Perfect Timing

by Spinella, Laura

  “You? You orchestrated the whole incident? The girl, the boyfriend . . . the cop?”

  “Me? I was in Japan. But know this, that timely windfall of publicity resulted in an across-the-board spike in Aidan Royce numbers. Listen,” he said, a celery stalk swirling through ice. “Aidan operates like a thoroughbred racehorse, always has. Sometimes a blindfold is necessary to get him where he needs to be. His talent takes it from there. His image sells the merchandise. A media blitz was exactly what he needed.” Fitz avoided Anne’s cool stare, concentrating on the open green. “It’s not like anyone could have predicted he’d haul off and punch a cop.”

  “Fitz that’s—”

  “That’s show business, Anne, and you’re not innocent to the culture.” He downed the rest of his drink, the glass hitting the table with a definitive thud. “Look, C-Note will back you with an appropriate entourage. Are you interested in assisting with this Isabel Lang issue or not? Because my other choice involves getting some group like Weak Need to help her out. They’re past their prime, plenty of open dates. But that’s a fluid solution. We’d both fare better with a permanent one.”

  From the edge of the high road, a slim finger tapped her chin. “I suppose I could justify intervening. As you pointed out this girl is . . . What did you call her, hardy? Who knows what her scheme is.”

  “I agree. You have to anticipate with these situations. Strangers would take advantage of Aidan’s celebrity. Imagine the damage someone could do with a real connection. Isabel Lang might decide to write a tell-all book about their marriage, however brief. Look at the public reaction to a single incident involving Aidan; imagine the uproar if there was an entire book. He’d be at the center of scrutiny and scandal while Ms. Lang would survive comfortably in the profit margin.”

  Anne nodded along, Fitz watching the seeds of speculation take root. “As Aidan’s attorney it would be negligent if I didn’t protect his interests—all of them. At the very least, it’s reasonable that I investigate the situation.” She reached for her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making some travel arrangements,” she said, dialing. “You’re not the only one who got where he did by seizing the moment.”

  Fitz leaned back in his seat, relaxing, ordering another drink from the waiter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Providence, Rhode Island

  TOM DANVERS, THE ARCHITECT WHO’D VOLUNTEERED TO DESIGN A NEW Grassroots Kids facility, had just left. Aside from his professional expertise, Tom was a kind man. He’d never make a point of noting that a meeting was a complete waste of his time. Isabel sat with her eyes closed, embarrassed, feeling like a fraud. Nate’s hand was clasped over hers, the two of them sharing a private moment in the rather public, glass-walled conference room of 104.7—The Raging Fever FM. “Isabel, it was all right to take the meeting. You didn’t do anything wrong. Tom’s designs will still be there, not if but when Grassroots Kids has the money to move forward. You’ll figure this thing out. You did it the first time.”

  She shook her head, mouth bent to a frown. “Yes, I’m sure I sounded so promising, ‘Thanks for all the hours you spent on this, Tom. We’ll let you know when we have two nickels to rub together, never mind the money to actually start building.’” Nate laughed softly, Isabel’s head dipping onto his shoulder as he kissed the top of it. “Between the radio station and Grassroots Kids, I’m starting to feel like a one-woman disaster.”

  “Hey, not to change the subject, but I saw Eric the other day—”

  “Why? A flare or something worse?” she asked, sitting upright. At the moment it seemed possible, her bad luck spilling over to him. “I’m sorry, that was unfair. I know the rules. If my father has anything medical to share, he’ll tell me himself.” She sensed a sliver of hesitation, but it waned like a crescent moon as Nate smiled assuredly.

  “Actually, he wanted to know if you had plans for this weekend. I told him you did—with me.”

  “Don’t tell me I forgot something else,” she said, fingers flying to her forehead. “I still feel awful for not answering right away about moving to Boston.”

  “No, you didn’t forget. But, Isabel, I was thinking . . . What if we took a break?” She inched back, guessing he’d tired of what seemed like endless issues. He smiled wider. “I meant together.” She sighed, shaking her head at her runaway imagination. “We spend a lot of time on the serious side of life. Let’s get out of here, hop on a plane. We could take an evening sail in tropical waters, dine by candlelight, make love until we pass out. Let’s just go, even if it’s for the weekend.”

  She smiled. “Kind of like running away.” It was tempting, an escape from everything. Isabel leaned in and kissed him. “Have I mentioned, Nate Potter, that you are one incredible man? How about if we . . .” But Isabel’s idea petered out, her peripheral glance catching on her co-workers at the conference room door. Tanya looked as if she’d won the lottery, Mary Louise not quite as remarkable, as if maybe it was just a two-for-one special at Stop & Shop. Behind them was a beautiful woman dressed in a sleek cream-colored suit, her dark hair pulled into a stylish upsweep. Two people followed. A young woman who had the essence of a capable gal Friday, and a man who appeared all seasoned Hollywood glitz, like someone you might recognize but didn’t.

  “Isabel, this is Anne Fielding,” Mary Louise said, ushering them all in as she and Nate stood. “She’s an attorney, just in town for the day. She’s here to see you.” Isabel reached out, shaking a hand that felt like fine bone china—cool and expensive. Her smile was pearly, though there wasn’t anything particularly friendly about it. “And this is, um . . .”

  “Business associates of Miss Fielding,” the man answered. Isabel detected a West Coast vibe, the rail-thin girl wearing a sheath-like dress that would be barely appropriate in California—perhaps never in the state of Rhode Island. There was a quiver in her belly. It linked things in her mind a step ahead of the confirmation that came from Tanya’s mouth.

  “They’re with C-Note Music,” she said excitedly. “They’re here because of Aidan Royce!” The quiver morphed into a punch, Isabel stumbling directly into Nate’s arms. While she was in no danger of falling, she felt him hang on tight.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mary Louise said. “This is Nate Potter.”

  “Isabel’s . . . Oh, what’s the trendy phrase, significant other,” Tanya chimed.

  Anne Fielding’s smile warmed, extending a hand. “My pleasure, I’m sure.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, looking curious. Isabel appreciated his confusion, wanting to turn and ask, “How about if we hop on that plane right now?” Instead, she stood wedged knee-deep in guilt, Nate’s schedule rescuing her from an on-demand explanation. “Isabel, I have to go. I have a ton of patients this afternoon.” His glance volleyed from his watch to the glamorous entourage and onto Isabel.

  “Patients? You’re a physician?” The question from Anne sounded more like a wish.

  “Uh, yes, I’m a doctor at Mass General.”

  “Really? How wonderful.”

  “My mother seems to think so,” he said, moving toward the door. “Again, nice meeting you. Isabel, I’ll call you tonight.” Her gaze, which was adhered to the group, peeled away.

  “Absolutely . . . of course.” She followed, making certain he didn’t leave without an answer. “You’re right. A tropical getaway sounds perfect.”

  “We can talk about running away later,” he said, squeezing her hand before heading down the hall.

  Language seemed elusive, Isabel nodding hard, not turning back until Nate and every safe harbor he brought disappeared. Reaching for the door, Isabel quieted a trembling hand, dipping deep into that hardy well of calm.

  A courtesy call, that’s how they referred to it. Anne clarified that she wasn’t with C-Note, not like her two associates, but as a group they were, indeed, there representing Aidan
Royce. Having received word of 104.7—The Raging Fever FM for Hot Sound and Grassroots Kids’ request, they’d come to address the matter. In a businesslike tone, Anne proceeded with the impromptu meeting. She explained how Aidan Royce received endless appeals for him to appear at charity functions, most of them worthwhile and moving causes. She continued to dominate the dialogue, her companions nodding sporadically, more adamantly when she came to her point. Since the request involved a bygone friendship they felt obligated to offer a personal regret. Bottom line, the calendar simply wouldn’t cooperate. Anne hoped they understood. There was a groan of disappointment from Tanya and Mary Louise saying they did. Isabel wasn’t feeling as compliant, her ex-husband sending henchmen—henchwomen—to do his dirty work.

  “So if you don’t mind . . . Isabel?”

  “Mind what?” She’d already dismissed Anne and her last thought, focused on the one gnashing through her head.

  “A private word before we’re on our way.”

  “Sure, whatever,” she said. The gal Friday was first out the door, Mary Louise and Tanya following the man. Isabel heard Tanya offer him a cup of coffee, a doughnut, quite possibly her phone number.

  A buffed fingertip tapped against Anne’s painted mouth. “This, um, this is a difficult point to make. I don’t want to cause you further embarrassment.”

  “What makes you think you caused me any in the first place? It was only a question; you answered it.”

  “Of course . . . my apologies, my assumption.” Her head tipped humbly. “If I may, I’d like to be perfectly candid.” Isabel’s hand swept through open air, not intimidated by the beautiful and clearly accomplished Ms. Fielding. “You should know, not unlike your past, I share a current personal relationship with Aidan.” Except for the reflexive gulp, Isabel stood stone-faced. She hadn’t put it together; she was that attorney. “Naturally,” Anne said, her mammoth diamond ring and fingers brushing between them, “ours is more significant—certainly more complex than some ancient five-minute marriage between two teenagers.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course I know. I also don’t mind telling you that you can’t imagine the difficulties of nurturing a relationship in a world that’s, essentially, rigged to destroy it.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “I’d be grateful, Isabel, not to further complicate things.”

  “I’m not sure I follow. Whatever the excuse, schedules or commitments, you said Aidan wouldn’t help. I get it. I don’t see—”

  Anne’s fingers fluttered through the air, halting Isabel’s words. “If I can make a snapshot observation. You’re fortunate to be in a relationship where you don’t have to deal with that kind of stress.” Isabel’s head cocked. “Your significant other . . . Nate, was it? I caught a glimpse of the two of you. He struck me as stable—committed. I admit; I’m envious.”

  “Are you?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I love Aidan very much.”

  “Do you?” Isabel said, a breath sucking in until she found there was no more air to take.

  Anne smiled. “I wouldn’t be here, have hung in there if it wasn’t meant to be. It’s a lot of give and take—on my part. The recent incident in L.A. is a perfect example, Aidan’s encounter with that girl, his arrest. One of many, I’m afraid. Lord knows this time I should have kicked Aidan to the curb. But I can’t. I think I’m good for him. And we’re both dedicated to working things out. Aside from the bad-boy behavior, he has many wonderful qualities. He’s, um . . . Well, he’s . . .” She laughed. “My goodness, he’s Aidan Royce. What more do you need to know?”

  And out of Isabel’s mouth tumbled the thought in her head. “He’s extremely protective.” Her eyes squeezed shut, stunned by the staying power of a deep-rooted fact.

  Anne’s eyes narrowed, the smile looking a tad forced. “Naturally. I just meant there were too many to list. Anyway, his career, the pressure, it’s hard on him. The demands are endless. Personally, I feel it’s important to be forgiving with Aidan. You know, give him big boundaries, ample leeway in life.”

  Isabel looked blankly at her. “Funny, I never thought so.”

  She cleared her throat, tucking a stray lock that had slipped from the chignon. “Regardless, as I’ve explained, Aidan simply cannot meet your request. In addition, I wanted to offer insight to Aidan’s life—for you to know that he has one beyond the stage and fans and chaos.”

  “If you’re implying that my motive was personal, I assure you it wasn’t. I moved on from Aidan in the instant I signed those divorce papers. The request was nothing more than what it appeared, the radio station format change and Grassroots Kids.”

  “I’m so very glad to hear it,” she said, her face softening. Anne turned for the door but pivoted back around. “Oh, of course, your charity case. I’m sure Aidan would be glad to make a donation. Generosity, it’s one of those great qualities, right?” Isabel didn’t respond, an inward storm clouding outward calm. “I can give you a prime example of that! After Aidan insisted I move to L.A. to be closer, he bought me the car of my dreams.”

  Isabel’s arms widened, hands slap-landing together. “Well, there you go.”

  “I know; it’s overwhelming. Generosity like Aidan’s is hard to imagine.”

  “To be candid with you, Ms. Fielding, I don’t imagine anything about Aidan.” Isabel moved toward the door, not knowing her own voice, gravel bitten, perforated by the conversation. Bodily reactions continued to disobey, Isabel blinking fast, mortified to find her lashes damp.

  “When I get back to New York, I’ll see to it that a check is written on Aidan’s behalf. Would, say, $100,000 be helpful and bring this query to a close?”

  “You tell Aidan,” she said, spinning back, jaw clenched. Isabel paused, grasping for indifference while letting go of a person who, clearly, did not exist. “You tell Aidan that would be lovely. Grassroots Kids would be appreciative of any monetary support.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, smiling broadly. “I’ll take care of it. Best of luck, Isabel, with everything, your job . . . your cause . . . your life.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Los Angeles

  DAYS LATER FITZ WAS MORE THAN READY TO BRING THINGS FULL CIRCLE. “Where the fuck is he?” he groused, sitting behind a mahogany desk that took up a fair chunk of his L.A. C-Note office. “I spoke with Kai. He assured me Aidan would be here. I want those contracts signed—today!” He slammed his fist atop a healthy stack of legal documents flagged with bright Post-its. They marked the numerous places Aidan needed to sign. He tossed an aggravated look at Anne and resumed knocking his knuckles on the desktop. “Just what I need today, the rock star version of Aidan Royce! It’s not like I don’t have a fucking major record label to run!”

  “Calm down, Fitz. He’ll be here,” said Anne, who’d arrived that morning. She’d been on a coast-to-coast jaunt, beginning with her business in Providence. Sitting on the opposite side of Fitz’s desk, her attention shuffled between him and a duplicate set of contracts.

  “You’d better be right. He’d better be sitting in fucking L.A. traffic or being mobbed in the lobby! His tardiness better have nothing to do with—”

  “Don’t be so paranoid,” she said, though Anne did check her watch. “I told you, my trip to Providence panned out better than expected. My presence was hardly necessary. Isabel has moved on—her exact words. She has a lovely boyfriend with whom she can play doctor while she lives out a contented, albeit, pedestrian life. Add to that my personal insight on Aidan and I doubt we’ll hear from her again.”

  “Doubt?”

  “Certain . . . I’m certain we won’t hear from her. You were her best shot at making contact. She has no recourse. And to be honest, she didn’t strike me as the type who longs to be labeled a stalker.”

  “Perhaps, but maybe we should have—”

  “It’s already in place, a
backup measure,” she said, not looking up. “If Isabel Lang so much as contacts your office or mine, an army of lawyers will descend, slapping her with a most embarrassing cease-and-desist order.”

  “Good, that’s good, Anne.”

  “Besides, once he signs this contract, Aidan won’t have time to bother with relationships that date back to his yearbook.” Anne waved a portion of pages at him, denoting C-Note’s segue into the motion picture industry. It gave Aidan a starring partnership, as well as a share of the profits.

  “Speaking of said contract, I can’t believe you didn’t ask for one amendment. For the next seven years, when Aidan’s not meeting C-Note commitments his professional life will be consumed by our new production company.”

  “He’ll look great on the big screen.” This time she made solid eye contact. “Like you said, Aidan operates like a thoroughbred, every once in a while you have to blindfold him. He’ll appreciate it in the long run. Fortunately, he isn’t much for fine print. He relies on me to convey contractual details.”

  The thrumming stopped. “Don’t get too cocky, Anne. Publicity stunts and circumventing an ex with an ax to grind is one thing. Aidan’s not the same naïve kid I plucked out of Catswallow, Alabama. He’s older . . . wiser.” He raised a brow. “Certainly capable of reading fine print if it’s in front of him. That’s not a tactic I’d pursue nowadays.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but I have a good read on how to handle Aidan.”

  “If you say so.” Silence filtered through, Fitz clearing his throat. “Um, Anne, it’s not my business, but here’s a thought. Should you find your personal progress stagnant, there is an old-as-time method of securing a place in Aidan’s life.”

  She looked up from the documents, frowning. “Really, Fitz, I don’t think my father offering a dowry of two goats and a mule will sway Aidan.”