The Publicist Book One and Two (28 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Mac ran a fingertip softly down the curve of her back and then across the soft curve of her stomach. Kate’s body started screaming for more, though they hadn’t slept at all since they got to Mac’s room nearly four hours ago.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her neck.

“I missed you, too,” she responded, stroking his arm. She felt him grow hard again, pushing into her thigh. But this time she decided to turn the tables on Mac. He was always pleasing her and making sure she was satisfied. Now it was his turn.

Kate turned to Mac. “Lay on your back,” she commanded softly.

He was hard and firm and ready for more. She took him in her hand and stroked him softly, just the way he liked it. Just a whisper of her hand touching him, stroking him with a touch so light, she hardly felt his skin. Her hand drifted up and down, and Mac started to moan. She kept running her hand the length of his shaft, softly, gently, never fast, never gripping him, barely a touch; enough to ignite the millions of senses that ran the length of him. Kate touched him with the tip of her tongue, and she thought he’d come right then and there; she took more of him in her mouth, still stroking him softly. Kate pushed his legs farther apart, Mac watched her—something he loved doing. She kept him in her mouth, all the while her soft, gentle stroking brought him closer and closer to his climax. Suddenly, he was there, and it was more powerful than anything he’d felt before. The need for her burst inside him as he cried out and let himself feel the hot release.

“Kate,” he said breathlessly, “I…That was amazing.”

She rolled onto her back, smiling. “I just wanted you to know that I’m glad to be back. I hope the message was delivered.”

“Loud…and clear.” He was breathless and his voice still full of desire.

Kate nudged herself onto his arm, which he draped over her. “I’m sorry, Mac. Sorry for what I said. At the hotel.”

Mac tried to shake himself back into reality. “It’s fine…I deserved it, and besides, it’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he whispered.

“I wasn’t kind to you, Mac. I should have known better.”

“No, not really. I mean, look, I can’t blame you for thinking what you did. It’s over; it was a bad judgment call on my part. Let’s put it behind us.”

Night had fallen around them. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

“Then let’s clean up and go to dinner. I want to take you through the village; it’s stunning to walk through at night.”

…

Whistler was indeed beautiful. After sunset, the entire village lit up with lights, like a million diamonds sparkling against the black night. It was, in a word, enchanting. The village was teeming with visitors, voices, and laughter poured out of each café and restaurant.

“There’s a place up ahead I’d like us to try. I’ve heard it’s the best in Whistler.” He pointed a finger to a sign that read: Araxi.

Kate stopped as they walked. “Mac,” she smiled, “thank you for doing this for us.”

Mac smiled and held a hand out to her. “Come on, Katie. Dinner awaits.”

She accepted the gesture, and for the first time in public, they held hands.

Chapter Sixteen

As Kate watched Mac sail down the mountain, she wondered why the Olympic Games didn’t give medals to wildly sexy men who skied like Olympic athletes and were nearing their fifties. Kate watched as Mac’s body swayed to the rhythm of the slope. He came to a smooth stop right beside her.

Mac lifted his goggles, and Kate smiled. “I think you can pick up your medal by the ski rental.”

“Pardon?”

“Your Olympic gold medal for skiing.”

Mac smiled back. He was only slightly out of breath. “I’ve skied all my life, Kate.”

“Right, and I’m from Arizona. We have no snow. Well, not a lot anyway. But if we’re doing tumbleweed chasing, I’m your gal.”

“You’re a good skier. I saw you earlier.”

“Bunny slopes are my life,” she shrugged, “but I do love it here. I wish I was better with these things.” She pointed to her skis.

“Let me take you to the top of the mountain. I guarantee by the time you’re down, you’ll be an ace skier.”

“Or in traction. I probably shouldn’t. I don’t think my life insurance is paid up, and imagine how pissed off Edward would be if I wasn’t able to promote his star title.”

Mac laughed, “Seriously, I’ve taken beginners this route. It’ll be fine. I used to do this every year with my boys. It was a weeklong guy trip, and they loved it. Neither of them could ski worth a damn when we first started coming here. Trust me—you’ll love it. Besides, there’s a restaurant up top. We should have lunch there.”

Kate took a deep breath. She could always just walk down if it got really bad. “You win. Let’s go.”

…

The view from the ski lift was stunning; everywhere Kate looked, there were ski slopes occupied with people—families with some of the youngest skiers Kate had ever seen, couples keeping pace side by side, and the occasional solo skier who would swoop through the other skiers to reach the bottom of the mountain in record time.

“When I get back, I have to head for Vegas,” she began.

“No work.” Mac nudged her. “Look at the deer over there.”

“I have this book I want us to take.”

“No work.”

Kate tugged on his jacket. “Mac, listen. It’s an amazing book. It’s written by Madeline Masters.”

That caught Mac’s attention. “The wife of that shooter? The football guy?”

Kate nodded, “One and the same. I talked to her at the conference. She has a book about their life and the real reason he shot those people.”

“And what’s the reason?”

“To prove his love for her.”

Mac shook his head. “Fuck. Why didn’t the guy just get her a Hallmark card?”

“He swore to her if she ever left, he’d kill people to prove his love for her. But it’s bigger than that, Mac. Madeline was horribly tortured by this guy, and she wants to tell the truth—not for herself, but for her children and for other abused women.”

“Good story,” he nodded. Kate could see the wheels turning.

“Can you talk with her, Mac? I think you’d like this book.”

“You have a copy?”

“No, I sat with her only twice and read part of it while I was there. She’s afraid to let anyone see it. In fact, if we publish it, she wants this to be kept confidential until it comes out.”

“I’ll take a look, Kate, but I’m not sure if I can convince Eddie to take the book. We’ve got Rockstar and the Shenkman twins book coming out and then
The Continued Promise
in the fall.”

Kate rolled her eyes. She no longer saw the scenery that slipped past her. “Right, because the twins have so much credibility, and yes, let’s publish a book by a drunken, washed-up rock star.”

“You’re right, Kate, it makes no sense. I’ll see what I can do. But I will need to see the book—or some of it. Can you call Madeline when we’re back?”

Kate smiled. “I will. You’ll like this story, Mac. I promise you.”

He wanted to kiss her and make love with her right there in their ski lift; he loved that spark in her eye when she found a book she believed in.

“You’re so sexy when you’re being a publicist.”

“I’m a publicist all the time.”

“Exactly.”

Chapter Seventeen

Andrew Trapp, a now aging rock and roll star, had been one of the biggest and hottest rock stars in the world. He was a legend. What was also legendary was his spoiled brat nature, his drug use, alcohol abuse, womanizing, and the three rock groups he started and broke up. It was rumored that his demand list for his concerts was twenty-five pages long and included ridiculous things that no one on the planet could produce. He just loved torturing staffers at concert halls. His most legendary feat was threatening to jump off of the Eiffel Tower after a well-publicized and highly dramatic breakup with a French actress who had the #1 movie in the US at the time. Officials said that Andrew had gotten high on crack before climbing to the top and yelling to the crowds below. It took them six hours, and the loss of an entire day of tourism money, to get Andrew down. After that incident, Andrew was seen with many women and was rumored to have had relationships with many high-profile actresses—some of them married. But no one ever found out who they were, and so the talk soon died down. Though every once in a while, Perez Hilton’s blog would revisit this. Like every gossipmonger, he, too, was hoping to break the scandal.

Despite this womanizing reputation, Andrew always endeared himself to the US public with tales of his humble youth growing up poor in England. He retained his singsong British accent and boyish charm, despite his drug and alcohol-induced antics. Andrew disappeared from the music scene for a few years, only to return last year with a mega-hit single, “Love You Twice.” When rumors hit New York publishing that Andrew was interested in writing his memoirs, and, in his words “name names of all of the women he’d slept with,” the public gossip mill went crazy, and a book was born. Kate realized the irony of having to work with an adulterer. Maybe it was her penance for enjoying her affair with Mac, despite the million reasons why she shouldn’t.

Kate knew that MD winning the title was huge, though she wasn’t sure how well the book would do. The world was sort of saturated with rock star legends and stars gone bad, though Kate had to admit that the interest in Andrew and his career was baffling to her. She’d never cared for his music. Nor, for that matter, his bad boy behavior. To her chagrin, however, the Andrew-camp had insisted that she fly out to Vegas to Andrew’s sprawling hundred-acre ranch to meet in person. Kate wasn’t looking forward to it at all. It was bad enough being in Vegas. Now she had to spend three days with a washed up former rock legend. God, she hoped he’d at least be sober.

…

As Kate emerged from the McCarran terminal in Las Vegas, she was immediately struck by hot air and a dry breeze—something she’d become accustomed to from growing up in Arizona. She was told that Andrew’s people would have a car waiting for her, but as she glanced around, she saw none. He had likely been too drunk to even remember when she was flying in there. Three days with this loser. Kate shook her head. After being gone on a whirlwind romantic weekend with Mac, Vegas was the last place she wanted to be. When she pulled out her phone, she saw a text from Mac.
Don’t gamble too much and bring back a set of tassels.

She smiled and punched in the number for Andrew’s manager. As she did, she saw a long, white limo rounding the corner. The driver came to a stop in front of her and quickly hopped out.

“Katharine Mitchell? I’m so sorry, Miss. Heavy traffic. May I help you with your bags?”

“Sure.” Kate slipped her phone back into her purse and got in the limo. It was almost brand new. She expected it to smell of liquor from a recent party or whatever, but it didn’t. It was clean and well kept.

“There’s water in the little fridge. Important to keep hydrating when you’re in the desert. We’re about thirty minutes from the ranch. I’ll have you there as quickly as I can.”

Kate grabbed some Evian and leaned back into the seat.

The book was scheduled to hit about a month after
The Continued Promise
. So far, she’d heard nothing from Andrew’s camp—nor had she even spoken with him—hence the meeting that Andrew himself had insisted on. It wasn’t the norm to fly and meet authors; most of them flew out to New York and often welcomed the trip.

Prima donna
, she thought.

Edward reminded her that they needed to be very careful with this book and its often slippery author. Andrew was known to go off on binges that often lasted weeks. If MD lost him during the promotion of this book, it could be disastrous.

After about fifteen minutes of freeway, the limo slipped off the highway and onto a smaller road that led toward the mountains. After a while, she saw the ranch loom before her. It was enormous, and—according to Mac—highly secure thanks to Andrew’s legion of female fans who were always trying to get as close as they could to the rock legend.

“We’re here, Miss. I’ll have Dixon, the houseman, take your luggage to your room. Mr. Trapp will want to see you right away.”

Kate almost retorted that it might be too early for him. Likely, he was still sleeping off whatever drunken stupor the prior night had found him in. She knew it would be hard to keep her thoughts to herself. She had no use for a spoiled brat rock star or his book.

Someday
, she thought to herself,
I’ll write my own ticket, and tabloid books will no longer be a part of my world.

…

The foyer was a large atrium with tall, glass ceilings and lots of greenery. It felt like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Dixon nodded politely and disappeared with her bag.

Kate heard footsteps coming down the hall. She braced herself.

“Hello, I’m Trevor Banks, Andrew’s legal counsel.” He nodded and stuck out his hand.

“Kate Mitchell. I’m the publicist for
Rockstar
. Where is Andrew? We should get started.”

The attorney nodded. “A moment. Please, come with me.” He led her through the atrium foyer and into a large, ornate room off the entryway. It looked very old-world English. One entire wall was dedicated to Andrew’s gold records, of which there were many. Kate also noted the MTV Music Awards, and others that Andrew had been given over the years. She remembered one year when he was so drunk or drugged up, he could barely walk out on stage to collect it. Lovely.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine,” Kate replied curtly.

“Fine. I know you’re eager to meet Andrew, but here’s the thing…” Trevor stepped behind a large, wooden desk that looked as though it had been freshly polished.

Oh, God
, she thought,
here it comes
.

“Whatever you see here today cannot in any way be included with your publicity campaign. Is that understood?”

Kate’s heart sank; it was worse than she’d expected. “What am I going to see here today? I need Andrew sober.”

Trevor chuckled, “I can assure you, he’ll be sober. It’s just that, well, Andrew is not who he seems.”

Kate’s mind raced.
What the hell was this guy talking about?

“I need you to sign this.” The attorney pulled a thin set of papers out of the desk drawer.

“Excuse me?” This was some sort of joke; it had to be. Regardless, she wasn’t signing anything.

“It’s a simple NDA, that’s all.” Trevor walked over to Kate, handing her the document. “Here, have a look.”

“I can’t sign anything.”

“Then I can’t let you in to see Mr. Trapp.”

Jesus.
Kate snatched the document from his hand. “Fine, let me read this.” Kate read it quickly. It was simple, just as he’d said. Basically, anything that went on in the house during the three days she was there was totally and completely off limits.

“I’m not agreeing to any legal team overseeing my work.”

He nodded. “Nor is that our intent. We know your reputation and Andrew is happy to be working with you, but we have some secrets that, if made public, could hurt the book’s success.”

“I won’t be party to anything illegal,” Kate spat. She was starting to get pissed off.

Trevor chuckled. “Nothing illegal, I can assure you. I tell you what, if after you meet Andrew you don’t think this relationship will work, we’ll find another publicist at your firm to work with.”

“It’s not that easy, I’m sorry to say. Teams have been assigned, so it’s me or no one.” Kate placed the paperwork on the desk and signed quickly. She handed it back to the attorney. “I don’t get this, but fine. I have a job to do.”

Trevor nodded. “Right this way, then.”

He led her through a maze of hallways to the back of the house. A door opened to a simple living area, kitchen, and beyond that, Kate assumed, were the sleeping rooms.

“Andrew will be right out.” Trevor disappeared behind the doors, and Kate was left alone to observe her surroundings. This part of the house was much simpler; there were family pictures on the mantel, simple furniture, and a small, framed British flag. It was actually hard to tell who lived here—certainly not a celebrity. Kate assumed they must be meeting in the servants’ quarters or something, to keep with this whole crazy mystique and privacy thing they seemed to have going.

“You must be Katharine.” A lilting British accent startled her. Kate spun around. A well-groomed man in his late-fifties, dressed in a light blue shirt tucked neatly into his tan pants, tall, lean and smiling, was walking toward her.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m Kate. And you are?”

He laughed, “I’m Andrew Trapp.” He noted her shock, smiled, and tipped his head toward her. “Not what you were expecting, is it?”

“Not at all. I expected you to be…”

“Drunk and high on cocaine?”

“Sort of.”

Andrew laughed even harder. “They all do. It’s a shtick I must keep up. Appearances and all, you know.”

Kate was confused.

“Come on, Katharine, have a seat. I was just about to make myself some tea. Would you like some?”

“Y-yes, and please call me Kate. But I don’t understand.”

“That’s what the NDA was for, Love, so you wouldn’t go tell everyone that the darling of the tabloids was really not all that bad.”

“But the drinking?”

“Haven’t touched a drop in years. Come with me.” Andrew led her to another room, an open kitchen with high windows that overlooked his ranch. Andrew set a kettle on the stove. “I love making tea the old fashioned way; I think boiled water in a kettle is just better. Do you have a tea preference?”

“No, whatever you have is fine.” Kate felt like she was in some odd version of an
Ozzy and Harriet Twilight Zone
.

“If this were seventeenth-century England, you’d be beheaded for saying that,” Andrew smiled.

“I’m really confused,” Kate said, ignoring his comment about her indifference to the type of tea he served.

Kate watched as Andrew filled the kettle and set it on the stove. He looked nothing like the many pictures she’d seen of him—most showing him sprawled out and drunk or being handcuffed. Often both.

“Do you know Danny Bonaduce?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, the kid from the Partridge Family? Always a mess growing up, got into drugs and the lot?”

Kate nodded. “Sure, right. Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

“Where are my manners? Please have a seat.” Andrew motioned to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for her. “Anyway,” he continued, “I know Danny, have for years. He was quoted once as saying, ‘I get more attention when I’m bad. The world doesn’t reward me for being good.’”

“So, you decided to be bad just to get attention?”

“Well, not exactly. You see, years ago I was on my own and struggling somewhat. I did drugs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and still the fans loved me. Then came my first hit record, and suddenly everyone knew who Andrew Trapp was. I met Steven, who is still my manager, and he promised that he’d make me the biggest star on the planet. And he did. In exchange, I had to keep playing the bad boy.”

“Wait, you mean this was all a set up? All of the crazy things you did were all just for show?”

Andrew smiled. “No, Love. Not all of it. In some of it I was actually pissed, but in later years I sobered up and cleaned up my life. I had an agreement and so I kept it. This book is the last piece of that agreement.”

“Wait. You mean this book was part of the deal?”

“Well, sort of. It wasn’t planned that way, but my manager said that once the book is out, I am free to do whatever I want. And what I want is to get married.”

“But why couldn’t you get married anyway? I mean, what’s the harm in that?”

The kettle began to whistle and another male voice deeper than Andrew’s, also clearly British, echoed through the hallway. “Andrew, my darling, are you here?”

The man was as tall as Andrew—handsome, tanned, and, Kate guessed, slightly older.

Andrew’s face lit up as the man neared him and kissed him softly on the lips. Suddenly he spotted Kate.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry; I forgot you were having company today.” He strode towards her. “I’m James. Nice to meet you.”

Kate shook his hand. It was slowly beginning to dawn on her.

“I’m Kate, the publicist for Andrew’s book.”