by Lori Foster
“I told ya,” she said, slurring slightly, “I lef’ the party with some new friends and came to The Cool Cat. Where’re you? ’S noisy.”
She glanced around, as if he might be there, but Linc didn’t bother to hide. No matter. She didn’t spot him since she was now focused on Dohenny playing with her hair.
Don’t fly off the handle, he thought, all his rehab training rushing back to calm him. Center yourself.
“I’m coming to take you home,” he said, then flipped the phone closed with more force than was necessary.
She stared at her cell phone for a moment, then tucked it away into the little black purse that matched her little black dress.
How could you have a relationship with someone if you had to keep an eye on them all the time? She said she loved him, and he believed her. But what should he be thinking now?
Out of the corner of his gaze, he saw a guy wearing a rumpled button-down shirt, jeans and an assassin’s focused intensity inching toward the bar.
Linc bristled. Smelled like paparazzi. Worse than the stench of booze, a bane which made him sick enough to dull the craving.
He was headed toward Dohenny, a favorite tabloid magnet because of his “bad boy” image. And now the movie star was whispering in Lakota’s ear. She was listening, leaning against him, the worse for wear after a drink or two. Linc knew how Lakota got when she’d had too much alcohol.
Careless. Just as he used to get.
When Dohenny bent to bite at Lakota’s neck, Linc shook his head, managed his temper. Okay. That was it. He hadn’t wanted to embarrass his girlfriend, hadn’t wanted her to know he’d been spying like the world’s biggest loser from across the room. But what choice did he have now?
He made his way toward them, but not before Lakota pushed at Dohenny. He didn’t take the hint, cupping her head in his hands, darting his tongue in her mouth.
Jeez. Why’d he have to go and do that?
A flash went off and, at first, Linc thought it was his impulsive fist whipping out to smack Dohenny. But that wasn’t it. Both Dohenny and Lakota were glancing toward the photographer and the mini-camera he was holding.
There was a shouted curse, a general stir among the hip, young crowd. Varying levels of celebrities shifted, avoiding the scandal or running to it, as one of the men in the star’s entourage grabbed the assailant by the collar.
“How the hell did you get in here?”
The photographer swatted at the bodyguard. “You have no right to touch me like this!”
The beefy men took the skirmish outside, securing the camera in the process. And that’s when Linc stepped in.
Dohenny had resumed his pawing of Lakota and, as she swatted his busy hands away, she glanced up. Saw him.
“Lincoln!” She swayed, smiled brightly, genuinely excited to see him. “Conrad, this is my boyfriend I was talkin’ about.”
The star seemed unconcerned, his long-lashed blue eyes unfocused. “Oh.”
“Linc, Conrad’s gonna get me a part in his next movie. Sweet, huh?”
Usually, Linc didn’t make a big deal out of his height or build, but he used both to full advantage as he hovered over the smaller star. “I’m sure he will, Kota.”
Dohenny looked away from Linc. The jerk had been lying to her. He’d probably been expecting to notch another mark in his bedpost tonight.
Without blowing his top, Linc gently took Lakota’s elbow. “Let’s go now.”
He led her away, but Lakota hesitated. “This is a professional,” she mangled the word slightly, “opportunity!”
“He’s not serious.” Linc persuaded her to follow him again, getting as far as the lit candles fluttering inside the blue glass cups near the lounge’s entrance. Security cameras and bouncers lingered nearby, as well, keeping the club exclusive. Heck, Linc wouldn’t have even gotten in if he didn’t know the bouncer.
She skidded to a stop, glassed-in flames playing with the red highlights in her hair. “I was working my connections, ya know.”
“You can make it without sleeping around.”
Her speech slowed, sobered. “How do you know?” Those pale eyes grew huge, the sheen of tears covering them.
“Because I’ve still got a little faith in you.” He held her face in his hands, unable to stop a smile from stretching across his mouth. “Even a schlep like me can make it on something resembling talent.”
She glanced sidelong at him, grabbing onto his arms for balance.
He couldn’t hold his news inside anymore. “My agent told me that Roger Reiking’s daughter is a big fan of mine. She showed him Flamingo Beach, and he requested that I audition for a role in a romantic comedy he’s putting together. A featured role.”
Lakota just stared at him, as if assimilating the words. Wasn’t she happy about this?
“He’s probably only making his daughter happy,” he said, miffed by her reaction. “What’s wrong? It’s the Roger Reiking. You know, Oscar-winning director?”
She blinked. “I’m happy for you.” Then she laughed, combed her fingers through her already disheveled hair, hugged him. “It’s just so surprising, is all. I’m ecstatic for you.”
He remembered her failed audition for the TV show, remembered how much she wanted stardom and he just wanted to be lucky enough to earn a living acting—in any capacity. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you apologize.” She disengaged from him, wiped away a tear, made a dorky sad/happy face. “Look, I’m so joyful, I’m crying for you.”
God. He could feel it already—the tension, the inferiority of her staying in the soaps while he took bigger chances.
“I won’t leave you. I’m probably not even going to get it, so…”
“You won’t leave me behind?” For a second, hope brightened her smile, but then it crumbled. “You’re meant for big things. I’m not.” She started tearing up in earnest. “I’m gonna hold you back.”
“You won’t. Aw, come on, stop crying.” He smoothed her hair.
“The thing is,” she said, backing away from him, “I’m envious of you. Truly. I don’t know if I can stand it.”
Would she have been able to say that to him all those months ago? Or, instead, would one of them have sabotaged the relationship, avoiding the real issue?
Competition.
“We’ll work this out,” said Linc, reaching out a hand for her to take it.
She looked longingly at his outstretched fingers. Linc felt his throat close up.
By this time, Conrad Dohenny had gotten tired of the bar and weaseled up behind Lakota. He set his hands on her shoulders, and Linc’s chin lifted in response.
“There you are,” said the box-office champ.
Lakota didn’t move, just watched Linc as if he was going to drop her high and dry.
“Man,” he said to Conrad, smiling amicably, “you really don’t get the hint.”
“Who are you anyway?” asked the movie star, puffing his chest. “You’re nothing. So shut the hell up.”
Dohenny pulled at Lakota’s dress, stretching it.
“Hey,” she said, drunken slur returning with a vengeance. “This is a DKNY original. Do ya mind?”
“Do you?” The star raised his eyebrows, and the candles spotlighted just how bloodshot his gaze was.
Booze. Jeez. “Listen,” said Linc, “she told you to leave her alone.”
Conrad stepped around Lakota, and she stumbled backward against a wall. A candle chinked against the wall, the flame wavering.
The star’s entourage had gathered in back of him, as if Linc was going to start something and they’d end it.
“Hey.” Linc held up his hands, palms out. “Let’s just call it a night.”
The bantam rooster pushed Linc, barely nudging him.
Great. Why did everyone assume that, just because he had muscles, he was eager to fight?
Linc held his ground. “Now, that’s not necessary.”
Conrad turned to his cronies, laughing. Then, without w
arning, he lowered his head and rammed into Linc’s chest, throwing the bigger man into the wall.
Glass crashed, and Lakota screamed.
It didn’t take long for Linc to make Conrad back off. All he had to do was get him in an armlock, then push him toward the entourage, but they swelled over Linc, jamming him against the wall again.
He didn’t even see the fire as it slurped along the curtain.
Minutes later, the bouncers broke up the fight and helped Linc put out the flames by spraying the area with extinguishers, but not before the entryway had been damaged. And certainly not before the skirmish had been caught on the security camera.
As Linc and Lakota stood by, Dohenny’s handlers calmed the star down. Too bad the soap actors hadn’t traveled with their own personal assistants or handlers tonight. They could’ve used the company, also.
But Linc did the next best thing. He got out his cell phone and dialed the number of the one person he trusted most in life.
She answered on the second ring.
“Fi,” he said. “I think I’m in trouble again.”
FOR SEAN, Lakota’s own dead-of-night call hadn’t bothered him. He’d been sitting in his TV room, staring at screen static for the past… Hell, he hadn’t known how long it’d been since the station had gone off the air.
All he’d known was that he couldn’t move from his chair. Not after tonight, when Fiona had made it painfully clear that there would never be more than physical intimacy between them.
But he’d been a fool to hope otherwise. She was right. She’d never promised him anything, so why had he expected it?
Because of what was in her eyes.
It seemed so simple, didn’t it?
Now, hours later as the sun rose through the window of his office, Sean tried to get his mind back on work yet again, because this was urgent. No time for messing around, agonizing over something he couldn’t have.
He needed his job to save him. It had always provided an identity when everything else faded or crashed down around him. It had always been there for him, even during the downhill ride of the past few years.
Only now, when he had nothing else, did he realize how much his profession should’ve meant to him.
His assistant, Carly, rushed into the office, her hair in a still-wet-from-the-shower ponytail. He’d gotten the poor girl out of bed, enlisting her help in the mess Lakota had helped to create.
“I’ve got them,” she said, holding up a manila envelope like it was the Olympic torch.
“You miracle worker,” said Sean, in full business mode. Here it went: the pressure, the image voodoo.
“I have to tell you,” said the girl, handing over the materials, “your phone calls to the right people helped. I only hope copies weren’t made.”
Sean opened the envelope, slipped out the contents. One videotape. One packet of negatives and pictures, recently developed at an all-night photo shop. Dohenny’s people had sold them for a hefty price, claiming that one more kiss with a pretty girl wouldn’t do the actor any harm or any good, either way.
“You can bet someone has insurance with the video,” he said. “I talked to The Cool Cat Lounge, as well as Conrad Dohenny’s publicist. They’re all happy to keep this under wraps, especially since our big box-office star looks like an asshole on the tape.”
“But he’s so cute,” said Carly.
He held up a warning finger. “Don’t ever date anyone in the biz.”
When she grinned, Sean knew his advice was useless. He sifted through the pictures, coming upon the one where Conrad was sticking his tongue down Lakota’s throat. This could come in handy.
“Thanks, Carly,” he said. “I owe you big time.”
The assistant nodded and left the office.
Sean flapped the picture against the desk. Had Fiona managed to get a hold of anything? How was she doing on her end?
Hell, why worry. She didn’t want anything to do with him, so why should he be concerned about helping her out?
The picture caught his attention again. Lakota looked like she wasn’t fighting Dohenny, even though she’d said she hadn’t meant for things to go this far. Connecting her with a superstar would do wonders for her career. She could ride the story’s coattails to something bigger.
If he could manage to spin the story into something more than it was, he could build her up.
Sure, Linc would look like a cuckold, and that would put the clamps on Fiona to spin it the other way. Bottom line: this picture could hurt them both.
So should he use it for Lakota’s advantage?
He paused only for a second, then picked up the phone.
MAC HAD ASKED her to meet him in the office’s conference room, but that hadn’t stopped Louis Martin from butting in on them.
She’d managed to get a copy of the tape—an inferior one, she thought, watching the original that Mac had procured—but that was all she’d secured.
However, it was all she needed, unless more copies of the tape existed.
The three of them watched the events unfold on a television screen. Fiona struggled to keep her mind on the analysis, having been successful at treating Mac as a business associate so far.
Personal concerns had no place right now.
Last night’s Cool Cat fiasco played out before them: Linc and Lakota’s melancholy exchange, Dohenny’s attack, the fire.
By the time the show ended, their boss had already jumped out of his chair. “This is the best thing that could’ve happened.”
Fiona thought about Linc’s woeful phone call, his crushed heart. Lakota’s ambition and jealousy. “How does a fire translate into ‘good’?”
Louis rubbed his hands together, eyes focused on the ceiling. “Don’t be so softhearted, Cruz. Mr. Dohenny’s going to pay for the fire damage. It was smart of you to suggest assault charges as leverage since the tape clearly shows who’s at fault.”
Fiona clutched the arms of her chair. “This tape makes Linc look like a bar brawler.”
She caught Mac stroking his stubble at the other end of the table, and her skin heated.
Louis gestured toward the TV. “This is your chance to give Lincoln Castle a personality. You can get a lot of mileage out of an alpha-male type. Women swoon for that stuff.”
The boss turned to Mac, seeking agreement, but without even looking, Fiona knew Mac wouldn’t acknowledge Louis.
“Anyway,” he continued, “you guys can really play it up. If the tape just happens to get leaked to the press, you can spin it as Lincoln Castle defending his lady love from a rapacious brat and a fire. Lakota will bask in a lot of press, too, if you get it right. This is a publicist’s paradise.”
Memories assaulted her: Her last job, a golden opportunity, a massive blowout resulting in her shame.
Nothing was foolproof.
Louis shuffled toward the door. “We’ll see your true colors, my worker bees.”
Mac’s chair moaned as he leaned back his head, apparently trying his best to ignore Louis. The slight worked, because their boss’s face flamed.
“Don’t assume that arrogance, McIntyre. Straight up, your job is on the line. In fact,” he darted a glance at Fiona, “let’s just say there’s going to be a few less jobs at the end of the month. Layoffs, unfortunately. And there’ll probably be room for only one of you.”
Fiona shot up in her chair, driven by fear. “Is that some kind of threat?”
“It’s reality.” Louis opened the door. “I’d say ‘May the best man win,’ but Cruz hasn’t proven that she’s got any balls yet. And that’s a disappointment.”
On that note, he left. Left Fiona feeling sapped, mortified. Before getting fired from her last job, no one would’ve talked to her with such derision. Back then, she’d been flying high, only to crash and burn in the next minute. Without warning.
She chanced a look at Mac. He was staring at the table, jaw gritted so tightly she thought his head would smash into pieces. But it seemed as if something
had imploded inside him already.
“If you’re anything like me,” he said, tone riding a blade of anger, “you’re ready to shove this table down Martie’s throat.”
Could they talk to each other without all their personal anguish coming to the surface? Could they keep their love lives out of the office, as promised?
“I’d like nothing better than to feed him some desk.” Fiona watched him, almost wishing he’d make eye contact, even if she didn’t deserve it. “He’s been Big Brothering me since day one.”
“Why does it matter?” asked Mac, finally looking up. “What happened at your last firm?”
As soon as their gazes locked, Fiona was a goner, lost in his eyes, the wounded loneliness, the wary caution.
Maybe, just this once, she could offer a part of herself to him. If it was a consolation prize, then so be it, but at least it was something she could give him without losing her entire sense of self.
“I dropped the ball,” she said, smiling to ease the burden.
“You?”
“Yeah.” She swallowed, coating her scratchy throat. “Me. I represented Candy-O.”
“Wow. Big-time punk actress,” said Mac, duly impressed. His admiration fortified her, even temporarily.
“Even after what I did, yes, she is. I thought I’d reached the heights of my career by getting Zap Soda to sign her for a series of commercials.”
This was sounding more familiar to Sean. As he recalled, Zap Soda and Candy-O had suffered some kind of hush-hush falling-out. “Let me guess. Things blew up in your face.”
“Did they ever. It was revealed that Zap’s factories were dumping toxic materials into bays, that they were responsible for a lot of wildlife disasters.”
“And Candy-O, being the big environmentalist…”
“…freaked out. How could I have made such a misjudgment?” she said. “I’d almost ruined her career by aligning her with evil.”
“She’s not a forgiving woman, I hear. The toughest businesswoman out there.”
“It’s the truth.”
Sean hadn’t thought it possible, but Fiona had drawn into herself, fading into the cushions of her chair, losing her zest. His father, all over again. If he could have, he would’ve gone to her, offered her the comfort of his arms.
