Perfect Timing (37 page)

Fitz looked back, his voice dull and even. “I know my business, Aidan. It was no theory. It was always a fact, like it or not.”

Anne, who continued to study the documents, glanced up at Patrick. “Wait. If neither one of them consented, then these decrees are invalid. I don’t care if Lady Justice herself filed them.”

“Totally bogus legal maneuvering,” Patrick said. “Clearly fraudulent, definitely criminal. Charges I’ll be pursuing as soon as Aidan gives me the go-ahead.”

Three glares trained on Fitz as the car arrived at its final destination. Aidan opened the door of the limo and stepped out, Fitz following. “Aidan, wait, I want to know what your intentions are! Don’t be impulsive. I can explain.”

Aidan spun around, facing him. “Damn right you’re going to explain. But not to me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A
HARSH
WIND
RIPPLED
THROUGH
AS
THUNDER
RUMBLED
. Fitz looked around, adjusting to the destination. “What are we doing at an airport? Never mind. Aidan, if you would give me two fucking minutes . . .”

His words petered out as the stairway to a small jet dropped; it sat nose-to-nose with a much grander version. Two men with a bodyguard vibe headed down, in between them was Isabel. The burlier of the two waited at the bottom, offering her a hand. Seeing Aidan, her perplexed expression burst into a wide smile. He took a few steps in her direction. Isabel rushed the distance. For a moment he just held on, forgetting Fitz and Anne and everything around him. For the first time since a crazy night in Vegas, Aidan held still as the center of his gravity locked into place. “You’re here. I know you are, but just say it. I need to hear you say it.”

Leaning back, her fingertips fluttered over his cheek. “I’m here.”

He turned a steely glare onto Fitz. “You’re going to explain it to her—all of it.” As Fitz and Isabel exchanged a curt glance, Anne emerged from the limo.

Isabel looked between them, breaking from Aidan’s hold. “Anne.”

“Isabel, listen to me,” Aidan said as her glance jutted from Anne to Fitz and, finally, onto Aidan. “Whatever she led you to believe . . .”

“She said she’d just come from California. That despite what happened at that nightclub, your arrest, the two of you were working things out.”

“Anne?” he said, turning toward her. “Would you like a chance to clarify?”

Inching forward, she pursed finely painted lips, her tall frame pulling tight. “Well, perhaps my interpretation was more desirous than . . .” Her words faded, taking in his persistent stare. She sighed, forcing a culpable smile. “When I saw Aidan in California, he said he wanted time to think.” She cleared her throat, looking between Aidan and Isabel. “I suspect he was looking for a gentlemanly way out. The truth of the matter . . . well, the truth is he’s never been in love with anyone but you.”

“For that much, I am sorry, Anne.”

She sniffed the air, chin tipped high. “You only beat me to the punch. You were right, Aidan. Your life and mine, they would have never quite . . .
jelled
. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough revelation and reunion for one night.” Glancing at the limo, she started walking toward the airport terminal. “I do wonder what time the car rental counter closes.”

In the distance lightning flashed, Aidan turning his attention to Fitz. “Now you. And move it along, the next bolt probably has your name on it.”

A growl sputtered from Fitz as he retreated a few steps. “I don’t have to stand here and take this. You made yourself clear; I have no obligation to you.”

“Well, I do.” A gasp pulsed from Isabel as Patrick emerged from the car. “It would give me great pleasure to tell Isabel the truth.”

“Patrick!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped to the center of things, hesitating. His fingertips reached toward her. “I’m sorry. These past few weeks have been . . . It seems like so long since I’ve seen . . . your face,” he said as her hand clasped his. “I’ve decided to take a leave of absence.” He smiled at her puzzled expression. “So much has happened. I thought it was the right time to explore new opportunities. In addition to some nonprofit work, I’m going to be handling Aidan’s business affairs.”

“You’re working for Aidan? How did that happen? You—” She stopped, her green eyes flicking between the two men. “Patrick, you’re, um, you’re not exactly an Aidan Royce fan.”

“He’s growing on me,” he said. “I’ll share the details later, there’s something more urgent right now. Isabel, the petition that was served to you on Aidan’s behalf was a fraud—”

“A fraud?”

“Everything, Isabel, including the letter from him. It was all cleverly manufactured to make sure you were under the impression that Aidan wanted to end the marriage. And the divorce complaint I drew up—the one you signed—it was delivered to him, unbeknownst to me.”

“But how? You never filed it.”

“No, I didn’t. Nonetheless, circumstance was crafted to hand both of you a very unfair reality. As for my part, I’m not blameless. My influence, some of my decisions, only facilitated things. Isabel, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Had we both listened to your father . . .”

“Patrick, you couldn’t have known.”

“Still, Eric was a wise man. I’d give anything for him to know how right he was, how sorry I am.”

With her thumb to his cheek, she caught the tear at the edge of his eye, hugging him tight. “He knows, Patrick. He loved you so much. I’m sure he knows.” He backed up, reclaiming the quiet poise with which he was most comfortable.

“Of course, both decrees are null and void. It will take some legal maneuvering to have them overturned, but I’m confident I can get the job done.”

“Null and void?” she said, looking between Aidan and Patrick. “What does that mean?”

“It’s exactly what I wished you at the concert,” Aidan said. “In fact, to celebrate, I bought you a sheep farm in Ireland.” His smile widened as her confusion deepened. “Seventh wedding anniversaries . . . Wool? Come on, Isabel, it is the traditional gift.”

“What Aidan is trying to tell you,” Patrick said, “is that the two of you are as married today as you were back in Vegas.”

Isabel grasped Aidan’s arm. “To me? You’re still, all this time, married to me?”

“Nah,” he said, beaming. “You’re married to me.” Isabel stood tight to his side. She wasn’t moving, not outwardly, but Aidan sensed a fine tremble. Enough explanation on a windy tarmac, he just wanted to get them out of there. “Patrick, thank you for being here, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He reached out, shaking his hand. “Yes, you could have. You’re a good man, Aidan. You would have found a way.” He kissed Isabel’s cheek before moving toward the car.

“Patrick, wait!” He turned. “When will I see you again? Without my father, I don’t know how things . . .”

“Isabel, don’t you realize?” Eyes glistening, he smiled at her. “Eric brought immeasurable happiness to my life, not the least of which was a part-time daughter. When he died, he left me the greatest gift possible, because now I am a full-time father.”

“You are,” she said, hugging him. “You absolutely are. I . . . we’ll come to Boston—soon.”

“Or you could come out to the coast,” Aidan offered.

He stopped at the car door. “I might do that,” he said, pulling in a heavy breath, admiring them. “This would have made Eric so very happy.”

The car sped away, leaving Aidan with Isabel, Fitz looking on. “Come on, we have somewhere to be.”

“That isn’t your plane?” Isabel said, as Aidan led her toward the larger of the two jets.

“That thing?” he said as thunder rumbled and rain fell. “Are you kidding? No, just a loaner. I would have sent you in mine, but I needed to beat you here.”

“Wait a damn minute,” Fitz yelled. “Have you forgotten that C-Note owns the rights to every song on that new CD? Go with Sony, and it will be worthless. I’ll bury it. It’s nothing without me.”

“Maybe so. But I’d say it’s worth even less without me. And just so you know, it wasn’t even my A-game. I saved the best stuff for the competition. Patrick will handle the legal recourse, but that payback, my overzealous record-producing friend, is strictly compliments of me.”

“Go ahead, Aidan, see what retaliation gets you. Had the two of you stayed together your career wouldn’t have been anything close to this,” he said, gesturing toward the jet. “Right or wrong,
circumstance
guaranteed the phenomenal success you are. You can’t take that away from me.”

“Maybe not, but you didn’t hesitate to take her away from me!”

“Fine, you’re so high on the truth. Now that any counsel is out of earshot and this will never be more than hearsay, you’re damn right I orchestrated circumstance. How difficult do you think it was to get an exhausted, emotionally overwrought kid to sign his name to a stack of legal documents, a couple hundred
feel-the-love
letters thrown in to ensure hand-cramping repetition? Add to that some very personal information you confided on a bleary-eyed trip from Las Vegas to L.A., and I had the perfect storm. Isabel was the bigger problem. If only from my brief encounter, I could gauge her
hardiness
—she wouldn’t have stayed away. But I could also see she was a prideful young woman. She would not take kindly to any rejection from you, and I used it to my advantage. I used it to yours, Aidan. Had I spelled it out back in Vegas, told you to choose being a rock icon, millions of dollars and millions of women . . .” Fitz looked at Isabel. “Just keeping it real, Mrs. Royce. You should know; they weren’t seven lonely years.” Rain fell harder, Isabel’s gaze dropping to the wet tarmac. “Honestly, Aidan, which one would you have chosen?”

Aidan took a foreboding step in Fitz’s direction. “Had I been given a choice—by either of you,” he said, glancing at Isabel. “There’s no doubt which I would have chosen. When I married Isabel, I told her I wanted her more than I wanted this career or a life in the spotlight. She knows that. My answer is no different today.” He turned, grasping Isabel’s hand as they pushed through a curtain of rain toward the plane.

Fitz called after him, “We’ll see how far you get without me. Your career is as good as over. I don’t care who you signed with! Enjoy it Aidan, your nosedive to the discount rack, playing second-rate concert halls, being yesterday’s news. That’s all this will get you—that and your Catswallow trailer park bride.” An old temper surged through Aidan, moving angrily at him.

“Aidan, don’t!” she shouted.

Grabbing a shoulder, Aidan spun him about, landing a solid punch to his jaw, knocking the record-producing mogul onto the pavement. “Get it straight,” he said, jerking his lapel. “She’s from New Jersey.”

Aidan shook the sting from his hand, returning to Isabel’s side. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. It’s been a long time since I took a swing like that.”

“I remember the last one,” she said, running her hand over his.

“He had it coming.” Aidan looked back at Fitz, who moved hurriedly toward the airport. “Forget him. Let’s just get on the plane and go. We have a lot to talk about—including what the heck I’m going to do with a 30,000-watt radio station in Providence, Rhode Island.” He tugged at her hand. Gusts of wind and stinging rain prodded, but none of Isabel budged.

“What did you say?”

Aidan stopped at the base of the steps. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know.” He smiled at what now seemed like an absurd confession. “
104.7—The Raging Fever FM for Hot Sound . . .
I, um, I kind of own it.
In fact, I just put on a concert to promote my own radio station. That’ll be a nasty fine from the FCC, but it was worth anything to—”

“You? You were behind the buyout, the format change, everything?”

“Guess I was, Isabel,” he said, flipping up the collar on his jacket, rubbing her wet arms. “Could we talk about this on the plane, where it’s drier? Come on, you’re soaked.”

She took a step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I
SABEL
HAD
KNOWN
HIM
HALF
HER
LIFE
.
A
ND
IN
THAT
TIME
,
THERE WERE DAYS
she found fault with Aidan, moments where slapping him upside the head seemed like the only action that would get through. Until five minutes ago, she’d blamed him for behavior that made his wedding-night confession seem like a slick-salesman pitch. But there, on the tarmac of Teterboro Airport, realizing what he’d done, that he’d done it for the sole purpose of satisfying his own self-serving agenda . . . Well, Isabel could not recall being angrier with him.

“Let me get this straight,” she queried, heavier rain falling around them. “You bought
98.6—The Normal FM
to make tonight happen, just to make this grandiose reentry into my life?”

“No. Not exactly. It didn’t start out that way. But eventually . . . yes. I had to find a way to make contact, Isabel. I couldn’t just show up at your door. I had to be invited.” Aidan looked toward a fierce rumble of thunder. “Now, can we go? I hate like hell to think we went through this just to get struck by lightning.” A wall of rain dropped between them, Isabel not budging. “Okay, so I knew it was a risk. I knew that you’d probably be a little irritated when you found out.”

“A little irritated?” she said, hands drawing to her hips.

“Isabel, try to look at the bottom line. Changing the station format is a great idea. If my less than up-front approach caused any collateral damage, I’m sorry about that—I really am.” While he offered the contrite explanation, she also sensed satisfaction, more or less blind to the havoc he’d caused. Typical Aidan.

“Are you kidding me!” she yelled. “Do you have any idea what you put everyone through—not to mention firing four perfectly good DJs!”

“I gave them each two years’ severance pay and used C-Note connections to find them similar employment elsewhere. I thought that was fair.”

“Fair? Sure, because people love being yanked from their jobs and having their lives thrown into turmoil for no other reason than to facilitate your
miscreant
plans! And did you even consider the chaos it caused the rest of us?” A vague expression said the concept was foreign, Isabel wondering how far the eccentricities went. “Oh my God, did you burn down Grassroots Kids too, our building?” With Aidan, you could never be completely sure.

“What? No, I didn’t burn it down,” he insisted, shaking his blond locks as rain flew off in every direction. “I read about Grassroots Kids in the newspaper, the story in the
Boston Globe
.”

“You read a newspaper?”

There was a deadpan glare. “Must have been a weak moment!” She replied to his narrow-eyed look with one of her own. “For your information, I generally do my homework before making any investment—review the company portfolio, research financial statements, run a thorough margin analysis on returns—you know, the basics.” Her head bobbed back, but she offered no rebuttal. “Now, can we go, before the weather gets worse and we can’t get off the ground?”

“Aidan, people were terrified of losing their jobs, their insurance. Most of us don’t have bank accounts the size of Mt. Rushmore!”

“Isabel, I understand you’re upset. But I think you’re overreacting. Maybe my motives were unorthodox, but I promise you, this will be a good thing.”

Rain beat down as a chilly wind slapped around them. As far as Isabel was concerned, it couldn’t slap him hard enough. “You just don’t get it! Tanya and Mary Louise, they’re real people with problems that to you, I’m sure, are insignificant. What you did, it absolutely turned their lives upside down. Did you know that Tanya has three kids she’s practically raising alone? Do you know her child-support checks bounce on a regular basis?” His brow creased and he opened his mouth to speak, but she wouldn’t let him make excuses. “Two of her kids have chronic illnesses. Imagine how she felt thinking her job was in real jeopardy. And then there’s Mary Louise.”

“Yeah, she seemed nice when I met her in your off—”

She refused to let him charm his way out of it. “Maybe Joe Bland falling off the roof and losing his job wasn’t exactly your fault. And maybe he and Mary Louise could survive on recyclables . . .” His expression shifted, looking at Isabel as if she’d come a little unglued. “But he desperately needs his medical insurance. Add to that the huge fight Tanya and Mary Louise had when we couldn’t find anybody to do the show. Good times, Aidan! Sharing the sordid details on a dirty linoleum floor, not having a clue if you’d help or laugh in my face—thinking you only showed up because your mother made you!” She slapped a hand to her soggy forehead, turning in a tight circle. “I’m an idiot! I’ve been punk’d by Aidan Royce!” The circle stopped, fists planted firmly on her hips. “I am
so
not getting on that plane with you! You self-centered, indulgent—jerk!” Isabel stormed across the tarmac doubting a speck of what she said would sink in.

Twenty feet into her retreat, an arm encircled her, whirling her around. “You forgot lazy!” In one fluid motion he hoisted her over his shoulder. Plowing through the rain, up the stairway of the plane, she kicked, pelting him with more choice words. “Close the door,” he ordered. After the man on board secured it, Aidan put her down with a defiant thud. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

Isabel stumbled back, her mouth gaping, out of fresh cuss words. With hair matted like a wet sheepdog, Isabel shook water from all of her, curtly folding and unfolding her arms. Her soaked heels squeaked as she shifted, imagining how she looked, mascara puddled into two black smears. She glanced down to see that it was all nicely complemented by a raunchy run in the black fishnets. One guess as to how that translated. The dress, plastered to her body, made an unattractive sucking sound as she peeled it away.

“This,” Aidan said triumphantly, “is my wife, Isabel.”

The man never flinched. “She’s perfectly lovely, Mr. Royce.”

“Ha!” Isabel snorted. “You must be the one they hired to understand him.”

“Don’t be rude, Isabel,” Aidan said, removing his wet jacket, unbuttoning his shirt, handing it to him.

Oh, he would have to do that.
She looked away.

“This is Henry Wilke. He takes care of everything in-flight. He’s very reliable.”

“Thank you, Mr. Royce,” he said, apparently blind to the bizarre scene. “Can I get you something besides a dry shirt? Perhaps some hot tea and a towel for Mrs. Royce?”

His ability to keep a straight face was impressive, as if she was exactly what he anticipated regarding Aidan’s wife. “Isabel,” she insisted, though she didn’t say Lang. “And a towel would be super.”

“Very good, something else for you, sir? I made a fresh batch of iced tea with grapefruit juice and honey.”

“You still drink that?”

“Yes, but it’s not the stuff you used to make. Helps my throat, but that’s about it.”

“Wait,” she said to a retreating Henry. “Red Bull.”

“Pardon me?”

“Do you have a can of Red Bull on board? That’s what it’s missing.”

“Red Bull?” Aidan said. “That’s it?” She shrugged.

“I’m not sure we have Red Bull, but I believe we have some Rockstar on board.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. That’ll work.”

“Very good. I’ll take care of it.”

She sloshed into the cabin interior, looking around so she wouldn’t have to look at a bare-chested Aidan. Isabel felt the engines rumble, or maybe it was her libido chiming in as she stole a glance. She couldn’t speak for the polish, but they’d certainly applied the buff. And Isabel found herself wishing she’d kept up with her Y membership. “What’s your plan, Aidan, to hold me hostage on your Learjet?” She paced the opulent interior. He was right, the plane she arrived on was nothing compared to this. It was a luxury hotel with wings.

“It’s a Gulfstream,” he said, buttoning the shirt Henry brought as she took the towel. After handing her another of Aidan’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants, Henry placed a drink on the table, disappearing again. “And building them keeps thousands of people employed.” She hummed at his feeble attempt to acknowledge the support of working-class people. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about any of those things. I didn’t care about the radio station, though it will benefit from the new format. And even you have to admit using the proceeds for Grassroots Kids is a good idea.”

“It’s not the point.” Holding on to the towel, Isabel dropped the dry clothing on a chair. She wasn’t about to change in front of him, even if he was her husband. “You didn’t have to go to such extremes, Aidan. You could have just called.”

“No, I couldn’t have. The radio station, the concert . . . well, if I made that much happen, I thought maybe things would . . .” He shrugged, firing up that innocent grin, the one he crafted all those years ago. “Fall into place.”

Statistically, she supposed swooning at his feet was the appropriate reaction.
Right away.
“Well, you did a bang-up job.” He took a step toward her. Just as fast, Isabel stepped back. In return for his effort all he received was the same critical glare she’d offer when he screwed up back in Catswallow. “Why now, after all this time?”

“When I saw the story in the
Boston Globe
, the effect wasn’t . . . It wasn’t the way a person should react. Not if it’s over, not if it no longer matters.”

While she couldn’t grasp his grandiose scheme, she did understand that. “Because the opposite of love is indifference.”

“Indifference has never been an option when it comes to you. Not in Catswallow, not in L.A., not halfway around the world.” He looked hard at her. “Isabel, I need to know something. Something that goes way beyond radio station buyouts and big concerts. It’s something that only became a possibility after Patrick explained the position Fitz put you in. In Las Vegas, on our wedding night . . .” His words stopped, the wrecked expression on his face finishing the thought.

“Aidan—”

He held up a hand. “Let me get this out. It’s been stuck in my head for seven years. After what happened in Catswallow, what Rick Stanton almost did to you . . .” Isabel looked away, still rattled by the memory. “The way you reacted in Las Vegas, it scared the hell out of me. I thought that what happened between us in that hotel room, in bed . . . I honestly believed it was one step worse than what went down with Stanton.”

Her head jerked back, her mouth gaping. She’d never put the two things together. Why would she? Unbeknownst to Aidan, it was the most incredible moment of her life. Of course he couldn’t fix it with a phone call. No wonder he’d stayed away. All the way back to her protest over going to the Catswallow gala, Aidan had taken Isabel at her word. And for all his antics, including the radio station buyout, her deception—what she did in that Vegas hotel room—suddenly seemed far crueler.

“Given the way you left Vegas, obviously happiness wasn’t something you were going to find being with me. And there was a hell of a reminder every day—big as a tattoo,” he said, a hand running around his neck. “When the divorce papers arrived from you, what more proof did I need? Over time, I realized . . .”

“Realized what?”

“Realized that without you my destiny was fame and fortune and misery. But mostly misery. When Patrick told me what you did to keep me out of jail, to secure all this,” he said, his arms spreading wide before him, “I suspected our wedding night wasn’t what it appeared.”

“Fitz, he, um, he didn’t give me any choice. I couldn’t let you go to jail. And after I left Vegas everything started to change, just like he said it would. I saw your picture everywhere, with other women—glamorous actresses, royalty, Southern debutants . . . whatever,” she whispered, going down a list that went all the way back to Catswallow.

“One sentence, Isabel. That’s all it would have taken and none of those things would have ever happened. We would have celebrated the six anniversaries before this one.”

“From where, Aidan? The visitors center at the Bullock Correctional Facility? Not if I had anything to say about it.”

He rejected her reasoning, angrier than she was on the tarmac. “You should have told me! I had a right to know!”

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. After you went to California, after the divorce . . .” But her words were lame and years too late. “And it wasn’t just what Fitz threatened. Or even the idea of other women.” Staid blue eyes darted from the floor to her, waiting for Isabel to explain why she never came after him. “What Fitz did, it only meant I didn’t have to face my fears. Think about it, I could barely handle the idea of
us
inside the confines of an old farmhouse. What he did was cruel and totally over the line. But he wasn’t completely wrong. I wasn’t ready for the reality of being Aidan Royce—or even Aidan Roycroft’s wife. I was too afraid of all of it,” she said, confessing the fragile thought. “I’m still afraid of it. You only have to look as far as where I work to see the proof. A radio station that had all but banned you! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get away from Aidan Royce?”