefly ascribed to her choice to make money out of their affair. After all, if
he wasn’t in the band, then he wouldn’t be as bankable. Then he’d offered
something better—to give her even more money by living with her.

But that didn’t make sense. Something had niggled him right
from the start. He had no proof of anything, one way or the other. Everything
was open to interpretation more than one way, even her decision to take the job
Elliott offered her instead of going back to Casterbridge. Her old publisher
had announced a takeover by a larger concern. As it happened, Nancy was one of
the layoffs. The arguments that had run through his head the last few days and
the ones he’d woken up with today had told him something. They didn’t matter a
hill of fucking beans. He loved her, he still ached for her, wanted her. His
body and heart knew what he’d let his reason obscure. She wouldn’t betray him
and the band in that way. She just wouldn’t.

“Get me a ticket to New York,” he said, making a sudden
decision.

“Why?”

“Why do you fucking think? I’m going to talk to her. She
wouldn’t do it, even if she could.”

“She could’ve put the information in the cloud. She would
have done, if she had any sense.”

Donovan grunted. “Yes, and that’s another reason why I need
to talk to her.” Because she’d have put a few teasers up by now, surely, if she
meant to go public. “What’s on the calendar?”

“An appearance at the
Swan Song
show, and then we’re
flying to Barcelona.”

“
Swan Song
’s filmed in New York, isn’t it?”

Chick grimaced. “Yes. I was thinking of canceling.”

“Don’t. Chances are I’ll make it. If I don’t, you can manage
without me one night. I’ll be in Barcelona.”

“You sure?”

“Fucking positive, man.”

* * * * *

Allie closed the door to her apartment and went into the
kitchen to put on the coffee. If she kept going until bedtime, she usually made
it without thinking about him too much and slept four hours. Maybe six, if she
was lucky.

At least the job with Elliott meant she could continue
living on her own. Apartment sharing would have been hell right now. Bursting
into tears at stupid times didn’t work for roomies. She’d already had to switch
her mascara to a waterproof one. Anger had joined sorrow, but following the
stages of grief, it would pass. It had to, because she didn’t want to spend the
rest of her life in mourning for just over a week of it.

But as often as she told herself to pull herself together,
she woke up some mornings with tears already in her eyes. That despite landing
on her feet with Elliott.

She’d enjoyed the call from Duane, which Elliott called her
in to listen to. The memory of that kept her going at some of her lowest
points. Duane accused Elliott of poaching and of employing the competition.
Elliott politely pointed out that he was an agent and not in direct
competition. In fact, he might send some business Duane’s way in the future. At
which point, he winked at Allie and made her smile. He also said that what had
made up Allie’s mind was the phone call in which Nancy had offered to buy a
kiss-and-tell memoir. Duane went cold at that point, asked for details, and
that was when Allie realized Nancy’s days were numbered.

After he’d hung up, Elliott stared at her, speculation in
his gaze. “Actually,” he said, “there’s a lot of money in that band. If someone
could get them to do an authorized account of the tour, it’d sell and sell.”

She spread her hands in a gesture of surrender. “And you
think that person is me?”

Elliott shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, Horatio.”

She’d learned more in a week at Elliott’s agency than she
had in a year at Casterbridge and felt so much happier. As if she’d slipped
into a groove always meant for her. If not for one thing, one tiny thing, she’d
count herself lucky the evening she’d walked into her first fantasy convention.

Just that one thing.

The knock at the door surprised her but since it was barely
8:00 p.m., it was probably Mrs. Abramovich from downstairs, who loved baking
but always made too many cakes or muffins or whatever the dish of the day
turned out to be. Smiling, she crossed the living room to the door. At this
rate, she’d grow too fat to care. Comfortable, Mrs. Abramovich called it, and
she should know. A comfortable two hundred pounds at least, Mrs. Abramovich
seemed to enjoy life. And baking. Just to make sure, Allie peered through the
eyehole. And froze.

It wasn’t her neighbor. It wasn’t one of her girlfriends,
who had, despite all her efforts to stay apart, rallied ’round after she’d got
back and threatened to take her out to the latest club or restaurant.

Donovan Harvey stood outside the door.

She could pretend not to be in except he peered back at her.
He’d seen her. He knew someone stood inside. She engaged the safety chain and
opened the door. “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”

“Yes you do. Let me in.”

“Why? Do you want to shout at me at last?”

“No.” He smiled. Fuck, that smile killed her. She’d missed
it so, so much.

“Okay.” She’d received her camera and laptop a couple of
days ago, duly wiped of pictures. So it couldn’t be that. Besides, he didn’t
carry anything. Only wore a black leather jacket, white T-shirt and jeans. And
looked so fucking sexy she could eat him up, damn him.

She slammed the door and disengaged the chain before opening
it again. Standing back, she let him in, careful not to let him touch her. He
glanced around. “Are you going to ask me to sit down?”

“If you like. But you won’t be staying long.”

Before she could move, he stepped forward and brushed her
chin with one finger. “The rose has thorns.”

She gasped, took in a breath of his aftershave and him.
Couldn’t move. “Why did you come?”

“To ask for a bed for the night. The rest of the band
doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, so I’m homeless tonight.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s you or the Waldorf.”

She forced herself to turn away. “I’m glad you won’t be uncomfortable.
You can get a cab from the street.”

His hands came around her from behind and he pulled her into
his heat. His body was flush with hers, shoulders to toes, and she couldn’t
avoid noticing how aroused he was. She wanted to lean her head back, to give
herself completely to him, but she couldn’t. Mustn’t. “So what am I? Your booty
call before the guys arrive with the roadies?”

“If you like.” His voice was low and seductive. “Do you want
that?”

She caught her breath on a sob and immediately he spun her
around to face him. “Another time. At least I hope so. Sweetheart, darling, I
can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“For what?” His change of mood bewildered her. She must be
getting slow.

“For doubting you even for a minute. For believing that
clumsy lie. I can only say I wasn’t in a rational state. I’d just told the band
I was leaving and I needed you.”

Fear clutched her. All this for nothing? “You’ve left?”

His mouth flattened. “No. No, I can’t. I love it too much.
More than the drawing, more than anything else. Almost anything else,” he
amended. “Not more than you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I want to put that right. I want to get to know you. I
don’t want what happened between us that day to happen again and for that we
need to know each other properly.”

She couldn’t move. “What do you suggest?”

“Lots of hot sex?” He laughed. “Fuck, it feels so good to
hold you again. I’ve missed you more than I should, more than it’s sane to.”

“Did the L.A. concerts go well?”

“Very nicely, thank you very much. We had to be escorted out
of the building. They like us, they really like us.”

The quotation forced a laugh from her and there they were,
back to the day before the breakup. How could that be possible? Tears oozed
from her eyes, and just when she thought she was all cried out.