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I open my eyes and finish putting my makeup on, ignoring how his gaze rolls down my body. First down the front through my reflection in the mirror and then down my backside. He insisted I wear what he picked out—a push-up bra, a low-cut white cowl neck blouse that just skims the top of my br**sts, tight skinny jeans, red high-heeled sandals, and a huge matching flower in my hair. He wants to take publicity photos later, but I can’t help but feel like he’s getting off on playing dress-up and it revolts me. It reminds me of how my mother insisted on dressing me whenever I went on auditions. I like to wear sexy outfits, but only because I want to, not because someone else wants me to.
“Please don’t stare.” My voice pulses with hatred.
“Angel, I’ve always enjoyed the way you look. That will never change. You’re a beauty. But I’d like it if you’d watch the way you speak to me. I’ve treated you with respect and I’d like the same. In fact, I think I’ve been very understanding. I’ve let you have your own room and although I am your husband, I haven’t insisted that I share your bed, not even on our wedding night. I’m hoping our business transaction helps us find our way back to each other, but if it doesn’t in six months, you’ll be free of me.”
I’m saved from having to reply when his phone rings. “I’ll take this in the lounge. You have five minutes. And, Angel, you look exquisite.” He smiles before leaving, closing the bathroom door behind him.
I close my eyes again. He was never like this when we were together, was he? God, if he was, how did I never see it? And what must Xander think? He threw me yesterday. I thought I knew what to expect from him when he found out I’d married Damon. He’s an all-or-nothing, black-or-white kind of guy. I thought he’d walk away hating me, but he didn’t. Instead he searched me, for answers, for love, maybe even for hope. I didn’t expect that and he just broke my heart all over again—this time in a different way. He asked questions I hadn’t anticipated and the words stumbled out of my mouth, but not the right ones, not the ones that mattered—not the truth. That I couldn’t tell him. He has to leave me alone and I have to be the one to push him away. I can be strong for him—this I know without a doubt. He did it for me twelve years ago—I can do it for him now.
The pitch of Damon’s voice rising tears me out of my thoughts. “Angel. We have to go. Now!” he snaps. I put on my facade and walk out of the bathroom.
• • •
White linen tablecloths embroidered with gold threads dress the dining room of the downtown Marriott Hotel. Soft lighting sets the tone for intimate conversations and the distance between the tables lends itself to privacy. We’re escorted to a secluded table in the corner and served coffee right away. Sipping his coffee, Damon is explaining to me how to answer the interview questions in order to fast-track my career. That’s the bottom line; he needs money and for some reason he sees me as his golden ticket—although he didn’t quite put it that blatantly. He finessed the words—but I think it’s more. I wish Xander and I would have kept our reunion between ourselves, but we didn’t, so I’m doing what I have to to protect him.
Damon keeps talking and I easily distract myself from the monotony of our conversation by staring at the magnificence of the high ceiling. Its beautiful tinwork catches my eye and the molding is truly a work of art.
“Ivy, are you listening?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “You want to get a single out right away to help launch me back on top of the charts.”
He pushes his cup away. “I’m hoping to have one of the songs selected by the end of the week. That should make you happy.”
I nod. I just let him go on thinking that I’m fine with our bargain—that trading Xander’s career for money is my motivation. My mother called him even after I sent her what she asked for. I guess it wasn’t enough, because she told him I was suffering from financial difficulty. From that conversation he got the perverse idea that I’m getting something out of our arrangement. As if the money ever mattered to me. I guess he really never knew me—all I wanted was to earn enough to help my sisters finish college.
A beautiful petite woman approaches us. She pulls her wavy blond hair back and fastens it with a clip she fishes out of her purse. Greeting us, she extends her hand and I scan her outfit. She’s wearing a pale gray suit, all buttoned up with a hint of black lace peeking from above the lapel of her jacket. Her high-heeled pumps scream “I’m a corporate bitch.” Right away I know she must be one of Damon’s “Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir” lackeys and I try not to roll my eyes.
“Ivy, this is Aerie Daniels. She manages Sound Music Magazine for me.”
“Aerie Daniels?” I question. “You’re the niece of Ian Daniels, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “I’m also a music journalist.”
“Oh, yes, of course. It’s just I’ve been following the movie reports on the progress of the planning of the No Led Zeppelin film. And I can’t wait for it to start filming and then for its release.”
“Ivy, Ms. Daniels is here to interview you, not the other way around.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, Ms. Daniels.”
“Ivy, it’s fine,” she replies.
Damon’s phone rings. “Excuse me one moment, ladies.” He scoots his chair back quickly, nearly knocking it into the waiter. “Yes,” he answers, then pauses for a few seconds. “I’ll call you right back.” He hangs up. “Ladies, I have to return this call, but please carry on without me. Hopefully it won’t take very long. Johnny is right over at the next table if you need him.”
Damon bends to kiss my cheek and I feel the tip of his tongue on my skin. His mouth actually repulses me, but he doesn’t notice as he quickly leaves the restaurant. I absentmindedly wipe my face with my napkin and catch Aerie staring. The look on her face tells me she knows what I’m doing. Women pick up on stuff like that. I should have been more careful. But I watch her face as she stares at the doorway where Damon breezed out moments ago. The crease in her brows and the pucker of her lips tell me I might be wrong about her. The look on her face seems to perfectly match mine. It’s a look of distaste and disdain. Maybe she isn’t the savagely ambitious “Yes, sir” journalist I thought she was.
In the next moment it’s like a switch is flicked and she yanks her laptop from her oversized bag and turns it on. A grin dances across her face.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m just proud of myself. I wasn’t wrong,” she answers.
“What do you mean?”
She moves the bud vase and two votive candles from the center of the table and then turns her computer around so I can see what she’s looking at. It’s the picture of Xander and me in Niagara Falls and it’s flashing across a gossip magazine Web site. The caption reads, “Ivy Taylor moves on to a new love.” A huge smile that I can’t contain crosses my face as I remember my body snug against his muscles, his face so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath, and the way his arm curved around my shoulder protectively when the woman jumped out in front of us and snapped the picture.
Aerie turns the screen back around and says, “I told Jagger I knew there was more to this picture. But he laughed it off.”
p>
I open my eyes and finish putting my makeup on, ignoring how his gaze rolls down my body. First down the front through my reflection in the mirror and then down my backside. He insisted I wear what he picked out—a push-up bra, a low-cut white cowl neck blouse that just skims the top of my br**sts, tight skinny jeans, red high-heeled sandals, and a huge matching flower in my hair. He wants to take publicity photos later, but I can’t help but feel like he’s getting off on playing dress-up and it revolts me. It reminds me of how my mother insisted on dressing me whenever I went on auditions. I like to wear sexy outfits, but only because I want to, not because someone else wants me to.
“Please don’t stare.” My voice pulses with hatred.
“Angel, I’ve always enjoyed the way you look. That will never change. You’re a beauty. But I’d like it if you’d watch the way you speak to me. I’ve treated you with respect and I’d like the same. In fact, I think I’ve been very understanding. I’ve let you have your own room and although I am your husband, I haven’t insisted that I share your bed, not even on our wedding night. I’m hoping our business transaction helps us find our way back to each other, but if it doesn’t in six months, you’ll be free of me.”
I’m saved from having to reply when his phone rings. “I’ll take this in the lounge. You have five minutes. And, Angel, you look exquisite.” He smiles before leaving, closing the bathroom door behind him.
I close my eyes again. He was never like this when we were together, was he? God, if he was, how did I never see it? And what must Xander think? He threw me yesterday. I thought I knew what to expect from him when he found out I’d married Damon. He’s an all-or-nothing, black-or-white kind of guy. I thought he’d walk away hating me, but he didn’t. Instead he searched me, for answers, for love, maybe even for hope. I didn’t expect that and he just broke my heart all over again—this time in a different way. He asked questions I hadn’t anticipated and the words stumbled out of my mouth, but not the right ones, not the ones that mattered—not the truth. That I couldn’t tell him. He has to leave me alone and I have to be the one to push him away. I can be strong for him—this I know without a doubt. He did it for me twelve years ago—I can do it for him now.
The pitch of Damon’s voice rising tears me out of my thoughts. “Angel. We have to go. Now!” he snaps. I put on my facade and walk out of the bathroom.
• • •
White linen tablecloths embroidered with gold threads dress the dining room of the downtown Marriott Hotel. Soft lighting sets the tone for intimate conversations and the distance between the tables lends itself to privacy. We’re escorted to a secluded table in the corner and served coffee right away. Sipping his coffee, Damon is explaining to me how to answer the interview questions in order to fast-track my career. That’s the bottom line; he needs money and for some reason he sees me as his golden ticket—although he didn’t quite put it that blatantly. He finessed the words—but I think it’s more. I wish Xander and I would have kept our reunion between ourselves, but we didn’t, so I’m doing what I have to to protect him.
Damon keeps talking and I easily distract myself from the monotony of our conversation by staring at the magnificence of the high ceiling. Its beautiful tinwork catches my eye and the molding is truly a work of art.
“Ivy, are you listening?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer. “You want to get a single out right away to help launch me back on top of the charts.”
He pushes his cup away. “I’m hoping to have one of the songs selected by the end of the week. That should make you happy.”
I nod. I just let him go on thinking that I’m fine with our bargain—that trading Xander’s career for money is my motivation. My mother called him even after I sent her what she asked for. I guess it wasn’t enough, because she told him I was suffering from financial difficulty. From that conversation he got the perverse idea that I’m getting something out of our arrangement. As if the money ever mattered to me. I guess he really never knew me—all I wanted was to earn enough to help my sisters finish college.
A beautiful petite woman approaches us. She pulls her wavy blond hair back and fastens it with a clip she fishes out of her purse. Greeting us, she extends her hand and I scan her outfit. She’s wearing a pale gray suit, all buttoned up with a hint of black lace peeking from above the lapel of her jacket. Her high-heeled pumps scream “I’m a corporate bitch.” Right away I know she must be one of Damon’s “Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir” lackeys and I try not to roll my eyes.
“Ivy, this is Aerie Daniels. She manages Sound Music Magazine for me.”
“Aerie Daniels?” I question. “You’re the niece of Ian Daniels, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “I’m also a music journalist.”
“Oh, yes, of course. It’s just I’ve been following the movie reports on the progress of the planning of the No Led Zeppelin film. And I can’t wait for it to start filming and then for its release.”
“Ivy, Ms. Daniels is here to interview you, not the other way around.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry, Ms. Daniels.”
“Ivy, it’s fine,” she replies.
Damon’s phone rings. “Excuse me one moment, ladies.” He scoots his chair back quickly, nearly knocking it into the waiter. “Yes,” he answers, then pauses for a few seconds. “I’ll call you right back.” He hangs up. “Ladies, I have to return this call, but please carry on without me. Hopefully it won’t take very long. Johnny is right over at the next table if you need him.”
Damon bends to kiss my cheek and I feel the tip of his tongue on my skin. His mouth actually repulses me, but he doesn’t notice as he quickly leaves the restaurant. I absentmindedly wipe my face with my napkin and catch Aerie staring. The look on her face tells me she knows what I’m doing. Women pick up on stuff like that. I should have been more careful. But I watch her face as she stares at the doorway where Damon breezed out moments ago. The crease in her brows and the pucker of her lips tell me I might be wrong about her. The look on her face seems to perfectly match mine. It’s a look of distaste and disdain. Maybe she isn’t the savagely ambitious “Yes, sir” journalist I thought she was.
In the next moment it’s like a switch is flicked and she yanks her laptop from her oversized bag and turns it on. A grin dances across her face.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m just proud of myself. I wasn’t wrong,” she answers.
“What do you mean?”
She moves the bud vase and two votive candles from the center of the table and then turns her computer around so I can see what she’s looking at. It’s the picture of Xander and me in Niagara Falls and it’s flashing across a gossip magazine Web site. The caption reads, “Ivy Taylor moves on to a new love.” A huge smile that I can’t contain crosses my face as I remember my body snug against his muscles, his face so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath, and the way his arm curved around my shoulder protectively when the woman jumped out in front of us and snapped the picture.
Aerie turns the screen back around and says, “I told Jagger I knew there was more to this picture. But he laughed it off.”
“Who’s Jagger?”
“Oh, sorry. Jagger is Xander’s cousin and my boyfriend. He’s also the lead in the movie about my uncle.” She has a sparkle in her eye that softens her demeanor when she says his name.
“You know Xander, then?” I ask, surprised.
She laughs. “Yes. Not well, but I know him. Not only am I dating his cousin, but his brother is married to my best friend.”
The waiter approaches. “Can I start you both with a drink?”
Aerie glances at me and I nod. “Absolutely.”
We both order a glass of wine and my comfort level continues to increase as she fills me in on her friendship with Dahlia Wilde. I ask how she’s doing during what must have been a hard time for all of them. I wish I could have been there for Xander. I also ask her questions about her boyfriend and the movie.
The waiter brings a basket of Brie with crackers and two goblets of Chablis.
“So am I wrong about the picture?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” I start to feel nervous, so I drum my fingers on the table. She notices right away.
“You can trust me, you know.”
My eyes search hers and I stifle a laugh. “You work for Damon, my husband. Of course I can trust you.”
“That’s not what I mean. Look, Ivy, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that something isn’t right. That today’s headlines stating you’ve reconciled with your true love don’t reflect the real story.”
I stay quiet. Damon warned me not to say a word. The deal was simple—Xander’s career would remain untarnished as long as I cooperated. Otherwise Damon threatened to dismantle the band and ruin Xander’s future. I have to put out an album and keep quiet about our real reason for the reconciliation. Six months I have to give him—I can do that.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
“I married him,” I answer, not wanting to lie.
“I know. It’s just that the look you’re giving Xander in the photo looks like love. The look you gave Damon when he walked away looked more like disgust.”
I look at her, stunned, and before I can stop them the words tumble out. “Damon threatened to ruin Xander and the band’s career like his father did to Nick Wilde . . . unless I married him. I couldn’t let that happen to Xander or the band. So I did what he asked.”
“Really? Nick didn’t stop touring because Xander’s mother, Charlotte, got pregnant?” she asks, and I quickly answer.
“No. Damon said his father fired Nick for poor sales performance and that the Wilde Ones’ sales have been anything but stellar, so he could do the same.”
“From what I know, Josh Wolf is a decent man. I can’t imagine him killing anyone’s career unless the sales were nonrecoupable. And I’ve actually seen those sales reports not too long ago, and I don’t think that was the case.”
“You have? How? Why?”
“I have them in my possession. My uncle never married and I was his sole heir. When he died, all his possessions were willed to me. I was going through his stuff a few months ago to help Jagger prepare for his audition and I came across the sales reports. I thought it was strange that they were in with his things, but then, my uncle was a silent partner with River and Xander’s grandfather’s store, Avery’s. So I figured the documents just got placed haphazardly in the wrong stack. I did look at the numbers out of curiosity and remember thinking they were actually phenomenal.”
I look at her, trying to figure this all out. My head is spinning. Why would Damon lie about that?
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I can help you. Do you trust me?”
I nod. “How?”
“I know a freelance writer who specializes in financial investigation. Can I contact him? Ask him to look into this? Maybe he can find something you can present to Damon as a counter, a way out, who knows?”
Again I nod. A counter—the word sounds so strange, but then again, my situation is anything but normal.
She sets her phone on the table and hits CONTACTS. I watch her as she selects BEN and texts, I have a job for you. I’ll e-mail you the details later.
“There, done.” She hands me her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know if we find anything. And, Ivy, if you need to talk, just call me.”
I type in my contact information and slide the phone back across the table. “Thank you.”
