by Maya Blake
‘This is what it’ll take, Miss Beckett. Pick it up and the part is yours.’
Gael had been on the receiving end of propositions for long enough to know what was going on. Dios mio, hadn’t he had the row of all rows with his mother only two weeks ago over just such an issue?
He expelled his breath in a quietly seething rush as he watched her slowly sink down and retrieve what looked unmistakably like a hotel room key card.
The disappointment that lanced through him was strong enough to make him question why the scene unfolding in front of him was affecting him so deeply. Perhaps today of all days, when the past seemed to be dogging him with its bitter memories, he’d wanted to be pleasantly surprised by the elusive integrity of the human spirit. To experience a pure character to go along with the pure performance that had stopped him in his tracks, touched him in ways he was still grappling with.
More fool him.
As the director’s hands moved to touch her feet Gael retreated as silently as he’d entered, his rigid gaze firmly averted from the sleazy scene unfolding on the stage.
He was looking for a fairy tale where none existed. Just as he’d once—futilely and childishly—prayed for a family that included a father who didn’t wish him out of existence.
He should know better. No. He had known better—for a very long time.
Even before he exited the building he knew those dredged-up feelings would be crushed beneath the immovable titanium power of his ambition and success. Emotional needs and futile dreams were far behind him. What he’d done with his life since that time in Spain was what mattered.
Everything else came a very pale second.
CHAPTER TWO
SO WHY WAS he back here mere hours later, pulling up in front of Othello? And at a time of night when there was guaranteed to be no one around?
Gael had resisted admitting it all day. But, despite the stomach-turning denouement, something about the woman’s performance itself had stayed with him. Enough to make him pass a few precious hours re-reading the carefully selected script he’d searched through thousands for before settling on two years ago. Enough to convince him to put aside his personal feelings and revisit the actress’s flawless performance.
And it had been flawless. With a true visionary’s direction she would be able to pull off the project he had in mind for his movie launch without a hitch. Help him achieve the best possible premiere for what would be the world’s largest independent streaming entity.
The project wasn’t by any means the only thing sustaining the launch, but if done right the results and the benefit to the whole conglomerate would be incomparable. His partners were counting on him to get this right. He was counting on himself to make this vision come true.
That was why he was here, approaching the front desk with little more than a surname and a firm grip on his distaste.
The receptionist looked up, did a double take that would have amused him had his mood been anything but grim.
‘Uh...may I help you, sir?’ she asked eagerly.
‘You have a student—a Miss Beckett. She was performing in room 307 this afternoon. I’d like to speak to her, por favor.’
The enthusiasm dimmed a touch. ‘Do you have her first name?’
Gael frowned. ‘No.’
The receptionist grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t locate her without a first name.’
‘You have a lot of students named Beckett?’ he enquired.
‘I can’t give out that information, or even tell you if she’s a student here or not. The thing is, she may not be. We hold outside auditions here from time to time. She may have come in with a director...’ She stopped and cast a slightly uncomfortable glance at him, probably due to his increasing irritation with her babbling. ‘Sorry, sir, but if you want to leave a card...or your contact details... I’ll see what I can do?’
The smile was re-emerging, and the flick of her hair was transmitting signals he didn’t want to acknowledge.
With reluctance, Gael extracted his card and handed it over. She glanced at it, her eyes going wider still as she gave a soft gasp. He watched, his cynicism growing, as realisation and an accompanying degree of avarice entered her eyes.
His former company, Toredo Inc., had been a serious player on the streaming media platform—a hit with students and young professionals long before he’d teamed up with Alejandro and the Ishikawa brothers to form Atlas. Since then, he and his partners had rarely left the media’s attention.
He and Alejandro had only finished their world tour scouting to find satellite partners to enter into a joint venture with Atlas a few short months ago. During that time they’d conducted numerous media interviews, which meant his face had been plastered all over the news for weeks on end. Anyone with a decent search engine knew what the Aguilar brothers looked like, and how much they were worth—and, if their search had been thorough enough, their relationship status.
From her expression, the receptionist was no exception. He watched her cast an amusingly exaggerated look round the deserted reception area before clicking on the keyboard in front of her.
‘I think you’re looking for Goldie Beckett?’ she stage-whispered.
The name brought to mind corkscrew golden curls and honey-toned skin. Surprisingly fitting. ‘Sí,’ he confirmed. The chances of the name being wrong were minimal. If it was, he could always resume the search.
The receptionist nodded. ‘I really shouldn’t be doing this...but she was practising in the music room until five minutes ago. You just missed her.’
Gael stifled a curse. ‘Did you see which way she went?’
‘No, but I know she lives in Jersey, so she may be headed for the subway?’
‘Thank you,’ he bit out.
‘Uh...you’re welcome...’
She looked as if she wanted to continue the conversation. But Gael turned away, cutting short the familiar look that preceded a gentle but firm demand for something. A phone number. A favour for a friend. A personal favour. At any other time he would have been inclined to grant the mousy receptionist another minute of his time, even reward her for her help. He’d long accepted how things worked between him and the opposite sex. He gave when the mood took him. They took all the time—until he called a halt to their schemes and often naked greed.
But not tonight.
Not when an alien urgency rubbed under his skin, demanding he find the elusive Miss Goldie Beckett.
He rushed out into the street, already condemning the futility of his actions. This was New York City. Finding a single person in a throng of people on the sidewalk, even after nine at night, was insane. And yet his feet moved inexorably in the direction of the subway station. Behind him his chauffeur kept pace in the limo. Probably he was wondering what had possessed his employer, Gael mused.
He knew her name. All he had to do was pass it to his security people and let them find her. He’d witnessed her naked ambition for himself. All he needed to do to entice her was offer his name and the once-in-a-lifetime project he had in mind and she would come running. There was absolutely no need for him to pound the pavement.
He’d slowed his footsteps, thinking how idiotic he looked when he heard a scuffle in the alleyway.
Gael almost walked past. Unsavoury characters lurking in dark places were commonplace in cities such as this.
A husky cry and the flash of golden curls caught the corner of his eye. He stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was conjuring her up in his irritated desperation.
The alley was poorly lit, but not deep. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the wisps of smoke pouring out of a nearby restaurant vent.
‘No, damn you, let go!’
The distinctive voice coupled with the decisive sound of clothing being ripped firmly altered his course, hurrying h
im towards the night-shrouded scene.
‘Lady, I won’t say it again. Give me the bag.’ A low, menacing voice sounded through the gloom.
A bold, mocking laugh. ‘At least you have the good manners to call me lady as you attempt to steal my property.’
‘It’ll be more than an attempt in a second if you don’t let go of the damn bag!’
The warning was followed by more sounds of a tussle. Then a muted scream, the distinctive thud of a body landing heavily and a hiss of pain.
Gael arrived at the scene in time to see a dark shadow loom at him, then rush past. The blocking move he threw out missed by a whisker, and the assailant was already rushing out of the alley. He had a split second to debate whether to go after the mugger or aid the victim. Gael chose the latter.
The vision before him scrambled upright from the grimy concrete. ‘God, no! Stop him! He’s got my purse!’
This time he caught the bundle that attempted to launch past him. Arms flailed in his hold. A firm, sinewy body twisted in his arms as he held her tight.
‘Dammit, let me go. He’s got my belongings.’
‘Calm yourself. You won’t catch him. He’s long gone by now,’ he replied, attempting to keep hold of the wriggling creature.
‘Only because you’re letting him get away. For God’s sake, let me go.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Hell, you’re his accomplice, aren’t you?’ she accused.
Gael reeled back in amused shock. ‘Perdón? You think I’m a thief?’
‘I don’t know what the heck you are. All I know is you’re stopping me from going after that piece of scum who’s just stolen my purse. What am I supposed to think?’
She pulled at his hold. Gael thought it was probably wise to let her go, but his hands wouldn’t co-operate.
‘You’re supposed to thank a person who has just come to your aid,’ he suggested.
Eyes of an indeterminate colour widened in disbelief. ‘He got my stuff before you arrived. You let him get away—and you think I should be grateful?’ she spat with quiet fury.
She had fire—he granted her that. But it was the shaking in her voice that drew his attention.
Gael gripped her arms in a firmer hold, careful not to spook her further. Although he was still mildly amused she thought him a thief, her agitation meant she might take flight if he let her go. ‘I’m not a thief, Miss Beckett. I assure you.’
She froze. And in the darkness he was beginning to become acclimatised to her gaze searched his with growing suspicion.
‘How do you know my name?’ she demanded, her voice husky with a different kind of emotion.
Fear.
That didn’t sit well with him. He let her go and stepped back, although he made sure to keep himself between her and the exit. Now he had her before him he wasn’t in the mood to go searching for her again should she bolt.
‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
She laughed mockingly, but her trepidation didn’t abate. ‘Says the man who’s keeping from leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice the body-block. I’m warning you—I know Krav Maga.’
Again a tendril of amusement twitched at a corner of his lips. ‘So do I, pequeña. Perhaps we can spar some other time, when we’re both in the mood.’
‘I don’t spar just for the fun of it. I fight to defend myself. Now, either tell me why you’re here wasting my time, and how you know my name, or get out of my way.’
‘Your assailant is long gone. If you wish to report the incident I’m willing to lend you my phone.’
‘No, thanks. If you want to do something useful will yourself into getting out of my way instead, why don’t you?’
Gael shook his head. ‘Not until we’ve talked.’
‘I don’t know who you are or what you could possibly have to talk to me about that involves us standing in a dark, smelly alley.’
She started to skirt him. He let her go until she faced the exit and her perceived freedom.
‘I’m here because you’re of interest to me.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ She took a few steps backwards. Stumbled. Her breath caught as she righted herself. ‘I don’t know what your problem is, but I assure you I’m not worth stalking, if that’s your thing. And the sum total of my worth—which was eighty dollars—is now headed for the other side of the city, thanks to you. Anything else you want won’t be given willingly.’
She retreated a couple more steps, until she stood beneath the single lit bulb gracing the mouth of the alley.
Gael inhaled sharply. He’d thought her performance captivating across the wide expanse of an auditorium. At the time he hadn’t paid much attention to the woman herself. But he was looking now. And up close Goldie Beckett was...something else. Her dark honey-toned skin, even under the poor lighting, was vibrant and silky-smooth, her high cheekbones, velvety pouting lips and determined chin, a perfect enough combination to make his breath snag somewhere in his chest.
He wasn’t by any means new to the art of appreciating beautiful women. His electronic contact lists were filled with more than his fair share of phone numbers from past and possible future conquests. But there was something uniquely enthralling about Goldie Beckett’s face that riveted his attention.
Perhaps it was her eyes. Gael wasn’t sure whether they were blue, or the violet he suspected, but the big, alluring pools, even though they currently glared at him, were nevertheless absorbing enough to keep him staring.
As for her body... She couldn’t be more than five foot five, but even her lack of height—he preferred his women taller—didn’t detract from her attraction. Nor did it diminish the curvy frame currently wrapped in a black sweater and denim skirt in any way.
A torn black sweater, which gaped wide enough at the shoulder to reveal the strap of a lilac-coloured bra and the top of one voluptuous breast.
A thick silence ensued, during which she noticed where his gaze had landed. He admonished himself to get control in the few seconds before her hand snapped up to cover herself.
Her glare intensified even as her other hand crept around her neck and patted in a puzzled search. ‘Oh, great!’ she muttered eventually.
‘Something wrong?’ Gael asked, forcing his gaze from the hand covering her breast.
‘Don’t you mean something else wrong?’ she snapped. ‘Yes, something else is wrong. That...that lowlife didn’t just take my purse, he took my scarf too.’
Again there was a thin tremble in her voice that struck him the wrong way.
She was probably no longer apprehensive of his presence, but she’d been attacked and robbed. A closer scrutiny of her showed another rip in her tights and muddy scuff marks on her skirt and boots.
‘Are you hurt?’
Her mouth pursed and her eyes darkened. She regarded him, debating whether to furnish him with an answer. Slowly her free hand opened to reveal a bloodied deep welt across her palm.
A quiet fury rolled to life in his belly.
He balled his fist in his pocket to stop himself from reaching out to examine the wound more closely. He was absolutely sure she wouldn’t welcome the move. ‘My car is parked over there.’ He indicated with a jerk of chin. ‘If you come with me I’ll get you cleaned up. Before we talk.’
Her laughter mocked again, deeper this time. ‘I’m from New Jersey, Mr...whatever your name is, not Narnia. I don’t step through cupboards or into limos, however flash they look, out of naive curiosity.’
Gael gritted his teeth, reached into his pocket and brought out his business card. ‘My name is Gael Aguilar. I’m working on a project I think you might be interested in. I saw your...performance this afternoon and came back to look for you. The receptionist mentioned you’d just left. I came in this direction in the hope of finding you. Need I go on?’
She eyed him warily.
‘You hesitated before you said “performance”. Why?’
Gael was a little surprised that she hadn’t immediately jumped at the mention of his name, and that she wasn’t preening at the thought of being pursued as he’d pursued her. Most women would find that a compliment. But what shocked him more was that she’d cut through everything he’d said and singled out the slight trip in his voice triggered by what he’d witnessed after her audition that afternoon.
It wasn’t a flaw he wanted to dwell on. This wasn’t personal. It was business.
The reminder, and the fact that he’d been in this alley too long, tautened his voice. ‘It’s not productive to dwell on the cadence of my speech, Miss Beckett. You have my word that I mean you no harm.’ His gaze dropped to her hand. ‘My advice, though, would be to see to that wound before it gets infected. I can help. Then we can talk. I don’t want anything more from you.’
A slight frown marred her forehead before she looked over his shoulder at the limo. His driver stood to attention next to the back door and inclined his head at her. Her frown cleared.
Pressing home the advantage the sight his burly bodyguard and driver provided, Gael continued. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you now have no means of reaching your destination tonight or contacting anyone for help?’
‘I’m far from as helpless are you’re making me sound, Mr Aguilar,’ she muttered, although her voice lacked conviction.
He remained silent, gave her time to arrive at the conclusion he needed. After a minute she held out her hand.
He handed her his card and she stared down at it. If she recognised the information there she gave no indication. She looked from him to the car, then at the card, and back to him.
‘You have a first aid kit in your car?’ she enquired, quietly but firmly.
He probably did, but he shrugged. ‘Possibly. I’ve never had occasion to use one. But my hotel is fifteen minutes away. We can get you cleaned up more efficiently there.’
She immediately shook her head. ‘No, sorry—that won’t work for me. That Narnia thing again, you know...?’
