by Lori Foster
But he knew how that would turn out. “You could’ve spun her out of the situation.”
“That’s what I said. But, instead, she decided to take the error personally, to drum me out of my job.” She smiled, probably to cover the embarrassment. “Luckily she kept the debacle under public wraps, so she does have some pity in her soul.”
Did she feel the same way about her career as he used to? Did a part of her die every time failure reared its head?
If he knew Fiona, the answer was yes.
Without preamble, she stood, came toward him. Sean’s heartbeat went into overdrive as she came closer, then sat in the next seat. He could smell her fresh hair, her skin.
Remnants of his perfume.
“We can’t work as a team from across the room like that.”
The revelation of her failure had worn her down, replacing his vibrant Fiona with a crinkled copy. It didn’t sit well with Sean. He ached to build her up again.
But she wouldn’t accept his affection. And he couldn’t accept seeing her so sad.
He reached into the envelope, slid the picture of Lakota and Conrad Dohenny down the table in front of her.
“The reason for the Cool Cat scuffle,” he said.
She took a good gander at it. “Oh, poor Linc. Does Lakota know you have this?”
“No. It could do wonderful things for her career.”
“That’s right.” Fiona caught his gaze, eyes dark, deep with emotion. “And it would kill Linc to have this plastered all over the papers.”
He couldn’t do this anymore. Playing with people’s lives. Taking orders from a power-monger like Louis. Sitting this close to Fiona and not being able to do anything about it.
She was still wearing her corporate demeanor, but as he watched her, she changed. Softened under his gaze. Her eyes begged for him to stay in this meaningless, empty groove where they could talk around the core matter.
“I can’t sit here pretending like I’m not chipping away every time you look at me, Fiona,” he whispered.
“Please, don’t.” Her voice weakened, pleaded.
He leaned his elbows on the table, trying to get her to glance his way, just one more time. “Why are you so damned stubborn? This could be easy, if you’d…”
His words trailed off as a sheet of hair fell forward, covering her face.
“I don’t want to deal with this.” She laid a finger on Lakota’s picture, indicating heartache. Deception.
“Or this,” she added.
She pointed to her heart.
He sucked in a breath, tucked her hair behind an ear. A tear slipped down her face and, with a resigned movement, she snuffed it away with an index finger.
This wasn’t what he wanted, seeing her fall apart. It reminded him of coming home to see his dad flake away day by day.
Lakota’s picture caught his gaze. Damn games. He’d grown to hate his job, just as much as he hated himself most times.
Truthfully, until Fiona had shown up, he’d despised coming into the office. Despised the fact that he didn’t have the strength to leave the predictable routine of his job—his echoing life—behind.
He indicated the photo while getting to his feet. “There’s a price to pay for every decision. If that picture leaks to the press, she becomes a tabloid star. Linc looks like a fool. If it’s kept in the vault with the negatives…” He left it up to her imagination.
“And what about the security video?” She was peeking up at him, her position inferior to his. For once she wasn’t making sure he knew how tough she was.
Impulsively, he moved closer, but Fiona didn’t flinch. His heart swelled, making him whole. With slow care, he stroked her hair. She relaxed into his hand, and an eternal moment passed, creating a bubble where nothing else could touch them.
Carly shouted, “Bye, Sean,” as she passed in the hallway. The interruption jerked his hand, and Fiona leaned away.
“What do you want to do with the video?” he asked, unable to let go, even if the connection only consisted of his eyes caressing her.
She stared at the table, miles from the old, brusque, it’s-all-about-a-good-time Fiona. Sean held his breath.
“I’d just as soon cover that video with a hill of dirt,” she said. “The whole episode doesn’t sit well with Linc. Or with Lakota, I’ll guess.”
“Then you’ve got your answer.” He ran his hand over her jaw. One final touch. “Screw Louis and his ambition.”
She met his gaze. “Screw our jobs, too, I suppose. He won’t be happy.”
Who cared about the job part. Or Louis. Living life under the thumb of a creep like Martin wasn’t the way to go. It’d taken Fiona to shake Sean up, to awaken him.
He leaned against the table, relieved now that everything seemed so clear.
There was no way he’d stay at Stellar, not after Louis’s threat. Not if it’d cost Fiona more than he was willing to pay.
Everything seemed so much simpler now.
Why couldn’t she see that, too?
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll take a few hours to find a way to get Linc and Lakota on top.”
And then he’d be done, leaving Fiona in peace. Finding some for himself, also.
She smiled at him, a glint of respect underlying all the other emotions he saw in her eyes.
He hoped she wasn’t looking too closely, discovering that deep inside, he’d already left the building.
Left her because there was no other choice if he wanted to stay in one piece.
Chapter Fourteen
WHEN LAKOTA ARRIVED at Fiona’s World War II-era high-rise apartment across from The Grove shopping center, Linc answered the door.
He was dressed in lounge gear: surf shorts, a Rob Machado T-shirt, his sandy hair sticking up as if he’d been tearing at it.
No greeting. Just a cautious, sweeping glance. They hadn’t seen each other since The Cool Cat, and he’d spent the night at his place, shutting her out.
And she knew why. Because of his movie audition and what she’d said to him about being jealous. About keeping him behind in his career.
Linc retreated into the apartment while the aroma of Lobster Bisque filled the air. Fiona’s voice accompanied the scent. “Hey, Lakota.”
“Hi.” She took a look around before going to the cooking alcove. The spin doctor didn’t really have much furniture on hand. It was almost like she hadn’t bothered to move all the way in. Boxes were stowed under a rickety metal dining table. A futon, beanbag and lawn chair were the only places to sit.
The sight made Lakota a little sad for Fiona, but she wasn’t sure exactly why.
When she saw the kitchen, she was struck by the same pity. No oven warmers to add a homey touch, not even a toaster or blender.
Fiona was holding a pair of prongs over a pot of boiling water, steam lending her cheeks a pink-tinged warmth. And she needed it, because the rest of her was downright maudlin, her black hair tied at the nape of her neck, her shorts and top basic and ordinary.
Where had her flair gone?
“You a cook?” Lakota asked to break the ice.
In response, Fiona leaned over, opened the freezer. Packages of single-portion frozen gourmet dinners slumped over each other.
Again, a twinge of sympathy attacked Lakota.
But who was she to feel sorry for someone else? She’d spent a sleepless night, calling Linc’s number, not calling it, bothering Sean instead.
Fiona removed a packet of goopy beige matter from the hot water. “You already caught up with Sean?”
“I did.” Not that she was happy about her publicist quitting his job today, but he’d told her to stick with Fiona. He sounded so confident in his associate’s abilities that Lakota decided that giving her a chance wouldn’t be a bad thing.
“Then you’re up to speed,” said Fiona. “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll be out there to talk turkey in a sec.”
Maybe that’s why the PR rep looked so glum, because she had to handle
both Linc and Lakota now. But Lakota was surprised Fiona didn’t seem more stressed out by the prospect. Didn’t she realize Sean had left all of them behind?
Not that Lakota understood his motivations, she thought, as she wandered to where Linc had plopped onto the futon. Her ex-publicist didn’t want to talk about his reasons for quitting; he’d just wanted to reassure her that she’d be well taken care of with Fiona.
Should she sit next to Linc, pretending she hadn’t let her ambition get the best of her last night?
Lakota lowered herself to the beanbag, offering a smile to him. “How are you?”
Fiona banged around in the kitchen, bowls clattering together, spoons chirping, providing a background for Linc’s frown.
“I miss you,” he said.
“Linc.” Why’d he have to be so sincere? So open? “How can you say that after what I did?”
“You didn’t mean it.”
Didn’t she? Last night, Conrad Dohenny had seemed like her ticket out of soaps. This morning, she knew she’d been persuaded by champagne, knew that the box-office giant had been full of hot air.
And that Linc was the real thing. “I thought I’d done some maturing after we broke up, you know. But the old Lakota, the one who threw things and had temper tantrums, came back full force last night. She was just more subtle about it.”
He held out his arm, and she came to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Ah, there. This was where she was meant to be.
“Maybe I’m just a sucker,” he said, “but I love you too much to let you go. It took me one bout with insomnia to think it over, and the bed felt awful empty without you in it.”
She wrapped her arms around him, sighed, holding him tightly. He enveloped her in his strong arms, and she knew she’d never been so safe in all her life.
He’d never leave her behind.
“That’s what I want to see,” said Fiona, balancing bowls of soup and setting them on a scratched glass coffee table with an unrolled Sunday L.A. Times lying on the surface.
She collapsed in the lawn chair, shoulders curled forward instead of thrown back. “I called you both over for a serious talk. Today’s a slow news day, so that’s why you haven’t seen The Cool Cat video on the air.”
“I hope we don’t,” said Linc, his voice vibrating through Lakota’s body.
She held him closer, wondering if Fiona would bring up that Conrad Dohenny kiss picture. It had cost her a pretty penny to buy the thing, but during his last call, Sean said Fiona had possession of it now.
True to the rumor, the publicist produced the photo from under the newspaper, holding it out to Linc and Lakota. The bisque went untouched as they peered at Conrad and his invasive tongue.
After a moment, Linc tossed it away. Lakota watched it arc through the air and jet to a graceful landing on the shag carpet.
Fiona ignored Linc’s cavalier gesture. “Lakota, do you want the tape released?”
Though the memory of Linc defending her somewhat appealed, she didn’t want to come off as a helpless weakling who stood in corners while men rescued her. That didn’t mesh with the action heroine prime-time plans. “No.”
“How about the picture?”
Linc’s arms stiffened, and she knew it was because he was reliving Conrad’s tongue in her mouth. She wished she could forget his stale-alcohol taste, the wet, sloppy, drunken celebrity spit.
When Lakota didn’t say anything, Fiona continued. “PR wise, it would give you exposure. But is it the kind of reputation you want?”
Conrad’s New Whore! She could see the headlines, could imagine the interviews on the tabloid TV shows, could almost digest the offers: Playboy, Penthouse, maybe a cheesy reality television hostessing job.
And Linc. What would the publicity do to him? It would make him seem stomped-on, cast-off.
For Lakota, the picture lost its colors right before her eyes.
“There’s a lot more to you than kissing Conrad,” said Fiona. “And I’m not really sounding as ambitious as a real PR rep, am I?” She laughed, but without mirth.
“Thank you,” said Lakota. “But I’d rather keep a little dignity. What I have of it.”
Linc blew out a breath. “Thank God.”
“I’m never letting you down again,” said Lakota, pressing her cheek against a chest made for her.
“Excellent.” Fiona clapped her hands together, minus the enthusiasm.
Where had the tiger gone?
“So,” the publicist continued, “Sean and I talked about several ways to market the two of you. Fairy-tale couple. Linc and his own photographs, showing the deep, sensitive artist he is. If that Roger Reiking movie happens, we’ll need to step up the pub.”
“It’ll happen,” said Lakota, sending a worshipful gaze up at him.
He kissed her forehead, smiled against her skin. “And Lakota?”
“We could explore avenues for her love of vintage items.” Fiona poked at her bisque with a spoon. “A show on the Travel Network, for instance, where she can spotlight different antique malls across the country. Or maybe you could mix that with adventurous trips, to project that image, I mean. Sean couldn’t make it here tonight, but we’ll brainstorm with him later. We just wanted to ask you both about the picture and video before we acted.”
What was she talking about? “Fiona, I don’t think Sean’s going to want anything to do with this.”
The other woman gave Lakota a confused glance. “He’d better.”
“Why? He quit so he doesn’t have to deal with other people’s baggage anymore. At least, that’s what he told me an hour ago.”
Fiona just sat there with her mouth open. Linc, however, spoke for her.
“Kota, you must’ve misunderstood him.”
“No, he was clear.”
Fiona darted up from her lawn chair, started pacing. “I can’t believe this,” she said to no one in particular. “I knew he was pissed at Louis, but… What exactly did he say?”
So he hadn’t told Fiona. Weird. “Um, maybe you two had better talk. Don’t you think?”
Linc nodded sagely. “Fi, when you told me you and McIntyre were almost finished…personally… Does this have anything to do with that?”
“I don’t know.” She stopped fidgeting, and some of the liveliness flushed back into her cheeks. “He can’t do this. Not when he’s so damned good.”
“I guess I owe you a kiss for that bet,” said Lakota to Linc. “She chased my publicist away from his work, she’s such a heartbreaker.”
Linc leaned his mouth toward her ear. “Later.”
Oh, yeah, there’d be a “later.” She’d make sure “later” made up for all her shortcomings.
Louder, Linc said, “Call him, Fi.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, and her hands flew in front of her chest, barring the suggestion. “He won’t want to talk with me.”
Linc whipped out his cell phone. “Kota, what’s his number?”
She flashed out her own device, pressed speed dial, handed it to Fiona.
“No,” the woman said. Boy, did she look horrified.
“It’s ringing,” said Lakota.
Fiona frowned, fluttered her hands—yeah, fluttered—and finally grabbed the phone, retreating down the hallway. A door closed, and Lakota cuddled up to Linc again.
“It’s time for me to pay up,” she said, voice sultry and very Rita Wilde-ish.
“I think the bet’s a draw,” he said, adjusting her so her mouth was near his, her heart pulsing against his chest. “They’re both losers until they work this out.”
“We’re not. I’m going to take you higher than the clouds, and never let you down.”
Linc laughed, rubbed his lips against hers. His words were soft kisses, hinting, promising. “Wasn’t that from Script 1024? Rita and Colt Rettinger’s first kiss?”
Lakota felt herself blushing. “So sue me if I’m a little tongue-tied. I can’t think when you’re around.”
“Then don’t think.”
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His mouth met hers, warm, inviting, all-encompassing. Her senses whirled with the musky scent of his skin, the soap he used every morning, the scratch and burn of emerging whiskers, the sound of them tasting each other.
Minutes must have passed, all of them filled with nothing but dizziness and contentment, a nap on a sandy beach under the sun with waves singing her to sleep. The next thing she knew, Fiona was back in the room, setting Lakota’s phone next to the uneaten soup. The woman couldn’t keep the longing from her eyes, her posture.
Lakota and Linc still touched each other, smiling at Fiona.
“I guess you’ve proven me wrong,” said the PR woman.
“Finally?” asked Linc, fondness carrying his voice.
“Finally.” She’d dropped her facade and, in its place, stood a revealed woman, stripped of protection. “You two show me that maybe things can work.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them, exposing a place so vulnerable, even Lakota gasped.
“He’s coming over,” said Fiona, a quiver in her tone. “To my place.”
WHEN FIONA had gotten the news about Sean quitting, she finally understood the definition of loneliness. Of hurt.
After their time in the office today, she’d expected to see him tomorrow, and the day after that. But she wouldn’t anymore. The realization left her flailing for an emotional handle. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she was in love with the guy.
In love.
Oh, God. What if he turned out to be another Ted? What if he used her up and tossed her away after he’d gotten tired of her? How would she cope?
Could she?
The strange thing was, it’d actually wound her more to never see Sean again, wouldn’t it? Yet maybe being with him was worth all the pain, all the numbness of being rejected.
What if…?
Fiona almost didn’t dare wonder, but couldn’t stop herself.
What if Sean really did love her, too?
As she waited for him to knock at 11:00 p.m. on the Sunday night before the bet expired, Fiona tried not to bite her lip in a fit of nerves. She’d ruin the makeup she’d put on because she wanted to impress him. She’d even taken a yellow dress out from the back of her closet, something she hadn’t worn since… Well, since she’d believed in soap-bubble dreams.
