Killing Kelly

by Heather Graham

  By now, she knew… He hadn’t demanded that she be fired. That would have been insane. Because, as wicked as she was, she was a big name out there now, and that meant money. No, it was far better to be a man who was more concerned with human life than advertising dollars. Putting her on a paid leave was…brilliant. And with any luck, as time rolled by…she would receive a good substitute for the ax he had intended. The thought made him smile.

  But his smile faded as he remembered his evening with Kelly. He’d offered her everything. The very best. Himself. And she’d kicked him in the balls.

  She’d had so much dignity, so much pride—rejecting him. Well, he didn’t like rejection. She should have known that. And now…it was all set into motion. Good old Mel had delivered the news and the lovely little redhead would be cut down to size. Rejected.

  Matt looked around his office. Again he felt a deep sense of pleasure. He had a good head for business. And in a town that was filled with the renowned and the beautiful, he really had it all going. Celebrities could be like the flavor of the week. Pretty boys could fall prey to gossip and innuendo. Beautiful women arrived daily in truckloads. Here, in Hollywood, there was only one thing that really mattered—money.

  Money was power. Starlets learned quickly that it was more important to get to know the big boys than the pretty boys. He knew how to play and he played well. He’d never lost, never even dreamed of facing humiliation until…Kelly. But no more!

  A buzz sounded on his desk. He pressed the intercom to speak with his secretary.

  “What?”

  “Your ex-wife is on line one, sir.”

  Grimly he punched another button and leaned back in his chair.

  “Matt?”

  “What do you want now, Veronica?” he asked. He leaned back, lifting a hand, forming a trigger with his forefinger and thumb. “Bang!” he said softly.

  “Matt, damn it, are you there?” she asked, her voice as irritating through the blank air as it was in person. Well, nearly.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m here. Bang, bang, bang!” he repeated under his breath.

  “What is that noise, Matt?”

  “Nothing. Talk, Veronica, what do you want now?” He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Who did he hate more? This woman who had used him, then tried to use him up? Or…Kelly, the one who had rejected him? Who had looked through him? Found him…lacking?

  Veronica’s voice droned on. And as the words meshed and blended, it was as if he couldn’t even really hear her. But then, he had left Veronica, bored with her, sick of the sound of her voice. While Kelly Trent…

  Bang. Bang. Bang. You’re hurt. You’re bleeding. You’re dead.

  Sleeping on a flight was the only way to go, as far as Kelly was concerned. She boarded, plumped up her pillow and closed her eyes. She was vaguely aware of Mel playing with the headphones and magazines in the seat pocket in front of him, but she paid little attention to him. By now she was becoming annoyed with herself. Her pride was wounded. She should have quit the damned soap. Quit it a long time ago and taken a few chances.

  She vaguely heard the preparations for takeoff, the words of the flight attendants. Then, just as they started to taxi down the runway, she opened her eyes—and realized that Doug O’Casey was in the seat across the aisle from her. Her eyes widened with surprise. He was leaning back in his seat, eyes closed as well. Then he turned, as if aware that she was staring at him.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re on this plane?” she asked.

  He arched a brow and looked around with a small, rueful smile. “Apparently.”

  She didn’t know why she felt so off guard. “You’re coming to L.A. already?”

  “There’s not a lot of time,” he reminded her.

  Her initial hostility suddenly faded to a flash of humor. “You could have all the time in the world and it still wouldn’t work the way it does with your girlfriend.”

  “Jane?” he said.

  “Yes. Miss Ulrich.”

  He shrugged. “Jane is a true pro. But like you said, you can kick.” She felt the sweep of his indigo gaze. “You’re in excellent shape, and you don’t even need to be to learn steps.” He snapped his fingers. “You’ll have the basic tango down in an hour.”

  She looked forward for a minute, then shrugged. “I’d like to think I’m capable of learning the basic steps. But the way your heads snapped and the speed with which she made a lot of those turns…I don’t know. That could be tricky.”

  He smiled. “That’s why we’re going to work. Starting tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “That would be why I’m on the plane.”

  She flushed with annoyance and glanced at Mel, wondering why she was the last to know everything. Mel, however, had ceased to play with his magazines and earphones. He was snoring softly at her side.

  “It does take work,” Doug told her quietly.

  “I’m not afraid of work.”

  “Then why are you afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  She stared at him. There were dozens of problems, especially with the very core of her life, but she certainly didn’t want to get into a deep conversation on the rights and wrongs of the world, particularly not across the aisle on an airplane, and definitely not with this man.

  The flight attendant, a cheerful, bald fellow with huge dark brows, stopped to ask them what they’d like to drink. Doug ordered a beer. Kelly hadn’t wanted anything before but suddenly, now she did. “Jack and Coke,” she murmured.

  The flight attendant walked on by. Kelly leaned toward Doug’s chair. “There isn’t a problem. I’m just being as honest as I can about the fact that I haven’t the least idea of how to do the tango.”

  O’Casey shrugged, staring back at her intently. “So? They’re sparing nothing to teach you.”

  “Of course. They’ve acquired nothing but the best to teach me, right?”

  He grinned slowly at her tone. “I do know what I’m doing.”

  “Then it’s all just lovely, isn’t it?”

  “How come you’re so hostile?” he asked.

  “How come you’re so hostile?” she flung back.

  His smile deepened. “It’s interesting. I’ve never worked with such a ‘star’ before. And…”

  “And what?”

  “Well, it’s rather what I expected.”

  “And that would be?”

  “You,” he said.

  “Jack and Coke!” the flight attendant said, setting a drink down before Kelly, along with a cup of warm mixed nuts. “Let’s see. The beer here, right?”

  “Thank you,” O’Casey said.

  She looked around the flight attendant. “Me. And just what exactly does that mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, bullshit!”

  “All right. You’re a prima donna.”

  “What!”

  “‘Oh, I can’t dance!’ You sound like a petulant child.”

  “You’re an ass!” she told him.

  He arched a brow, looking around. She had spoken too loudly. People in the seats ahead were turning around uneasily. Inwardly, Kelly winced.

  She lowered her voice. “I’m not being petulant, I’m being honest. I’m trying to give them an option out of using me if they don’t want to!”

  “They want you. They’ve made that obvious.”

  “And I’m going to do it. So what’s your problem?” she demanded.

  Again, he hiked up a brow. Then, after a moment, he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he told her. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Something about his answer touched Kelly strangely. For a moment—a brief moment—she thought that he might be feeling something of the strange loss and confusion with life that she was feeling herself. But then the moment was gone. He stared at her with those ever-probing, ridiculously dark blue eyes and said, “If you’re unhappy with having an ass for an instructor, you can have me repla
ced. You are the star, after all.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” she assured him.

  “Chicken kiev, salmon or steak?” the flight attendant asked.

  “Salmon,” Kelly ordered.

  “Steak,” O’Casey said.

  “Would you like to order for your companion?” the flight attendant asked Kelly.

  “Oh, no, let him sleep,” Kelly said sweetly. She suddenly wanted to strangle Mel as well.

  “Sure thing. He can really have dinner anytime,” the man said.

  “Thanks,” Kelly told him.

  “Sure thing!”

  She was starting to dislike the flight attendant; he was far too cheerful. She picked up her in-flight magazine, determined to show that she had no desire to continue their conversation. Doug O’Casey ignored her, leaning back.

  Two seconds later, Kelly stared at him again. He was frowning, playing with the arm of the chair. She sighed, undid her seat belt, leaned across the aisle and hit the right button to make the seat go back. He went with a jerk.

  She was pretty sure he was gritting his teeth, but he smiled over the fact. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  But before she could straighten and return to her own chair, the plane suddenly hit an air pocket and she wound up strewn over his lap and halfway in the empty seat beside him. She was certainly closer than she had ever intended, and trembling from the fear that had clutched her heart.

  “The captain has turned on the seat-belt sign!” a flight attendant announced, her tone stressed. “If you’re out of your seat, please return to it immediately and fasten your seat belt.”

  Kelly tried to straighten just as there was another serious bump. Cups and glasses went flying. She might have hit the roof on that one, except for the fact that he caught her, sliding her fully into the empty window seat at his side.

  “I’d fasten that seat belt right now, if I were you,” he said.

  “Now you’re going to tell me how to fly?” she demanded awkwardly.

  “No, I’m suggesting you try a seat belt.”

  She was aware then of the male flight attendant rushing by, holding on to seats, hurrying into the main body of the cabin. There were cries of fear coming from the rear of the plane. The bumps were continuing.

  The pilot came on. “I’m going to ask the flight attendants to please take their seats as well. Seems we’ve encountered something of a lightning storm, folks, and we’ll do our best to get out of it as quickly as possible.”

  Kelly glanced over at Mel. To her absolute disbelief, he was still snoring. Another bump rocked the plane and the woman in front of Kelly started to scream. “We’re all going to die!”

  “Oh, Jesus!” someone swore furiously from a seat behind.

  O’Casey leaned forward, looking at the hysterical woman. “Hey! It’s all right. Messed up a few good drinks, but it’s all right. Honestly. Just as if we were hitting some rough spots on pavement.”

  “No, no, I’ve flown before! This has never happened—”

  “I’ve flown a lot and been in the same situation at least a dozen times. Honestly, trust me,” O’Casey said. He had a way of talking that was actually lulling. Kelly had flown dozens and dozens of flights herself; this had definitely given her a few twinges. She found that she was listening to him herself and feeling lulled.

  “Want me to come up there?” O’Casey asked the woman.

  “No, no, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your wife,” the woman said, her voice stressed.

  “I’m not his wife!” Kelly announced.

  “Oh, honey, everyone sleeps together these days without being married. Don’t worry about it. I certainly wouldn’t judge anyone. Especially not…not when we might die any minute!”

  “We’re not going to die!” Kelly snapped. “And I’m not—”

  “It’s just turbulence, that’s all,” O’Casey said, his tone assuring again.

  The violent rise and fall of the plane stopped as quickly as it had begun. The flight attendants were up in a few minutes, running along the aisle and picking up the cups, glasses, bottles and everything else that had flown. The seat-belt sign remained on.

  The woman in the front seat turned around. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I’m not much of a flier.”

  “It’s perfectly all right, and perfectly natural,” O’Casey assured her.

  Kelly got her first sight of the woman’s face as she peered at the two of them through the crack in the seats. She was beautiful. Slim, classical, features perfectly formed.

  “I’m such a…coward,” the woman said.

  “It’s all right!” Kelly told her.

  The woman’s eyes widened suddenly. “Marla! Marla Valentine!”

  Inwardly, Kelly groaned, but she forced a weary smile. “My name is Kelly.”

  “Simone Montaige. What a pleasure.” The woman focused her huge topaz eyes on O’Casey.

  “Douglas O’Casey,” he said.

  The woman nodded and stared at Kelly again. “I didn’t know you were married.” She flushed. “I read the soap opera trades,” she admitted. “Oh, that’s right, sorry. You said that you weren’t his wife.”

  “We’re friends,” Doug explained briefly.

  “I see,” the woman said, flashing another perfect smile.

  “Acquaintances,” Kelly said, wondering why she was feeling so irritated.

  “Oh.” She gave Doug another assessing gaze.

  “His girlfriend is back in Miami,” Kelly offered.

  “Oh.” There was a definite insinuation in the single syllable.

  “Actually, I have lots of friends in Miami,” O’Casey said pleasantly. “Miss Trent and I just met.”

  “We’re…working together,” Kelly said.

  “Oh, yes, right. Of course,” Simone said. “How nice. How…very nice.”

  Kelly could have groaned. No matter what she said now, it wouldn’t come out right. Fine, let the woman think whatever she wanted.

  “So, you’re from Miami,” Simone said to Doug. “Great place. I love South Beach. I work out there now and then.”

  “I can imagine,” Kelly murmured.

  “Pardon?” Simone said.

  “I’m sorry. You’re very attractive,” Kelly said. “Are you a model? If so, I imagine you work out there frequently—doing print ads,” Kelly said, feeling her jaw lock.

  “Oh, yes. On the beach. Bathing suits.”

  “Bathing suits. Imagine that,” Kelly said politely.

  “Where is home? L.A.?” O’Casey said, actually elbowing Kelly with a little jab.

  “Yes. L.A. It’s been home forever.”

  “You look familiar,” O’Casey said.

  Again Simone offered a perfect smile. “Miss Trent hit it right on. I’m a model. I’ve done some cosmetic ads. And I’ve worked for a number of magazines.” She flushed modestly. “Some high-impact magazines. Actually, I’m Miss February.”

  Kelly turned to O’Casey, a brow slightly arched, a pleasant grin in place. “There you go. This lovely lady is Miss February.” She couldn’t help allowing a small purr into her voice. “Of course you recognize her.”

  He was nonplussed. “Miss February. Sure.” He returned Kelly’s gaze. “You’re so right. Miss February.”

  “As I said, I do many print ads,” Simone said with a shrug, and offered the name of the very well-known lingerie company for which she also worked. Thankfully, the angle at which she had twisted to speak with them seemed to be getting to her at last. She offered O’Casey one last brilliant pout of her lips and told him, “I’ll write down my numbers. You were so kind to me. Call me if you need anything—anything at all—while you’re in L.A.”

  “Great. Thanks,” O’Casey told her.

  The young woman stared at Kelly again, offering her a rueful smile. “You two are really…just working together?”

  “Really. We’re working together,” Kelly said.

  “I didn’t mean to be forward. Or hone in on an
ything.”

  “Trust me, you certainly didn’t,” Kelly assured her.

  Miss February passed back a slip of paper. O’Casey thanked her, then he looked at Kelly.

  “What about Jane?” she asked him softly.

  “Well, you won’t tell her, will you?” he asked.

  “I barely know her,” Kelly said. “However, it seems my sympathy should be with her.”

  “I’m willing to bet Jane can handle it.”

  She went to undo her seat belt, ready to cross over and return to her own chair. A glance across the aisle showed her that, despite the violent turbulence that had rocked the plane, Mel was still snoring.

  “Does he take something to fly?” O’Casey murmured.

  “He must have. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” she said, starting to rise. But as she did so, the dinner cart came to a halt by O’Casey’s side, blocking her exit.

  “You’ve moved over here, Miss Trent!” the too-cheerful flight attendant said. “Salmon for you…and what was the dressing you wanted on your salad?”

  She eased back in the chair, gritting her teeth, aware that O’Casey was staring at her and that he was amused. Yes, she could just say that she was moving back to her own chair. But strangers sat next to each other on airplanes all the time. It would look rather silly if she were to insist she had to be back in her own seat at this point.

  Worse, it might just look as if she were a little afraid of remaining too close to him. Or as if she were a prima donna. Or petulant!

  “Peppercorn,” she said, offering O’Casey the sweetest, most disdainful smile she had ever acted out on any stage. He lowered his head as if just ever so slightly amused.

  Dinner was served. Then wine came around. The flight attendant was great at keeping glasses full. He was determined to get his passengers soused and out for the majority of the trip, perhaps. And still Mel didn’t move, though every once in a while he let out a snore.

  O’Casey leaned near her. “Still want to move back?”

  “I’ve slept to the hum of Mel’s snores many a time,” she assured him. But the trays remained down, making the move not an easy accomplishment, so she stayed. And some time before the trays were picked up, she leaned back and dozed herself.