by Nora Roberts
tidy suburban home she’d helped pick out.
A.J. always felt a sense of self-satisfaction as she strolled up the walk. The house suited Clarissa, with its neat green lawn and pretty white shutters. It was true that with the success of her books and public appearances Clarissa could afford a house twice as big in Beverly Hills. But nothing would fit her as comfortably as this tidy brick ranch.
Shifting the brown bag that held wine under her arm, A.J. pushed open the door she knew was rarely locked. “Hello! I’m a six-foot-two, three-hundred-and-twenty-pound burglar come to steal all your jewelry. Care to give me a hand?”
“Oh, did I forget to lock it again?” Clarissa came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an already smeared and splattered apron. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, her lips already curved in greeting.
“Yes, you forgot to lock it again.” Even with an armload of wine, A.J. managed to hug her. Then she kissed both cheeks as she tried to unobtrusively sniff out what was going on in the kitchen.
“It’s meat loaf,” Clarissa told her. “I got a new recipe.”
“Oh.” A.J. might have managed the smile if she hadn’t remembered the last meat loaf so clearly. Instead she concentrated on the woman. “You look wonderful. I’d swear you were running into L.A. and sneaking into Elizabeth Arden’s once a week.”
“Oh, I can’t be bothered with all that. It’s too much worrying that causes lines and sags, anyway. You should remember that.”
“So I look like a hag, do I?” A.J. dropped her portfolio on the table and stepped out of her shoes.
“You know I didn’t mean that, but I can tell you’re worried about something.”
“Dinner,” A.J. told her, evading. “I only had time for a half a sandwich at lunch.”
“There, I’ve told you a dozen times you don’t eat properly. Come into the kitchen. I’m sure everything’s about ready.”
Satisfied that she’d distracted Clarissa, A.J. started to follow.
“Then you can tell me what’s really bothering you.”
“Doesn’t miss a trick,” A.J. muttered as the doorbell rang.
“Get that for me, will you?” Clarissa cast an anxious glance at the kitchen. “I really should check the brussels sprouts.”
“Brussels sprouts?” A.J. could only grimace as Clarissa disappeared into the kitchen. “Bad enough I have to eat the meat loaf, but brussels sprouts. I should have had the hamburger.” When she opened the door her brows were already lowered.
“You look thrilled to see me.”
One hand still on the knob, she stared at David. “What are you doing here?”
“Having dinner.” Without waiting for an invitation, David stepped forward and stood with her in the open doorway. “You’re tall. Even without your shoes.”
A.J. closed the door with a quiet snap. “Clarissa didn’t explain this was a business dinner.”
“I think she considers it purely social.” He hadn’t yet figured out why he hadn’t gotten the very professional Ms. Fields out of his mind. Maybe he’d get some answers before the evening was up. “Why don’t we think of it that way—A.J.?”
Manners had been ingrained in her by a quietly determined mother. Trapped, A.J. nodded. “All right, David. I hope you enjoy living dangerously.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She couldn’t resist the smile. “We’re having meat loaf.” She took the bottle of champagne he held and examined the label. “This should help. Did you happen to have a big lunch?”
There was a light in her eyes he’d never noticed before. It was a laugh, a joke, and very appealing. “What are you getting at?”
She patted his shoulder. “Sometimes it’s best to go into these things unprepared. Sit down and I’ll fix you a drink.”
“Aurora.”
“Yes?” A.J. answered automatically before she bit her tongue.
“Aurora?” David repeated, experimenting with the way it sounded in his voice. “That’s what the A stands for?”
When A.J. turned to him her eyes were narrowed. “If just one person in the business calls me that, I’ll know exactly where they got it from. You’ll pay.”
He ran a finger down the side of his nose, but didn’t quite hide the smile. “I never heard a thing.”
“Aurora, was that—” Clarissa stopped in the kitchen doorway and beamed. “Yes, it was David. How lovely.” She studied both of them, standing shoulder to shoulder just inside her front door. For the instant she concentrated, the aura around them was very clear and very bright. “Yes, how lovely,” she repeated. “I’m so glad you came.”
“I appreciate your asking me.” Finding Clarissa as charming as he had the first time, David crossed to her. He took her hand, but this time brought it to his lips. Pleasure flushed her cheeks.
“Champagne, how nice. We’ll open it after I sign the contracts.” She glanced over his shoulder to see A.J. frowning. “Why don’t you fix yourself and David a drink, dear? I won’t be much longer.”
A.J. thought of the contracts in her portfolio, and of her own doubts. Then she gave in. Clarissa would do precisely what Clarissa wanted to do. In order to protect her, she had to stop fighting it and accept. “I can guarantee the vodka—I bought it myself.”
“Fine—on the rocks.” David waited while she went to a cabinet and took out a decanter and glasses.
“She remembered the ice,” A.J. said, surprised when she opened the brass bucket and found it full.
“You seem to know Clarissa very well.”
“I do.” A.J. poured two glasses, then turned. “She’s much more than simply a client to me, David. That’s why I’m concerned about this program.”
He walked to her to take the glass. Strange, he thought, you only noticed her scent when you stood close, very close. He wondered if she used such a light touch to draw men to her or to block their way. “Why the concern?”
If they were going to deal with each other, honesty might help. A.J. glanced toward the kitchen and kept her voice low. “Clarissa has a tendency to be very open with certain people. Too open. She can expose too much of herself, and leave herself vulnerable to all manner of complications.”
“Are you protecting her from me?” A.J. sipped from her drink. “I’m trying to decide if I should.”
“I like her.” He reached out to twine a lock of A.J.’s hair around his finger, before either of them realized his intention. He dropped his hand again so quickly she didn’t have the chance to demand it. “She’s a very likable woman,” David continued as he turned to wander around the room. He wasn’t a man to touch a business associate, especially one he barely knew, in so casual a manner. To give himself distance, he walked to the window to watch birds flutter around a feeder in the side yard. The cat was out there, he noticed, sublimely disinterested as it sunned itself in a last patch of sunlight.
A.J. waited until she was certain her voice would be properly calm and professional. “I appreciate that, but your project comes first, I imagine. You want a good show, and you’ll do whatever it takes to produce one.”
“That’s right.” The problem was, he decided, that she wasn’t as tailored and streamlined as she’d been the day before. Her blouse was soft and silky, the color of poppies. If she’d had a jacket to match the snug white skirt, she’d left it in her car. She was shoeless and her hair had been tossed by the wind. He took another drink. She still wasn’t his type. “But I don’t believe I have a reputation for exploiting people in order to get it. I do my job, A.J., and expect the same from anyone who works with me.”
“Fair enough.” She finished the unwanted drink. “My job is to protect Clarissa in every way.”
“I don’t see that we have a problem.”
“There now, everything’s ready.” Clarissa came out to see her guests not shoulder to shoulder, but with the entire room between them. Sensitive to mood, she felt the tension, confusion and distrust. Quite normal, she decided, for two stubborn
, self-willed people on opposing ends. She wondered how long it would take them to admit attraction, let alone accept it. “I hope you’re both hungry.”
A.J. set down her empty glass with an easy smile. “David tells me he’s starved. You’ll have to give him an extra portion.”
“Wonderful.” Delighted, she led the way into the dining area. “I love to eat by candlelight, don’t you?” She had a pair of candles burning on the table, and another half-dozen tapers on the sideboard. A.J. decided the romantic light definitely helped the looks of the meat loaf. “Aurora brought the wine, so I’m sure it’s lovely. You pour, David, and I’ll serve.”
“It looks wonderful,” he told her, and wondered why A.J. muffled a chuckle.
“Thank you. Are you from California originally, David?” Clarissa asked as she handed A.J. a platter.
“No, Washington State.” He tipped Beaujolais into Clarissa’s glass.
“Beautiful country.” She handed Aurora a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes. “But so cold.”
He could remember the long, windy winters with some nostalgia. “I didn’t have any trouble acclimating to L.A.”
“I grew up in the East and came out here with my husband nearly thirty years ago. In the fall I’m still the tiniest bit homesick for Vermont. You haven’t taken any vegetables, Aurora. You know how I worry that you don’t eat properly.”
A.J. added brussels sprouts to her plate and hoped she’d be able to ignore them. “You should take a trip back this year,” A.J. told Clarissa. One bite of the meat loaf was enough. She reached for the wine.
“I think about it. Do you have any family, David?”
He’d just had his first experience with Clarissa’s cooking and hadn’t recovered. He wondered what recipe she’d come across that called for leather. “Excuse me?”
“Any family?”
“Yes.” He glanced at A.J. and saw the knowing smirk. “Two brothers and a sister scattered around Washington and Oregon.”
“I came from a big family myself. I thoroughly enjoyed my childhood.” Reaching out, she patted A.J.’s hand. “Aurora was an only child.”
With a laugh A.J. gave Clarissa’s hand a quick squeeze. “And I thoroughly enjoyed my childhood.” Because she saw David politely making his way through a hill of lumpy potatoes, she felt a little tug on her conscience. A.J. waited until it passed. “What made you choose documentaries, David?”
“I’d always been fascinated by little films.” Picking up the salt, he used it liberally. “With a documentary, the plot’s already there, but it’s up to you to come up with the angles, to find a way to present it to an audience and make them care while they’re being entertained.”
“Isn’t it more of a learning experience?”
“I’m not a teacher.” Bravely he dipped back into the meat loaf. “You can entertain with truth and speculation just as satisfyingly as you can entertain with fiction.”
Somehow watching him struggle with the meal made it more palatable for her. “No urge to produce the big film?”
“I like television,” he said easily, and reached for the wine. They were all going to need it. “I happen to think there’s too much pap and not enough substance.”
A.J.’s brow lifted, to disappear under a thin fringe of bangs. “Pap?”
“Unfortunately network television’s rife with it. Shows like Empire, for instance, or ItTakesTwo.”
“Really.” A.J. leaned forward. “Empire has been a top-rated show for four years.” She didn’t add that it was a personal favorite.
“My point exactly. If a show like that retains consistently high ratings—a show that relies on steam, glitter and contrivance—it proves that the audience is being fed a steady stream of garbage.”
“Not everyone feels a show has to be educational or ‘good’ for it to be quality. The problem with public television is that it has its nose up in the air so often the average American ignores it. After working eight hours, fighting traffic, coping with children and dealing with car repair bills, a person’s entitled to relax.”
“Absolutely.” Amazing, he thought, how lovely she became when you lit a little fire under her. Maybe she was a woman who needed conflict in her life. “But that same person doesn’t have to shut off his or her intelligence to be entertained. That’s called escapism.”
“I’m afraid I don’t watch enough television to see the difference,” Clarissa commented, pleased to see her guests clearing their plates. “But don’t you represent that lovely woman who plays on Empire?”
“Audrey Cummings.” A.J. slipped her fingers under the cup of her wineglass and swirled it lightly. “A very accomplished actress, who’s also played Shakespeare. We’ve just made a deal to have her take the role of Maggie in a remake of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” The success of that deal was still sweet. Sipping her wine, she tilted her head at David. “For a play that deals in a lot of steam and sweat, it’s amazing what longevity it’s had. We can’t claim it’s a Verdi opera, can we?”
“There’s more to public television than Verdi.” He’d touched a nerve, he realized. But, then, so had she. “I don’t suppose you caught the profile on Taylor Brooks? I thought it was one of the most detailed and informative on a rock star I’d ever seen.” He picked up his wine in a half toast. “You don’t represent him, too, do you?”
“No.” She decided to play it to the hilt. “We dated casually a couple of years ago. I have a rule about keeping business and personal relationships separated.”
“Wise.” He lifted his wine and sipped. “Very wise.”
“Unlike you, I have no prejudices when it comes to television. If I did, you’d hardly be signing one of my top clients.”
“More meat loaf?” Clarissa asked.
“I couldn’t eat another bite.” A.J. smiled at David. “Perhaps David would like more.”
“As much as I appreciate the home cooking, I can’t.” He tried not to register too much relief as he stood. “Let me help you clear up.”
“Oh, no.” Rising, Clarissa brushed his offer aside. “It relaxes me. Aurora, I think David was just a bit disappointed with me the first time we met. Why don’t you show him my collection?”
“All right.” Picking up her wineglass, A.J. gestured to him to follow. “You’ve scored points,” she commented. “Clarissa doesn’t show her collection to everyone.”
“I’m flattered.” But he took her by the elbow to stop her as they started down a narrow hallway. “You’d prefer it if I kept things strictly business with Clarissa.”
A.J. lifted the glass to her lips and watched him over the rim. She’d prefer, for reasons she couldn’t name, that he stayed fifty miles from Clarissa. And double that from her. “Clarissa chooses her own friends.”
“And you make damn sure they don’t take advantage of her.”
“Exactly. This way.” Turning, she walked to a door on the left and pushed it open. “It’d be more effective by candlelight, even more with a full moon, but we’ll have to make do.” A.J. flicked on the light and stepped out of his view.
It was an average-size room, suitable to a modern ranch house. Here, the windows were heavily draped to block the view of the yard—or to block the view inside. It wasn’t difficult to see why Clarissa would use the veil to discourage the curious. The room belonged in a tower—or a dungeon.
Here was the crystal ball he’d expected. Unable to resist, David crossed to a tall, round-topped stand to examine it. The glass was smooth and perfect, reflecting only the faintest hint of the deep blue cloth beneath it. Tarot cards, obviously old and well used, were displayed in a locked case. At a closer look he saw they’d been hand painted. A bookshelf held everything from voodoo to telekinesis. On the shelf with them was a candle in the shape of a tall, slender woman with arms lifted to the sky.
A Ouija board was set out on a table carved with pentagrams. One wall was lined with masks of pottery, ceramic, wood, even papier-mâché. There were dowsing rods and pendulums. A glass cabinet
held pyramids of varying sizes. There was more—an Indian rattle, worn and fragile with age, Oriental worry beads in jet, others in amethyst.
“More what you expected?” A.J. asked after a moment.
“No.” He picked up another crystal, this one small enough to rest in the palm of his hand. “I stopped expecting this after the first five minutes.”
It was the right thing for him to say. A.J. sipped her wine again and tried not to be too pleased. “It’s just a hobby with Clarissa, collecting the obvious trappings of the trade.”
“She doesn’t use them?”
“A hobby only. Actually, it started a long time ago. A friend found those tarot cards in a little shop in England and gave them to her. After that, things snowballed.”
The crystal was cool and smooth in his hand as he studied her. “You don’t approve?”
A.J. merely shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t if she took it seriously.”
“Have you ever tried this?” He indicated the Ouija board.
“No.”
It was a lie. He wasn’t sure why she told it, or why he was certain of it. “So you don’t believe in any of this.”
“I believe in Clarissa. The rest of this is just showmanship.”
