Kiss the Girl (50 page)

“Then listen to me.”  He snatched up her hands in his and they were hot, urgent.  “Come to
Bumani
.”

She
stared at h
im
for an endless moment,
her
pulse
bumping in c
onfused circles
.  T
hen t
he intercom
buzzed, shattering
the
stillness
. N
ixie jumped as if she’d been stung.

“
That’ll be
James
,” she said
slowly
.
 
“I have to go.”

“
Of course
,” Karl said,
giving her hands one last squeeze before dropping them.  “
But we’ll talk after the gala.  Y
ou have a decision to ma
ke
, Phoenix.
”

“I know.”  She gathered up her purse and keys
with great care
, as if
the
rapidly fraying fabric of her life
might give at any
moment
.  “I know
I do
.”

“Oh dear
God
, is that a red carpet?”  Mary Jane
pasted herself to the tinted glass of the limo, dread clawing at her throat.  “Is that
paparazzi
?”

Erik leaned past her, glanced out the window and said, “Yes and no.”

“What doe
s
that mean, yes and no?”  Mary Jane’s chest felt tight, like she wasn’t get
ting
enough oxygen.  “Either it is or it isn’t.
” 

“Yes
,
it’s a red carpet.  No
,
it’s not paparazzi.  That’s
a well-ordered, hand-picked press corps, led by
Missy Jensen from Channel Four
.  Nixie asked her to do red carpet interviews, Oscar-style.”

“Jesus.”  Mary Jane twisted the engagement ring around her finger. 
She
watched a junior Senator from Texas exit a limo and stroll up the red carpet.  The cameras went nuts and reporters shoved microphones into his face, into his date’s face
.
  They smiled shiny, professional smiles and
hit their marks like Mr. and Mrs. America
.  Mary Jane’s stomach
tightened alarmingly
.
  “
I can’t do this.”

Erik gave her knee a distracted pat
as the limo crept forward, easing them closer and closer to Mary Jane’s personal vision of hell
.  “
Sure you can.”

“No, I can’t.  This is
not
what I signed up for.  I’m a doctor, not a movie star.”  She yanked at the
hem
of the black cocktail dress that had been elegant and mysterious
last week
.  Now
, thank
s
to a stress-related doughnut habit,
it hugged and
snugged
and blabbed everything.
  She checked one last time for powdered sugar on her skirt.
 

“You look fine.” 

“You know I hate crowds.”  She hauled
at
the dangerous V neckline
as if she could make
it swallow a few more inches of cleavage
by sheer force of will.
 

The
y stopped again.  Only two limos left to disgorge their passengers at the red carpet, then it would be Mary Jane’s turn.
  Her breath came faster and shallower until
black spots began to
dance before her eyes.  She
grabbed Erik by the lapels of his tux
and shook him with the strength of the truly terrified
. 

“
What am
I
supposed to
do
?” she wailed
.  “Where do I walk?  What do I do with my hands?  What do I say?”

He gazed at her with wide, startled eyes, finally recognizing her as a woman in crisis.  About
g
od
damn time, she thought. 

“Jesus,” he said, “you’re hyperventilating.” 

He shoved her head toward her knees but she clawed at his hand.  “Are you nuts?  I can’t bend over in this thing!  I
t took two
Spanx
just to get the zipper up.” 

Erik paused.  “
I have no idea what that means, but you probably shouldn’t mention it
on TV
.”

“
Spanx
,
Erik.
  You know, Gwyneth
Paltrow’s
girdle of choice
? 
Everybody wears them, even stick-skinny Missy Jensen, probably.” 
She turned her attention to the window again
, the red carpet exerting the same sick fascination over her as bloody car accidents exerted over people
who hadn’t
see
n
enough of that sort of thing
in med school
. 

She watched N
ixie step out of the limo in front of them, and a queer shock of recognition but not-recognition shot through her. 

“
Whoa, e
xcept her.  No girdle on her,
” she said, letting her breath whistle out through her teeth
.  “
Hello, Hollywood Nixie.  That’s a little
stunning
, isn’t it?  When you’re used to Reception Desk Nixie, I mean.”

“She’s not a Barbie, Mary Jane
.
”

She ignored him and watched as Nixie’s jeweled bodice
--
filled with exactly the correct amount of cleavage, Mary Jane
noted with envy
--
shattered the flashbulbs and left them hanging in the air around her like
diamond dust
.  “
No
Spanx
on this girl
.
  There can’t be.  It would be a crime to
put
anything between that material and your skin.”  She sighed.  “It must be like wearing clouds.”

She glanced at
Erik
but he
gazed determinedly at his knees, and Mary Jane’s brows inched up her forehead.  No straight man in her acquaintance would ignore the sight of Nixie Leighton-Brace dressed up li
ke the
Greek
g
od
dess
of sunsets and precious jewels, striding up the red carp
et on those thoroughbred legs.  Interesting. 

“That guy she’s with seems to like it, anyway. 
God
, he’s practically petting her.”

“
She’s letting Harper
pet
her
?
”
  Erik sat up and looked out the window. 

She smiled
at the
look of
stunned wonderment on his face as he got a load of Nixie in all her glory.  The girl had spent a lot of time these past weeks holding back, dressing down,
fitting in
.
  But Nixie wasn’t holding back jack
tonight.  No, tonight she’d unleashed that whatever-it-was Nixie had, that full-tilt charisma and that, together with her perfect bones and her ability to wear couture like it was yesterday’s pajamas, had the paparazzi on its knees before her, worshipping their own personal deity.  Tonight, Nixie was burning the house down and
knocking the oh-so-practical Erik on his ass in the process.  Mary Jane was just evil enough to enjoy that
.

“
Nah
,” she said.
 
“
But giving you crap always takes my mind off my worries, and since I can’t put my head between my knees...”

“Nice.”

“Hey, I’m
this close
to a nervous breakdown
and this is working for me
.”

“I hope
so
because we’re up.”

“Oh, dear
God
.”

He smiled
, but it was small and grim
.  “Let’s go, doctor.”

She crossed herself, said as much of the Hail Mary as she could remember and shoved open the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sloan
stood on the second story balcony outside the ballroom and
watched Nixie stride up the red carpet
,
power and elegance in every step
.  Sloan’s
heart swelled with pride she knew she didn’t deserve.  She hadn’t taught Nixie any of this, except maybe how to walk in heels.  The rest
--
the composure, the serenity, the perfect knowledge of her
own
worth
--
Nixie had earned all by herself in the years when Sloan was too busy, too afraid to be a mother.  Nixie had brought herself up and it showed.

God
damn, her little girl had done a good job. 

Nixie moved though the crowd, and every face followed
her
like flowers tracking the sun through the sky.  She was so much like her father that Sloan had to close her eyes against an
unruly rush of bittersweet love.  She didn’t spare a glance for the man she’d
screwed
for
two
pathetic
weeks
, the one now basking in Nixie’s afterglow like some kind of
parasite
.