Perfect Timing (27 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Providence, Rhode Island

T
OM
D
ANVERS
,
THE
ARCHITECT
WHO
’
D
VOLUNTEERED
TO DESIGN A NEW
Grassroots Kids facility, had just left. Aside from his professional expertise, Tom was a kind man. He’d never make a point of noting that a meeting was a complete waste of his time. Isabel sat with her eyes closed, embarrassed, feeling like a fraud. Nate’s hand was clasped over hers, the two of them sharing a private moment in the rather public, glass-walled conference room of
104
.
7—The
Raging Fever FM
. “Isabel, it was all right to take the meeting. You didn’t do anything wrong. Tom’s designs will still be there, not if but when Grassroots Kids has the money to move forward. You’ll figure this thing out. You did it the first time.”

She shook her head, mouth bent to a frown. “Yes, I’m sure I sounded so promising, ‘Thanks for all the hours you spent on this, Tom. We’ll let you know when we have two nickels to rub together, never mind the money to actually start building.’” Nate laughed softly, Isabel’s head dipping onto his shoulder as he kissed the top of it. “Between the radio station and Grassroots Kids, I’m starting to feel like a one-woman disaster.”

“Hey, not to change the subject, but I saw Eric the other day—”

“Why? A flare or something worse?” she asked, sitting upright. At the moment it seemed possible, her bad luck spilling over to him. “I’m sorry, that was unfair. I know the rules. If my father has anything medical to share, he’ll tell me himself.” She sensed a sliver of hesitation, but it waned like a crescent moon as Nate smiled assuredly.

“Actually, he wanted to know if you had plans for this weekend. I told him you did—with me.”

“Don’t tell me I forgot something else,” she said, fingers flying to her forehead. “I still feel awful for not answering right away about moving to Boston.”

“No, you didn’t forget. But, Isabel, I was thinking . . . What if we took a break?” She inched back, guessing he’d tired of what seemed like endless issues. He smiled wider. “I meant together.” She sighed, shaking her head at her runaway imagination. “We spend a lot of time on the serious side of life. Let’s get out of here, hop on a plane. We could take an evening sail in tropical waters, dine by candlelight, make love until we pass out. Let’s just go, even if it’s for the weekend.”

She smiled. “Kind of like running away.” It was tempting, an escape from everything. Isabel leaned in and kissed him. “Have I mentioned, Nate Potter, that you are one incredible man? How about if we . . .” But Isabel’s idea petered out, her peripheral glance catching on her co-workers at the conference room door. Tanya looked as if she’d won the lottery, Mary Louise not quite as remarkable, as if maybe it was just a two-for-one special at Stop & Shop. Behind them was a beautiful woman dressed in a sleek cream-colored suit, her dark hair pulled into a stylish upsweep. Two people followed. A young woman who had the essence of a capable gal Friday, and a man who appeared all seasoned Hollywood glitz, like someone you might recognize but didn’t.

“Isabel, this is Anne Fielding,” Mary Louise said, ushering them all in as she and Nate stood. “She’s an attorney, just in town for the day. She’s here to see you.” Isabel reached out, shaking a hand that felt like fine bone china—cool and expensive. Her smile was pearly, though there wasn’t anything particularly friendly about it. “And this is, um . . .”

“Business associates of Miss Fielding,” the man answered. Isabel detected a West Coast vibe, the rail-thin girl wearing a sheath-like dress that would be barely appropriate in California—perhaps never in the state of Rhode Island. There was a quiver in her belly. It linked things in her mind a step ahead of the confirmation that came from Tanya’s mouth.

“They’re with C-Note Music,” she said excitedly. “They’re here because of Aidan Royce!” The quiver morphed into a punch, Isabel stumbling directly into Nate’s arms. While she was in no danger of falling, she felt him hang on tight.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mary Louise said. “This is Nate Potter.”

“Isabel’s . . . Oh, what’s the trendy phrase,
significant other
,” Tanya chimed.

Anne Fielding’s smile warmed, extending a hand. “My pleasure, I’m sure.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, looking curious. Isabel appreciated his confusion, wanting to turn and ask,
“How about if we hop on that plane right now?”
Instead, she stood wedged knee-deep in guilt, Nate’s schedule rescuing her from an on-demand explanation. “Isabel, I have to go. I have a ton of patients this afternoon.” His glance volleyed from his watch to the glamorous entourage and onto Isabel.

“Patients? You’re a physician?” The question from Anne sounded more like a wish.

“Uh, yes, I’m a doctor at Mass General.”

“Really? How wonderful.”

“My mother seems to think so,” he said, moving toward the door. “Again, nice meeting you. Isabel, I’ll call you tonight.” Her gaze, which was adhered to the group, peeled away.

“Absolutely . . . of course.” She followed, making certain he didn’t leave without an answer. “You’re right. A tropical getaway sounds perfect.”

“We can talk about running away later,” he said, squeezing her hand before heading down the hall.

Language seemed elusive, Isabel nodding hard, not turning back until Nate and every safe harbor he brought disappeared. Reaching for the door, Isabel quieted a trembling hand, dipping deep into that hardy well of calm.

A courtesy call, that’s how they referred to it. Anne clarified that she wasn’t with C-Note, not like her two associates, but as a group they were, indeed, there representing Aidan Royce. Having received word of
104.7—The Raging Fever FM for Hot Sound
and Grassroots Kids’ request, they’d come to address the matter. In a businesslike tone, Anne proceeded with the impromptu meeting. She explained how Aidan Royce received endless appeals for him to appear at charity functions, most of them worthwhile and moving causes. She continued to dominate the dialogue, her companions nodding sporadically, more adamantly when she came to her point. Since the request involved a bygone
friendship
they felt obligated to offer a personal regret. Bottom line, the calendar simply wouldn’t cooperate. Anne hoped they understood. There was a groan of disappointment from Tanya and Mary Louise saying they did. Isabel wasn’t feeling as compliant, her ex-husband sending henchmen—henchwomen—to do his dirty work.

“So if you don’t mind . . . Isabel?”

“Mind what?” She’d already dismissed Anne and her last thought, focused on the one gnashing through her head.

“A private word before we’re on our way.”

“Sure, whatever,” she said. The gal Friday was first out the door, Mary Louise and Tanya following the man. Isabel heard Tanya offer him a cup of coffee, a doughnut, quite possibly her phone number.

A buffed fingertip tapped against Anne’s painted mouth. “This, um, this is a difficult point to make. I don’t want to cause you further embarrassment.”

“What makes you think you caused me any in the first place? It was only a question; you answered it.”

“Of course . . . my apologies, my assumption.” Her head tipped humbly. “If I may, I’d like to be perfectly candid.” Isabel’s hand swept through open air, not intimidated by the beautiful and clearly accomplished Ms. Fielding. “You should know, not unlike your past, I share a current personal relationship with Aidan.” Except for the reflexive gulp, Isabel stood stone-faced. She hadn’t put it together; she was
that
attorney. “Naturally,” Anne said, her mammoth diamond ring and fingers brushing between them, “ours is more significant—certainly more complex than some ancient five-minute marriage between two teenagers.”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I know. I also don’t mind telling you that you can’t imagine the difficulties of nurturing a relationship in a world that’s, essentially, rigged to destroy it.”

“I have an idea.”

“I’d be grateful, Isabel, not to further complicate things.”

“I’m not sure I follow. Whatever the excuse, schedules or commitments, you said Aidan wouldn’t help. I get it. I don’t see—”

Anne’s fingers fluttered through the air, halting Isabel’s words. “If I can make a snapshot observation. You’re fortunate to be in a relationship where you don’t have to deal with that kind of stress.” Isabel’s head cocked. “Your
significant other
 . . . Nate, was it? I caught a glimpse of the two of you. He struck me as stable—committed. I admit; I’m envious.”

“Are you?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love Aidan very much.”

“Do you?” Isabel said, a breath sucking in until she found there was no more air to take.

Anne smiled. “I wouldn’t be here, have hung in there if it wasn’t meant to be. It’s a lot of give and take—on my part. The recent incident in L.A. is a perfect example, Aidan’s encounter with that girl, his arrest. One of many, I’m afraid. Lord knows this time I should have kicked Aidan to the curb. But I can’t. I think I’m good for him. And we’re both dedicated to working things out. Aside from the bad-boy behavior, he has many wonderful qualities. He’s, um . . . Well, he’s . . .” She laughed. “My goodness, he’s Aidan Royce. What more do you need to know?”

And out of Isabel’s mouth tumbled the thought in her head. “He’s extremely protective.” Her eyes squeezed shut, stunned by the staying power of a deep-rooted fact.

Anne’s eyes narrowed, the smile looking a tad forced. “Naturally. I just meant there were too many to list. Anyway, his career, the pressure, it’s hard on him. The demands are endless. Personally, I feel it’s important to be forgiving with Aidan. You know, give him big boundaries, ample leeway in life.”

Isabel looked blankly at her. “Funny, I never thought so.”

She cleared her throat, tucking a stray lock that had slipped from the chignon. “Regardless, as I’ve explained, Aidan simply cannot meet your request. In addition, I wanted to offer insight to Aidan’s life—for you to know that he has one beyond the stage and fans and chaos.”

“If you’re implying that my motive was personal, I assure you it wasn’t. I moved on from Aidan in the instant I signed those divorce papers. The request was nothing more than what it appeared, the radio station format change and Grassroots Kids.”

“I’m so very glad to hear it,” she said, her face softening. Anne turned for the door but pivoted back around. “Oh, of course, your charity case. I’m sure Aidan would be glad to make a donation. Generosity, it’s one of those great qualities, right?” Isabel didn’t respond, an inward storm clouding outward calm. “I can give you a prime example of that! After Aidan insisted I move to L.A. to be closer, he bought me the car of my dreams.”

Isabel’s arms widened, hands slap-landing together. “Well, there you go.”

“I know; it’s overwhelming. Generosity like Aidan’s is hard to imagine.”

“To be candid with you, Ms. Fielding, I don’t imagine anything about Aidan.” Isabel moved toward the door, not knowing her own voice, gravel bitten, perforated by the conversation. Bodily reactions continued to disobey, Isabel blinking fast, mortified to find her lashes damp.

“When I get back to New York, I’ll see to it that a check is written on Aidan’s behalf. Would, say, $100,000 be helpful and bring this query to a close?”

“You tell Aidan,” she said, spinning back, jaw clenched. Isabel paused, grasping for indifference while letting go of a person who, clearly, did not exist. “You tell Aidan that would be lovely. Grassroots Kids would be appreciative of any monetary support.”

“Wonderful,” she said, smiling broadly. “I’ll take care of it. Best of luck, Isabel, with everything, your job . . . your cause . . . your life.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Los Angeles

D
AYS
LATER
F
ITZ
WAS
MORE
THAN
READY
TO
BRING THINGS FULL CIRCLE
. “Where the fuck is he?” he groused, sitting behind a mahogany desk that took up a fair chunk of his L.A. C-Note office. “I spoke with Kai. He assured me Aidan would be here. I want those contracts signed—today!” He slammed his fist atop a healthy stack of legal documents flagged with bright Post-its. They marked the numerous places Aidan needed to sign. He tossed an aggravated look at Anne and resumed knocking his knuckles on the desktop. “Just what I need today, the rock star version of Aidan Royce! It’s not like I don’t have a fucking major record label to run!”

“Calm down, Fitz. He’ll be here,” said Anne, who’d arrived that morning. She’d been on a coast-to-coast jaunt, beginning with her business in Providence. Sitting on the opposite side of Fitz’s desk, her attention shuffled between him and a duplicate set of contracts.

“You’d better be right. He’d better be sitting in fucking L.A. traffic or being mobbed in the lobby! His tardiness better have nothing to do with—”

“Don’t be so paranoid,” she said, though Anne did check her watch. “I told you, my trip to Providence panned out better than expected. My presence was hardly necessary. Isabel has moved on—her exact words. She has a lovely boyfriend with whom she can play doctor while she lives out a contented, albeit, pedestrian life. Add to that my personal insight on Aidan and I doubt we’ll hear from her again.”

“Doubt?”

“Certain . . . I’m certain we won’t hear from her. You were her best shot at making contact. She has no recourse. And to be honest, she didn’t strike me as the type who longs to be labeled a stalker.”

“Perhaps, but maybe we should have—”

“It’s already in place, a backup measure,” she said, not looking up. “If Isabel Lang so much as contacts your office or mine, an army of lawyers will descend, slapping her with a most embarrassing cease-and-desist order.”

“Good, that’s good, Anne.”

“Besides, once he signs this contract, Aidan won’t have time to bother with relationships that date back to his yearbook.” Anne waved a portion of pages at him, denoting C-Note’s segue into the motion picture industry. It gave Aidan a starring partnership, as well as a share of the profits.

“Speaking of said contract, I can’t believe you didn’t ask for one amendment. For the next seven years, when Aidan’s not meeting C-Note commitments his professional life will be consumed by our new production company.”

“He’ll look great on the big screen.” This time she made solid eye contact. “Like you said, Aidan operates like a thoroughbred, every once in a while you have to blindfold him. He’ll appreciate it in the long run. Fortunately, he isn’t much for fine print. He relies on me to convey contractual details.”

The thrumming stopped. “Don’t get too cocky, Anne. Publicity stunts and circumventing an ex with an ax to grind is one thing. Aidan’s not the same naïve kid I plucked out of Catswallow, Alabama. He’s older . . . wiser.” He raised a brow. “Certainly capable of reading fine print if it’s in front of him. That’s not a tactic I’d pursue nowadays.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I have a good read on how to handle Aidan.”

“If you say so.” Silence filtered through, Fitz clearing his throat. “Um, Anne, it’s not my business, but here’s a thought. Should you find your personal progress stagnant, there is an old-as-time method of securing a place in Aidan’s life.”

She looked up from the documents, frowning. “Really, Fitz, I don’t think my father offering a dowry of two goats and a mule will sway Aidan.”

“Not quite that archaic.”

“Seriously? You think he’ll read fine print, but you don’t think he’d see through something that . . .
accidental
?”

“What difference would it make after the fact? The point is Aidan’s persistent sense of right and wrong, that loyalty we spoke about. In my experience, it’s never been in step with today’s easy standards.” He shrugged. “It came in handy enough when he thought Miss October was in peril. Think about using it to your advantage, that’s all I’m suggesting.”

Incredulous or curious, either way, her expression was awed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never . . .” She paused. “On the other hand, he certainly had an aversion to living together less a marriage license. Who even thinks like that nowadays? Maybe you have a—”

A ringing phone interrupted. “There he is,” he said, mashing a finger into the speaker button. “Aidan, where the hell are you? You were supposed to be in my office a half hour ago!”

“Sorry about that, Fitz. Something came up, we’ll have to reschedule.”

Anne inched forward in her seat. “Aidan, I don’t understand. The plan was for us to meet this morning, have dinner this evening. I have all the contracts here, ready to review.”

“I’ve already done that. There are details we need to discuss, but we can do that later.” Fitz shot Anne an
I-told-you-so
look, the two of them leaning closer. “While I was on the phone with you last night my mother left a message.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, she’d been on an extended trip to Hawaii with some friends. You know, Fitz, that crowd of ladies that makes it to every show we do on a swing through Florida.”

“Not really, but if you say so. What’s the problem, Aidan? Is she ill?” A few seconds of crackling silence passed.

“No, nothing like that, but thanks for the concern. Instead of heading home, she decided to take a detour, Big Sur, Monterey. Seems she’s always wanted to do the tourist thing. I decided to drive up and spend a few days.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, I’m not,” he replied in a lazy,
“Why is this a problem?”
tone. Over the years, more so in recent ones, he’d used it for what seemed like the express purpose of annoying the living hell out of Fitz. “It’s the perfect opportunity with the break in my schedule.” As Fitz shook his head, Anne’s posture slumped dejectedly. “Hang on, there’s some traffic.”

“You’re driving yourself?” she asked, jerking upright. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“Anne, you worry too much. I can take care of myself.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean—”

“Never mind that,” Fitz said, a hard glare passing across the desk. “Aidan, you want to postpone signing your C-Note contracts so you can take a personal day?”

“No, I
am
postponing signing for a personal day.” Fitz’s arms lifted into the air, acknowledging how little hands-on control he had over Aidan Royce. “Besides, those contracts aren’t due for a couple of weeks. What’s the rush? My relationship with C-Note and you is solid, right?”

“Absolutely, very solid, but that’s not the point. We’re busy people, the three of us. It’s not easy to coordinate a meeting like this.”

“I suppose. But out of the three of us, you’d have to concede that I’m the busiest—certainly the most in demand.”

Anne held up a hand, calming Fitz’s protruding veins. “Yes, of course we understand. You’re Aidan Royce. How, um . . . how long do you expect to be away?”

“Just a few days. You’ll hardly have time to miss me. Promise.”

Calming hand or not, Fitz couldn’t be stopped. “That’s just great, Aidan, fucking great. I leave for Europe tomorrow. I won’t be back until the end of the month—”

“Hey, Fitz, I can barely hear you. Kai has my calendar, Anne’s right there, put your heads together and come up with a new date. I’ll be there to sign. No problem. But, really, you’re fading. And I shouldn’t be talking on my cell while I’m driving.”

He hung up. Fitz and Anne were left with unsigned contracts and the real-life spin of an irreverent, iconic rock star.

“EXCUSE, MR. ROYCE, BUT DID YOU JUST SAY YOU WERE DRIVING WHILE ON YOUR CELL PHONE?”

Aidan grinned, dropping his phone onto the seat next to him. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sleight of hand I learned courtesy of Fitz Landrey. At the moment, I need a high-profile life to fly very under the radar.”

“I know privacy is paramount to you,” he said, filling Aidan’s coffee cup. “Speaking of flying, the pilots estimate a late-afternoon landing.” Henry was his in-flight Kai, more formal but friendly, handling anything that his employer might need while en route on his private jet. He lingered for a moment, finally remarking to a still-grinning Aidan, “If I may say, you do seem rather upbeat today.”

“I am, Henry. I definitely am.” He took the steaming cup, sipping it, pausing. “I don’t mind telling you, I’ve logged a lot of hours on this plane, in this life. Parts of it have been an incredible wild ride. I’d never claim otherwise. But always,” he said, his gaze drifting toward the window, “something huge has been missing.”

“I’d have to agree.” Aidan looked back, surprised by a feeling he assumed was well guarded. “It’s my job to observe, Mr. Royce, to anticipate needs. I’ve worked for you for a while now, watched you spend a great deal of time staring out that very window,” he said, pointing. “Whatever’s missing, I’ve always suspected it was far removed from fame, well beyond anything a staff member could deliver.”

Aidan nodded, breathing deep. He cleared his throat, needing to change the subject. “Tell me, how’s your sister doing?”

“Kara’s doing beautifully, thanks to you. She has her son back; she has a job. Every time I see her, she asks me to thank you. My family asks me to thank you. We never could have afforded a treatment program like that.”

“I’ve seen the toll drugs take, especially heroin. It’s bad news. I’m glad I was in a position to help.” Aidan’s eyes traveled the opulent interior of the aircraft. “And what I did, it’s not as selfless as it sounds.”

“Sir?” he said, gathering the lunch Aidan didn’t eat.

“The good life, Henry. It’s not a simple thing to justify. It carries a lot of burden for a guy whose job it is to carry a tune. Doing things like helping your sister . . . Well, it doesn’t balance out, but it lets me sleep a little better at night.”

“For the record, Mr. Royce, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” Sipping his coffee, Aidan offered a curious glance. “But I am a jack-of-all-trades. My previous employers, all well-known, well-to-do
people,
demanded as much. Allow me to assure you, you should sleep well.”

Henry retreated to the forward cabin, a place normally jammed with the Royce entourage. Aidan remained where he usually did, in the rear section of the aircraft, a private space that was off-limits to just about every other human being. He squinted into a pre-painted canvas, mountains of cumulous clouds drilled with telltale signs of light. On any ordinary day, the heavens unearthed might be inspiration. Enough to pick up a guitar and sell his soul for three minutes and thirty seconds while keeping it radio friendly. Not today. Today he picked up his phone and dialed his voicemail. As he told Fitz and Anne, his mother had called, like he told Henry, the need for privacy was paramount.

“Hey, sweet boy, I’m home. The girls and I had a wonderful trip—private tours, the best hotels . . . You’re spoiling me, son! But listen, sweetie, that’s not why I called. I had a message here, on the house phone. It was from Isabel. Surprised the devil out of me! Anyway, it was just a short message, saying it was her, and that she needed to get in touch—that it was important. I . . . I know you don’t like to talk about her, Aidan, but you know how I feel. It sounded like she really needed you. Of course, truth be told, I’ve always thought of that as the other way around.”

And this, Aidan knew, was the truest statement of his life. In the midst of an Asian tour, on a balcony in Kuala Lumpur, from the pit that was the bottom of alone, Aidan finally let it in. He finally accepted that his divorce from Isabel was a complete and utter mistake. The feeling had chased him across continents, since the moment a story in the
Boston Globe
triggered an avalanche of emotion. In the end, it was her noted place of employment that provided a serendipitous fact. And from that Far East balcony, he put in motion an acquisition that was meant to be a symbolic gesture. Silently, anonymously, without Isabel ever knowing, he’d be a part of her life—even from as far away as Kuala Lumpur. It was a way to let her go, bringing closure to a tumultuous past. He had no hope of winning her back. What he’d done to her on their wedding night made it a certainty. It was his intention to move on. The fact that he was engaged to another woman gave the concept credibility. But the gesture had turned on him, his feelings fucking up the best-laid plans. When Aidan returned stateside, the tour over, he found himself fixated on his new acquisition, curious as to how it might translate into common ground. And for every second Aidan spent telling himself that it was an absurd fantasy, he spent one more pursuing the prospect. His purchase put him in the ballpark, but he needed a reason to get in the game.