Perfect Timing (33 page)

“I didn’t have a crystal ball into the future, Isabel. I couldn’t have known your time with Eric would be cut so short.” There were seconds of silence, longer than a clock might dictate. The only sound was the clinking of glasses being cleared away, voices rising and fading with a promising fly ball that ended in an out. “I can understand your anger, even shock. Just give it some time. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, maybe over breakfast. Just the two of us.”

“Isabel?” Nate’s voice came from behind, holding open the restaurant door.

She didn’t make the introduction promised earlier. She didn’t even consider it. But as Nate held the exit open, Isabel offered a pitying glance back. In the eerie light of the Back Bay Bistro stood a woman, a stranger, cloaked in deliberate and vengeful. “I can’t do that. I’ll be busy, having breakfast with the only parent I have left.”

THE SUGGESTED COFFEE TURNED INTO A BOTTLE OF WINE. EVEN SO, IT WAS HARDLY
a smooth segue into conversation about Aidan. Although Isabel was certain she didn’t want to talk about Carrie. They began with the things Patrick had shared, Isabel reluctantly exploring Eric’s feelings on the subject. “He understood what happened with Aidan as well as Patrick and I. But my father, I think because of his life experiences, was adamant about doing everything within reason to find what truly makes you happy, because . . . Well, because life,” she said, toasting her wineglass, “is shorter than you think.”

“And do you think Aidan Royce would make you happy?”

Isabel forced the wine down her throat, perceiving it as the most complicated question she’d ever heard. “The memories, most of them, make me happy.” She turned the thought back on him. “I, um . . . I spoke with Jenny—on the phone.”

He nodded, sipping from his glass. “She mentioned that.”

“She’s very nice. Not that I expected less. I suppose it’s natural, first loves never completely fading . . . and all that nonsense. Doesn’t it allow a place for the memories?” Isabel asked, tacking logic to nonsense.

“If that’s all it is,” he said. “Just memories.”

“I think you can snag on one momentarily.” Isabel reached for his hand. “But the past is still the past, Nate. I understand the difference.”

A short time later, the black Audi pulled to the curb of the brownstone. It was a quiet ride until Nate’s phone rang. They sat in the car as he took the call, Isabel absorbing the brownstone entry. It was as pristine as the night she’d arrived in Boston. All day she’d looked forward to escaping to its safe sanctuary. The cheery bedroom with rosebud wallpaper was home from the night she left Las Vegas until she moved to Providence years later. She’d abandoned a place that was all light and energy—one with unspeakable affect—for a place that represented peace and destiny. Neither had lived up to expectation. Catswallow, Las Vegas, Boston, Providence, or that rose-covered room, Isabel guessed she was too old to run away anymore.

“Isabel?” Nate said, opening his door. She didn’t realize the call had ended. He came around the other side, opening hers. “Hang in there, day’s almost over.” The air was cooler now, a salty sea breeze rolling in from the not-so-distant shore. It mirrored an August night from seven years before. But as Nate walked her to the door, she was distracted by two howling cats that weren’t there then, the sound of an engine revving and falling silent.

The wine and day insisted she lean. He pulled her closer. As he did, her hand brushed over the door. “It’s just a workout walk from your apartment to here. Patrick will like that. I’ll like that.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning I’ll be nearby after I move in with you.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Nate, it’s been a yes since you asked. You know that.”

“Do I? You haven’t answered, not in so many words. And now that the past has made its presence known, I have to wonder if he’s the reason.”

“Aidan? I thought we were done with that. Don’t be ridiculous. I—” She hesitated, realizing that she hadn’t answered him, not in so many words. But there were reasons for that. “It’s been one distraction after another. All of them unpredictable. But if we’re talking about Aidan, he’s probably on his private jet halfway back to California, or God knows where, by now. I told you, he’s a natural unavoidable memory. That’s all.” Her brow furrowed a tad tighter than his. “Nate, please, I can’t do doubt this second. Not after today.” She unlocked the door.

“Okay. No doubts.” On the stoop, with his arms around her, he kissed her. It was a soft kiss that channeled naturally, from comfort to claim. The kisses grew needier, anxious. They filled the emptiness, Isabel gratefully sinking into them. She wanted Nate to be that man, the one who would console when that hardy well of calm hit bottom. The open door created a fluid path, and they turned in waltz-like fashion into the lighted foyer. An evening breeze fanned the urgency, framing their image like a picture. Nate pushed the heavy door shut. As he did, there was a roar from the Beacon Hill neighborhood, tires screeching like a drag race. Isabel listened to a sound that consumed everything. She glanced down, watching Nate’s hands undo the bow, the fabric loosen as the dress fell open. His hand cupped her chin, tilting it upward to meet his steady gaze. “No doubts, I swear. Not for either of us. Not as long as moving in with me isn’t code for running away from him.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I
T
WAS
A
ROUGH
FLIGHT
FOR
A
IDAN, THOROUGHLY EXACERBATING FOR HENRY
. From Boston to New York his famous employer ran a gamut of emotions, surely making Henry think Aidan Royce was either high or certifiably insane. He was besieged, if not possessed: hostile, brooding, sullen, contemplative, distraught, snarky, and, lastly, apologetic. The always-at-his-service attendant was without a remedy for his rock star boss, not that Aidan expected one. There was nothing money nor power nor celebrity could do, no quick fix, not even the kind found at the bottom of a bottle. Midflight he nearly gave in, knowing there was the full bar his entourage enjoyed. He sneered. There wasn’t enough fucking liquor on the planet. Not for this. The risk was a choice. The consequences unavoidable, Aidan absorbing Isabel and Nate and passion poised at the threshold of a Beacon Hill brownstone. His gut had turned inside out, taking in the heated display, their married steps spinning into the bright light of the foyer. As Aidan leapt from the car, the brownstone door closed, shutting him out. He’d dared himself to go after her. But imagining Isabel’s pitiable glare, Nate berating him again before taking the woman he loved to bed, Aidan retreated. The opportunity to make an even bigger ass of himself had no appeal. Nothing had gone as planned. By the end of the flight, his mood had turned sullen, offering the contrite emotion to Henry as he exited.

“Don’t give it another thought, Mr. Royce. I do hope whatever it is you’re able to work through it.”

Having knotted enough rope to either hang himself or hang on—Aidan was undecided which—he said, “At the very least, I’m going to get some answers, right the situation that’s my responsibility. As for anything else . . . Well, I don’t suppose this thing can fly me to another dimension?” There was only a sympathetic smile as Aidan deplaned, darting into a waiting limo.

“YOUR CALL WAS SUCH A SURPRISE,” ANNE SAID, OPENING THE DOOR
. “I thought you were in Monterey with your mother.” Aidan’s eyes skimmed over sexy lingerie that didn’t translate into an evening alone with a book, which is what she’d told him on the phone. “You look upset, Aidan. What’s wrong?” He circled the apartment, surveying her vintage Fabergé glass and the lifestyle that he’d vainly tried to mesh with his. “I know you don’t, not usually, but do you want a drink?”

“You’ve no idea. But no, just club soda.”

“Coming up,” she said, making her way to the bar.

The entire room flickered, Aidan double-checking the skyline for a blackout. “Reading by candlelight, Anne?”

“What?” she said, filling a glass. “Oh, well, you sounded so tense on the phone. I know how candlelight soothes your mood. Here, why don’t we sit?” He did, sipping fizzy water, thankful he’d beat the demon. Never in his life did he need a clearer head. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I just came from a funeral.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea. Who died?”

“Isabel Lang’s father.” Her willowy frame pulled tight and locked. It acknowledged her deception without Aidan ever making the accusation. “Why did you go there, Anne? Why didn’t you tell me Isabel called, that she wanted to talk to me?”

“Aidan,” she said, rising and circling the apartment herself. “I know what it looks like, but just hear me out. Fitz came to me—”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” As he surmised, it didn’t take long for Aidan’s self-anointed keeper to turn up in the mix.

“Fitz came to me,” she repeated, lawyerly spin kicking in. “He explained your history with this woman. The one you never bothered to mention to me.” They traded a cool stare, Aidan still not filling in any blanks. “Fine, have it your way. As your attorney, it’s my job to make sure no one takes advantage of you. Asking for something from Aidan Royce isn’t like asking your average ex if he could spare an afternoon and help move a mattress. Your celebrity is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. It keeps thousands of people employed. It has to be protected—even if I’m protecting it from you.” He twisted around, Anne shrugging a delicate shoulder.

“Keep going; I’m listening.”

“Isabel’s inquiry was suspicious. How many times have strangers attempted to extort money or destroy your image? To us, the sudden emergence of a very real ex-wife was disconcerting. From my point of view, not only did I have the right, but I had a responsibility to act on your behalf.”

Aidan nodded, maintaining his agenda. “Okay, let’s say I buy that. Expand on
point of view
, because, let’s be honest, Anne, yours includes more than a professional interest.”

“Fair enough,” she said, sitting next to him. “While Fitz was concerned by Isabel’s query, he assumed it was all her idea. I, as you might guess, saw a clearer catalyst. I negotiated the purchase of that stupid radio station, Aidan. Your manic call from Kuala Lumpur, demanding I put in a mega bid on a radio station that wasn’t even for sale. I thought it was rock star eccentricities. My mistake, apparently.”

Culpability put him on the defensive. “It started out honest enough, as the means to an
end
—long overdue closure. No one was more surprised than me when it didn’t go that way. Buying the radio station . . . It led me to a place I never expected.”

“Or the place you’d hoped for all along?”

This time the silent acknowledgment was his. “I’m sorry, Anne. You’re right. A place I never left.”

An indignant glance cut across him. “I almost fell onto a nine-iron when Fitz told me where Isabel was employed. That her request was driven by a brazen demand to produce an unprecedented promotional event. Going with the odds that Isabel hadn’t married two incredibly successful artists, it was almost a guarantee that she’d reach out to you. How about you explain that to me?”

“Was it my intention to generate an opportunity? Yes. Should I have told you? Clearly, sooner would have been wiser than later. But I’m not the only one who’s been hiding information.” For the first time since he’d arrived she appeared unsure, nervously drawing a breath. “It’s your turn, Anne. Was it ever your intention to tell me about your trip to Providence?”

“To be honest . . . No.”

“No?” he said, eyes peeling wide.

“No. Especially not after my conversation with Isabel, the one where I met her significant other. He’s a very nice man, Aidan. A doctor . . . Nate Potter.”

“Jesus, did you all have lunch together?”

“We met in passing, but their relationship was evident. I even heard them making plans for a romantic getaway.” Aidan absorbed that bit of news, Anne jumping on the confirmation express that said Isabel was, indeed, in love with another man. She touched his shoulder, forcing his attention. “Aidan, listen to me, whatever feelings you think you harbor for this girl, whatever past you’re trying to recapture, she’s over it. Isabel assured me of that. Regardless of how much I was hurt by your actions, I had no desire to do the same to you.” Aidan moved from the sofa, taking refuge at a window, a suggestive skyline glowing. She followed. “But I see that my effort to protect you was in vain.” She sighed, shaking her head at the view. “Never let it be said that Aidan Royce doesn’t work hard for what he sets his sights on. So tell me the rest. You went to her father’s funeral and what? Did your plan work? Did your ex-wife fall helplessly into your arms?”

He snickered, finishing the club soda. “Shows what you know about Isabel. She doesn’t do helpless.”

Anne folded her arms, murmuring, “I see. Well then, my apologies up front for the reality check. But your presence here suggests she also didn’t come to you for comfort.” And what was left of Aidan’s heart picked up pace, his eyes narrowing at the fact. Acrid images of Nate and Isabel popped as a soothing voice offered an alternate end to the evening. “Aidan, I can make this better . . . you know I can,” she said, touching his arm. “We’re good together. You can’t deny that.” In reply there was only the pitchy squeal of skin on glass, Anne prying the crystal glass from his hand, putting it aside. “We’ve gotten off track. That’s all this is. But maybe it’s what we needed, some hard closure, something to give us perspective. We belong together.
We
make sense.” Aidan looked at her, his whole body tightened. His hands wove through his hair, squeezing his head hard, hoping he might crack it open. “Why not give us this one night? Who knows how things could change by morning.”

Anne’s arms moved around his shoulders. The scent of expensive perfume and distraction filled his nose, invading his head. Maybe Isabel did love him once. Carrie admitted it, even if Isabel never had.
“At the time, she was so completely in love with you.”
But he felt it too, or at least he thought he had, outside the restaurant, wanting desperately to pull her into his arms. He didn’t, too haunted, too unsure about the aftermath of what he’d done to her in Vegas. Anne’s body pressed against his. It demanded his attention, silky fabric accentuating her willingness to console. Her hands made a rapid advance, caressing every part of him, fingers nimbly working the buttons on his shirt. “Aidan, be reasonable. Look how your life has changed. You were both so young. Isabel never loved you.” But that wasn’t true, another counselor alluding to different testimony.
“Isabel stood there, divorce papers in hand for the sole purpose of keeping your sorry ass out of jail.”
It suggested something other than the scene that had played out in a Vegas hotel room. Aidan breathed deeply, eyes closed. Why would Patrick Bourne, a man who clearly despised him, make such a claim? On the other hand, what did it matter? What difference did old circumstance make if Isabel was in love with Nate Potter?
It’s too late. I waited too long.
Anne enabled the thought, whispering well-placed words of encouragement. Pouty lips grazed over his neck, edging toward his mouth. She kissed him. He was desperate for the pain to go away. She kissed him again, Aidan’s arms reaching. But he felt more mannequin than man as she unbuckled his belt. “Aidan, I promise, I’ll have you somewhere else in no time. And you’ll realize you don’t love her either.”

And in all the confusion, for every unanswered question, throughout the chaos that was his life, this was the one thing Aidan did know. Instead of responding, he pushed away, Anne nearly stumbling on the empty air she now embraced. “I came here for two things,” he said, buttoning his shirt, buckling his belt. “You’ve explained one—more or less. As for the other, I want you to call Kai and arrange a one-night-only show in Providence, the biggest venue they have. Pull out every stop, do whatever you have to make it happen as quickly as possible. If you can’t or won’t do that, just tell me. Kai doesn’t need
you
to follow through.”

“Wait . . . what are you talking about? You’re going to go through with this ruse? Why? What for?”

“Because I caused Isabel a huge problem at
104.7—The Raging Fever FM for Hot Sound.
If nothing else, I will fix that before walking away.” Aidan started for the door. “And if you have any ideas about sharing this information with Fitz, I suggest you think long and hard. Especially if you covet your position as my attorney. With the contract I’m about to sign, it’s something you might want to consider.”