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“It’s not at all.” Wolf suddenly looked at Paige and Lulu and gave them such a dark, ferocious look that both women scuttled away. With Paige and Lulu gone, he drew her closer. “And you couldn’t embarrass me, so don’t say things like that.”
Blinking back tears, she glanced up, and the depth of his concern made her see yet again that he did wear a public mask, a coolly amused mask, as though he were always laughing at life. Laughing at himself. But she was just beginning to realize that underneath the mask he wasn’t laughing at all. “I should go before the entertainment reporters and photographers spot me looking like this.”
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders. “Now let me just slip out now so no one can get pictures of us together. You stay here and do what you have to do.”
“I’m not going to let you leave alone. If you want to go, we’ll go together.” Wolf reached inside his tuxedo for his mobile phone. “I’ll call for the car.”
She covered his hand with hers so he couldn’t make the call. “You have to stay. Aren’t you making one of the birthday toasts?”
He shrugged. “It’s more of a roast than a toast.”
“But still, you’re wanted here, needed here.”
He shook her hand off and punched in the number before putting the phone to his ear. “The speech is already typed up. I could have someone else do it.”
The waiter returned at that moment with a small bottle of soda water and two clean white kitchen towels. Wolf hung up, reached into his pocket for a twenty-dollar bill to tip the waiter.
“Thank you, Mr. Kerrick,” the waiter said, nodding appreciatively.
Alexandra took the soda water and towels from the waiter. “All right. I’ll make you a deal. You stay here, and I’ll go find a bathroom and see what I can do to salvage this dress. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She nodded and forced a light note into her voice. “I’ll be back soon.”
Alexandra was heading to the house to look for a bathroom when she crossed paths with Jason Kirkpatrick, a young director she’d met earlier in the year when he’d dropped by Paradise Pictures to discuss directing a film for the studio. In the end, he wasn’t hired, but Alexandra had enjoyed her brief conversation with him that morning and she smiled in recognition as he flagged her down.
“Alex! It’s Alex, isn’t it?” he said, hailing her.
“Yes, although I prefer Alexandra,” she corrected. “And it’s Jason, right?”
“Good memory.” He rocked back on his heels. “So what happened to you?” he asked, lifting her hand that clutched the bottle of soda water to better see the vivid stain ruining her gown.
She’d nearly forgotten the catastrophe and grimaced now. “A famous lingerie model accidentally poured her drink on me.”
“That’s a lot of accident,” he retorted, taking a step into the shrubbery and pulling her with him to let people pass behind them on the curving stone path.
She glanced down at the stain. “I’m thinking the pomegranate martinis are better in the glass.”
He laughed. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks.”
His laugh turned to a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you run home and change? The party hasn’t even started. It’s still only the cocktail hour.”
“I’d go home if I could, but I don’t want to make Wolf leave—”
“Why should Wolf have to leave? Zip home, change and come right back.”
Alexandra’s nose wrinkled. “I’d love to, but it’s not that easy. I don’t have a car and I didn’t bring money for a cab. And Wolf—”
“Let me take you.” Jason stretched his hands out. “My Porsche is right out front. Wolf’s a friend of mine. I’d love to help him out.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She glanced over her shoulder, struggling to see if she could find Wolf in the crowd, but the extensive garden was packed. “Wolf might not like it.”
“It’ll only take a moment and then—snap!—you’ll be right back, pretty as a picture.” Jason winked. “And trust me, you’ll take a better picture in a new gown, if you get what I mean.
CHAPTER SIX
AT MATT SILVERMAN’S Bel Air estate, Wolf walked through the fancifully decorated gardens with the massive jacaranda trees festooned with twinkly lights, searching the clusters of party-goers and guests for Alexandra.
There were so many people—hundreds—that he was forced to look for splashes of cream and white fabric in the crowds to focus his search, and while he spotted several women in light-colored evening gowns, none were Alexandra.
As he headed back through the gardens to the estate’s 1930s mansion, Wolf wondered if she had perhaps gone home. Maybe she couldn’t get the red stain out of the dress and she hadn’t wanted to make a scene.
He frowned as he neared the ornate fountain. Even if she was embarrassed by the stain, he couldn’t imagine her just leaving without speaking to him.
And if she had left, how had she gotten home? Had she called a cab? Had a friend picked her up?
Not far from the fountain Wolf spotted his agent grabbing a couple of sushi appetizers from a tray one of the waiters held.
“How’s it going?” Benjamin asked Wolf as he popped a bite of sashimi and wasabi into his mouth.
“Good.” Wolf’s brow furrowed, knowing it wasn’t good. Nothing about tonight was good. In fact, nothing about this week was good. Dinner with Joy in Manhattan had been troubling and he’d been on edge since, waiting for another call, wondering if he’d need to hop on a plane. “You haven’t seen Alexandra, by chance?”
“Lost your girlfriend?” Benjamin asked, dunking a slice of California roll into soy sauce.
“Paige poured her cocktail all over Alexandra’s dress.”
“Paige?” Benjamin repeated, chewing the seaweed-wrapped roll.
“Your client Paige. The model.”
“Ah, Paige.” Benjamin smiled. “She’s hot, isn’t she?” Then he remembered himself and glanced around. “Where is Alexandra?”
Wolf nearly reached out to grab Benjamin by the throat. “That’s what I’m asking you.”
The lighting director from Wolf’s last film joined them and reached for a piece of yellowfin sushi. “You’re looking for your girl?” he said to Wolf.
Wolf nodded. “She’d gone to clean up her gown.”
“I saw her,” the lighting director said. “She’s wearing an off-white gown, right?”
“Yes.”
“She left,” the lighting director said, reaching for another piece of sushi. “With Jason. I figured you two had a fight.”
Wolf’s features hardened. His dark eyes glittered. “There was no fight.” He inhaled sharply as he saw red. “But there will be now.”
And as Wolf headed to the front circular driveway, he prayed he’d find Alexandra at home. Alone. Because if Jason was there …
Wolf shook his head, not even wanting to finish the thought. Because he knew exactly what he’d do and it wouldn’t be pretty.
Across t
own, Alexandra stood swaying in her living room, having finished changing into the little black cocktail dress she’d worn to Rye’s birthday party at Spago. Jason had offered to make drinks for them while she changed, and she’d agreed.
He’d been so nice about driving her all the way to Culver City and patiently waiting while she rummaged through her closet trying to find something elegant to wear. But the cocktail was doing funny things to her, and she grabbed the living room wall for support.
“My head,” she whispered, her body going cold all over and alarmingly tingly.
“Have a headache, doll?”
She didn’t like his tone or the way he was looking at her. But Alexandra didn’t close her eyes until the room started to spin. “What’s going on?” she demanded huskily as soon as she could open her eyes again.
Jason was standing in front of her. “Hi, big eyes.” He reached up, pushed a long lock of hair from Alex’s eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy.”
“Are you? Maybe we need to get you to your bedroom so you can lie down.”
“No.” She put out a hand and immediately thought she’d fall. She needed Wolf here. She shouldn’t have left Wolf. “Call … call … Wo-Wolf.” She forced the words out, squinting her eyes to try to slow the spinning, but it didn’t help. Nothing was working right. She wasn’t working right.
“You don’t need Wolf,” Jason answered, taking her hand, fingers wrapping around hers. “I can help you. I’ll get you into bed, don’t worry.”
“I need a doc-doctor. Call doctor.”
“No, no, you’ll be fine. I’ll just take you to bed, darling.”
“Call Wolf,” she repeated, struggling to resist him as he dragged her toward the bedroom.
“You’ll feel better in bed. Trust me.”
