A Little Night Music (26 page)

“Great, so I’m going to drink my sorrows away,” Hannah said.

“No, you’re going to celebrate my awesomeness, and we’re going to watch old movies on TV all night. And then tomorrow, we’re going to pamper ourselves at the spa so we look totally hot for your dad’s birthday party.”

Hannah settled into the corner of the couch, willing to let Gina’s plan take away her need to make decisions.

Picking up the remote control, Gina started flipping channels. She passed a seemingly endless selection of how-to shows, sports channels, syndicated dramas, and cartoons, looking for just the right movie.

Hannah’s cell phone rang. She stared across the room at it. She’d meant to turn it off. This late, it had to be one of her client’s having a crisis. She debated answering it, and then told herself that, just this once, she deserved a night to herself. Expensive champagne, old movies, and her best friend. When it stopped ringing, she looked back at the TV and noticed that Gina had stopped at their favorite entertainment show.

The show was one of the most informative, tracking the trendy and the “in.” It also had the benefit of being on late enough that she could catch it on a regular basis.

“I want to watch this first, and then there’s a Vin Diesel movie on that we haven’t seen.” Gina toed off her boots, topped up their glasses, and settled back, dropping the remote on the sofa between them.

The celebrity break-ups passed in a blur as Hannah tried to pretend she didn’t empathize with every damn one. The fashion segment made Hannah shake her head in bewilderment, although she did make a note of a designer she liked. Then the show went live.

The perky reporter smiled at the camera. Her brown-bobbed hair gleamed in the flashing lights of the club.

“This is Fiona McAllister, reporting live from the Paradise Club. It’s a wild night here. Everywhere I look there’s a famous face.”

The rest of the woman’s report went unheard.

In the background was Nate, walking into the frame. He looked totally hot, his hair spiked a little in front, tousled. Like they’d had wild sex and Hannah’d run her fingers through it. He’d worn the leather pants and boots she’d sent. The shirt was faded and torn, and it wasn’t the one she’d chosen. A moment’s irritation stole through her, and then she realized just how hot he looked. She wanted to reach through the screen and rip the T-shirt off of him.

To stroke the sleek warm skin and muscle beneath.

And then his hand curved around Marta’s slender waist. He leaned in, nuzzling her cheek. The model’s face said it all. Pouting allure. Desire.

Numb fingers pressed frantically at the remote. Finally, the TV responded by clicking off.

“Are you okay?” Gina asked. Then, “I’m sorry, that was a dumbass question.”

“I set them up on the date,” Hannah said. Her voice was hollow. “It’s my fault.”

He’d forgotten about her so quickly, obviously more than ready to take things up again with Marta as if Hannah had been nothing more than a mindless dalliance.

“Let’s tack a picture of him on the wall and throw nasty things at it,” Gina suggested.

Hannah tried to laugh, and couldn’t.

Her phone started ringing again.

Chapter Fifteen

The fluorescent lights were too bright. Everything about the diner was too bright at this time of night. She glanced up at the door again, but it still hadn’t opened. At the counter, the waitress held up the coffee pot, and Hannah shook her head. She’d already had two cups and was beginning to feel a little jittery. The coffee had the consistency of wallpaper paste.

She was waiting for Andre. He’d called an hour and a half ago. And then kept calling until finally Gina had answered for her.

She’d left Gina at the apartment, preferring to respond to Andre’s urgent demand for a meeting alone. She was afraid to find out what he’d do to her if she refused. The champagne in her system had long since evaporated.

And now here she was, waiting in this late-night diner for him.

“Honey, I am
so
sorry I’m late!”

Andre’s voice dragged her out of her reverie. Hannah stood up, and found herself enveloped in a steely-armed hug. The light fragrance of his cologne tickled her nose.

“Big kiss! Mwah mwah!” he said, air kissing each of her cheeks.

Hannah laughed in spite of herself, and gave him a real kiss on his cheek. His skin was shaved baby smooth.

“Talk to me,” Andre instructed, sliding into the booth. “You look like my worst nightmare.”

Self-consciously, Hannah put her hand up to her hair. She’d tried to sleek the curls, but hadn’t really had the heart to work very hard at it. Instead, she’d drawn them back in a ponytail. She was pretty sure that something akin to a poodle tail was popping out of the back of her head.

“You’re so good for a girl’s ego,” Hannah told him.

“Girlfriends don’t lie,” he said.

The dichotomy of his flamboyant personality off duty and his enforcer bodyguard persona when he was working still caught her off guard.

“Seriously, honey, I’m not sure who looks worse, you or Nate.”

“He looked pretty good on TV.”

Andre waved one hand dismissively. “Window dressing. He’s a wreck.”

The waitress came by and poured coffee into Andre’s cup. She refilled Hannah’s automatically. Andre ordered pastries for them both.

“I’m really not hungry,” Hannah said.

“Don’t worry, the calories don’t count if you eat them with a friend,” Andre confided.

The comment brought a startled laugh from her.

“Better,” he said. “You left the tour so quickly, you didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said.

Andre squeezed her fingers gently.

Hannah stared at the man sitting opposite her. When they’d first met, she never would have thought that she and Andre would become such good friends. She could talk trash, fashion, and men with him without batting an eyelash. It was a lot like having Gina around, except that she could walk down a dark street in a bad neighborhood with him and not have to worry about being mugged. (Then again, Gina could kick some serious ass.)

“So why did you call?” she asked.

Andre took her hands in his. “You need to help Nate.”

She tried to pull her hands away, automatically shaking her head.

Andre’s big hands clamped down, not enough to hurt her, but enough to keep her from getting free. “He’s self-destructing.”

“He’s using again?” Hannah asked, shocked. She’d truly believed he was over the drugs.

“No,” Andre assured her. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it eventually led to that. Let me tell you what’s been going on with your man this week.”

“He’s not my man,” Hannah protested.

Andre ignored her. “He’s become a tyrant. When he’s not moping around, he’s snarling at people and picking fights. He and Alan just about came to blows two days ago. And while I’m all for watching hunky men wrestle around, it’s not good for the tour. The concerts are suffering. You have to talk to him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I don’t understand what happened between the two of you.”

“The article—”

Andre snorted. It sounded a little like a bull getting ready to gore an unsuspecting victim. “You’re a publicist; you know how the game works. Not everyone is going to love you. Not every photo is going to be flattering. You have to develop a thick skin.”

She knew that. Lord knew she told her clients that often enough. But this wasn’t the same thing at all—she wasn’t supposed to be the one in front of the camera—and she told him so.

“This was personal. I’ve never been the actual cause of a client’s bad PR before. They said that dating me was a new low, Andre!”

“So you had your feelings hurt,” he said. “Was that any reason to up and leave the man hanging?” He squeezed her hands one final time, then let go. He took a deep drink of the coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.

The waitress slid two plates onto the table. The warm smell of sugar floated up. Hannah looked at hers, then silently pushed it across the table to Andre.

“I don’t mean to be so hard on you, honey,” Andre said softly. He forked a big piece of cheese Danish into his mouth. “But I’ve known Nate for a long time, and I haven’t seen him this low since he was using.”

“He’s hardly low,” she said. “He was out on a date last night.”

“You arranged that,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t arrange for him to kiss her.”

“That was for the benefit of the camera.”

“He wasn’t paying any attention to the camera.”

“You’re jealous,” Andre observed. “He was doing what you wanted him to do, and now you don’t like it.”

Looking away, Hannah fixed her gaze on the potted plant hanging over a nearby table. Its drooping fronds trembled in the air current generated by a ceiling fan.

 “He’s falling apart. And that has nothing to do with Hannah Montgomery, the publicist, and everything to do with Hannah Montgomery, the woman.”

“He’ll survive just fine without me,” Hannah said. The question was, would she survive without him? The answer had to be “yes.” She just had to put on her big-girl panties and deal with it.

“Surviving isn’t the same as living,” Andre said. “I’ll tell you something you don’t know.”

Hannah raised her eyebrows in a question.

“He left the party early tonight.” He paused, gauging her reaction. “Alone. I know, because I was in the limo with him.”

The news hit her hard, the relief that surged through her making her dizzy. He wasn’t with Marta tonight. They weren’t in a hotel room. He wasn’t driving another woman wild with passion.

Forcing herself to be the professional she knew she had to be, Hannah shrugged. “I’m his publicist, Andre, not his girlfriend. It doesn’t matter to me if he leaves alone or with a dozen groupies. In fact, it would have been better if he’d left with Marta or a dozen groupies. It would get him more publicity.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t care,” Andre said.

“It doesn’t matter if I care. He wants to be on top. He deserves to be there. And he won’t be if he’s not seen at all the parties, with all the right people. Being seen with an employee just won’t do it for him.”

Andre looked about to interrupt, and it was her turn to stop him.

“It’s what he wants, Andre. Right now, his pride is hurt because I left him and not the other way around. He’ll get over it, and move on because he wants to be number one again. It’s what he’s always wanted.

“It’s my job to get him there.”

“And that’s all?” His voice actually went up in pitch. Holy crap, she’d shocked Andre.

“That’s all,” Hannah said firmly. “That’s what I was hired to do.”

She’d do her job, get him back on top. She’d do what he wanted.

Even if it meant her heart would never forgive her.

*

The ringing of her cell phone pulled Hannah out of layers of much-needed sleep. Not again. Groaning, she made a mental note to change her ringtone to something
other
than a Nate song, and squinted at the display.

Oh yeah, it was
way
too early.

Gina had been asleep on her couch when she’d stumbled in from meeting with Andre. She’d tossed back the dregs of warm Pouilly-Fuisse and tumbled into bed. Thankfully she’d been exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly, but that had only been, what, three hours ago? Ow.

The phone’s display also informed her that the caller was Sam. As tempting as it was to let the phone go to voice mail, pull a pillow over her head, and pray for more sleep, she knew she had to take the call. Her professionalism made her do it.

She made a mental note to stop being such a damn professional, because it was obviously ruining her life, and said hello.

“Did you see the entertainment news?”

“Good morning to you, too, Sam.”

“Sorry.”

Sam didn’t sound very sorry, but she let it go. “Yes, I saw the news. Nate got some prime air time.”

“You did a good job getting him into that party,” Sam said. Before she could relish the flush of pride, he continued. “But he told me that other artists were invited to perform, and he wasn’t.”

Ow. “I got him in last minute. There probably wasn’t time.” She really needed to be more awake for this.

“And there were celebrity photos everywhere, but none of him.”

Hannah lay back against the pillow and prayed for a double-shot espresso and a super-sized bottle of Advil to appear. It didn’t.

“That probably had to do with the last-minute bit, too,” she said. “But I understand what you’re saying. I’ll call the club owner and chat him up, tell him what a good time Nate had, how it was good publicity for the club for Nate to be there.”

“Do whatever you have to do,” Sam said.

Anger boiled up inside her. She was too tired and headachy and heartachy to take Sam’s snippy orders right now. “What do you want me to do,” she snapped, “sleep with him, too?”

As soon as it slipped out, she regretted it. On so many levels. Into the silence left by Sam’s lack of response, she said, “I’m sorry, Sam. That was really uncalled for. I had a shitty night and I’m not thinking straight. I’ll get some coffee in me and call Harry Z and straighten things out.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. This time he sounded like he meant it.

The gratitude surprised her—and made her feel even worse. “Look, it really was great PR for Nate to be seen there. This is going to help him, I promise.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Sam said, and hung up.

Hannah held the phone away from her and stared at it suspiciously.

*

Hannah sat at the dressing table in her old room and slipped on her favorite strappy black heels. She didn’t really need to touch up her makeup or her hair—the spa people had done wonders—but she was aware of the irony of the situation. In her old room, prepping to go downstairs to one of her parents’ parties…how could it not remind her of nine years ago?

Instead of staring into the mirror, she closed her eyes and tried some meditative breathing. She had to stop thinking about Nate.

Everything was different now anyway, entirely different. She felt a hell of a lot better about herself, inside and outside. No longer shy, no longer awkward and wallflowerish.