Lovers & Liars (8 page)

“I
worked just as hard as you do. You have a bad attitude. Go ahead. Go to New
York. Sleep with the bastard for all I care. I’m moving out.”

“Fine.
Go.”

“How
will you afford the rent without me? Move into Gunther’s place? Become his
mistress?” Amy screwed up her face into a most unattractive expression.

“No,
stupid. Find a smaller, cheaper apartment. Good riddance. You’ve been jealous
of me from the beginning. I’m making enough now, I don’t need a roommate.”

“That’s
right. Then you can bring Gunther home for your…trysts.”

“Jealous
that maybe Gunther might be interested in me and was never interested in you?”

“Aha!
So he is planning to sleep with you?”

“Actually,
no. I’ve booked separate rooms at the hotel. Gunther has respect for me. I make
his business better. You never did. You almost lost him
Dorrie
Rodgers as choreographer on the TV series because you forgot to give her the
contract. I’d never make a mistake like that.” Erica held her chin up.
He’s not taking me for sex. He’s had plenty
of chances. He’s taking me because he likes me, and I’m good for business.

“Good
luck with the dragon, Erica. You’re going to need it.”

“Fine.
Be out before the first of the month, so I can terminate the lease.”

“You
can count on it.”

Amy
went into her room and slammed the door. Erica slumped onto the sofa,
exhausted. She piled the new items up next to her. She had begun to dislike Amy
more and more, but still, living alone would be hard. Now, she could afford it,
but it would mean postponing buying a new car or cutting back on money for her
step-siblings.

Is Gunther taking me to New York
for sex? I don’t think so. Would I mind? I’m not sure I can be around him
twenty-four seven and resist him. Damn, Amy. Trying to ruin my fun.
Erica
smiled.
A suite at The Plaza, dinner at
La Côte Bleu, walks in Central Park.
She leaned back into the cushions and
closed her eyes.
Every scullery maid has
a right to dream.

*
* * *

Erica
loaded her suitcase into the trunk of her rust bucket. Her breath came in short
spurts, and her hands were clammy. A limousine was scheduled to pick Gunther
and her up at the office and whisk them away to the airport at noon. She could
barely concentrate enough to drive.
This
will be better than any vacation I could plan.

She
arrived before nine so she could finish a few tasks before they left. She
printed out their boarding passes, tucked them into her bag along with the
hotel confirmation, and began to answer email.

“Ready
to fly away with me?” She jumped as Gunther’s smooth, deep voice startled her.
She turned around to see him as she had never seen him before. He was wearing a
light blue Henley T-
shirt,
open at the neck, and snug-fitting
jeans that hugged his slim hips and cute butt. Sunglasses rested on the top of
his head, and a fleece-lined, black leather jacket was slung over his shoulder.
He had two pieces of luggage near the door.

“We’re
going to have to pay extra for these bags,” she said.

“
Shhh
.” He put his finger over her lips, making them tingle.
“No worries. I don’t care if we pay extra. We travel in style.”

She
smiled up at him. His phone rang. “Gunther Quill Productions. Hi, Gabe. Sure.”
She put the call on hold. “Gabe Allison.”

Gunther
went into his office to answer the line. Erica turned her focus back to the computer
screen and began to type details into a new contract. She didn’t hear the door
open. She rose straight up out of her chair when the male voice spoke.

“There
you are. I’ve had a
helluva
time tracking you down,”
the voice growled.

Her
blood ran cold at the sound of her father’s baritone. She swiveled around in
her chair to confront him. His face was puffy.
He’s been drinking. Told me he gave that up.
His little, green, pig
eyes studied her coldly. “Thought you gave up drinking,” she said.

“Yeah,
well, you hit a losing streak like we did, and you’d hoist a few, too.”

“What
are you doing here? You can’t be here. I work here. This is a place of
business.”

“Yeah.
Mr. Fat-Cat producer’s office. Mr. Gunther Quill, right? Bet he pays you a
pretty penny.”

“That’s
none of your business. Get out.” She pushed to her feet.

“I
know you’re sending money to Billy.”

She
gasped, sinking down into her chair.

“Thought
you could fool your old man, eh? Wrong. Yeah, I’ve been using that money for
quite a while now.”

Tears
of anger gathered in her eyes. “Why you low-down, deadbeat…”

“Watch
it!” He raised his arm, his hand flat, aimed at her. “I’m still your father. You
treat me with respect.”

“Earn
it,” she spat at him, cringing.

With
that, he slapped her across the face, hard. She flew backwards and knocked a
lamp over on her way to the floor. The commotion brought Gunther out of his
office.

“What
the hell? What’s going on out here?” When he saw Erica on the floor with her
hand on her cheek and tears in her eyes, he rushed over. After helping her up,
he turned to her father. “Did you hit Erica? Who the hell are you?”

“
Mayburn
Wheeler. That’s my daughter. I can hit her whenever
I want.” He stuck his chin out.

“I
don’t think so! You hit her across the face?” Anger clouded Gunther’s eyes.
“Get out. Get out of here before I call the police.”

“She
had it coming. She was disrespecting me. She owes me. How much are you paying
her? You should fork over half her salary to me. She’s got family in need.
She’s got to give us some money. Erica! You come over here.” He pointed to a
spot next to him. His eyes flashed. “Tell this man what you did!”

Erica
cowered back, still holding her red cheek. Gunther stepped in front of her.

“Get
out of here. She doesn’t owe you anything. You’re a drunken mess, poor excuse
for a father. Leave!” Gunther raised a fist and approached
Mayburn
,
who wobbled on his feet and retreated for a moment.

As
soon as Gunther moved back, Erica’s father inched closer to her. “You’d better
send me some money, girl. You owe us. We’re family.” He raised his hand again
and stepped toward her.

Gunther
moved to cut him off, blocking the man’s hand as he lowered it to strike. One
swift punch to the gut by her boss threw the drunken man off balance, and he
toppled to the ground. Erica gasped.

Gunther’s
voice was threatening, a low, guttural sound she had never heard before. “Get
out,” he said, slowly, his anger clearly building. “Get out, and leave her alone.
If I hear you ever bother her again, I’ll call the police, and she’ll file
assault charges. I’m a witness.”

“You
didn’t see anything.”

“I’ll
testify and bring the police down on you so hard, you’ll never see the light of
day. Get out! And don’t come back!”

Mayburn
Wheeler brushed himself off, shot a mean glance at his daughter, and shuffled
toward the door. As soon as it closed behind him, Erica started to cry.

Gunther
turned toward her and folded her into his embrace. He held her as she sobbed
into his chest. Stroking her hair, he whispered, “He won’t bother you again. If
he as much as comes within fifty feet of you, call the police then call me.”

She
nodded.

“Don’t
let him ruin our weekend. We’re flying first-class, gonna have a great time in
New York. You and me. Dry those tears.” He handed her his handkerchief. “You
can tell me all about this monster on the plane.” He glanced at his watch.

“It’s
time to go, right?” She wiped her face and blew her nose.

“That’s
attractive.” He smiled and let her go.

She
laughed. “Sorry.”

“You’re
the one who made the arrangements. Our limo should be waiting downstairs,
right?”

She
checked the time. “It should.”

“Come
on, then.” He stacked his two suitcases and pulled hers behind him. The driver
loaded the luggage, and Gunther opened the door for her.

“I
think you need a drink.” He unscrewed the cap on a premixed margarita and
poured it over ice before he handed it to her. Then, he did the same for
himself. He raised his glass.

“To
a great opening night, huge box office sales, and fun in the Big Apple.”

She
clinked her glass with his and took a big gulp. The warmth of the alcohol and
his arm around her soothed Erica.

“Thank
you. Thank you for chasing him away.” She snuggled into his shoulder.

“No
one hurts my doe-eyes. No one.”

She
smiled at him. Being protected was a new feeling for Erica, and she liked it.
She liked it a lot.

They
checked their luggage, went through security, and settled in the Eagle Club, a
place for frequent first-class passengers. They occupied two sections of a huge
sectional sofa, facing a circular window that looked out onto the landing
strip.

A
waiter brought more margaritas and two sliced steak sandwiches. Erica couldn’t
believe how hungry she was. She wolfed down the food, which revived her
spirits. By boarding time, the anticipation of an exciting adventure had seized
her again.
Not going to let Dad ruin this
trip.
She forced him out of her mind and concentrated on Gunther.

When
the airplane was ready to board, he graciously let her have the window seat.
They chatted until the plane began to taxi toward takeoff. Erica noticed how
white Gunther’s knuckles were as he gripped the armrest.
He’s either afraid to fly or afraid of take-offs.
She folded her
fingers over his hand and squeezed gently. He looked straight ahead, but a
small smile curved his lips. Once the they had leveled off, he leaned over and
brushed her lips with his.

“Thank
you,” he whispered. She nodded, staring into his eyes, which had turned a
lighter brown. The beauty of their color wasn’t lost on Erica. She couldn’t
pull her eyes away. Something she saw there, an understanding, glued her gaze
to his.

“Do
you want to tell me about your life, growing up, your father? You don’t have
to.”

“I
don’t want to spoil our trip by making him the center of attention.”

“Hate
him that much, do you?”

“He’s
too pathetic to hate. He’s a gambling addict who’s fathered kids he can’t care
for. He squanders every cent after the rent is paid. He’s turned his wife into
a gambler, too.”

She
explained about Billy and
Chickie
. Rehashing the
subject tired her.

“I
don’t want to talk about them. I want to be here, in the moment, with you.” She
pushed the armrest separating them up into the seat, inched closer to rest her
head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

“Sleep,
doe-eyes,” he whispered. The last thing she remembered was the sweet fragrance
of his aftershave mixed with his own special scent.

Another
limousine was waiting for them when they arrived at JFK Airport. The ride into the
city was slow, building anticipation in Erica. When the car pulled up to the
imposing structure on 59
^th
Street and Central Park South, a doorman
tipped his hat and opened her door. He helped her out and took the bags from
the driver.

Gunther
tipped the man generously and followed him up the steps. A bellman commandeered
the luggage and led the way to the front desk. They were shown to their room as
soon as Gunther signed in.

The
suite had double doors that opened into a marble entryway. Through an arch
stood an enormous living room restored to its earlier glory. A large, sectional
sofa upholstered in ivory velvet shared stage center with a white grand piano
standing by large windows facing Central Park.

The
walls were covered in gold and ivory textured wallpaper to the chair railing
molding halfway down the walls. Below that was painted a metallic gold. The
floor was tiled in gold and ivory tiles with a soft pink area rug covering most
of the floor. The room took Erica’s breath away.

Gunther’s
instructions had been followed to the letter. On the small chest by the
archway, there was a large vase filled with freshly cut seasonal flowers,
adding orange, yellow, and pink to the color scheme. A tray of fine cheese and
fruit along with a box of
Godiva
chocolates were set out on the low, white wood coffee table. A silver bucket filled
with ice cradled a bottle of
Dom
Perignon
. Two flutes awaited. The bellhop carried
all the
luggage into one room.

Chapter
Five

Gunther
called him back and had Erica’s bag deposited in her room. His was across the entryway.

Mesmerized
by the lights of New York at night, Erica stood transfixed at the window.
In the morning, I can see the fall colors in
the park.
She turned when she heard the door close. Gunther stood alone in
the foyer and joined her.

“Don’t
you want to see your room?”

“Of
course!” She headed for the white door with the ornate gold knob. After
switching on the light, a fairytale chamber came into view. A queen-sized,
canopy bed dominated, with lavender-papered walls. Heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes
were closed, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere. The bed was covered in an
elegant spread of dark purple and lavender-striped silk. The same fabric
appeared on the canopy. A wood chest, stained white, was topped by an antique
ceramic bowl and pitcher in a pink and white floral design.

Behind
a small curtain was a large screen television. The rich, deep pile rug was dark
purple. Six pillows in pinks, light greens, and white graced the bed. She
wanted to throw herself down on it and disappear, sinking into the plump
softness.
I feel like I’m eight years
old, a fairy princess in a dollhouse.
She lay down and spread out.
If Gunther would join me..
.

He
stood in the doorway. “Meet your standards, your majesty?” he asked, bowing.

“It’s
beautiful. A dream come true.”

He
grinned. She pushed up and joined him. “Champagne?” he asked.

“Wonderful.”
She wandered over to the window and watched the traffic below.

They
took their drinks into their respective rooms to unpack. Almost blinded by the
brilliance of the bright light in the white marble bathroom, Erica set her
makeup bag on the spotless counter. A roomy shower stall, a bidet, and two
sinks filled the large space.
Of course,
two people are meant to share this bathroom, using two sinks at the same time.
A
shiver ran up her spine at the thought of being in here naked with Gunther.

“Like
it?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“It’s
amazing.”

“Big
enough for two,” he snickered. Heat rose to her face. “Embarrassing you?”

She
nodded and laughed. Gunther placed his toilet kit next to the other sink and
left. As she turned to go, Erica spied two fluffy, white terrycloth bathrobes
hanging on the back of the door. She pictured them lounging on the sofa,
wearing nothing but those robes and sipping champagne. Her pulse kicked up.

When
she walked into the living room, Gunther patted the sofa next to him. “Sit with
me.” His gaze studied her, traveling from head to toe. “What’s our schedule? I
know we’re going to the show on Saturday, but what about tomorrow?”

Erica
pulled her phone from her bag.
“Tomorrow, lunch with Max
Webster and maybe Cara Brewster.
If we win back the sister, Grace might
follow. Tomorrow night, dinner with Greg
Goldmeyer
,
Ervin Hammer, and Nelson Kruger. Who are they?”

“First
two are producers of
Strange Bedfellows
.
Nelly is the screenwriter. Where are we going?” Gunther pushed to his feet and
began to pace, running his fingers through his hair.

“I
got a couple of recommendations from
Dorrie
Rodgers.
La Côte D’Or and Café Limoges.”

“French
food, eh?”

“They
have steak and pommes frites…French fries…you’ll be fine.”

“Okay,
okay. I get it. You pick the restaurant.”

“I
already did. Café Limoges.”

You need a change in your bed—me.
She’d
never seen him rumpled before. A few independent locks of hair hung over his
forehead, his shirt was
untucked
and wrinkled. He
looked sexier than ever. She longed to touch him, comb back his unruly hair
with her fingers, caress his rough cheek, and kiss his inviting lips.

“You’re
not a picky eater, are you?” She tucked her legs underneath her.

“Of
course not. I’m just…particular.” He set his jaw, but kept moving.

“You
are
a picky eater! I’ll be damned.
I’ll bet your mom spoiled you, too. Giving you only the foods you liked best.”

Now
it was his turn to blush. “She liked to make me happy. Something wrong with
that?” He stopped pacing to turn toward her. The expression he wore reminded
her of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“And
did your dad go along?” Her tone was light and teasing, but his face clouded
over. His cute innocence dissolved into a dangerous scowl.

“I
don’t discuss my father. He’s dead. Leave it alone.”

Her
senses picked up his pain immediately. “I’m sorry.”

In
a flash, Gunther’s mask returned and his vulnerable expression evaporated. He
shot her a sexy look. “Yeah? How sorry?” His cover-up of raw, hurtful memories
was familiar. She’d done it a thousand times herself. Divert attention to
something else—the weather, food, sex, anything—and take the pressure off a
painful, emotional wound.

“Not
quite
that
sorry,” she snickered.
But if you touch me, I might crumble.

“I’m
starved. Let’s eat in tonight,” he said, changing the subject. He found the
card with the room service menu, and they huddled together planning a meal.

“It
won’t be here for a while.”

“I’m
going to take a shower,” Erica said, launching herself off the sofa and almost
skipping into the bathroom. She peeled off her clothing and turned on the
water. The heat melted anxiety out of her muscles. The room steamed up quickly.
The warm, moist air circulated through her lungs, soothing her frayed nerves
and relaxing her body. The special soap smelled of pears and lathered well.
There was a
loofah
, too. She scrubbed herself clean.

With
a thick towel around her wet hair, she slipped on the white robe and opened the
door. She wound the fluffy fabric tighter around her warm body to keep out the
chilly air. Gunther must have been in his room because the living room was
empty when she peeked in. Returning to her room, Erica pulled out a dark pink,
short nightshirt and matching knee-length workout pants. The material was thin.
Too revealing for my boss.
She covered
herself with the robe again and padded barefoot toward the sofa.

Gunther
answered a knock on the front door. He wore jeans, but no shirt when he let in room
service. He tipped the waiter, signed the check, and they were alone again.
While she was sneaking a quick look under each metal dome at the artfully
arranged food, Gunther slipped into the bathroom. He returned sporting the
other robe over his jeans, hiding his bare chest.

“Now
we match. Hungry?”

“Starved!”
She smiled.
Never thought I’d be in this
glamorous place with this sexy man.

Gunther
unwrapped a basket of French rolls and butter. Erica took the cover off a
sliced steak sandwich. “I believe this is yours,” she said, passing the food to
him.

He
removed the top from a plate, revealing shrimp in dill sauce over brown rice,
and handed the dish to her. He poured more champagne, and they toasted.

“To
the success of
Sway.
” He raised his
glass, and she clinked hers to his.

If this play is successful, it will
launch East West Productions. This is Gunther’s dream. I hope he gets it.
“Will you be able to predict its success when you see it?”

“Some
people think they can, but some shows that were supposed to be surefire winners
flopped, and others no one expected to take off, did. No one knows.”

“It’s
like gambling, then? Max is taking a big risk that might pay off and might
not?” Erica put a shrimp in her mouth.

“You
put a lot more into it than just gambling, the luck of the cards. Hiring the
best writers, best actors, set decorators should help…but you’re right. It’s
still a crap shoot.” He took a forkful of meat.

“And
I get anxious putting ten bucks down on a blackjack hand.” She laughed.

“Max
is rolling the dice with millions on this one. We’ll see what we think, eh?” He
glanced at her.

“I
hope it’s good. I think I’m going to like Max Webster.”

“Hell,
yeah. He’s a decent guy, not like me.” Gunther looked down at his food.

Erica
put her hand on his arm. “You’re a decent guy. A very decent guy.”

“Not
according to the tabloids.”

“According
to me.”

He
leaned over the table and kissed her. “We look like an old married couple.
Sitting here, eating dinner in our bathrobes.”

“What
do you know about an old married couple? Ever been one?”

“No,
and I never intend to.”

Her
heart slowed for a moment.
He’s full of
it. I don’t believe him. He’s just afraid.

They
split crème caramel for dessert. Gunther refilled their champagne flutes with
the last of the bubbly and rolled the dinner cart into the hall. Erica turned
on some soft music.

“Then
we won’t be disturbed.” He settled in on the sofa, patting the cushion next to
him. She joined him, snuggling into his shoulder, sipping her drink. Gunther
sighed and drew her closer. They sat in silence for a while.

“If
your dad is a creep, how did you turn out so good?”

“My
mom was great. She believed in me and made me strong. She died when I was
thirteen.”

“My
mom’s great, too.”

“You
don’t see her much, do you?” Erica sipped her drink.

“She
lives in Maine, now. Too cold up there for me. We talk on the phone. Are you
dating anyone?”

“Not
really.”

“Not
really? That means ‘yes’ in my book.”

“A
friend I have dinner with from time to time.” She shifted in the seat.
Wish I could talk about my acting class. He
could probably give me a ton of good advice.

“Are
you sleeping with him?”

She
sat up. “That’s a pretty personal question.”

“Are
you?” He glared at her.

“No.
Are you sleeping with anyone?” she fired back at him, her gaze unwavering.

Gunther
pushed to his feet and moved toward the window. “This conversation is getting
way too nosy for me.”

“So,
it’s okay to ask me, but not for me to ask you? Bullshit, Gunther Quill.” She joined
him, mesmerized by the view.

He
laughed. “You’ve got balls, I’ll say that.”

“I’ve
been taking care of myself for a long time. You don’t scare me.” She stared
directly into his eyes.

“What
if you scare me?” He chuckled.

“Do
I?”

“You
scare the hell out of me,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her.

The
tender touch of his lips on hers melted her combative attitude. She inched
closer to him until he wound his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace.
He angled his head to make the kiss deeper, more urgent. His robe opened. Erica
turned off her brain and followed her senses.
More.
She arched her back, pressing her breasts into him. Wrapping
one hand around his neck, she flattened a palm on his bare chest.

He
slipped his hands down her back, cupping her behind. He squeezed her and pushed
her flat against him. She felt his growing erection through his jeans.

He
broke from her, breathing hard. “Lawsuit?”

“No
lawsuit. Don’t stop,” she whispered.

His
eyes lit up with lust. He pushed her robe off her shoulders, pulling her to him
with one arm while he buried his face in her neck. He dipped his other hand
under her thin top. The moment his fingers touched her skin, a fire ignited
inside her. His lips on her were like a match to gasoline. Flames flew down to
her core. Her nipples hardened, begging for his touch.

He
slid his hand around from her back to her front, closing his fingers around her
breast. She sighed. “I want you,” he murmured.

“Take
me.” His hand massaged her, stoking her desire. He pinched a peak, making her moan.
He stood back then ripped her top up over her head before yanking her pants to
the floor.

“The
window!” She stepped out of her clothes and covered herself with her hands.
Gunther glanced behind him, picked her up, and carried her into his room. He
tossed her gently on the bed.

“You’re
beautiful,” he said, staring at her.

“Drop
those,” she said, motioning to his pants. Gunther chuckled and shoved his jeans
and boxers to the floor. Her eyes widened as her gaze glided over his body.
He’s perfect.
His wide shoulders led to
an impressive chest and abs, with just enough hair forming a line down to his shaft.
Supported by sinewy, strong thighs and tapering calves, his body made her mouth
water.