Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "Gray, not being a Red Sox fan, I will leave the philosophizing to you."

  "What are you two doing in here?” asked Lucy curiously as she entered Gray's office just as he sat on the couch next to Danny.

  "We're watching ESPN,” Gray answered.

  "That sounds like exactly what the two of you should be doing."

  "Danny, go see if you're needed downstairs,” said Gray.

  "You're not budging?” Lucy guessed.

  "Not until they flash across the screen how the Red Sox got A-Rod. And then I am going to possibly dance a jig."

  "Well, that's something I'd like to see."

  "Stick around."

  "I'd love to, but I have actual work to do. Halcourt showed up and he wants to be personally welcomed to the Bienvenue."

  "He wants to be bienvenued to the Bienvenue,” said Danny, which earned him a sigh of disgust from Gray.

  "I'll be down to see him once I hear what's going on with A-Rod."

  "He's not going to be happy to hear he's taking a back seat to the Red Sox."

  "Well, too bad. Everything in life takes a back seat to the Red Sox."

  "My, this looks like a party,” said his mother, breezing into the office.

  "It is, but not really my type,” Lucy informed her as she departed.

  "What are the two of you doing?"

  "The A-Rod trade,” said Gray. “What are you doing?"

  "I've come to see if you want to meet my editor.” His mother fairly beamed at him.

  Oh, God. Gray barely suppressed the eye roll. His mother had been going on and on about her editor, on and on about how she was writing her memoirs. Gray was sick to death of hearing about it. “No thanks,” he said.

  "She thinks the story of my life sounds just fascinating."

  "Uh-huh,” said Gray, as the countdown clock hit ten seconds, the Sports Center anchors talking a mile a minute to get in everything they wanted to say before the news hit.

  "You're not paying attention at all."

  The clock hit zero and Gray frowned, waiting for something to happen. The Sports Center anchors kept going over the same statistics they had been going over for days now, showing the same footage.

  "Well,” remarked Danny. “This is very exciting."

  "It'll break. The news will break. It just hasn't come through yet."

  "I'm going to go meet my editor now,” his mother announced to no one in particular. “You know, if she weren't already married, she would make a wonderful girl for you."

  "Mom, I don't need help finding a wonderful girl."

  "I was talking to Danny,” his mother said sweetly as she swept out of the room.

  * * * *

  Kaye Neufeld was not exactly feeling intimidated. That wasn't the word she would use. Although clearly she was supposed to be. Oh, yes, very clearly that was the reason she had been stuck in this huge room with this huge window high up over the valley of Las Vegas and left to brood. To be shown her place in the scheme of things. Kept waiting by her client.

  It happened often, especially when the client was somebody with money, some sort of place in the random celebrity history of the country. Real authors tended to treat their editors with a lot more respect.

  Except that when Moira Scott Lowenby finally swept through the doorway, she apologized so profusely that Kaye had a hard time staying offended. “I'm so sorry. So, so sorry. No one told me you were up here. And you're early."

  "I am?” Kaye said and looked at her watch. “Wasn't our meeting for two?"

  "I thought it was two-thirty. I'm so dreadful with appointments. I'm sorry. I'm Moira.” She held out her hand.

  Kaye shook it. “Kaye."

  "My secretary usually makes sure I stay on time. Difficult, I assure you. But she just had a baby and she's not—Coffee?"

  "Uh, please."

  Moira poured it from a silver pot sitting on a marble-topped side table. “You must be terribly jetlagged. We should have put the meeting off. Won't you have a seat?"

  Kaye sat gratefully on the room's suede couch. She was jetlagged, truth be told, but she wanted to get back to New York soon. It was the first time she had ever left the baby. She still wasn't sure it was advisable—seemed like such a drastic leap instead of a baby step.

  "Cream and sugar?"

  "Nothing, please,” Kaye answered, pulling a legal pad and her glasses out of her briefcase.

  Moira set the coffee down on the low mahogany coffee table in front of Kaye.

  "Thank you."

  "It's lovely to meet you in person finally,” Moira said with a truly welcoming smile as she sat. The force of this woman's charm, Kaye thought, was really a little overpowering, especially in her weakened state of advanced exhaustion. “How is the baby?"

  "He's fine. He's beautiful. Thank you for the gift."

  "It was the least I could do. You should have taken more time off."

  Yes, well, not all women had that luxury, did they? Kaye bit her tongue and said, “I wanted to meet with you in person just to get a feel for your voice, your style, so that when I edit I'm not—"

  The door to the suite flew open, admitting a giggling girl in her late teens with flyaway blonde hair, dressed in the very latest Vegas chic, Kaye assumed, because she was hardly dressed at all. Her hand was curled into the hand of a boy who had had every spare inch of cartilage—and a good deal of skin—pierced.

  "Mom,” the girl began immediately, and then smiled at Kaye. “Sorry. I didn't know you had company."

  "This is Kaye Neufeld,” said Moira. “She's my editor."

  "Oh.” The girl grinned. “The editor. Mom is so excited to be writing a book. She thinks she's Hemingway. Dirk and I are going to go to L.A. for the weekend."

  Moira's eyebrows lifted. “I don't think you are."

  "Why not? I'm nineteen years old, Mom, and I'm—"

  "Out of money. Weren't you complaining about it just the other night?"

  "Right. I was hoping you would—"

  "No.” Moira sipped her coffee. “Now Kaye and I have to continue our meeting, darling."

  The blonde pouted petulantly but turned with Dirk in tow and exited the suite.

  Moira sighed. “Sophie. My daughter. And I can now say with certainty that sons are much easier to raise than daughters. Gray and Doug never gave me half as much trouble."

  "Yes, that was one fact I wanted to check with you. Gray. You say that you had Gray when you were seventeen?"

  "Yes."

  If Moira felt the slightest bit self-conscious over the fact that she had got pregnant so young, she didn't show it. Kaye filed that away. “You say you were married."

  "I was. My mother would have died had I given birth to an illegitimate child. I was already going to hell. It would have been unfair for me to condemn Gray as well. That first marriage was almost as stupid as my third marriage. Except that it gave me Gray. Just like the third marriage gave me Doug and Sophie. So, you see, good comes out of everything."

  Kaye began to feel more and more relieved. The pages Moira had sent her came across as biography more than autobiography. She had been worried that, meeting the woman in person, she would realize she'd given no thought to any of the choices she'd made in her life. But clearly she had thought on it.

  "It's obvious that you have opinions. I mean, on having a baby while you were a teenager, getting married, staying married for the benefit of children."

  "Of course I have opinions."

  "The book could use a few more opinions."

  Moira immediately looked anxious, her pretty features twisted with it. Good God, the woman was fifty-four years old, and she'd lived a full, varied, spectacular life. Why couldn't she look a little more ... well, worn?

  "The book is awful, isn't it?"

  Kaye was used to soothing nervous authors. “No, it's not awful. The fact is, Moira, your life is fascinating. If it wasn't, we wouldn't have asked you to write your memoirs. But just giving us the bare facts ... It could use a little m
ore of you. Your personality. What did you feel when you found out you were pregnant with Gray? What did you feel when your mother made you get married? What did you feel when you held him the first time? Those things would be useful."

  "Gray would be embarrassed,” she said. “Gray doesn't really approve of this. He's really a private person."

  Damn. One of those. “Moira, it's difficult for you to write your memoirs while writing around anything that might upset anyone you know."

  "I'm more thick-skinned than I look,” sniffed Moira, sounding offended.

  Kaye thought that was good, since Moira had skin so creamy pale that Kaye felt she could smudge it just by breathing on it.

  "I started out this way because I was uncertain how much ... I mean, how much people would care—or want to know—how I felt. Clearly people want to know what Hugh Scott and Robert Redford were like in bed. I wasn't sure people would want to know how much I fell in love the first time I held my baby."

  "People don't just want to know what Hugh Scott and Robert Redford were like in bed. They also want to know what sort of woman got them there in the first place. And that means that if you're writing a first person memoir, we need to have a little more first person in it."

  "That,” Moira Scott Lowenby decided, “can be done."

  * * * *

  Sophie Lowenby tapped her foot impatiently on the parquet floor outside her mother's suite. Beside her, Dirk said, “Babe. We don't have to go to L.A.—"

  "Of course we have to go to L.A. We can't have sex here, can we?"

  Dirk's eyebrows lifted. “Of course we can, babe. Your brother owns a hotel."

  "My brother does not own the hotel,” Sophie told him hotly, because she was sick of this idiot. If she wasn't also sick of being a virgin, she'd never have talked to him. And if she could just find a little time to get rid of being a virgin, then she could get rid of him. “We all own the hotel. And he knows everything that goes on. Everything. Not just here. In all of Vegas."

  "Cool,” said Dirk, looking impressed. “He's got spies?"

  "No, he doesn't have spies.” Sophie rolled her eyes in disgust. “He's powerful. He's a powerful man. He'll know, and I—” She cut herself off. She didn't want Gray to know, which was just stupid, because Gray probably already thought the worst about her and Dirk. Gray automatically thought the worst about everyone. But would Gray tell Mom?

  He wasn't much of a tattletale. He thought, naturally, that he was better at handling things. Maybe he wouldn't tell Mom. She definitely didn't want to get the “Even though he's a blessing now, it's terrifying to have a baby when you're so young” speech.

  Damn it, they were just going to get it over with, Sophie decided, and grabbed Dirk's hand again. “Come on."

  * * * *

  Gray was as gracious to Dennis Halcourt as he could be. He didn't know if Halcourt considered it gracious enough. He didn't much care. He was hoping Halcourt lost tons of money. Then, possibly, he would never return.

  He was telling Lucy exactly how far he wanted her to go in keeping Halcourt happy—not very—when someone blew in his ear. Gray jumped, startled, turned his head, and found himself looking at Rosie Sheffield. Oh, hell.

  She smiled widely at him. “Long time, no see, sexy."

  "Sad, isn't it?” Gray lied blithely. “I'm right in the middle of—"

  "Oh, I think I've got it covered,” Lucy grinned at him. “I'll be in touch if I need you.” Then she went scampering away, looking so gleeful at his predicament that he decided it was time to fire her.

  "You look good,” said Rosie, straightening his tie with that familiarity that had always irritated him.

  "I'm busy,” he replied.

  "Well, aren't you always?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "I had some time. And I—” She drew her fingertip suggestively down the front of his shirt. “—miss you."

  Rosie Sheffield was a redhead. That's what had got him into this whole mess to begin with. A buxom redhead with breasts that begged to be palmed and legs that had made him lose his train of thought the first time he'd laid eyes on her. The sex, yes, had been fun. And then she had started talking weddings and babies and he had shied away as he usually did. Except that Rosie wasn't taking no for an answer.

  "Don't you miss me?” she asked, draping herself over him, which gave him a thoroughly indecent and previously enjoyable view down her shirt.

  "Not enough to have sex with you in the lobby,” he told her dryly.

  She laughed as if he had just told the most hilarious joke. “Oh, Gray, you're just too funny."

  "Mmm,” said Gray, and stepped away from her. She didn't let him go that easily. He felt her hand clench in his shirt, saw her brown eyes narrow with annoyance before she recovered and simpered up at him, pushing out her lower lip as far as it could go.

  "You're still mad, aren't you?"

  Gray eyed her lip. “Collagen?” he inquired mildly.

  She pushed him away from her with all her might, which threw her off-balance on her sky-high heels. She fell directly backward, mini-skirt pushed up over her waist. Every man in the lobby stopped and stared and got reprimanding shoves from their wives. Gray, sighing, offered his hand.

  She slapped it away. “You are being an absolute bastard."

  Gray shrugged lightly, stuck his hands in his pockets. “I try."

  Rosie scrambled inelegantly back into a standing position, tugging her skirt down. Then she smiled blindingly at the people who were still staring. “Can we go to your suite?” she asked, without sacrificing any of her smile.

  "I really don't think that's necessary, Rosie. You've already determined that I'm a bastard. I've already determined that I'm not interested. We really have nothing to discuss."

  "I won't even make you beg,” she promised sweetly.

  Gray blinked. “Make me beg?"

  "Look, it's obvious you made a mistake when you ended everything, and now you're scared I'll say I told you so if you admit it."

  "That is absolutely not—"

  "But it's okay.” She laid her hands solemnly on his chest. “Men make mistakes. They get over them."

  "Rosie, we broke up months ago. I haven't even—” He cut himself off abruptly. Maybe it was a little too cruel to say he hadn't thought about her in months.

  "Women make mistakes, too,” she informed him, obviously ignoring everything he was trying to say. “I was thinking what a mistake I'd made during my last shoot. I'm here for a few days. Let's have a little fun."

  "I'm busy,” said Gray.

  "Busy with what?"

  Just about anything that wasn't her. He spotted Danny out of the corner of his eye, flagging him down. Thank God. “Danny. I have to go talk to Danny.” He pushed her hands off his chest, began moving in Danny's direction.

  "You think this is the end of it, Gray?” she demanded.

  Gray glanced back at her. Despite her jaw-dropping beauty, she looked a little dangerous standing there in the middle of the lobby. Obviously furious as hell with him. He sent her a cheerful wave and muttered, “I don't for a minute think that it is."

  "I thought you broke up with her,” Danny said as Gray came up to him.

  "I tried. It didn't seem to take."

  Danny studied Gray warily. Rosie didn't usually leave Gray in the best of moods. “Maybe this isn't the best time to tell you this..."

  "Tell me what?"

  "Sophie booked a room."

  "Booked a room? Here?"

  "Charged it to your expense account."

  "Sophie booked a room here and charged it to my expense account?"

  "That is exactly what I just said, yes."

  Gray narrowed his eyes. “A room for her and Dirk."

  "I'm assuming."

  "I'm not playing this game with her. She wants to pretend she's all grown up, let her do it. I'm not bursting into rooms dragging her out of bed by her hair. I'm tired of her trying to get attention at every turn. She gets plenty of atten
tion. She's spoiled. And I'm going to drive myself crazy trying to keep her out of trouble."

  Sighing, Gray pushed his hands through his hair. Rosie was still glaring at him from the floor of the lobby. His sister was currently having sex with some sort of ex-con she'd managed to bring home with her and thumbing her nose at him by having him pay for it. His brother had gone panting off after some cheap stripper and was currently enjoying some sort of sex holiday in Reno.

  Sex, Gray thought, was making everything damned complicated in his life. And what sex wasn't ruining, the Red Sox were taking care of.

  And, suddenly, just like that, he thought of Aubrey.

  Her memory did things like that—snuck up on him at the most unexpected times. He sighed again. All he needed now was to develop a fixation on some girl he was never going to see again.

  "I'm done for the day,” he decided.

  "What?” Danny blinked.

  "Done. I'm done for the day. I'm ... going for a drive or something. Something away from here."

  * * * *

  The drive did him good, and when he came back from the drive, he went to his suite and found Sophie in it, wrapped in an afghan on his couch watching one of those movies she loved, all about the tragic life of some woman. She turned and looked at him when he walked in, gave him a quick bright smile. Sophie had always had a smile like pure sunshine. Even if she was spoiled and headstrong and always doing the most ridiculous things. Dirk. Really.

  "Hey,” she said. “Where've you been?"

  "Driving. Today was a bad day.” He sat next to her on the couch.

  "I saw that Rosie showed up. You must be really good."

  "I think it's my bank account balance that she finds so irresistible."

  "Mom's editor was here. She seems nice. Do you think Mom's going to talk about us in this book?"

  "Mom's excited about this book. Surely you've noticed. We're going to be very supportive."

  Sophie swallowed and tried to sound full of bravura. “I rented a room with Dirk."

  Gray sent her a wry smile. “I heard."

  She gaped. “I thought you'd be upset."

  "I decided not to be. You're always saying I treat you like a baby, and then you try to manipulate me into doing it and get all upset when I don't play along. I'm done playing games with you, Sophie.” Sophie startled him by cuddling against his chest. “You okay?” he asked in surprise, and then demanded, “Dirk didn't do anything to you, did he?"