Game On (21 page)

Lydia hunched low across the table as if she were discussing top-secret espionage secrets. “Franco was there.”

“Franco who? My Franco? Rome Franco?” Clara said, leaning forward so they were practically nose-to-nose. She was just drunk enough not to feel ridiculous.

“Yes. Roman Franco.”

“Why was Franco in Milan?”

“At Ferrilusco’s.”

“Right. At Ferrilusco’s.” Clara narrowed her eyes. “Very suspicious. Why?”

Lydia took a generous swallow from her fresh drink and sat back in her chair. “He’s a photographer, darling, in Milan, days after fashion week. It’s not that much of a stretch.”

“Right. Fashion week. How would I know that?”

“Doesn’t everybody know that?”

“Of course. Silly me.”

“Yes, well, Franco practically accosts me, gushes over Valentina like only an Italian stud could, and then he asks about you.”

Clara closed her eyes, afraid of what was coming.

“Yes, exactly,” Lydia said, confirming her worst thoughts. “He brings up the accident and when Valentina feigns concerned ignorance, Franco tells her in excruciating detail about the spill, the blood, the
danno cerebrale
, the brain damage. He practically re-enacts the event.”

“Lovely,” Clara sighed. “Bloody. Fucking. Lovely.”

“For what it’s worth, I did assure him that you’re fine, no lasting
danno cerebrale
,” Lydia said, tapping the side of her noggin, “but the man just went on and on about the
incidente bizarro
.”

“So, you’re saying Valentina went to Charlie?”

“Exactly!”

“But why? She doesn’t even know me?”

“To get back at me, no doubt. I understand Ferrilusco had her in tears within ten minutes.” Lydia looked uncharacteristically chagrined. “Sorry, darling.”

“If your murder plans include an accomplice, please make sure I interview for the job.”

Another drink and a half later, whilst playfully imagining all the untimely and gruesome ways Valentina could die, Clara’s phone beeped.

“Let me guess… Luc?” Lydia said when Clara squealed. “I’m going to the loo.”

Luc:
Hey you. What’s for dinner?

Dinner?!! It’s almost midnight here!!!! I’m out with Lydia. Had fish with loads of fresh cut chips and copious amounts of G and T’s!!!!

Luc:
I see that gin consumption directly correlates to exclamation marks.

Oh ha ha!! Yes. Sorry.

Luc:
Don’t be. Nice to see you so excited!!!

What did you think of the restaurant? How was the food?

Luc:
I haven’t had a decent meal since you left.

I’ve only been gone since yesterday!

Luc:
It feels longer. And nothing tastes good without you to share it with.

Liar! You hate tradesies!!

Luc:
I’ve been reformed. I love trading with you. When are you coming back?

Tomorrow!!

Luc:
Call me when you get home tonight. I really miss your accent.

Clara:
I don’t have an accent!!! You do!! Chat in an hour.

I’ll be waiting.

“Look at you with that silly grin on your face,” Lydia said as she sat back down. “You’re either drunk or in love. How is your boy?”

“Amazing and sweet and wonderful and thoughtful—”

“Stop now. You’re beginning to melt the chunk of ice around my heart,” Lydia said. “By the by, darling, when and if your little secret gets told, don’t tell Luc we planned Valentina’s murder. He might not take kindly to having his ex-girlfriend’s blood on his current lover’s hands.”

“Ex-girlfriend?” Clara laughed, still giddy. “I must be drunk because I’ve no idea what you’re saying anymore.”

“Oh balls. Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” Lydia said.

Clara felt the smile drip from her face like candle wax. She stared hard at Lydia.

“Well, that’s how Val got into BMG, darling, through Luc. I’m sorry. I really thought you knew. Val bloody-well bragged to me about it. Her pathetic motto is: men are the sturdiest stepping-stones in the river of life.”

While Lydia rolled her eyes in Lydia-esque disgust, Clara felt her shoulders slump. “We haven’t really discussed our pasts yet, Lyds,” she explained. “Our relationship has hardly followed a traditional model.”

She had no idea what this Valentina woman looked like, but the fact she was a beauty pageant winner made Clara feel like a frumpy dwarf. “Oh God, Lyds…how on earth can I live up to Miss America?”

“I wouldn’t worry, darling,” Lydia said. “You’ve got loads more spirit and intelligence.”

Lovely. Her best friend just told her she had a great personality.

Barely out of her raincoat, Clara pulled her cell phone out to call Luc.
Bugger!
The black screen reminded her it hadn’t been recharged since leaving America and she had no idea where she’d stashed her power cord. And Luc’s number was stored in her directory. Too anxious to wait a moment longer, she called the hotel directly from her land line.

“Please will you connect me to Mr. Bisquet’s room. It’s spelled B-I-S-Q-U—”

“We have more than one Bisquet registered, ma’am,” the hotel operator said.

“Oh. I’m looking for Luc Bisquet with Bartel Media Group.”

“One moment please.”

It was ridiculous she should have butterflies in her stomach, asinine that she’d rehearsed exactly what she was going to say the entire way home, much to the amusement of the taxi operator, but the very thought of hearing his voice made her goopy.

“Hello?”

Clara froze. She wasn’t expecting a woman’s voice.

“Hel-looo?” the feminine voice repeated.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. They must have put me through to the wrong room.”

“Is this Clara?”

“Y-yes. Who’s this please?”

“Valentina. Luc’s not here at the moment—”

“Nevermind,” Clara blurted and hung up. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor.

Chapter 23

“H
ey, baby.” Valentina pushed her
way past him and plonked down on his bed.

“Hey,” he said, standing against the open door, hoping she’d take the hint. “Not a good time for a social call.” He threw in a yawn for good measure. Clara’s call was overdue and he wanted to be free to talk. Considering how horny he was, phone sex couldn’t be ruled out.

“You can’t convince me you’re going to bed at eight-thirty, Luc. Not a night owl like you.”

“I’m working. I’ve got this blog thing and my regular Sunday column to get a jump on. I’m swamped.”

She thrust her chest out and wiggled against the rumpled bed cover. “I won’t bother you, baby. Go ahead and work.”

“Val, please. Not a good time.”

With a pout of her full, pink lips, she rose, but instead of exiting the room, she grabbed Luc by the belt buckle and pulled him toward her. The door swung shut with an ominous bang behind him.

She tilted her head back and gave him a heavy-lidded stare, a look he recognized well as her signature come-to-bed invitation.

“This must be so hard for you,” she purred.

“What’s hard for me?”

“This blog tour. It’s so pedestrian. And to be stuck with that English prig. How about I help you get your mind off of it.”

“English prig? You mean Clara?”

“Of course I mean Clara,” she said, sliding her hands up his chest. “She’s friends with that cold bitch, Lydia, so she can’t be any better. But don’t worry, baby.” She pressed her body close to his. “I’m here to warm you up.”

Unsure whether to laugh or get angry, Luc grabbed her wrists as she moved to encircle his neck. “Clara definitely isn’t cold.” He dropped her arms and took a step back.

“I see,” she said with a knowing nod.

“You see what?”

“You’re sleeping with her.” Val pushed her lips out for another pink-glazed pout.

He couldn’t deny it but didn’t want to confirm it, either. “That’s really none of your business, Val.”

“I think it is, Luc.” Her calculating smile worried him. Many mistakenly judged her on her wide, blue-eyed stare and blonde roots. Luc knew better. Valentina hadn’t snagged her tiara by her toothy smile alone. She was cunning, manipulative, and relentlessly pursued her goals without worrying who she slaughtered in the process.

“I stopped being your business when you left me for Bartel.”

Luc’s relationship with Valentina lasted about five
minutes, months, weeks?
but it was never a serious affair; neither had seemed bent on commitment.

Val was the kind of woman Luc was accustomed to dating before his accident, when he was somebody, when he was the important one in the relationship and whomever held his arm was nothing more than a sparkly accessory. He’d been as unfulfilled with Val as he’d been with the rest. He found her shallowness annoying and he wasn’t exactly heartbroken when she’d left. It stung, however, to be dumped for an old shark like Bartel.

During their time together, he had never thought to question her insatiable curiosity about the BMG empire or her obsessive interest in the man who ran it. Her infatuation—or perhaps
goal
was a better description—became very clear to him when he finally introduced her to Bartel. Apparently she’d set her sights on the top and Luc was merely a rung on her ladder. She’d actually used those exact words when she broke it off.

Now he needed somebody with a bit more substance, a bit less selfish in their motives. Someone more like Clara. Exactly like Clara.

“Oh baby, I didn’t leave you for Kingsley,” she said, closing the gap between them. “Not in
that
sense. It’s purely a business arrangement between the King and I.” She laughed at her own joke. “We’re both getting what we want. He understands that.”

“I’m sure he does.”

She rested her head against his shoulder and laced her fingers with his. “But you can’t deny we have some amazing chemistry, Luc. I think about that when I’m with him, you know. Think of how hot we were together, how you made me sing.” She ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his jaw. “Wouldn’t you like an encore?”

Merde.
He did not need this. Clara was going to call any second and he had a needy woman draped around him. Luc backed away and opened the door. “Go, Val.”

“Baby, wait,” she cried. “Don’t get all tetchy. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That she’s not being too horrible to you.”

“As you can see, I’m fine. Why would you think otherwise? And whatever gave you the idea that Clara was horrible? She’s the furthest thing from it.”

Val finally sauntered to the door. Luc was tempted to give her a shove to help her over the threshold.

“Just be careful, baby,” she said, turning to him and leaning against the jamb. “That’s all I’m saying. Her loyalty lies with her little European rag, not with BMG, not with us.”

“Where are you getting this from, Val?”

“What do you know about her? What has she told you about herself? Did she mention what happened in Rome last spring? A-ha, I can see by the look on your face that she hasn’t. She’s hiding something, baby. She’s not quite right,” Val said, pointing to her head, “up here. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Val, I appreciate your concern but I’m a big boy.” He moved to close the door but she stopped it with her palm.

“Well, in that case, you’d better call her back. She got my room by mistake.”

“Clara? Thank God I’ve finally reached you.” Luc dug his fingers into his hair, relieved and anxious all at once. She hadn’t picked up her cell phone in the hour he’d been trying. He left a dozen voice mail messages and paced a trench in the rug before it struck him to try her home number, then wasted another half hour wading through the complicated British Telecom directory assistance, an oxymoron if he ever heard one. “I’ve pissed off six C Beans in Greater London looking for you.”

“Oh. You got my message then.”

Sacre bleu
, her tone—so distant, so finite. “Yes, and it’s not what you think.”

“What makes you think I think anything about an ex-lover answering your phone? Just because we slept together doesn’t give you leave to presume to know what I’m thinking.”

“If you could just let me just explain—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Luc, but I hope you’ll see why I insisted on setting the ground rules of our working partnership. I’ve been down this road before, if you recall, and warned you that things would get awkward.”

“But things aren’t awkward, just misunderstood.”

“Please stop,” she murmured. “This is embarrassing for both of us. Let’s just forget about it all. Goodbye, Luc.”

Luc gritted his teeth, his patience about to snap. The sharp throbbing in his knee was practically unbearable, he wanted to throttle someone—namely Val—and he had no intention of letting Clara get away. Not yet.

“If you hang up that phone, Clara Bean, I’ll call Charlie Holmes and I don’t give a damn it’s the middle of the night.” It was a longshot, but the absence of a click indicated his bluff paid off. “We are
not
sharing a room. Valentina showed up just after you left. Kingsley sent her to pinch hit while you were gone. Her expense account was blown and she was under the impression that I wouldn’t mind sharing my room. She was
wrong
, Clara. There’s only one person I want in my bed, and she’s thousands of miles away. I left Val where she was and got another one, on my own dime. We’re not even on the same floor.”