Star Crossed (Stargazer) (33 page)

“Yes, besides that.” She glanced out the window. Her eyes landed on the Eiffel Tower, and she remembered that Sarah had warned her they wouldn’t be able to describe falling in love to their kids if they didn’t get more romantic. “It’s been two whole months since I was in Paris. What do you think?”

W
endy realized too late that they should have stayed in the room. They hadn’t even made it out of the casino when their afternoon went south. No sooner had they stepped out of the hotel elevator and started across the crazy casino carpet, hand in hand, than Daniel stopped and swore. Wendy looked in the direction of his gaze. Colton sat at a blackjack table.

“He was supposed to ride back to L.A. with Lorelei last night. What is he doing here?” Wendy exclaimed needlessly, because Daniel was obviously wondering the same thing. Angrily.

He dropped her hand. With Wendy trailing behind him, he stalked to the blackjack table and stood there with his arms folded. She had the briefest thought that the man at the table wasn’t Colton after all but the rumored lookalike, the phantom of Rick.

But she didn’t have time to put her hand out and back Daniel away before Colton—and it
was
Colton—looked up at them, then did a double take. Turning away from them, he peeked at the new cards the dealer slid him, gave up on his hand, and stood up smiling. He came toward Daniel with his arm outstretched for a handshake.

Daniel kept his arms folded, his face expressionless.

Colton glanced at Wendy in question. She didn’t have any answers, so he slowly withdrew his hand and explained in a rush, “Lorelei and I had a fight. The limo dropped me off at the outskirts of town and I took a taxi back here. Look, nobody notices me when I don’t have my posse with me. Of course, you’re about to ruin that.” He chuckled nervously.

“I quit,” Daniel said.

Colton gaped at him. “You can’t quit. You said I can’t fire you. I have a contract with your company, not with you.”

“Then talk to them,” Daniel said, “but I’m not working for you anymore. I told you what to do, and you didn’t do it.” Without another word, he headed across the casino for the front doors onto the Strip, seeming to forget Wendy completely.

She was left standing awkwardly with Colton, who asked her, “
Now
will you work for me?”

“No,” Wendy said impatiently, “but I’ll talk to Daniel for you when he calms down. In the meantime, for God’s sake, don’t pee on anything. Or post anything online. And no call girls.”

“I haven’t!” Colton protested, but she was already following Daniel across the floor. She was pissed that he’d gotten so angry. She was more pissed that he was taking it out on her, leaving her to trail after him like a puppy.

He must have realized this because, though he didn’t look any happier, he was waiting for her by the exit. “Sorry,” he grumbled, opening the door for her. “I hate this job. I hate it more now that it’s going to prevent us from being together.”

As she moved into the hot, too-bright sunlight, she tossed over her shoulder, “There’s always Senator Rowling,” half hoping he would consider this an option now that he’d clearly gone off the deep end.

He drew even with her on the sidewalk. They passed the paparazzi camped on the edge of the casino property, six or seven photographers hoping to snatch a shot of one of the lesser stars who’d appeared on the awards show last night.

When they could talk privately again, stepping into the crosswalk together, he said automatically, “I have to work for my dad.”

“You don’t
have
to work for your dad,” she said. “I’d be willing to bet that before today, you said, ‘I
have
to do everything my dad tells me,’ but you just recused yourself from a case. That’s not going to go over well in New York.” She laughed humorlessly. “You could work for Senator Rowling, and the next time I get in trouble at Stargazer for speaking my mind,
I
could work for your dad.”

“I don’t think so,” Daniel said. “He wants everyone in the company to be reserved.”

Wendy humphed. “You have to use your inside voice? Yeah, that probably wouldn’t work for me.”

He opened the door of the Paris casino for her. She knew she should be looking around at the vast interior, designed as a vague approximation of outdoors in the real Paris, near the base of the Eiffel tower. But as they rode an escalator in silence to the second floor and she charged tickets for them to take an elevator to the top of the tower, it was all she could do to hold in her tears. His words stung. She knew she wasn’t reserved. She seemed to be the only person who wasn’t bothered by this. She’d
thought
he liked her style of speaking, but apparently he only covered up his distaste for her when he was trying to get her into bed.

The elevator was crowded. The observation deck was crowded, too, with tourists peering through the iron bars at a more distant, higher-up view of the fountain at the Bellagio. Daniel waited until some of them had bored of the mediocre view and escaped back down the elevator before he leaned one shoulder against the bars next to her and delivered his next blow. “Why don’t
you
quit? We can’t stay together when you’re working for Stargazer and I’m with the Blackstone Firm, so you’re trying to convince
me
to quit. I’m not going to work for Senator Rowling. That’s a moot point. But if there’s another job out there for me, I’m sure there’s one for you, too.”

She tried to keep the clipped anger out of her voice and sound reasonable as she said, “For Senator Rowling, you’re talking about going into a completely different branch of PR, a jump from movie stars to politics, and from a large firm that handles lots of clients to the political campaign itself. Apples and oranges. If I wanted to get another job doing PR for movie stars, in New York there’s Stargazer, there’s the Blackstone Firm, and then it starts to go downhill.”

“True,” he said grudgingly.

“I could move to Hollywood. Lots of great firms there.”

He stood straighter, towering over her. “Are you threatening me?”

She was starting to feel ill. “Don’t look so angry.”

“This is not my angry expression,” he snapped. “This is my expression of rapt attention.”

“And I’m not threatening you,” she snapped right back. “I’m trying to solve a problem. Obviously I’m the only one.”

He put his elbow on a guardrail, his chin in his hand, and looked toward Fremont. His face didn’t give away how frustrated he felt, but his body language did. At least he was listening to her.

“What about your sister?” Wendy ventured. “You said she’s interested in the family business. Can’t she take it over instead of you?”

“Eventually, but she needs to finish her degree first. And my dad has been looking forward to retirement
forever. He and my mom have a trip around the world planned. They haven’t left New York except on business since . . . ”

“2001?” Wendy asked.

“2001,” he confirmed.

“But the Blackstone Firm is a large company,” she said. “Surely there’s someone else there who can take over until your sister graduates, and steer her in the right direction for a few years afterward.”

“There is,” Daniel agreed, “but that’s not what my dad wants. He wants the Blackstone Firm to be run by a Blackstone, always.”

“Why is that your problem?”

“Why are you bringing that up again? He’s my dad. It’s my family.”

“Right, but why does that mean you have to do what they want? Why can’t you do what
you
want?”

“I just can’t.”

“Since when? When your brother died?”

He took his arms off the guardrail and turned to her. Though his face remained impassive, the speed of his movements told her how angry he was. “You’re psychoanalyzing me like I’m one of your clients. You should do a lot less of that.”

“You should do a lot more of it,” she countered. “All you’re doing is putting a bandage on your clients’ problems, stopping the hemorrhaging, and disguising them from the public. If you don’t try to get to the root of the problem and fix that, the problem will just
recur. Did it occur to you that Colton might have a gambling addiction? I’ll bet that never crossed your mind.”

“Somehow we’ve gotten back around to this same argument,” Daniel said, “you telling me that you’re doing this job better than me. At least, that’s what you’re pretending. But what you’re really trying to do is get me to quit my job.”

“I’m not trying to get you to quit your job, per se,” she said. “I want you to be happy, and you don’t seem happy.”

“You know what would be easier? Let’s get divorced, which is what we agreed to in the first place.”

Face burning, she glanced around to see if they’d been overheard. They were the only ones left on the observation deck. Possibly they’d scared everyone else off with the accusations and threats they were hurling at each other.

Of course, that was ridiculous. Daniel would never have mentioned divorce if he’d thought someone else was listening. He’d made sure they were alone before he dealt her that blow. Decorum and appearance before everything.

With tears stinging her eyes now, unable to hold them back, she asked, “You would divorce me over your job?”

“You would divorce me over yours.”

He held her gaze until she couldn’t meet his anymore. She turned and looked out over the view from
the romantic Eiffel Tower. All she could see were the roofs of the nearby casinos and traffic crawling by on the Strip on a dusty, unhappy afternoon.

“You
will
divorce me,” he insisted, “if I don’t do what you say. And I can assure you, that is never going to happen.”

She could picture him staring her down angrily as he said this. She thought she could feel his stare. Determined not to look weak in front of him, like she couldn’t face him, she turned to him angrily.

He was looking down at the walkway. His expression was a blank, but the hunch of his shoulders and the downcast direction of his eyes made him look hurt.

If he was hurt, there was a chance for them still. They could talk this out. He would have to look up at her, though, and want the same thing. She waited for him to do it.

His head moved, and her heart leaped. But his eyes slid over her and off again. He turned to look out over Vegas. He was waiting for this to be over.

“I’ll go get my things from the room, then,” she said, “and on Monday I’ll have my lawyer work out the divorce and send you something. We don’t have to see each other again.”

She turned and walked around the observation deck toward the elevator, not expecting him to call her back, not feeling his eyes on her anymore, shifting her mind away from him completely. Her thoughts moved effortlessly back to New York. Her time with Lorelei had been a success. Lorelei still liked her. She would return
to the office triumphant—unless there was a nasty contract or some other surprise waiting for Wendy when she got back to New York, but she didn’t expect such a thing. Archie would make good on his promise of a promotion and a raise. She would move on to save the next spoiled star. She would be fine, so long as nobody ever mentioned Daniel Blackstone’s name.

Waiting for the elevator, she looked down and realized she was still wearing her diamond ring. Correction: Daniel’s ring. She should have given it back to him. That’s what jilted brides did, right? She certainly didn’t want this reminder on her finger, the band feeling cold now, like a medical instrument that would squeeze her finger off.

Sliding the ring off and slipping it into the pocket of her jeans, she turned around on the deck and looked back the way she’d come, half hoping Daniel had followed her and tiptoed a few steps behind her even now, waiting to apologize.

But that was a ridiculous idea. Daniel didn’t tiptoe. She thought about him saying coldly,
Let’s get divorced, which is what we agreed to in the first place,
and that pushed the memory of him looking down and seeming hurt out of her head. The elevator arrived. On the ride down, she held her breath, feeling that she was descending into the depths of a mineshaft. Back in the casino, she rode down the escalator and headed for the door to the Strip.

She paused beside a bank of giddy slot machines, unable to go on. She took a few shuddering breaths,
trying to collect herself before she broke down in tears in public. PR professionals did not make scenes. Not over their own unimportant lives, especially.

Her skin turned to fire as a sharp point jabbed through her blouse and into her side. “It’s Rick,” a voice growled in her ear. “Remember me?” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Don’t scream. I’ve got a knife and I will gut your pretty belly. We’re going to take some pictures.”