The Downfall of a Good Girl (13 page)

She frowned at him, a little crinkle forming between her eyes. “That makes me sound like a drag on your social life.”

He poured, and handed a glass to Vivi. “One of the greatest things about dating a saint, I’ve discovered, is that everyone expects you to rein me in, reform my wicked ways and get me accepted back into polite society.”

Vivi stiffened, and the wineglass paused halfway to her mouth. “Really? Is that what I’m doing?”

The clipped words came from left field. “Huh?”

“I’m reforming you?” She removed her legs from his lap and pushed up to a seated position. “Bringing you back into the ‘right’ social circles because you’re a good boy now?”

“You don’t actually have to do anything, you know. It’s the appearance that counts.”

“I see.” She swung her feet to the floor and put her glass
back on the table. “Are you saying that getting involved with me was part of some larger PR stunt?”

For someone claiming exhaustion a few minutes ago, she certainly seemed to have energy to spare now. “What? No.”

“But you do admit that being with me has cleaned up your image some?”

What did it matter? “Yes, but I’d already decided to try to make peace with you before we became anything at all.”

“Why?”

“We’ve been through this, Vivi.”

“No, I think we skipped this. When,
exactly
, did you decide you wanted a cease-fire?”

He thought. “I don’t know. That first weekend, maybe? Why?”

“Actually, that’s my next question for you.”

“Why would I try to get past the ridiculous antagonism of our youth?” To his surprise, she nodded. “Because we’re adults.”

Vivi scrubbed a hand across her face. “And what brought you home this time, after so many years?”

Okay, new topic
. He was too tired to keep up. “I was asked to do Saints and Sinners. Same as you. Vivi, what are you talking about?”

“I just want to know why you agreed to be the Sinner. For someone fresh off a paternity and sex scandal, proclaiming yourself a sinner seems a bit counterintuitive PR-wise.”

“What better way to get past it all? It showed I had a good sense of humor and—”

“Made you look good, too?”

“Yes. Is that a problem, Vivi?”

“It kinda is, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not what this is supposed to be about.”

“I’m sorry that my motives aren’t as pure as you’d like
them to be, but that doesn’t make them evil either. Bon Argent wanted to make money and increase their profile. Mission accomplished. Big round of applause. Everybody wins, right?”

Vivi was biting her bottom lip so hard the skin was turning white. She’d be drawing blood soon. “So was I…was
this…
part of your not entirely evil plan, too?”

“You’re not making sense, Vivi.”

“Actually, it’s making perfect sense now. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Saint Vivienne was just the icing on your redemption cake. After all, if sweet Saint Vivi is on your side, you must be just a misunderstood and unfairly vilified sinner. It’s so obvious now. I can’t believe I fell for that ‘bygones’ and ‘let’s be adults’ crap, much less slept with you. Lord, I am
such
a fool.”

“Have you lost your mind? Where is all this coming from?”

“You used me.”

“I didn’t use you.”

Vivi rolled her eyes. “It’s Marie Lester all over again.”

“Really? We’re going back
there?
”

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“Only you seem to see it that way. I just wanted the war to end. I want to live in this town in peace, and I can’t do that when we’re always sniping at each other. I get enough hassle elsewhere, thanks. I never claimed otherwise.”

“And sleeping with me?”

“I thought that was a mutual attraction. I didn’t know I’d have to prove my intentions after the fact.”

Vivi’s eyes narrowed. That wary, distrustful and disapproving look he knew so well was back. It cut him to the quick and angered him at the same time.

“You don’t believe me. Wow. That’s just…” Even after everything, Vivi so easily thought the worst of him. Shaking
his head, he walked over to Gabe’s bar in search of something stronger than wine. “Have you been stewing on this the whole time, Vivi?”

“No.”

The relief that rushed in at her denial was short-lived.

“Maybe at first, but I got swept up in you and everything else and didn’t bother to think about anything. You know, I could’ve handled just being a fling. But a pawn in your overall career plan? That’s just wrong. Maybe I might have been willing to play along if you’d just been honest with me from the start. It didn’t have to be like this.”

Her words hit him like a slap. “Until right now, I thought ‘this’ was pretty damn good.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Oh, get off your high horse, Vivi.
You
showed up at
my
door in the middle of the night. And
you’re
the one who keeps coming back.”

If looks could kill, he’d be dead on the floor in a puddle of blood right now.

“You don’t see me hurling accusations about your motives simply because it worked out so well for
you
.”

Her jaw dropped.
“What?”

“I’m not the only one who’s benefitted from this. Being Connor Mansfield’s flavor of the month seems to be much more beneficial than first runner-up in Miss America. Just when you thought your glory days were behind you…”

“Shut up! You know, I kinda felt bad about all that attention, but now…not so much. It’s only fair that I get something out of this, too.”

“Wow, it seems
I
should be the one fluttering about my wounded virtue and being used, not you.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself, then. I was willing to just hope for civility during Saints and Sinners. You,
though, started spouting all that garbage about the inherent foibles of teenage boys and asking for forgiveness—”

“
Forgiveness?
Honestly, sanctimonious doesn’t even
begin
to describe your attitude. Your superiority complex is unbelievable. Either you’re fooling yourself, or you’re working hard to fool everybody else, because you’re nothing but a fraud.”

Vivi was one of those rare women for whom anger was a good look. Pieces of her hair had come down from its ponytail, curling perfectly around the curve of her cheeks—which were flushed pink and brought out the blue in her eyes. Anger snapped in the air around them, and her chest heaved with it. But her eyes were clear—no false tears there.

Those eyes raked over him in cold disdain before her lip curled into a snarl. “Screw you, Connor.”

Lips pressed together like she was dying to say more, Vivi pulled her sneakers out of her bag and shoved her feet inside. Then she began gathering up the few things of hers scattered around the apartment and tossing them in on top.

“Oh, that’s mature,” he said, mostly to her back as she stomped around.

She made a rude hand gesture in return.

“And, oh, so ladylike. If people knew the real you they’d think twice before relying so heavily on your opinions and judgments of other people.”

She grabbed her coat, shoved her arms inside, and then spun around to level a steely look at him. “At least people
can
rely on me. They can trust me. I’m honest, and I care. That’s a lot more than I can say about you.” Vivi looked him up and down, then shook her head. “You’re a great musician, Connor, but you’re a lousy human being.”

Hitching her bag over her shoulder, Vivi grabbed her wings and slammed out the door. A moment later he heard the security door at the bottom of the stairs slam shut as well.

Connor couldn’t remember a time when he’d been this angry at another person. Oh, he could remember plenty of times being this angry with Vivi, but this level couldn’t be reached with anyone else. He splashed another two fingers of Gabe’s excellent and expensive Scotch into a glass and tossed it back in one swallow.

So much for that
. To think that Vivi could harbor that much distrust and old grudges after everything that had happened recently. And to automatically believe the absolute worst about him. It was insulting. Infuriating.

And it hurt, too.

If anyone had been played for a fool it was him. He’d thought…Well, he’d thought this was more than it had actually turned out to be, and that just rubbed salt in the wound.

He’d brought it on himself, though. He should have known getting involved with Vivi would be a disaster. And, hey, he’d have been right. In less than forty-five minutes they’d gone from lovers to enemies. And now he was beginning to think she’d always been his enemy, and this was just a grand plot on her part to inflict some new misery into his life.

And when she’d stormed out the door…

Damn it, Vivi had just stormed out into the biggest street party in the country in the middle of the night—alone. Between the drunks and the type of people who preyed on the drunks it simply wasn’t safe.

He wasn’t that big of a jerk.

He stepped out onto the balcony, searching for her in the crowd below, but she was already gone.

Vivi locked the gallery door behind her and reset the alarm. She dropped the stupid wings to the floor in disgust. There was no way on earth she was fighting her way through that mess out there to get home.

Of course she hadn’t planned to go home tonight at all.
But somehow she’d managed to end up in a shouting match, saying really horrible things, and she had no idea how she’d got there.

The details were a bit fuzzy—the result of letting temper and pride rule the day instead of her brain.

That had been ugly, but those were things that had needed to be said. Connor hadn’t changed a bit, and she’d been foolish to pretend otherwise. Angie, whatever her catty reasons for doing so, had been honest with her. Her own willingness to dismiss that information only made the foolishness worse.

There was a bottle of champagne in the fridge in her office, a Christmas gift that she’d never taken home, and that knowledge drew her to her office like a magnet. She didn’t feel much like celebrating, but alcohol would dull the current pain. Connor’s words had sliced her, but the realization that he just might be right about her deepened the cuts and poured salt in the wound.

She had no one to blame but herself. She’d fallen for Connor’s line. The shame came from how easily she’d done it simply because it was so attractive. She’d thought she was breaking new personal ground—growing as a person, trying new things—but that just seemed like a weak excuse now.

She hated feeling weak. And she hated Connor a little more for being the one to ferret out that weakness and exploit it.

The cork popped out with ease, and Vivi didn’t bother looking for a glass. Drinking straight from the bottle—even if it was champagne instead of something harder—seemed to fit her mood. She hugged the bottle to her chest as she curled into the corner of the couch in her office to berate herself and mope. From the depths of her bag she heard her phone chime as a text came in.

Whatever it is, I’m not interested
.

Then, with a sigh, she dug the phone out anyway—only
to stop short when she saw Connor’s name. The message was brief:
At least let me know you made it home
.

What had she expected? An apology? Of course not. And she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—read anything into the message. No matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise, he just wouldn’t believe she could handle herself on the bad streets of their hometown. Obviously he thought she was weak, too, and it fueled both her anger and her self-flagellation.

Ignore it
. She certainly didn’t owe Connor anything. Even as she thought it, though, her thumbs were moving over the screen:
I am safely indoors
. There was no need to offer the information that she’d only gone as far as the gallery—just in case Connor decided he wasn’t finished with the conversation.

She spent a restless, miserable night on the couch, and when the cathedral bells began to chime for the first Ash Wednesday services she dragged herself home through the nearly empty streets.

Surprisingly, Lorelei was already up. From the pained look and dark bags under her eyes to the aspirin in her hands and the careful, unsteady walk, Lorelei was a living picture of a bad hangover.

“Mercy, Vivi, what happened to you? You look worse than I feel.”

Vivi took a deep breath. All the justifications and condemnations she’d arrived at during a mostly sleepless night scrambled to the tip of her tongue, ready to flay Connor.

She burst into tears instead.

G
OOD
to his word, Connor didn’t leave the apartment for several days. He told himself that he needed to work, and he did, getting more accomplished in those days than he had in weeks. Months, probably. It was amazing how productive he could be when he didn’t have all kinds of distractions.

His first major accomplishment involved firing Angie shortly after she appeared on Wednesday afternoon. Her somewhat smug acceptance of the condensed and sanitized story of Vivi’s departure and her less than enthusiastic response to his decisions about his career clearly showed they’d reached the end of their usefulness to each other.

But throwing himself into his plans only kept the demons at bay for a while, and it didn’t taken long for the walls to close in on him. He’d had such a high profile the last few weeks that any absence led to speculation, and his first couple of forays out into the public quickly hit the star-watching blogs—complete with questions about Vivi’s sudden absence and what it might mean.

Vivi’s words and Vivi’s absence haunted him. After a few days he realized she’d been partly right. He’d fired Angie rather than continuing to let her use him as a cash cow, and it had forced him to recognize Vivi’s hurt at the possibility he’d used her in a similar fashion. The kernel of truth was
there—however small—and had the tables been turned he’d probably feel the same way.

But the fact she’d assumed the worst, rushed to judgment and condemnation…That was just messed up. They might not have the best track record, but that quick jump to believing the worst was uncalled for.
She
was the one who’d made noise about where they were going until he’d started to think that way as well. Now that that had bitten him in the ass, he was discovering he was more than just a little bitter about it.

He was honest enough with himself to realize that the strange hollow feeling in his chest had Vivi’s name all over it, and the black irony of the situation didn’t escape him. The one woman he’d never thought he’d want to have was the one woman who turned out to be the person who’d made him the happiest. The one woman whose opinion seemed to matter the most didn’t like the man he was.

Vivi didn’t want him, didn’t need him, and didn’t trust him. He sat at the piano, his hands wandering aimlessly over the keys, and realized that it mattered a hell of a lot more than it should. Because, if nothing else, the last few weeks had given him a whole new perspective on Vivi—a new appreciation for the woman she was.

And she didn’t think he was worth it.

It was a blow to his ego and his pride.

Unable to focus, he took his coffee to the balcony. Two days ago, he’d rearranged the furniture so that all the chairs faced the other way. It gave him a different view, but more important it kept him from staring at the door of Vivi’s gallery as if life was a bad, broody music video. He’d seen her a couple of times entering or leaving the gallery, but she never looked up in his direction.

While Vivi hadn’t dropped out of the public spotlight, she was definitely keeping a low profile, refusing to comment on Connor’s whereabouts or their sudden lack of public togetherness.

As far as he could tell Vivi, had simply decided to pretend he didn’t exist.

And why did that bother him so much?

He’d made a heap of money singing about this moment, this feeling—even if he’d never truly experienced it before, never wanted to get emotionally involved with anyone before,
ever
. And now he knew why. It sucked. Once he got over it, though, he’d probably make a boatload more money from the songs he would write. He snorted. The whole music industry was predicated on the misery of failed relationships.

Damn it, he didn’t
want
to suffer for his art or any of that crap. It was pathetic and ridiculous and shameful, but he wanted Vivi. He wanted that feeling of ease and contentment that came from being with her. He missed her smile and the way she rolled her eyes at him when he said something stupid, and the way she grounded him in reality when he started believing his own press releases.

He wanted Vivi to want him the way he wanted her. He wanted Vivi to love him.

Because he was in love with her
.

He sighed and let his head fall back. Great timing figuring that out.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

He might have been a little slow getting to this point, but she’d hated him for twenty-something years and managed to come around—
and
she’d come far enough to admit she wanted more. She’d only had a few days to hate him this time, and she didn’t know that he was in love with her. He might be able to salvage this.

How was a damn fine question, though.

It wasn’t like he could just call her. Even if she deigned to take his call, this was news that needed to be delivered in person. But he had no idea where she was. If he went to
the gallery to look for her someone would notice—and the chances of
that
working out well were slim to none.

Which meant his best bet was to call Lorelei.

It took him forever to find her number, and by the time she answered he was feeling more confident about the possibilities.

“It’s Connor.”

“I know.” The clipped words, followed by silence, undermined that confidence a little. She’d always been an ally, but now…Whatever Vivi had told her, it had turned Lorelei against him as well. He’d really screwed this up.

“Do you know where Vivi is?”

“Of course.”

Sisterly loyalties were obviously stronger than he’d thought. This was going to be worse than pulling teeth. But this was nothing compared to the reception he expected from Vivi, so it would be good practice.

“Could you tell me where she is?”

“I
could
,” she stressed, “but why on earth would I
want
to?”

“Because it’s really, really important that I talk to her.”

“Let me save you some time, Connor. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I just need to tell her something. Please, Lorelei?”

“Why don’t you give me the message and I’ll pass it a long.”

He wanted to bang his head against something hard. It would probably be easier in the long run to sit on her front porch until she came home. It would be very public, and possibly very messy, but it might still be preferable to this.

No, if it got ugly, he didn’t want it on the blogs. “It’s not that kind of message.”

“Then, no. I’m not going to let you hurt her more. You’ve done enough damage.”

“And I want to fix it.”

“Really?” Lorelei’s voice held interest for the first time in this conversation and it buoyed his hopes.

“Yes. That’s why I need to find her. To apologize and tell her that I—” He stopped himself. If he was going to say the words, he should say them to Vivi first. He rubbed his temples, feeling like a complete idiot right now. “There’s something she needs to know.”

Lorelei thought for a moment, and he hoped that meant he was winning her over. When she spoke, he heaved a sigh of relief. “She’s got a ton going on today—”

That figured
.

“—but she should be home by five-thirty or six, maybe?”

He didn’t want to wait that long. “Where is she now, Lorelei?”

“It’s that important, huh? All righty, then.” He thought he could hear a smile. “She has meetings this morning—Arts Council, maybe?—then a luncheon of some sort. She’ll be at your mom’s at three, of course—”

“My mom’s?”

“Oh, how quickly we forget. It’s the third Thursday of the month. That’s the Musical Association meeting.”

Of course
.

“That’ll work. Thanks, Lorelei.”

Her voice turned deadly serious. “Don’t screw this up. If you hurt her, I will strangle you with Mardi Gras beads and throw your body in the bayou. Understand?”

“Perfectly.”

She laughed. “I’m actually looking forward to this meeting now. Good luck.”

Lorelei hung up, and Connor felt optimistic for the first time in days. Vivi would be tougher to win over, but Lorelei wouldn’t have provided the information if she didn’t believe
Connor had something to say that Vivi would
want
to hear. That boded well.

He had a couple of hours to figure out what he was going to say and how he was going to do it. He knew the when and the where, but beyond that…His brain went blank.

Lorelei’s words came back to him:
Don’t screw this up
.

He had to do this right.

For the first time ever, he had a bout of stage fright.

Vivi wanted to care about what Mrs. Gilroy was saying about the annual Musical Association Ball, but honestly she couldn’t manage to pay attention—much less dredge up enough of a damn to offer anything to the conversation. From the looks Mrs. Gilroy kept giving her, Vivi had to guess that she was surprised she had so little to say.

But the truth was Vivi didn’t care about centerpieces or invitation lists. She didn’t care about the budget or potential donors. She didn’t even care that Mrs. Mansfield had promised her famous
petit fours
after the business meeting.

She just didn’t care. About anything.

She’d tried the time-honored tradition of ice cream and mindless TV, but that had only provided time for self-recrimination and painful moping. Coming face-to-face with the fact she was sanctimonious, supercilious, uptight and everything else Connor had called her was downright depressing. She deserved every bit of the pain she was feeling and had no one to blame but herself that she’d screwed this up so bad.

So she’d gone the opposite route, covering herself in work in the hopes it would keep her busy enough not to think and possibly redeem herself at the same time. Even adding three new committees to her schedule hadn’t filled the empty spaces. All it did was occupy her time and exhaust her enough to sleep at night.

But it didn’t mean anything or fill her with any satisfaction. She felt like a fraud.

She didn’t want to go home, but she certainly didn’t want to sit here in Connor’s mother’s parlor under the gaze of twenty women who all knew she’d been involved with Connor and were dying to ask questions that etiquette mandated were none of their business. Mrs. Mansfield kept giving her long, inscrutable looks from her seat under a picture of Connor at his high school graduation.

I should have just skipped this meeting
.

Her mom, showing clairvoyance, patted her knee under the table and gave a small squeeze of support. On her left Lorelei, unbelievably, looked enraptured by the discussion of the possibility of a “Winter Wonderland” theme. Aside from the ridiculous fact the Musical Association Ball would be held in the sweltering heat of August, same as it had been for the last thirty-five years, Lorelei hadn’t given the ball a second thought since her presentation seven years ago. She only came to these meetings because Mom expected her to, so this newfound interest in the Association’s business was a new development.

Vivi gave herself a strong mental slap and sat up straight in her chair with the intent of listening to Mrs. Gilroy and coming up with something constructive to add. Like it or not,
this
was her life. Connor had been an interlude, a fling, a stray outside of the norm. Like all experiences, it had something to teach her—mainly about the dangers of straying outside the norm.

But the norm was very hard to find now. Not giving a damn about Connor beyond the fact she couldn’t stand him
was
the norm, and it was nearly impossible to get back to that state of being. It was the first challenge of her life that didn’t hold excitement or appeal. She didn’t even want to try.

Her best hope was that time would help. She’d overheard
Mrs. Mansfield tell Mrs. Raines that Connor would be going back to L.A. sooner than expected to take care of some business. To Vivi, that had felt like a slap, but she knew that not having Connor around, staying just yards from her gallery’s door, would be good for her in the long run.

If that didn’t work…Moving to a different city herself was an option under serious consideration as well.

Through the jumble of her thoughts Vivi heard the magic words “meeting adjourned.” The ladies of the Musical Association headed for the sideboard
en masse
. Vivi leaned toward her mother. “I’m going to leave now. My allergies are giving me a splitting headache.”

Lorelei turned toward her and frowned. “You don’t have allergies.”

“Well, something is giving me a headache.”

Mom stepped in. “Go home and lie down, Vivi. I hope you feel better.”

“Good afternoon, ladies. I hear my mom made
petit fours
.”

The silence that fell in the wake of Connor’s entrance was total as the matriarchs of New Orleans society swiveled their heads to Connor and then to Vivi.

“Connor, sweetheart.” Mrs. Mansfield swept forward to give her only son a hug. “This is certainly a surprise.”

On cue, everyone started speaking again—slightly louder than necessary in an uncomfortable attempt to seem normal. Her mom’s lips pulled into a tight line and she stepped closer to Vivi. Lorelei was grinning like a fool. Everyone else was ignoring her—except Connor, who seemed to be trying to stare her into the floor even as he greeted the women who pressed forward to see him. The ice that had formed around her feet at the sound of Connor’s voice felt impossible to break, and Vivi’s pulse jumped as adrenaline surged through her veins.

Connor’s voice sounded unnaturally loud. “I remember when Mom used to make me come and play for Association meetings. I thought it might be fun to do it without being forced.”

“For once.” Mrs. Mansfield smiled with pride. “That would be wonderful.”

Connor moved to the piano, and the women seemed to be back in their seats instantly. Only Vivi remained standing. Leaving now would only call attention to herself and embarrass her. She gave the universe the chance to grant her wish and let the floor swallow her, but when that didn’t happen, she sank carefully into her chair with what she hoped looked like poise.

The need to strangle Connor felt comfortably familiar, and actually helped tame her racing heart. She felt her mother’s hand slide under hers in support, and then, unbelievably, Lorelei did the same from the other side.