NicenEasy

by Lynne Connolly

  “I’ll just hang here,” she said. She’d always wanted to go to Alcatraz, but not with these two. His mother avoided looking at her, even acknowledging her existence. Allie had no plans for any more awkward situations. “I’m tired after the convention.”

  “Are you sure?” Donovan said. “You should go. Fuck, I’d go if I had the time.”

  And she’d go with him. At the curse word, his mother flinched but everyone else pretended not to notice or accepted the word as normal, which, after all, it was. “I’m sure.”

  Without warning, Donovan bent toward her, tugging her hand, and gave her one of the swift kisses that melted her. “We’ll go to dinner and see something of the city. You didn’t plan to stay this long so I’m guessing you need some clothes too.”

  “Yes.” Rapidly, she thought about her bank account. Healthy enough at present, but she couldn’t rely on keeping her job, even if she wanted it. Where she went from here she wasn’t sure, but expensive clothing was so out of her reach right now. And she didn’t want to take anything from Donovan.

  “We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “You like vintage?” Riku put in.

  She could have kissed him. Vintage rarely cost like new clothes. “Love it,” she assured him.

  “Last time I was here, I found a great store. Racks and racks of stuff, and some great finds.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place,” she said, although it wasn’t. It sounded like a glorified Goodwill to her.

  “I’ll write down the address,” Riku said. “You’ll have to go downtown.” He grinned. “And in this town, downtown means just that.”

  “We’re on Nob Hill, aren’t we?”

  “Quaint,” Mrs. Harvey murmured.

  Everyone ignored her. “Yes,” Chick said. “Swanky hotel on top of the hill. So you get a cab to come back. Union Square isn’t far, but you can’t walk back up without a grappling hook and crampons.”

  “I can do that.”

  “We can do it,” Donovan said. “Mum, do you want to do a bit of shopping with us tomorrow?” Although Allie didn’t like the idea, she was glad Donovan had decided to build a few bridges. “Dad can go to Alcatraz and you can come with us, if you like.”

  His mother softened at the edges, like butter taken out of the refrigerator. “I’d like that. If Norman doesn’t mind going on his own.”

  “He won’t have to,” Chick said. “I’ll go with him. I’ve never visited Alcatraz either.”

  As easily as that, it was settled. Chick found a bellboy to take Donovan’s parents to their suite. Allie didn’t doubt it would be a first-class setup. She also didn’t doubt that Chick could have found them a room on this floor if he’d wanted to. He’d accommodated Elliott easily enough.

  Hunter saluted Chick when the elevator outside pinged, heralding the Harveys’ exit.

  Before the party could break up—some party, Allie reflected gloomily—someone else entered the fray. Elliott opened the door. “Whoa.” He hesitated. “It’s not every day you get to walk into a room with living legends.”

  “Hey, man,” Chick said. “Come in.”

  “Six months ago we were rock musicians,” Zazz commented. “Now living legends. What’s the difference?”

  “About a million more record sales,” Chick replied immediately.

  “Flattering, but I’m not convinced.” Zazz shifted in his seat, leaned forward and fished a battered black notebook from an inner pocket. “I’ll just do what I do and hope it works.”

  “Seems to be working so far.” Riku got to his feet. “If you’re doing songwriter angst, I have a store to visit. Coming?”

  Allie met his dark, amused gaze with a shock. “I thought we were going tomorrow? Aren’t you needed for the session?”

  Riku made a dismissive sound. “Pfft. They don’t need me today.”

  He glanced at Zazz, who nodded. “Just working out the basics, man.”

  “We can do the regular stores tomorrow. Today, we’re going to the vintage place. Talking about it made me wonder if it’s still there.” He cocked a brow at Chick. “Taxi?”

  Chick hit a number on his phone. “I’ve got a company on retainer. They’ll be here in five. He’ll give you a business card for the return journey.”

  Bewildered at the speed of events, Allie turned back to Donovan, who’d got to his feet beside her. “Could be fun,” he said, digging one hand into his pocket. “Here.”

  Before he could get out what Allie knew with a sinking feeling to be his credit card, Elliott said, “Actually, there’s something I need to discuss with you. About your books,” he added, just in case he hadn’t got the message.

  “Later?”

  Elliott shrugged. “If you want. Don’t you trust your lady with Riku, or do you need another pair of tie-dyed flares?”

  Donovan laughed. “Do I look like I do?”

  “Nobody needs more than one pair,” Elliott said laconically. “Stay and listen. You’ll need time to process this.”

  She ached to know what he meant, but Allie knew all about confidentiality. She hoped professional ethics, not a sense of distrusting her, drove Elliott, but after all, what did he know about her? Fuck all, except that she worked for notorious poachers Casterbridge. “Yes, stay. I’ll be fine.”

  Before he could get the fucking card out, she turned back to Riku. “Ready?”

  Shopping with Riku proved a revelation to Allie. He treated his newfound fame in a completely different way than Donovan. He didn’t go out of his way to avoid people, disguise himself or keep his head down. Instead, he accepted it, or he said, “People are always telling me I look like him. Crazy thing.”

  It worked like a charm. He told her he had another ploy, to tell people he loved Riku Shiraishi and tried to dress like him. “The thing is not to be scared of them. The fangirls are something else, and I’ve learned to take a bodyguard with me for those, but we get more genuine fans, people who just like what we do and want to talk music.” He gave her a sideways glance. “I mean, could any fangirl take me seriously?”

  “Are you kidding?” She turned away from the rack of tops she was riffling through to study him. “A six-foot-two, ridiculously dressed, hot American-Japanese man in his late twenties? So beautiful he should be banned?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he murmured, but with no rancor. “And sadly, yes, they do. Because I wear makeup and weird hair, I’m easy to imitate. So I just say I copy. Try to push the conversation to X Japan or Dir en Grey. If you could persuade Donovan to dress up a bit more, it’d work for him too.”

  She thought of her lover and couldn’t imagine him in anything more outrageous than a touch of eyeliner. “I can’t think how he’d do that.”

  Nothing about Murder City Ravens should work. The outrageous costumes Riku sometimes wore when the mood took him, the subdued T-shirts and jeans that some of the band members preferred, topless Hunter, ragged and edgy Zazz, with the occasional wild streak from him and Jace. They went their own way, with no overall image, and it came together onstage. Nobody could touch them for sheer musicality, and that, she supposed, was their secret. Not such a secret. “Don’t you write songs together?”

  “Eventually. But Zazz works on the central thread first, mostly. He’s a walking musical encyclopedia, that man.”

  She knew too much about the band to let him get away with that. “So are you.”

  “Hey, not so much. And I do visuals too, or hadn’t you noticed?” He pounced and dragged out a long black coat that had floating wings on each side. “What do you think?”

  “It’s a bit big for me.”

  “Who said anything about you? Haven’t you heard of visual kei? This is perfect.” Without glancing at the price ticket, he hung the garment over one arm. “And this.” He pulled free an animal-print jacket with pants underneath. “With a few additions, that’ll be fucking perfect. Now let’s get you something. Do you want to make a statement or are you into plain?”

  She of her office-perfect clothes
and casual jeans and T-shirts decided she’d grown tired of them. “Statement,” she said. “Not too expensive,” she added as a concession to the gods of unemployment.

  After two hours they returned, Riku with as many bags as Allie, if not more. He’d promised to lend her a few things, but he was a tall man, so she doubted he’d find much. “Fuck size, it’s the way you wear it,” he told her, and she began to recognize her inner rock chick again. Before her effort to make it in New York, she’d dressed much more flamboyantly.

  The vintage store turned out to be much more of a select-pieces place, but the sympathetic owner found some things that Allie could afford and loved. Everything was steam-cleaned before going on the shelves, so she could wear a lot of what she’d chosen immediately. For a couple of hundred dollars, she’d done really well, probably more than she should have spent. But she’d enjoyed herself so much she asked Riku if there was a store in L.A. “Probably,” he said. “Great idea. I’ll ask around.” Fuck it, she could always work in a department store or something, if she found herself without a job. And sharing apartments wasn’t that bad.

  She’d found the two hours relaxing and was glad that she wasn’t stuck in the hotel, luxurious though it was. Despite his bizarre appearance, Riku had a rational and interesting mind, and she found talking to him almost as easy as talking to Donovan. Almost.

  Walking back onto the floor, she felt the tension radiating out. And knew that he wanted her.

  On that thought, Donovan walked out of their suite, his face taut. “I’m glad you’re back. I could do with your advice.”

  “Her advice?”

  His mother’s voice sounded from the room. “Why do you need the advice of someone you hardly know?”

  Donovan exchanged a helpless look with her. He didn’t have to say anything. Walking into the suite ahead of him, she dropped her bags just inside the door.

  Mrs. Harvey gave the shopping bags a glare that would have incinerated them. “Spending my son’s money already?”

  “Spending my money.” Refusing to let the woman rile her, Allie took her time strolling across the room and taking her seat on the sofa next to her. Elliott sat on the sofa set on the other side of the coffee table, on which reposed a large laptop. “How can I help?” She gave Elliott a bright smile.

  Donovan closed the door and came to join them. “Would you like a drink?”

  She shook her head, although a coffee might have worked for her. Used coffee cups lay on the table. Two of them. But she wanted to know what was going on first, couldn’t wait for the time it would take. Something was wrong here, she could sense it in the air. It snapped with tension.

  Elliott leaned back and crossed his legs. “I’m not sure this is appropriate. Ms. Bartz works for a publisher.”

  “Would it help if I promised not to divulge anything I learned here?”

  Elliott glanced at Donovan, who nodded. “I guess.” Elliott sat up and faced her directly, his sharp gaze assessing her. “I want a bigger deal for Donovan. A larger house that can bring in more marketing skills and reach more readers. And pay a bigger advance. I won’t tell you which house, but we’re talking big and reliable here, has offered Donovan high six figures for a three-book deal.”

  That rendered her temporarily speechless.

  “They want the books fast,” Donovan said. “I’d have to give up the world tour and probably the band too. They’d need to get another bass player.”

  “So you have a choice,” she said.

  “I do.” He didn’t sound happy. Two fantastic options and she could see why he didn’t want to make one.

  “What do you want to do?”

  He flashed her a smile. “Thank you.” He turned to his agent and his mother. “Allie is the first person to ask me what I want, rather than to tell me what I should want.” He reached out and she took his hand immediately, feeling the connection between them strengthen. Even his mother’s small “Tcha!” didn’t break their concentration on each other.

  “You should think of the future. You’ll have a lump sum you can put away and you can put down roots,” Mrs. Harvey said. “None of this gallivanting around the world. You can’t do that forever. This is a good opportunity for you.”

  Donovan didn’t take his attention away from Allie. He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. “I never gallivanted in five-star luxury before.” His gaze said the rest. Nor with her.

  Allie tore her gaze away from Donovan to give Elliott a decided stare. “So what’s in it for you?”

  He spread his hands in a you-got-me gesture. “Fifteen percent and a star client. And you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, Allie. You get him in one place and you get him in the industry you know about if he takes the book deal.”

  She shrugged. “I want him happy.”

  She leaned back, breaking the physical contact with Donovan but keeping the visual link. “I want you happy,” she repeated, this time for him alone.

  “I want him settled,” his mother said.

  Allie confronted her. This close, she could see the fine sheen of sweat on the woman’s forehead despite the almost chilly temperature in the room. “Why?”

  “Because he’s wandered around long enough. He’s reached thirty and it’s time he thought about settling down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t gad around forever.”

  Mrs. Harvey wanted her son where she could control him.

  Now he sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “You have Maeve and Paul to wait on you.”

  This could turn into a nasty, unproductive argument, Allie thought. “Where’s Mr. Harvey?” she asked abruptly.

  “Snoring his head off,” Mrs. Harvey said. “I can’t sleep during the day.” She widened her eyes and gazed at her son, softening her voice. “I’m not getting any better, Don. I’ve put a brave face on it, but I’m in pain most of the day.”

  “It’s night for you,” Allie pointed out. “You should rest.” Get out of this room and stop trying to guilt-trip your son.

  Something had to give, and she wanted Donovan alone to think over the decision he had to make. If he needed to make one at all. He seemed so sure that he couldn’t do both.

  She got to her feet and headed for the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. “Anyone like a drink?”

  Nobody did, so she found herself a bottle of water but didn’t go back to the main seating area.

  “The point is,” Elliott said, “this offer came in to D.G. Ford, not Donovan Harvey. They didn’t know your alter ego when they made the offer. They really want these books, Donovan, not the kudos of celebrity. If you say yes, I can parlay this offer up to seven figures. A celebrity author who can actually write? Gold dust.” He paused. “You don’t even have to write every word or do every drawing. I can negotiate that for you too. If you want. Just say the word, buddy, and you can be a literary giant.”

  Donovan’s lip twisted. “Hemingway I ain’t.”

  “No you’re not. You’re Donovan Harvey and you’re fucking good.” Allie ignored his mother’s outraged squawk. Why was everybody talking about him instead of leaving him alone?

  She’d had enough, and she could sense that Donovan was about done. “Out. Both of you, out. I don’t doubt you have his best interests at heart, but he needs time on his own.”

  Neither Elliott nor Mrs. Harvey moved for a minute. Then Elliott glanced at Donovan’s set face. He closed his computer and got to his feet. “She’s right. You need to think.” He glanced at her and jerked his head in a nod. “Nice assessment.”

  It took a little longer to get rid of Mrs. Harvey, who wanted to describe her symptoms in more detail.

  Five minutes later, they’d gone and he was still sitting on the sofa, elbows on his knees, frowning and staring into space. Allie sipped the water and watched him until she thought he needed to wake up. He needed to think, but too much and he’d just go around and around without getting anywhere. />
  “Who’d have thought two such wonderful opportunities could leave you in such a dilemma?” She strolled toward the sofas and, as she’d hoped, he looked up and smiled.

  “Hey, you. I know something I’m not in two minds about.”

  She joined him and he put his arms around her, taking her in a long, drugging kiss.

  “Now I feel better,” he murmured against her lips.

  “Do you know what you want to do?”

  He shook his head and pulled back a little. “That’s the problem. I dreamed of being a writer once, but I didn’t have much luck. I fell into being a musician, played in pubs and small clubs because it got me more money, then I found I loved it. I never dreamed of being a rock musician, other than playing air guitar with my school tennis racket. I started to draw on tour and it went with the stories. Riku told me to send them off. ‘What can it hurt?’ he said.” His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “This is how it can hurt.”

  “People have left the band before,” she said. She smoothed his hair, loving the thick, velvety texture. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “Do you want me to?” His gaze bored into her.

  “I want you to do what you want. I can’t tell you. Nobody can.”

  He snatched another kiss, as if he couldn’t help it. “No, that’s right. My decision. Which I won’t make yet. I want to think it over.”

  “Works for me. Do you want the band to know?”

  “Why not? They have the right. I’ll tell them later, when nobody else is around. Except maybe you.”

  “Because I already know?”

  “Because you matter to me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Donovan had to face the band. He owed it to them, but they had a song to run through and Riku had ideas for it. That took priority. Always had. So he got out his guitar and went to the large living room. Security was doing its job, keeping people away. Later, he’d take his mother and Allie shopping or sightseeing. His father had already left on his trip to Alcatraz, with Chick in tow.

  Zazz ran through the song a capella and then, without being asked, started again. Donovan tried out a few notes and Hunter joined in, tapping out a basic backbeat on his electronic drum kit. The next time around, V added a breath of a sax note, barely there, but the listener would notice if it were absent.