Rise

by Karina Bliss

  All for Zander. And now their reunion would be in front of his publisher and assorted celebrities. As though she wasn’t already nervous enough.

  “While I remember, here’s your pass to the fundraiser.” Dimity produced a ticket from the breast pocket of her blouse. “I pulled a lot of strings for this, so look after it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She’d just have to make the best of this. “I’ve really missed you laying down the law.”

  “I’ll pretend to be your friend later. Game face on.”

  The elevator opened directly into the apartment, a vast white loft so flooded with light that Elizabeth had to shield her eyes until they adjusted. Floor-to-ceiling windows in every direction overlooked New York and the shaggy white rugs only added to the impression of standing among the clouds. To her left, a glass floating staircase with a chrome balustrade curved to a mezzanine floor.

  Dark wood furniture anchored the living room, while modern art provided explosions of color. Through the sheer curtains stirring in the breeze, a sheet of water spilled over a six-foot verdigris copper sheet in a formal terraced garden, the splash merging with the babble of some two dozen guests. She could tell immediately that they were wealthy, the men doughy and soft, the women pencil-thin.

  With ruthless efficiency, Dimity led her onto the terrace and began introductions.

  Somehow Elizabeth mustered small talk, though her pulse skipped with the sound of every new arrival. And yet, busy placating Zander’s publisher Max over the extended deadline and promising to pitch him her next literary historical, she missed Zander’s entrance.

  “Elizabeth,” his voice said behind her and she stalled midsentence, immediately and desperately shy. She turned and recoiled in shock.

  “You cut your hair.” All the length gone and cropped close to his scalp. Even the color was darker, autumn gold with no sun-silvered strands to soften those fierce eyes, or uncompromising jaw. Still beautiful, but dangerously edgy.

  “Yeah,” he said ruefully. “I’ve been getting that reaction since I got it cut this morning.”

  “For the charity,” Dimity said. “You won’t believe how much money he raised.”

  Before Elizabeth could reply, Zander drew her closer and brushed a light kiss on each cheek. “Welcome back,” he said huskily.

  Ahh, she’d forgotten how good he smelled. His gaze met hers and all her nervousness fell away. They fit. Like an iPod in a docking station, like Doctor Who and the Tardis, as comfortable as an old cardigan, as uncomfortable as the blast of an open furnace. They fit.

  “It’s good to be back.” She reintroduced his publisher, Max. No further explanation necessary, Zander dialed up the charm and within minutes, all was forgiven. When Dimity whisked him away to share the love, Max looked at Elizabeth, bemused.

  “Tell me I didn’t just offer him another extension.”

  She laughed, high on happy. She could still feel Zander’s kiss on her cheeks. “It’s the Z-factor,” she said.

  For the next forty minutes, though she never gave a hint that she wasn’t engrossed in whatever conversation she found herself having, Elizabeth felt as though she and Zander were dancing a private waltz with no music. When she finally allowed herself a casual glance in his direction, he was staring at her like a wolf eying its next lamb. Resisting an urge to arrange herself tastefully on a platter with a sprig of mint, she shook her head slightly. Be careful.

  Instead he broke off his conversation and walked straight over.

  “Excuse us,” he said to her companions, caught her elbow and steered her away.

  “I’ve been away two weeks,” she explained over her shoulder, “there are a couple of urgent issues to discuss.”

  Zander took the first door into a guest bathroom. Hauling her inside, he kicked it shut and swung her against it, blocking her token protest with his mouth. The kiss was raw—all feeling and no finesse. It was the best kiss of her life and Elizabeth returned it fiercely, giddy with the sheer joy of being close to him again.

  “God I’ve missed you,” he said hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve needed you.”

  Concerned, she cupped his face and searched his blue eyes, noting the fine lines of strain at the corners. “Dimity said Kayla and the kids went home with Stormy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it could wait. This can’t.”

  He kissed her again, just as possessively, his hands sliding under her skirt to hook under the elastic of her panties.

  Elizabeth stopped him. “People will be wondering where we are.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do.”

  He nuzzled her neck as he wrestled playfully with her resisting fingers. “We’re going public anyway.”

  “No.” Shivering as he hit the sweet spot on her neck, she clamped his hands. “You’re waiting for my answer.”

  “So what?” Zander laughed. “You’re turning me down?”

  Elizabeth didn’t like the arrogance in his laugh. “I don’t think we should rush to change something that’s working the way it is.” She couldn’t think with him this close, so she pushed him away until they weren’t touching. “Right now we’ve got the best of both worlds, all the time we want together and privacy. Let’s reassess after the tour.”

  “After the tour,” Zander repeated slowly.

  He was listening, good. “There are a lot of practical implications to going public,” she reasoned. “For example, will our relationship overshadow the book’s release or how it’s perceived?” She hadn’t meant to lead with the memoir, but went with it. “It has potential to be fantastic, Zander, once we fill in the gaps, dig deeper.”

  He folded his arms. “And the book comes first.”

  “Not at all.” Elizabeth reached out to unfold them. “But my professional reputation will be affected by going public. We need to consider all the possible consequences before doing anything rash… Don’t look so suspicious. This doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about you.”

  “Now say it like it’s a good thing.”

  How had his mood changed so quickly? “Can you please stop getting so defensive? I want us both to be sure of our feelings before we go public.”

  His jaw set. “You think we’ll burn out.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, no. I hope not.” She looked at his face, closed down, pissed. “I’m saying this all wrong.”

  “Then say it right.”

  I’m scared. “This kind of intensity is new to both of us, so let’s take baby steps.”

  He raked his hair, fingers fisting around the shorter strands. “Can’t you just once say yes with no ifs, buts and fucking maybes? I’m tired of following your rules.”

  The unexpected venom stung. “It’s my life that will change irrevocably if we go public, not yours. I have more to lose than you do.”

  He snorted. “You have no idea what the stakes are.”

  “Sure, dismiss my concerns, that’s hugely reassur—” She broke off abruptly as someone banged on the door, and hurried to straighten her clothes.

  “It’s Dimity. Open up.”

  When Zander did so, the PA looked between them curiously. “Are you two fighting?”

  “No,” Elizabeth said, simultaneously with Zander’s snarled “Yes.”

  “I told you he had a short fuse,” Dimity reminded her.

  “Out,” Zander said grimly. “Now.”

  His PA tapped her watch. “It’s time to leave, we’re already running late.”

  “Give me a second.” Shutting the door on her, he looked at Elizabeth, his face suddenly gray. “We’ll do this later.”

  Concern displaced anger. “Zander, what’s wrong?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “Sweet Jesus, woman. You want me to spill my guts while you’re playing it safe?” When she flinched, he rubbed his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m on edge about this performance.”

  “What time should I come to Rockefeller Center?”

  His gaze shie
d away. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t organize a pass. Security’s tight because of the President.”

  “That’s okay, Super Dimity came up with one.” She looked at his face and said flatly, “You don’t want me there.”

  “I decided a couple of days ago I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with you around.”

  As an excuse it was pathetic. And from the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes, Zander knew it.

  Her temper flared again, so much easier than hurt. “Sulk then,” she said and opened the door.

  “Doc…” Zander caught her arm.

  “One of us is going to blow this if we keep talking right now,” she said looking at his hand. “Probably me. I rarely lose my temper, but when I do…” Raising her eyes, she glared. “Watch out.”

  Zander released his hold.

  “Oh, and break a leg!” she snapped.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Zander stood before the mirror in his backstage dressing room, synchronizing the movement of his lips to the enhanced recording of his voice, powerful and strong, coming through his headphones. It had taken several takes to get the high notes right, confirming his decision as the right one.

  He couldn’t seem to sing entirely silently, needing lungs and breath, the faintest whisper of words to stop looking like a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass. Hopefully his haircut would also give people something else to focus on, other than his mouth. He’d auctioned a military cut to add to the charity’s coffers in case his performance proved an abject failure.

  Closing his eyes to shut out his reflection, he tried to feel the emotion in one of the world’s most powerful anthems, but self-consciousness kept dragging him into parody. Maybe he should try singing this live, maybe he—

  With a curse he ripped off the headphones. Elizabeth’s rejection had thrown him completely. But he couldn’t let his disappointment, his frustration distract him from his preparations.

  Too much depended on getting this right.

  Jamming on the headphones, he launched into the song again. So Doc had let him down when he needed her. How many times had he done that to people? Countless times.

  With an immense effort of will, he refocused on analyzing his performance. The passionate conviction wasn’t coming through on “home of the brave.”

  So he lip-synced it again. And again. Faking courage, the only virtue that had ever come naturally. If he’d told Elizabeth the truth—I don’t want you witnessing the most shameful night of my professional career—she’d have given him all the sympathy, understanding and moral support he craved, but Zander didn’t want pity. He hated pity. He wanted her love.

  So he was back where he’d started. Relying solely on himself.

  Well, okay, Freedman, suck it up. Shit happened and you couldn’t hold people to account for failing you. God knew he was the king of failing people. But not tonight. Right now, the truly brave needed the performance of his life.

  * * *

  “Brilliant rendition.”

  “I got chills, man. Seriously.”

  “Cried like a baby.”

  Accolades ringing in his ears, Zander pumped hands and joked his way through the line of vets and out of the theater in Luther’s wake, climbing into the limo with a last smile and wave. The door clunked shut, cocooning him in the luxury of leather, tinted windows and silence.

  Grabbing the ice bucket nestled in the console between the seats, he yanked out the bottle of Krug champagne and vomited in the melting ice, wrenching heaves that burned his gut and throat.

  “Zee?” Luther turned from the front seat beside the driver.

  Between heaves, Zander said, “Drive.”

  The Mercedes pulled away. When his stomach was empty, Zander grabbed the napkin draped around the ice bucket and wiped his face. He might have sold out for a good cause, but it still felt like an addition to his wall of shame.

  At the next stoplights, Luther joined him. “I thought you were coming down with something.” His bodyguard passed him a bottle of chilled water. “You’ve been looking off-color all evening. I’ll text Dimity to get you a doctor.”

  “No.” Zander unscrewed the water bottle, rinsed his mouth and spat into the ice bucket, then covered it with the napkin. “I’ll be better now.” He was a sham, a fraud, a phony, but it was done.

  Leaning against the headrest, he closed his eyes. “Open that champagne,” he said. “I need to wash the taste of success out of my mouth.”

  He should be fucking happy. Three more shows and he’d break even on costs. His performance tonight in front of the President would be televised across the globe, his star power would skyrocket. He could cancel the next tour leg and have surgery, confident that Rage could pick up where they’d left off in a few months’ time. Jared could take that time to repair his marriage.

  He opened his eyes to see Luther activating the privacy screen between them and the driver. Always so discreet. Dropping the water bottle to the floor, Zander popped the cork himself and splashed champagne into two crystal flutes. He offered one to his bodyguard, who made no move to take it.

  “I’m working.”

  “As my friend.”

  Luther accepted it. “You sure about this?” he asked quietly.

  Someone else who knew he’d given up alcohol. The guy accompanied Zander to most of his specialist appointments, had probably put the whole thing together.

  “It’s the quiet ones you’ve gotta watch, isn’t it?” Zander commented. The champagne bubbles, tart and sweet, tingled on his tongue. Flute in one hand, champagne bottle in the other, he rolled the water bottle under one booted foot. “They’re the people smart enough to weigh consequences and avoid poor choices.” Elizabeth was never going to say yes.

  “You’ve lost me, Zee.”

  “Forget it… Cheers.” They tapped flutes and drank. “You’re ex-military, a man used to hard choices.” Zander topped up their glasses. “Does the end ever justify the means?”

  “I’m a bodyguard, not a philosopher.” Luther swirled the straw-colored bubbles in his flute. “But this is what I know about army guys. We sign up because we have ideals, we’re deployed at a politician’s pleasure, but we die for the brother standing beside us.” He glanced up, his dark-blue gaze steady. “You did a good thing tonight.”

  Then why do I feel so ashamed? Draining his glass, Zander poured himself another. On an empty stomach, after months of sobriety, it wouldn’t take long to numb his self-disgust.

  Dimity was finishing a call on her cell when he and Luther arrived at the apartment. His bodyguard had insisted on delivering Zander to his door. “A-mazing performance,” she enthused. “You won’t believe who’s been phoning with congratulations and interview requests.”

  “That’s great.” Exhausted, Zander glanced around the apartment. A couple of caterers packing up—no Elizabeth.

  “There’s enough food and booze left over if you want me to invite a few people,” Dimity said hopefully.

  “God no,” he said, and her face fell. She’d put a lot of work into this event, so Zander compromised. “I’ll celebrate with you and Luther… Is Doc still up?”

  “Jet lag caught up with her. She went to bed straight after the broadcast.” There was a question in her voice, probably recalling their earlier argument.

  Zander ignored it. “Why don’t you pour us all a drink, I’ll be down in ten.” At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and looked at his bodyguard. “Water for me.”

  Luther smiled.

  “How’s that celebrating?” Dimity protested. “And I suppose you want a beer,” she added to Luther.

  “One day you’ll appreciate a simple man.”

  Their voices faded, Zander opened his bedroom door. For a heart-stopping moment he thought Elizabeth was sleeping in his bed, but when he snapped on the light, the dark shape resolved into a jacket.

  With a sigh, he changed into loose pants and a T-shirt and headed downstairs, pausing at the closed door of the guest room.

>   Dammit, they had to resolve this, it was eating him up. Stupid to have jumped to the conclusion that the memoir came first; he’d become too used to people exploiting him. But Elizabeth wasn’t like that. She was kind and sensitive and probably crying her fucking eyes out because he’d overreacted like a drama queen.

  Opening her door, he called softly, “Doc?” Light spilled across the bed, illuminating the fall of red hair across the pillow. She didn’t respond.

  Now who’s sulking. But Zander didn’t say it, because he was trying to be a grown-up.

  Partially closing the door, he walked to the side of the bed, his footfalls soundless on the carpet. Elizabeth lay curled on her left side, hand nestled under her cheek, soundly and peacefully asleep.

  Not a care in the world.

  And he was a fool. Leaving as quietly as he’d entered, Zander went downstairs, opened the liquor cabinet and broke the seal on a bottle of Grey Goose.

  * * *

  Muffled laughter woke Elizabeth. Groggily, she lifted her head from the pillow, taking a moment to reorient herself. New York, Zander’s apartment. The spare bedroom. She switched on her cell and read the time. Three a.m. The sleeping pill had worked. Yawning, she padded to the door and opened it a crack, heard the low murmur of familiar voices.

  Maybe she should wait until morning. But her parents had never gone to bed on an argument and she didn’t want to either. Sharing in the celebrations would break the ice. Now that they’d both had a chance to cool down, they could laugh about it.

  Switching on the light, she dressed quickly and twisted her hair into a topknot. It still stung that Zander hadn’t wanted her at the concert, but he’d been hurt by what he perceived as rejection and in hindsight she hadn’t been very diplomatic. Her overreaction bothered her. She wanted to blame it on jet lag, but she had a horrible suspicion it was another symptom of being cray-cray for Zander.

  Luther was the first person she saw as she walked downstairs. Sitting on a couch, he was frowning at someone out of view and though Elizabeth hadn’t made a sound, he glanced up and gave his head a slight shake.