by Holley Trent
She still wanted to come up with some significant words for him, but those would have to wait. Brilliance wasn’t easy to come by.
She left him to his reading and returned to the elevator bank. While waiting for a car to open, she texted Lisa.
Unexpected problem. Hungry rock star in my room. I’m looking for his stuff. Is there a shitshow down there?
Lisa returned: Yes and appended a side-eye smiley.
Cringing, Everley stepped into the elevator. She could do her best to buffer him. It was the least she could do to repay him for making her feel important to someone for five minutes. Well. I’m on the way down, sans rock star.
Lisa sent: I think I know which of these greasy assholes is supposed to be his shadow. Let me pull him out into the hall.
Everley: You’re a blessing.
Lisa: No, I’m an instigator. Frustrating these screaming jerks is probably the most fun I’ll have all year.
Everley: Blessing. Instigator. Same thing in my book.
And Bruce was the most stimulating conversationalist Everley had been in the company of all year. She could almost forget that her department peers hadn’t sat with her at the dinner and that one in particular had walked right past her without saying a word when they’d checked in.
She was moving on.
The distraction was exactly the medicine she needed.
Chapter Nine
“You all right?” came Stacia’s husky whisper behind Raleigh.
“Fine, why?”
“Because you’re sitting at a fancy hotel bar tearing little napkins into smithereens and you’ve got two empty glasses in front of you.”
“I’m not driving.”
“Not my point.”
“I needed some air.”
“Raleigh. This bar is a hermetically sealed germ factory. The only air here has probably been pumped in from a musty alleyway. You walked out of that ballroom like you’d seen a ghost. Dara thought she’d said something to offend you. You stood up so fast and she was in the middle of a story.”
He grimaced and pushed all the paper bits into a pile. “Shit. Sorry. Apologize to her for me, will you?”
“No. Apologize yourself.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Now,” Stacia snapped.
“Okay. Shit.” He tossed cash on the bar for the keeper and swiveled his stool around. Although he may have been a risk taker at times, he knew better than to poke at Stacia when she was in angry bear mode. She was sensitive about Dara. He imagined anyone would be. Dara was one of those gentle souls who went out of her way not to hurt people.
As they walked back toward the ballroom, Stacia murmured, “Tell me.”
“Long story short, one-night stand turned bad.”
“And that person is here?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“With the band.”
With the fucking band, and he’d been sitting right beside Raleigh for the entirety of a concert back in LA without Raleigh ever knowing who he was. He’d given him a bogus name because he’d known exactly who Raleigh was and what he might be able to do for him.
Raleigh should have been used to situations like that happening to him, but he stupidly kept hoping people would surprise him in better ways.
“For real? I didn’t think musicians were your type.”
“Only cellists, generally,” Raleigh grumbled. “They sit so provocatively, and they tend to know it.”
“Think you know a guy...” Stacia murmured, shaking her head with something akin to awe.
“You know everything of importance. That’s more than literally everyone else on the planet.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“You tell me.”
Raleigh had intended to stay out of the ballroom for as long as the band was there, but he had no way of knowing how long they would linger. He figured they’d go in through the backside of the ballroom where the stage was arranged. The curtains behind the stage setup would be shrouding the doors and he’d be able to discreetly reenter and return to his table.
He didn’t get so far as the door. The view of a certain nepotism-embracing employee caught him up short by the Perseus statue.
Every time he saw the woman, he pulsated with fury. That job she was in should have been someone else’s—like that well-qualified single mom who’d rearranged the heavens to even make it into the city to interview. Or the guy whose marketing portfolio was a master class in social media engagement and who was prepared to spend his life savings to relocate from West Virginia.
But they’d hired Everley. She hadn’t even had an interview.
Stacia tugged on his arm. “Come on. Let’s get it over with and then you can scurry back beneath the log you live under.”
He gritted his teeth and said quietly through them, “Everley Shannon.”
Stacia got him moving, anyway, but returned under her breath, “Smile and nod, Ral. You do that so prettily. You don’t even have to listen.”
“Am I a friend or a bobblehead?”
Stacia chose not to respond.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t do the busy-professional thing and just nod at the congregation in the hallway as they reentered the ballroom. Raleigh’s direct supervisor was with them, and he’d called over, “Hey, Ral—you didn’t happen to see Bruce Engle slipping out of the hotel, did you?”
Bruce.
Raleigh had tried not to see him from the moment he realized who was heading up to perform. But there he was. Mussed, but gathered, radiating with primality even from across a ballroom.
Of course he saw him. That was why Raleigh left. He didn’t want to get spun around in that maelstrom of regret again, like he’d been in after fleeing from Theo’s mansion.
Bruce’s mansion.
He’d very nearly convinced himself that Bruce was just another rich prick user whose only redeeming quality was beautiful lips.
Stacia gave his arm a bolstering grip, and he needed it.
His gaze tracked briefly to Everley. She had her hands clasped in front of her belly and was standing in one of those debutante postures with shoulders back and hip thrust outward, meant to show off everything and nothing. He somehow suppressed the compulsion to roll his eyes. If she and Bruce joined forces under the same roof, Raleigh’s head would likely explode. “No. I didn’t see him.”
“You know which one he is, right?” Joey asked. “Not sure how well you follow popular music.”
“Yes,” he spat. “I know and I didn’t see him.”
“Let’s just leave a note with reception and with the concierge letting Bruce know where his belongings are. Maybe he went outside to get some air.”
Ah, the air excuse.
Raleigh snorted. He’d know better than to use it the next time.
Everley cut him a startled look.
Stacia gave his ribs a discreet jab with her elbow.
“Like. Whatever,” the other guy in the gaggle said. He was obviously with the band, judging by his heavily patched world tour jacket and the tablet cover emblazoned with “Outward Reaction Staff.” He shook his head. “That guy is slippery as an eel. Used to be someone else’s job to keep track of him whenever the band traveled, but that guy wasn’t available. I left Bruce’s manager a voicemail to see how I should handle this, but he’s in Aruba or something.”
“He’s a grown man,” Everley said. “He doesn’t need to be babysat.”
“Maybe not outside of working hours in general, but I’m supposed to get all of those assholes together for an AM photocall tomorrow. I guess if Bruce doesn’t show, the photographer can still grab headshots for the rest of the guys’ profiles.”
“I think that sounds like a solid plan,” Joey said. “You can always catch up with Bruce later, even if he’s not in the group
shot. Honestly, our publicity folks would probably love to have a complete shot so we can do our thing with them, but we’re creative sorts. Aren’t we, Raleigh?”
Raleigh managed to nod and smile in the way he’d learned when he was eight and his mother threatened to pinch the stars out of him if he didn’t.
“People are watching, Raleigh,” she’d whispered. “Act like you love it.”
He’d wanted to go home, or anywhere but there.
Apparently, not much had changed in thirty-some years.
The handler shrugged and waved at them as he started away. “Hopefully he’ll swing by the desk if he doesn’t make it back to the party. I doubt he’ll come back.”
No one said anything else until the guy was gone.
Raleigh was about to excuse himself and Stacia when Joey knelt down to Stacia’s gnomish level and said, “Hey, vampire. Did we get you in any shots tonight or are you still avoiding flash photography?”
“So help me God,” she said flatly, “If you photograph me, I’m writing you into my next book as a serial killer bus driver with a snot fetish.”
Joey laughed.
Stacia didn’t.
Raleigh dragged a hand down his face and suppressed a groan. He’d been trying to get Stacia to play nice for years. Generally, she did, but she wasn’t the kind of lady who liked to do the above-and-beyond thing when it came to having her face spammed around. She’d only showed up at the party in the first place because Dara talked her into it. Stacia simply didn’t like being anyone’s prop. Raleigh could understand that all too well. After all, he’d spent a large chunk of his life pretending to be a senator’s perfect son.
Everley thrust her hand out to Stacia and spread on a toothless smile.
“I can’t believe we haven’t met before. I chat so much with you and your assistant in email. I’m Everley.”
Stacia was gracious enough to shake the woman’s hand. “You don’t match the picture of you I had in my head.”
“Oh?” Everley adjusted her clutch beneath her arm and refastened her hands in front of her belly. “What’d you think I looked like?”
“Like the kind of industrious worker bee who wears creased slacks and cashmere sweaters tied around her neck. Your style of written communication evoked a certain picture.”
That was certainly not the picture Everley Shannon painted. She was less prepster, more casual vixen. She was more likely to wear dark turtlenecks with cigarette pants and body con dresses with schlubby boots than polo shirts and expensive flats. And prepsters didn’t cut their hair so aggressively short and wear see-me-orange lipstick.
He saw her, all right. He regretted that. She was so much easier to ignore when he didn’t have to look at her, and now he was going to walk away pondering just what, exactly, was holding up that unstructured satiny frock she was wearing beyond a healthier-than-fair endowment of T and A. It didn’t have straps or even a zipper, as far as he could tell. In other circumstances, he would have enjoyed exploring the construction of such a garment, at least until it landed on the floor. Raleigh wasn’t one to dwell on the past. Of course he’d move on to other interesting bits after that.
“I was a math major,” Everley said. “I think the way I had to engage with the peers in my department might have impacted my communication style a bit.”
“Huh,” Stacia said, and she said it in that now-I’m-curious tone she tended to only use on people she wouldn’t mind having a second conversation with.
Traitor.
Apparently, Raleigh would have to have a chat with her later to remind her of who their mutual enemies were.
“Everley’s great, huh?” Joey said through one of his slick smiles.
Raleigh wouldn’t have bet on it, but he was reasonably certain he saw Everley complete half an eye roll before catching herself.
He found himself wondering what she might have been thinking, and that was regrettable. He didn’t need Everley Shannon taking up any more rent-free real estate in his brain than she already was.
Unfortunately, at that moment, her father traipsed through the ballroom doors and perked up when he saw the cluster. “Stacia Leonard! Haven’t seen you all night. Why’s that?”
“Because I...” Stacia emitted a nervous laugh. “It’s been great chatting. I need to get back in there. I told a caterer I needed Alka-Seltzer and she’s probably standing by my table confused. Poor thing.” Stacia dropped Raleigh’s arm like a hot potato and hightailed it back into the ballroom. Apparently, she’d smelled a conversation on the wind and decided to flee to safety.
He wished he could. His stomach lurched.
“Glad to see you all in one place,” Tom Shannon said to the remaining assemblage.
“Yeah, we do tend to clump by department at these things,” Joey said.
Everley rolled her eyes for sure then. Raleigh knew that, again unfortunately, because he was brazenly staring at her.
It seemed to be due to some sort of spontaneous illness on his part. He couldn’t stop looking because she was pretty with those dark-lashed brown eyes and high, sculpted cheekbones. He’d always known that she was attractive, but it was her expressions that were making him take notice. She wasn’t as good at tamping them down as he was. The moment her father had stepped into the hall, she’d gone into panic mode. Huge eyes. Red cheeks.
Mortified.
He usually enjoyed drama when he wasn’t a direct recipient of it, but not like that.
Parents could shatter egos with mere breaths, and he wouldn’t wish that public shame on his worst enemy.
Not even Everley.
“So, what’d you think of our big news?” Tom asked.
Raleigh had seen peacocks with less pride than Tom had at that moment.
“It’s certainly a big win for Athena,” Raleigh said.
“Gotta get to work right away priming the publicity pump, so to speak.”
“The team loves a challenge,” Joey said. “We’ll come up with something new and fresh to get it out there.”
“Oh, I know you will. I think with Raleigh on your team, you’ll rock this outreach.” He gave Raleigh a collegial nudge. “Pun intended.”
Raleigh swallowed a scoff. “I...don’t do nonfiction.”
Surely, he knew that. Raleigh had been working exclusively on commercial fiction for more than five years. He did good work there and everyone knew it. That was why he was left to his own devices, generally.
Tom waved off the complaint. “Work with Everley on it. Take her under your wing and get her up to speed. She’ll be competent someday.”
“That’s...really not necessary,” Everley said at the same time Raleigh said, “You’ll have to find someone else.”
While Tom seemed to be untangling the muddle of words in his head, Joey interceded with, “I know you want this to go well, given the status of the subjects featured in the book. Trust me to get the right team on it.”
“Everley needs to be working on this,” Tom said.
“Why?” she asked. “I already have a full list.”
Raleigh didn’t buy that. If she were so busy, she wouldn’t be hovering around his authors. He held his tongue, though. If Everley Shannon wasn’t truly the whimpering daddy’s girl Raleigh had always assumed, he could extend a bit of grace.
For the moment. He knew from experience that impressions changed rapidly.
“You need to make bigger connections,” Tom said.
“I thought my job was to give my authors bigger connections.”
“Some don’t need it. You’ve got to leverage that clout, kiddo. It’ll get you further in life. I’m trying to help you out here.”
Everley’s lips pinched together so tight that not even a sliver of the burnt orange coloring could be seen.
Her father wasn’t paying attention to her, though. He’d moved on to
Joey, and they were talking about getting cracking first thing Monday morning.
Fuck that.
Raleigh planned to call out. Knowing the higher-ups in publicity, they’d get impatient and assign the workload to some other sucker. By Wednesday, Raleigh would be in the clear. Some other senior publicist could take Little Miss Nepotism under their wing.
She turned to Raleigh, brow furrowed and mouth opening, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak whatever platitudes she had on mind for him. He was all out of grace.
“If you’ll pardon me,” he said, already turning.
The ballroom door was nearly closed when he heard Tom muse, “Hey. Where’d Raleigh go?”
Chapter Ten
“I’m sorry that took so much longer than I said,” Everley gushed as she spilled into the room.
Bruce hurried into the little corridor and took the takeout bags off her wrists. “I was starting to worry.”
He’d taken his shoes off and then panicked when she hadn’t quickly returned. The fact she was gone so long made seeds of doubt bloom in his mind—that she’d found someone from the band to come fetch him. That she was setting him up and being a user after all.
“I got lassoed into an impromptu conference about your book’s publicity. Was nearly impossible to get out of.”
“It’s not my book,” Bruce said. “It’s Aaron’s book, and the rest of those guys. I didn’t want to write anything for it, ended up putting in a few columns at my manager’s insistence. I doubt they like anything I have to say.”
He opened the first of the takeout containers and bent to inhale the aroma of beautifully seasoned rice.
“Why did you say yes? Why are you here?”
Her query was so quiet that he wondered if he were really meant to answer it at all.
He didn’t, at first. He concentrated on dishing out rice and vegetables. He hadn’t eaten meat in years, but she couldn’t have known that. There was enough in that assortment of packages for him to dine well on, even without premium protein.
A reasonable enough answer floated into his mind. He tried the best he could to articulate it. “When Daryl called, he said I had to do it because I left the band in such a lurch and this was the least I could do.”
