Perfect Timing (18 page)

This time she turned her whole body. “Maybe I should tell Aidan that, suggest he think this through if it’s going to have a bad effect, if he’s going to wake up one morning and not recognize himself.”

Fitz pursed his lips, his head nodding in agreement. “I don’t doubt your influence, Isabel, not for a moment. While I’m not convinced you could talk him out of it, I am positive he’d give ample credence to anything you say.” He paused, even muffled applause proving thunderous. Isabel turned back, seeing the golden carrot dangled before Aidan. He tried to leave the stage but was easily coaxed into an encore.

“Isabel.” Fitz waited, watching her turn from the window. The look on his face was doubtless. “I want you to leave him.” Isabel’s mouth dropped open as her heart plummeted past her feet, plowing right through the floor. Fitz, on the other hand, possessed Isabel’s usual sense of calm. “And I want you to do it in a way that doesn’t leave him with any uncertainty, so he can move forward with C-Note and his career.”

“But . . . I . . .” Shaking her head furiously, Isabel wanted to pack Aidan up and take him home to Catswallow. She took a half step toward the door but stopped.
Wait—I can’t. They’ll put him in jail.
She turned back, cornered in a round room. “Why . . . why would you ask me to do that?”

He ignored her question. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. While the answer to that was not-a-prayer-in-the-world no, admitting that she and Aidan hadn’t consummated the marriage was better news than Fitz could have hoped for. “No,” she hissed. “I’m not pregnant.”

“Excellent,” he said, smiling. “That will save us some trouble.”

Fitz’s words rattled through her head:
“It’s my job to make things happen and to make them go away . . .”
Isabel suspected she was in the latter category. “I don’t understand. I love Aidan.” She found this easier to admit to Fitz than her own mother, herself, or even Aidan. Maybe because, before now, the stakes weren’t as high, and girls like Shanna O’Rourke were no threat to her. “Nobody wants to see Aidan succeed more than I do. I’m not going to jeopardize his success.”

“On the contrary, you’re the one thing that will keep him from succeeding. Come, sit down over here.” He led her to a chair away from the two-way glass. “I want you to listen to me carefully. Look, I’ve got nothing against you personally. I’m sure you’re a lovely young woman with the best of intentions.” It came out of his mouth as heartfelt as a hooker making a date. “Let me make clear a few precarious things about this business. Things that drive the beast, so to speak. The world that Aidan is about to step into has rules, a certain criteria for success. Societal rules, on the other hand, are almost taboo, irrelevant in some instances.”

“You mean like going to go to jail or standing trial for attempted murder or whatever else they want to pin on you?”

“That’s right, Isabel. There are privileges and pitfalls to what he’s about to embark on. It’s my job to guide him, to make sure he follows the rules, avoids the pitfalls, and meets the criteria. Now, there are artists, even rock stars, who’ve made it based on talent alone—I’m not saying that can’t happen. But it’s not the way it’s going to happen for him and let me tell you why. As musically gifted as Aidan is, a large chunk of his appeal is going to be based on an inexplicable it factor. In his case, that it factor wholly revolves around his raw magnetism. The way he looks, if I need to be blunt, an aura that drips off him like liquid gold. His female audience is what’s going to ignite his rocket to stardom. That’s not some fantastic notion I’ve dreamt up, it’s simply the way it works.” Isabel’s chin tipped higher, her thoughts transparent as the aquarium on the other side. “I’d also bet it’s not something that comes as a great surprise to you.”

The girls of Catswallow heaved through her head. Isabel didn’t know it had a name, but Aidan’s
it factor
is what drove the juggernaut, the thing that made him so popular, elevating him to his godlike status. She saw it as an anomaly, something that wouldn’t matter beyond the superficial boundaries of their adolescence. She’d misjudged. Apparently, it counted for everything in this superficial world. “So what are you saying? If Aidan were coyote ugly, or had a
sorta
factor, he’d have a much tougher time making it?”

Fitz’s answer was cold and decisive. “If that were the case, you and I wouldn’t be having this discussion at all. I don’t represent possibility. I represent a sure thing. It’s artificial . . . it’s unfair . . . it’s shallow. It’s how it is.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me—with us.”

“Everything, Isabel. Aidan needs to be available to his fans and not just on tour or for a photo op. Aidan needs to be available for the fantasy. It will be especially important in the beginning, the make-or-break stage. It’s crucial that Aidan be unattached, particularly unattached to a conventionally attractive girl from Catswallow, Alabama.”

“I’m from New Jersey,” she countered with a narrow-eyed hiss.

“Whatever. The point is that Aidan can’t be married to some insignificant girl who, if she hadn’t attached herself to Aidan’s star, would be enrolled in vocational training, maybe community college. Being married to you is career suicide.”

Fitz’s blade twisted through, a shaky breath pumping in and out of Isabel. She didn’t want to give his theory credit, but she knew there was truth in it. Even so, she wasn’t about to be bullied. Fitz Landrey might be in the process of purchasing Aidan, but he didn’t own her. “Maybe we ought to see what Aidan has to say.”

“I’m afraid Aidan doesn’t get a vote,” he countered. “To be honest, how he feels about you is of no concern to me. But maybe it should be to you. I’m clear enough on Aidan’s love life to know that a couple of weeks ago you two weren’t exactly a hot-and-heavy couple. Whatever spurred this sudden marriage isn’t real. You have to know that.” Fitz was onto her like a Svengali lounge act in a thousand-dollar suit. “Aidan’s grasping at straws, panicking over his situation, clinging to something familiar when nothing around him makes sense. But I’m here to fix all that for him. I’m going to set his world right and then some. I’m here to make a sizable investment in his future and things
will
run according to my plan—nobody else’s.”

It was every fear she’d had in the last eight hours verbalized, the rational reasons why Aidan asked her to marry him. Isabel rose from the chair, returning to the window. No wonder Rick Stanton was of no consequence to Fitz Landrey. Situations, unpleasant or otherwise, were his business. Aidan had stopped singing. She smiled in the midst of Fitz’s brutal life lesson. He was signing autographs. Isabel’s eyes drew wide, transfixed on the scene. She was watching Aidan’s dream—and it was beautiful. Just days ago Isabel forged his signature on a town job application. Catswallow was hiring that fall, road crews and the like, just part-time. She hadn’t gotten around to mentioning it, suggesting to Aidan that supplemental employment, no matter how off target, might prove useful. It was just as well, she thought, smiling. Her attempt to duplicate Aidan’s handwriting was completely off, unable to reproduce the singular sway of his signature. The one destined to be an autograph.

Stunning women surrounded him. One slipped a piece of paper into his pocket, a phone number, maybe a late-night invitation to her room. In the past, which was admittedly just that morning, Aidan’s ability to resist was finite. She wondered how much a person could change over the course of a few hours and a couple of
I do
s. Her stomach rolled on a wave of reality, Isabel clinging to the solidarity of what she and Aidan shared. She whipped around in a vain attempt to—
unbelievably
—save her marriage? “What if we keep it a secret? Why does anybody have to know?”

“Is that what you want? To have less status in his life than his personal masseuse or the roadie who’ll stand backstage handing him a towel as he darts into a limo?” He hesitated, inching back a bit. “Interesting, you struck me as hardier than that.” He joined her at the window. “Those women pawing him, they’re bottom feeders. He’s going to have his pick of movie stars, models, celebrities. He’ll go to parties and clubs, travel all over the world. That’s not to mention the groupies that will be waiting outside every stage door, willing to perform any act of indecency. Will you really want him to come home to you after that?”

“Aidan wouldn’t do that, he’d never hurt me like that—now . . . now that we’re married.”

“Mmm, maybe not at first, maybe not intentionally, but maybe not at all? I sincerely doubt it. My guess, observing that scene, is he doesn’t have the willpower.” She watched, focused on the layers of women circling him. The girl who slipped the paper into his pocket repeatedly touched his arm. She was the one Isabel would have bet on earlier. “Look, my niece and I aren’t close, but I can see that she’s an exceptionally beautiful girl.” His eyes glossed over Isabel. Forget the sweatpants, she felt absolutely naked. “If Aidan cheated on a girl like Shanna, what makes you think you can hold his attention? Straying from
your
marriage will come easier than his first hit single.” He looked her up and down. “Said you’re from New Jersey, right?” She nodded. “Hoboken?” He was wrong, but she didn’t correct him. “It would be Frank and Nancy all over again.”

While she didn’t get the reference, she did see a grim picture of their future. Aidan rolling through the door at three a.m. covered in stinky perfume, lipstick on his face or more intimate body parts. The vision was clear because she’d already seen it to some degree. Honestly? It sucked when they were only friends. Isabel could imagine the humiliation on their second or third wedding anniversary. But part of her wanted to keep fighting. Why did Fitz Landrey, a man they didn’t know forty-eight hours ago, get to decide? “I could go to Aidan, tell him everything you’ve warned me about, explain it all the way you’ve explained it to me—just like you’ve explained it to me. Do you think he’ll appreciate it, undermining him like this? Sticking your nose in what is so clearly none of your business!”

His worldly calm was daunting, particularly when he agreed. “You have an excellent point. Like I said,
hardy
. You could head right down there and repeat our conversation verbatim. Perhaps Aidan will be so furious he’ll tell me to go to hell. It’s an interesting risk. I won’t stop you. I’ll be on my way to the airport catching the next flight back to L.A.—without Aidan. Refresh my memory. Exactly where would that leave him?”

Aidan stood at the edge of the stage accepting the fervor of adulation, a man from the audience buying him a beer. Staring through the window, Isabel understood why Fitz Landrey got to decide. “It would leave Aidan as a wanted fugitive, as the person who shot Rick Stanton. He wouldn’t be on his way to stardom. He’d be on his way to jail.”

“And whose fault would that be?”

“Mine,” she said, gulping hard. “Everything that happened back in Catswallow
and
taking away his dream. It would all be my fault.”

“Uh huh, and how would Aidan feel about you then? For how long, under those circumstances, do you think you’d be married to Aidan Roycroft?”

Isabel nodded, a single tear breaking through a hardy barrier. “You know, if I wasn’t a vocationally bound, insignificant girl from Catswallow, I’d say that almost sounds like blackmail.”

“Well, I guess you’d almost be right. Except it’s hardly my fault that Aidan beat the crap out of Rick Stanton in the first place. It wasn’t me who set this in motion, Isabel. And while I’m happy to believe yours and Aidan’s story about the shooting . . . Well, I suspect law enforcement may not be as compliant. And so we’re clear, as some added incentive, if Aidan were to go to trial, I can imagine the Catswallow DA will go full throttle. Can’t say for sure, but I suspect jumping bail won’t bode in his favor. He’ll be looking at the maximum sentence and then some. He won’t get a recording contract. He’ll get twenty years in a maximum-security Alabama correctional center. I’d hate to picture who he’d be married to in that case.” He shrugged at her horrified stare. “It’s what will happen if Aidan Roycroft leaves this hotel with a wife on his arm. It’s a far cry from MTV’s
TRL
. But, hey, you know him better than I do.”

Incredulous, she absorbed Fitz from this angle, curious where they kept the shark tank. Her gaze dropped to the gold band encircling her finger. It was a noose around Aidan’s neck. Not unlike her jailhouse confession, she’d done nothing but make things worse. By marrying Aidan, Isabel sabotaged the most important relationship she ever had. More to the point, she wouldn’t be responsible for Aidan spending the next decade or two in prison. And she certainly wasn’t going to be the reason his career nosedived before it ever took flight. Brushing away the tears, laughter rumbled from her throat. “You’re very good at your job.”

“I’ll take good care of him, Isabel. I promise. By stepping aside, look at what you’ll be doing for him. He’s going to have everything he’s ever wanted. And don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

“What’s that, Aidan’s rise to stardom?”

Fitz shook his head, frowning. “No, until he forgets about you.”

With a breath of surrender she turned toward Aidan. Without casting a die, playing a card, or pulling on a slot machine, Isabel had managed to suffer the biggest loss in Vegas history. Even when common sense said she’d get over him, that they were too young for this anyway, Isabel knew she’d never love anyone the way she loved Aidan. “What, um . . . what should I tell him?”

His tone never deviated from the sound business maneuver he was negotiating. “Tell him what he needs to hear. You realize what a mistake this was. That while you wish him well, you can’t possibly stay married to a man you don’t love. You have other plans. The glitz and fast track of what’s about to happen is his dream, not yours. Most important, Isabel, be very clear.”

She nodded, guessing she was about to discover how deep that hardy well of calm went. “Can I have some time alone with him?”

He studied her for a moment. “Fine—I don’t suppose I have much choice there. Our flight isn’t until morning. Mind you, I don’t want him getting off the plane looking like he hasn’t slept in days. He’ll need to make a good impression at C-Note tomorrow. That
it factor
needs to be in top form, understand?” She nodded again and turned to leave, but as she opened the door Fitz offered something else, a consolation gift. “It wouldn’t be right to leave you here, stranded in Las Vegas. A one-way airline ticket will be at the front desk for you. Just tell the concierge where you want to go. He’ll make the arrangements. Anywhere but California,” he said, putting a fine point on things. “Isabel, I don’t want to give you false hope, but there’s a remote chance this won’t work out. It happens. The wind doesn’t blow right; the song doesn’t break the hot one hundred. If he doesn’t catch on like wildfire, doesn’t make it, say, within a year, it’s likely we’ll be returning him to you.”