NicenEasy (8 page)

“How about an interview?”

“Later, maybe. Not now.” Without ceremony, he hung up, found
a number on his speed dial and hit it. “Chick?”

“Yeah?”

He smiled, imagining Chick in bed, but somehow he couldn’t.
At eight thirty, Chick Fontaine would be up and arranging the world until it
conformed to his satisfaction. “Listen, I know I asked you to stay away—”

“But someone made you, huh?”

“A local reporter just called. This signing this afternoon,
it’s about more than me. I don’t want it turned into a circus. Can you fix it?”

Chick sighed. “Not completely, but I can help. What do you
want?”

“I want people to concentrate on the book, not on me.”

“It got on to the best seller lists on its own, man, without
any help from the band. You knew this would happen. Let it. You have fans who
love you for the book. They’ll be fighting each other soon. Book or band?”

Donovan would just bet that if he admitted defeat, Chick
would make sure of that promotional ploy. It would spice up the band’s
publicity nicely at this stage. But if he wanted to concentrate on his book
career, he couldn’t work so hard with the band.

Enough. He’d always taken life’s events as they came, but
now issues were crowding close. To add to that, he’d just met the most
fantastic woman and he had a total of two days left with her. Three if he could
persuade her to stay over one more night. It would be worth paying her fare to
New York the next day. More than worth it.

“Listen, Chick, I don’t want the signing disrupted. I’m not
here to sign CDs or to answer questions about Murder City Ravens.”

“Were you planning to go to the parade this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t. They’ll mob you. They’ll find you. Have you googled
your name recently?”

Donovan snorted. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“Yeah? You should try it sometime.” Chick grunted. “Okay,
I’m in San Fran, getting some R and R before the rest of the band arrives.”

“Where are they?”

“Jace is with his lady, holed up in a hotel somewhere. Not
this one, and he won’t say where, but I’ll need Beverley soon.” Jace Beauchene
had shacked up with lovely Beverley and Chick, knowing a good organizer when he
saw one, employed her as his assistant. They’d already started the tour when
Murder City Ravens had hit bigger than they could have imagined, and Chick had
his work cut out arranging bigger venues. He needed an assistant on the road to
take care of hotels and security, and Beverley had come along at the right
time.

“Don’t disturb her. I can handle this.”

“No,” Chick said. “I’ll call her, because she’s got this
weird-ass chart on her computer, keeping track of where everything is. It works
for her, so it works for me. But I don’t need to call her in right away. I’m
sending you a couple of guys. They’ll look after you and make sure you only
sign what you want to.”

“Discreet.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No suits,” he insisted. “Give them starship uniforms.”

A pause and then a bellow of laughter came down the phone.
“That will be my absolute pleasure,” Chick said.

“I didn’t mean it seriously. Just no suits.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

He paused. “Yes. I have someone with me.”

“Female?”

“Yes. She has a job to do here, so I probably won’t appear
in public with her.”

“Uh-huh. What’s her name?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You won’t bother her?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

A movement from the door made him look around. Allie,
adorably tousled and sleepy, stood there, a hotel robe loosely belted around
her delectable body. “Hold on.”

Swiftly he brought her up to date. “They’re closing in. The
fans. I’m getting security, which I hope will be discreet. Do you want to be
included?”

Immediately, she shook her head. Locks of hair, hair he’d
clenched in his fists last night, whipped around her face. “I have a job to do.
I can’t do that with security.”

“Okay.” He turned back to Chick. “No, she doesn’t want
anything, so we’ll be discreet.”

“If you think so, man.” Chick didn’t sound sure.

“I think so,” Donovan said firmly. “I won’t tell you her
name, just to be sure.”

“Yeah, right.” They both knew he could find out if he asked
the right questions. Especially after the evening before. Which reminded him.
“I was in the bar last night, and someone yakked over her. My—woman.” He sent
Allie an apologetic grimace, hoping she’d understand. “I didn’t check for
phones, but there had to be some around.”

Chick sighed heavily. “Great. I’ll get on it, but I can’t
promise much. If the pictures are out there, the damage is done. I checked the
net last night. I guess I’d better check it again.”

“Thanks.”

He said goodbye and hung up, turning all his attention to
Allie. He lifted the coffeepot and she nodded, choosing a seat on the other
side of the breakfast bar from him.

“Not good enough.” He put the pot down and came around the
counter to claim a kiss. Only then did he go back and make her coffee. “So what
do we do today?”

Her eyes rounded. “I go with Carl to the parade and then set
him up for the signing.”

“After what he did to you?”

“He’s still my responsibility. Even more now. I have to keep
him away from the bar.” She groaned. “And I have to find my way back to my
room.”

“No problem.” After he’d poured coffee for her and made tea
for himself, he crossed the spacious area to the phone. Only a year ago, the
band members were sharing rooms in an adequate, comfortable hotel. Now they had
suites and hallways of their own and hotels welcomed them with open arms. And
their entourage. He hated having an entourage, but Atlanta had proved they
needed higher security at the very least, and their own press officer helped
enormously. They’d kept it as low as they could, but it was still more than he
was comfortable with.

“Hi, can you put me through to the boutique, please?” He
ordered jeans and a T-shirt. When he held his hand over the phone and asked her
if she wanted underwear, he adored her embarrassed blush. She shook her head
again and he told the woman no, that would do.

He put down the phone and went back to Allie, taking her in
his arms and claiming her lips. She tasted so sweet, the mint of toothpaste and
tang of coffee blending with her own delicious self. Asked to describe her
taste, he’d be stumped. All he knew was that she tasted like no other woman and
he wanted more.

“You’ve showered?”

“I’ve had a quick one, yes.”

“How about another quickie, with me this time?”

She gave a mock long-suffering sigh and smiled up into his
eyes. “I guess I could spare five minutes.”

* * * * *

An hour later, Allie was knocking on the door of Carl’s
room, ready to take him to the parade, praying he was ready and not too
hungover. Nancy hadn’t been in their room when she’d arrived downstairs so
she’d hastily changed and made up her face, gathered the cards and stuffed them
into one of the totes she’d received as part of the goody bag, ready to take
them to the signing later.

Nancy answered the door. Silently, she pulled the door open
wider and allowed Allie to step inside.

The room was clean, relatively tidy and it didn’t smell of
vomit, all of which came as a pleasant surprise. She’d expected worse. Carl
too, appeared ready, dressed in jeans and one of his T-shirts. He tossed one to
her and she caught it reflexively. “You forgot to wear yours.” He glanced at
Nancy, then back at Allie. “I’m sorry, Allie. I shouldn't have had one of those
cocktails last night, but I had three. One on the way in and two later.”

“Wow.” He had some stamina, to suck down those awful-tasting
blue things.

“Yeah. Just as well I lost them fast, but I didn’t mean to
lose them on you.”

“What happened?” she asked, remembering the way she and
Donovan had abandoned the man she was supposed to be here to take care of.

Carl shot her a warning look. “You know what happened.”

Was Carl covering for her? She had to think so, because when
Nancy turned her back to touch the keypad on a laptop, he made frantic gestures
to her. “I’m grateful you looked after me so well.” Then he grinned in the way
Allie had come to distrust because it had preceded the laying on of hands. His
on hers, followed by her efforts to fend him off without upsetting him.

Nancy gave a low, horrified curse. “Oh my fucking God.”

“What are you looking at?” Allie demanded. She moved swiftly
to where Nancy was standing in front of her laptop, staring.

Allie moved to one side and Carl came up behind them.
Together they saw the nightmare that was last night, online for everyone to
see. Because of Donovan’s fame, the photographers had been busy, and there were
pictures of Donovan with her, but fortunately not intimate, then pictures of
Carl throwing up, then Donovan shirtless, wrapping the garment around her.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah.” Carl didn’t sound as happy now but he put his hand
around her waist. She couldn’t shake him off, even when he spread his palm over
her stomach, his finger creeping too close to her pussy. He nuzzled her neck.
“You did good, girl. Brought me back here, kept me away from people and made
sure I got into bed.” Saving her bacon. Otherwise she was toast, but she hated
the way he was mauling her. He moved closer as Nancy leaned toward the screen
to study something on the blogs. “You help me, I help you, with maybe a bit of
mutual pleasure in the process,” he whispered

Allie’s heart plummeted, almost to the level of making her
feel sick. He could hold her to ransom now, if he wanted.

She moved slightly, forcing him to slide his hand higher if
he wanted to keep hold of her.

“Very nice,” Nancy said, presumably referring to Donovan’s
chest. “But it’s a shame. We need to get Donovan Harvey onboard. I thought you
were working on that?”

“I was,” she said, but how could she tell Nancy anything
now? Tell her boss that she’d spent the night with Donovan but she had no
intention of asking him to join Casterbridge? Do that and she’d lose her job
for sure, both for not looking after Carl properly and for fucking Donovan
without result. Refusing to take advantage of it. So if she didn’t bring in
Donovan, any time she spent with him Nancy would consider a lost cause. She
should do her job, keep Carl happy.

“Keep working,” Nancy said. “The pictures make him look
great. A shame someone snapped Carl. Come on, let’s go.”

While Carl was talking to someone at the desk about his TV
not working properly, Nancy had a private word with Allie. “Carl’s your ticket
into the industry. You lucked out when you found him, and if you don’t keep him
happy, you can kiss goodbye to your future with Casterbridge.” Allie’s blood
ran cold. Older than the average junior editor, she didn’t mistake what Nancy
was saying. “If you can work the two of them, Donovan and Carl, then do it, but
it’s a tricky thing to pull off, so concentrate on Carl first. Let me deal with
Don.”

Allie wouldn’t tell her that Donovan hated being called
“Don”. His press said so. So her boss wanted Donovan and she thought Carl was
in jeopardy. With the failure of a few big-name biographies last year,
Casterbridge desperately needed a best seller, but they didn’t have the money
to throw at Donovan like other companies did. Donovan would be a huge coup, and
if Nancy brought him in, it would consolidate her position.

And she’d fuck him to do it, or condone her junior doing it.
Inwardly, Allie groaned. Because she wouldn’t sleep with Carl and she wouldn’t
bring in Donovan just because she’d slept with him. Unlike Nancy, she had
principles. Too new to Casterbridge to be sure of whom she could go to or
whether Nancy’s ethics reflected the company Allie worked for, she’d have to
play this very carefully if she wanted to come out of this with a job and some
respect.

Standing in the heat in Union Square, Allie almost forgot to
watch the parade passing by, and she’d been looking forward to this part of the
convention since she’d been told that the company would send her. The fantasy
conventions specialized in parades, usually spectacular, often completely
off-the-wall crazy, and she’d always wanted to see one. Well, now she was, but
she didn’t notice a thing.

She couldn’t sleep with Carl, she just couldn’t. She hoped
she’d made that clear, the way she’d edged away when Carl had tried for more
embraces. She’d hoped a hangover would strike him down but it hadn’t. He was as
bright as a robin, thanks to the water he’d drunk and the pills he’d taken the
night before.

She wondered if, somewhere, Donovan had managed to get to
see the parade. She hadn’t seen him since she’d left his room, after he’d
rescued the contents of her convention pouch and washed them for her, promising
to take care of the rest. The convention organizers had been really kind,
giving her a new purse and printing a new badge for her. They’d smiled and
stared, and she got the feeling they were talking about her behind her back.
Very disconcerting, but once she’d seen the state of the social networks, she
understood why. Some of the bastards must have been up all night, cropping and
enhancing their pictures so they could put them up on the web. Not just the one
she’d seen in Carl’s room, but all the others that had reported the incident.

With her first success and her career on its way, she’d just
about blown it, and if she didn’t tread carefully she could still lose it. She
had no illusions about Nancy anymore. Her boss, previously so kind and helpful,
wouldn’t hesitate to shove Allie aside if she got in her way. Allie couldn’t
trust a thing Nancy said or did from now on.

She couldn’t afford to spend more time with Donovan. That
just about ripped her apart, but she knew she’d have to face it head-on. No
more nights, no more days. From now until she left on Monday, she had to
concentrate on work or lose everything she’d set out to gain.