Mac led Kate outside. The moon was yellow, full, and bright, illuminating everything it touched. They walked across the street to a sidewalk that wound around the harbor. It was filled with couples holding hands, walking slowly, and some just sitting on the benches gazing at the moon.
“So, are you feeling a little less spooked?” Mac finally asked.
Kate was startled.
“What do you mean?”
“You were spooked by Singer earlier. I know you were. Tell me what’s up.”
Kate wrestled with her words. From the minute she stepped off the elevator, she’d had this uneasy feeling about Singer. Something that didn’t sit quite right. The elaborate offices and endless staff. The ultra modern, sanitized feel of the room lacking in warmth and personality. And Singer’s demeanor, while friendly, bore an edge of something Kate couldn’t quite put her finger on. All she knew was that when Singer shook her hand, it made her want to shower. Kate stopped walking and gazed out onto the water. She leaned on the railing, eyeing the boats bobbing in front of her. Mac stopped, too, watching her for a moment then leaning in next to her.
“Kate,” he said softly, “you can tell me. Trust me. I won’t judge you.” He was close to her, so close she could smell the scent of soap on his skin and his breath in her hair.
“There’s something not right,” she said finally, in a voice so low he could barely hear her.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, Mac, but there’s something not right with this guy. It’s almost creepy.”
Mac chuckled and quickly apologized, “Katie, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh, but listen, they’re new age people. They all seem creepy to me.”
“I don’t mean that, Mac,” Kate continued, determined now to get her point across. “I mean, didn’t you think it was odd that for one of the leading new age people there wasn’t a single new age-y object in that entire office? Not even a freaking poster that said ‘think and make it happen.’ There was nothing. It was sterile. Not to mention expensive. I mean, you said he runs a charity, too, right? Have you ever seen how ninety percent of charities are run? On shoe strings, and more often than not, out of someone’s apartment.”
Mac leaned into her further. He could tell she was seriously concerned.
“Kate, listen. Yes, I did notice, but frankly, these top new age people are all like that. Most of them don’t even drink their own Kool-Aid. You know the old saying, ‘We teach what we most need to learn?’ Most of these so-called gurus never get their own stuff; they just have the gift for writing it or really talented co-authors. His charity is just a side project, I think. Most of his money comes from his motivational speaking.”
“No, Mac. I get that. I mean, I know these people are just facades for the most part, but it was something else. Something almost sinister.”
“You mean Singer?” Mac frowned, “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t trust him, Mac. I’m saying you and I need to watch him like a hawk, or this whole thing could blow up in our faces. I’m saying that there might be more to Singer than what meets the eye. And what about that agent, Jade Lee? She makes the least sense of all. So, okay. What if he is sleeping with her? She’s not a negotiator. You can plainly see that.”
Kate knew she was overstepping. It was the wine, the moon, and this handsome man standing so close to her and the fact that despite Grace’s warnings, she trusted him.
Mac put his hand on her back. The touch of him felt almost electric. She had always thought that the “electric” remark in romance novels was just a creative use of words, but now she knew it was true. It was possible to feel the electricity of someone’s hand, and she felt it when Mac touched her.
“Kate, this is your first big book. I know you’re nervous, but trust me. If you think something is up with this guy, I’ll watch him closely. I promise you I won’t let anything happen to this campaign, and I certainly won’t let him fuck this up for either of us.”
“Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it, but it’s more than my being nervous, which I admit I am. This is bigger. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep going on about this. I just don’t want anything to go wrong. What if he’s planned to turn this manuscript over to another publisher at the last minute? Or worse, what if he pulls out of this altogether?”
“We’ll sue him.”
“And in the meantime, MD will have a hole in their fall list the size of the Grand Canyon, and I doubt we’d ever recover from it.”
“Kate,” Mac turned to her, his face inches from her own, “do you trust me?”
Kate nodded.
“Then you’ve got to trust me on this. I’m not trying to dismiss your fears, but I don’t want you to get distracted by them. This is a big deal for your career, and you’ve got to stay focused on that. Let me worry about whether Singer is going to fuck this up. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
Mac wanted to kiss her right there under the moon with the water lapping at the shore. He wanted to lean in and take her in his arms, but he didn’t. He fought it, although every single cell in his body wanted to grab her and press himself into her.
Nothing good would come of it; that much he knew. But it had never stopped him before. He needed to be careful with Kate. She wasn’t like the others. She was onto him, and that alone was more unnerving than he cared to admit. Yet in an odd twist of fate, it was also a refreshing challenge.
Chapter Twenty
Kate watched Allan, waiting for a response.
“So, what do you think?”
Allan was silent for longer than he intended. He had no love for the publishing industry, although it had made him famous. It was for that reason he hated it the most.
“I’d trust your gut on this, Kate. If your gut is telling you something’s amiss, then go with that. Don’t trust anyone in this industry. They’d sell their mothers into white slavery to make a bestseller. You and I both know that.”
“But, Mac said—”
“Kate, Mac is just like the rest of them. Listen, I like Mac. I met him a time or two. He’s a nice guy, but he’s a little too smooth for my tastes. I wouldn’t trust him, either.”
This wasn’t what Kate wanted to hear. She wanted Allan to tell her she was wrong, that this Singer guy was just what Mac said: Just a new age person who never drank his own Kool-Aid.
“So, how’s the book coming along, Allan?” she asked, changing the subject.
Allan smiled, “Same as it was last week: Fine. I’ll share some chapters with you after the New Year. I promise.”
Kate had heard these promises many times before, but she nodded and smiled. It didn’t matter really. Not to her, anyway. If Allan had another book in him, he owed it to the literary world to get it out there. He was too good of a writer not to.
“You know,” Allan smiled, “my handsome nephew Nicholas will be here next week. I’d really like for you to meet him.”
“I’d love to,” she lied. “Will he be staying through Christmas?”
“I doubt it. I’m sure he has better things to do than hang out with an old man during the holidays.”
“Well, he’s a fool,” she smiled, “because there’s no place I’d rather be.” Kate kissed him softly on the forehead. She loved Allan, although his apartment looked like a disaster area most of the time and he never stopped trying to fix her up with his yet-to-be-seen nephew.
“Kate, honestly, you don’t have to spend Christmas with me. Why don’t you go home?”
“I just don’t feel like it. I’d rather stay in New York and hope for snow. Besides, I have that big release after the first. I need to be here. Lots to finalize.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The Morris & Dean holiday party was being held at The Ritz-Carlton at Battery Park, which had become an MD tradition. Regardless of who was planning the event, the Ritz was always the company’s first choice. It was a statement more than a place. The Ritz was located at the tip o
f Manhattan. From the famous Skyline Vista, guests were treated to stunning views of the bay through the large, open windows. The event was being held in a large, open room that bordered that legendary room. On any other night, the room might have been filled with a sea of business suits, smart black dresses, expensive shoes, and a smattering of tourists who could afford the price of a cocktail.
For the evening’s event, MD rented the entire space. Cocktails would start in the Skyline Vista with dinner and dancing in a larger ballroom right after. When Kate walked in, she was met with soothing candlelight that bathed everything. The chairs were covered in a shimmering off-white and tied at the seat base with a gold ribbon that hung down the back. The tables were filled with equally shimmering crystal and china. The light of votive candles bounced off the glass and sparkled like a million stars. This party topped all the others, and Kate knew why: The Promise had been something to celebrate, and this party would certainly do that. Initially, the book had anchored itself to the bestseller lists in hardcover. It dominated The New York Times, USA Today, and others. Then when the paperback version came out earlier that year, it had done the same thing. Even the eBook version has dominated the eBook bestseller lists. She hoped next year The Continued Promise would bring them something equally as glitzy.
Kate was dressed in a midnight silk dress that hung to the floor and pooled at her feet. There were no beads or sequins; Kate couldn’t stand the feel of beads on her skin. The shoulders were thin—only slightly thicker than spaghetti straps, and the neckline dipped far enough to see the curve of her breasts. Although she’d been to numerous MD holiday parties, she still worried about what to wear. The gown made the statement; Kate knew this. Too overdressed and it would look like you were trying too hard. Too underdressed and it looked like you didn’t care. Kate accessorized the dress with a string of pearls on loan from Grace, who, surprisingly, had a taste for fine jewelry but only owned three pieces. Kate wore two of them tonight. The pearl teardrop earrings swayed whenever she moved her head. Her soft, deep brown hair was twisted into a chignon. She looked simple and elegant, and Mac couldn’t help but notice her the minute he arrived.
She took his breath away. Kate saw him immediately, too, dressed in Armani—a suit, not a tux. He wore a black jacket and pants, off-white tie, and shirt that set off the slight tan of his skin. Somehow, Mac managed to keep his color, even through the winter. It must be his heritage, Kate mused. His Italian mother, no doubt, was where he’d inherited his coloring. Mac was alone, of course. This didn’t surprise her at all. Mac was always alone, much to the chagrin of Edward, who arrived fashionably late with his wife on his arm. She beamed by his side, no doubt grateful to be trotted out for another event.
Kate took her seat at the “publicity table.” They were always seated in the same place. Some things never changed about these parties. Much like the location, the seating arrangements didn’t change from year to year. Mac was seated with the editors; she could hear his laughter over the din of voices and caught him, once or twice, looking her way. They hadn’t spoken the entire evening, and that was fine with Kate. She didn’t plan to stay long, anyway. It had been a long week, and her only intention was to make an appearance, dance a few songs, and then sneak out like Cinderella, long before the stroke of midnight.
Dinner was a five-course extravaganza. The room was filled with laughter, voices, and the clinking of glasses and plates as the servers did their best to clear the tables before the next course arrived. The band played a melody of background jazz and a few Christmas tunes. Nothing too overt. No songs about Santa, elves, or—God forbid—Rudolph. They were hired to play a vanilla set during the meal and then liven it up the minute that the dessert plates were cleared. Their first song was “Great Balls of Fire,” one of Edward’s favorites, to get things going. Year upon year the song never changed.
She hadn’t even been there for an hour, and already Kate was bored. At her table, she could hear Pete drone on about some publicity coup he’d gotten the week before. It was no surprise that he had come without a date. Kate was certain there wasn’t a single female in Manhattan desperate enough to tolerate him. If she got drunk enough, she’d suggest he go to New Jersey and see if he could scare up a date there.
Lulu tried her best to fit in. She was there with her husband who looked wildly out of place. Lulu chatted with the publicity team, talking about the exciting projects coming up. All Kate heard was white noise.
“You look bored, Katie,” Mac startled her from her thoughts. He was behind her, and she could feel his warm breath on her neck. She turned to him.
“I am…a little,” she replied softly.
No one at the table seemed to notice that Mac had walked up to her.
“Let’s dance,” he said, pulling her up from her chair without waiting for an answer. The song was fast, something from Bruce Springsteen. The band was doing a good job of performing it although the lead singer didn’t sound a thing like Bruce. The minute they got to the dance floor, the band switched gears and a slower song started. A female vocalist took the stage and began crooning a Norah Jones song. “The Nearness of You” wafted from the speakers. Mac slipped his arms around her small waist, touching the silk that enveloped her body. Kate’s skin tingled when he touched her. Mac’s hands were warm, soft, and strong when they pulled her to him.
“I guess it’s a slow one then,” he smiled, his face inches from her own. “I like slow dancing. I haven’t done it in a while. By the way, you look beautiful.”
Kate didn’t respond. Suddenly, she felt her body give in to his touch and part of her panicked. She wanted to be in her apartment, watching a rerun of Seinfeld or something else benign, safe, and far away from this man who looked and smelled so toxic she was certain if she inhaled a deep, long breath of him she’d die an exhausted but decadent death. His would be the last face she’d see…
“Your smile enchants me and my arms around you grant me a glimpse of what heaven must be…feeling you so close and never wanting to let you go…”
They moved slowly across the floor in a smooth, sensual motion. Edward was there with his wife, dancing an acceptable distance from one another while Mac gently pressed Kate even closer to him, if that was even possible. Kate could feel Mac’s heartbeat through his shirt. He was so much taller than she was, almost towering over her.
Suddenly, the song was over and the band kicked into “Wang Chung Tonight.” Kate immediately released herself from his arms. The spell was over. She felt herself start to breathe again. Had she been holding her breath the entire time? She wasn’t sure, but she was certain it was time to leave. She had to get out of the party and away from Mac.
“Goodnight, Mac.” Kate didn’t wait for an answer but left Mac standing on the dance floor while she grabbed her purse and slipped out under the inquisitive eyes of several curious co-workers.
…
Kate was on the street, her coat wrapped tightly around her. Soft, delicate snowflakes were drifting down around her.
The first snow of the season.
Kate breathed in deep. The icy air felt good in her lungs and woke her from the stupor she’d found herself in on the dance floor. It was around ten-thirty, but the streets seemed almost vacant. The adjacent Battery Park was quiet this time of night, and Kate decided to take a walk. She loved the park at night, especially when it snowed. The moon was full and threw a pearly glow through the bare trees that lit the path in front of her. The lights above gave off a dim but comforting glow. The park was safe enough, but she wouldn’t walk for long, just long enough to sober up from Mac’s embrace.
“You shouldn’t walk at night alone, Kate. It’s not safe.” Mac startled her for the second time that night.
“What are you doing here?” Kate pulled her coat tighter around her.
“It was time to go,” Mac smiled, “then I saw you walk into the park, and I thought I’d see where you were going.” He paused. “May I walk with you?”
Kate nodded,
knowing instinctively it was a bad idea. They walked for a few minutes without saying a word.
Finally, Mac asked, “Did you enjoy the party?”
“Sure, how about you?”
Mac shrugged, “It’s an obligation. I hate these things.” He threw her a smile, and she knew what he meant. The parties were a necessity of being in the business. Mingle, talk about books, buzz about the spring list, dance the night away, watch the sales team drink too much, lip-sync with the band, and then go home and start the grind all over again on Monday.
“Kate, listen, I hope you didn’t think I was blowing you off about the Singer stuff. I do take you seriously. You know that, right?”
Kate wasn’t certain of too much at this moment, but that she knew without a doubt—Mac did take her seriously. Mac stopped walking.
“I mean it, Kate,” he said softly. “If I really thought there was something to worry about, I would pull the brakes on this thing.”
“I know you would, but thank you for saying it.”
They were deep in the park. The snow started falling heavier now, the flakes coating her shoulders.
“Kate, I think it’s time we head back,” Mac said in almost a whisper. Part of him knew he should run away from this woman whom he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of all night, but he couldn’t move. He was rooted in place—intoxicated by her smell, her eyes, and the way her body moved beneath the midnight blue silk. His eyes fell on her delicate face, and gently he dusted some of the snow off her hair. Then his hand followed the curve of her chin and tipped up her face. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. They felt warm and soft. His strong mouth was gentle and passionate, and his lips were wet with anticipation. Kate couldn’t pull back. All she could do was give herself over to him. Her hand reached up and curled around his neck as Mac’s kiss grew slightly more intense. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth, gently prying her lips apart. She found herself not wanting the moment to end; the urgency behind his kiss matched her own. There, in the park, under a full, glistening moon and the first snow of the season, she kissed Mac and knew from that moment forward, her life would never be the same.
The Publicist Book One and Two Page 8
