Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) (9 page)

Alex was alive and well and living as Zander Baron, and despite her anger, she was glad that her dream finally had an ending, even if it wasn’t completely happy.

Standing in the breeze from the window, she wrung her hands, recalling the three-day search for bodies after the flood, a search that had yielded no sign of Alexander Brannon. His own parents had given him up for lost, and soon after had filed suit against the Lady Emiline Coal Company for the wrongful death of their son. Although legal, strip mining had so compromised the mountain that the heavy rain had produced a catastrophic flood. The Brannons had sought compensation far longer and harder than they’d sought their son’s body. Even though Faith’s mother was one of the few people in town who attended the memorial service organized by Red Irv, Faith had felt completely alone in mourning him.

Even now, while she felt an overwhelming sense of relief that Alex was alive, she couldn’t share that news with anyone—not because she thought it would ruin his career, but because she knew his assessment of his importance to Dorothy was correct. Other than Faith, hardly anyone missed Alexander Brannon.

She paced her bedroom, desperate to talk about everything. Even though it was the middle of the night, she could call Magda, but Magda was first and foremost managing editor of
Personality!
Anything she confided had a very good chance of ending up in the pages of the magazine.

Daiyu was someone with whom Faith was friendly enough to call at two in the morning. But her story with Zander was too good, and Faith had no confidence that Daiyu would be able to keep the biggest secret that had ever come their way.

Faith dialed the first few digits of her parents’ phone number, certain that her mother would pick up on the first ring, no matter the late hour. She hung up the phone before the call could connect. Her relationship with her mother had blossomed over the years, but she knew it would be a tremendous shock for her to learn that Alexander Brannon hadn’t died in the flood.

The person she wanted to talk to was the very person she needed to talk about.

Alex.

Shivering in the chilly wind, she stepped away from the window, rubbing her bare arms to warm them. She wanted to kick herself for not getting Alex’s phone number at Krasco’s. It would be impossible to reach him directly.

Accepting that indirectly would have to do, she went into her cozy kitchenette and began burrowing through her handbag. She found her smartphone and called Brent Baxter.

“This better be good,” he answered on the third ring, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“I need to talk to Alexander Brannon,” Faith said. “Now.”

“Who is this?” Brent demanded, suddenly sounding fully alert.

Faith admired the fact that he didn’t pretend not to know who she was talking about. “Faith Wheeler. I met with Alex this morning, and I have a few more questions for him.”

“Miss Wheeler, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Faith said sweetly. “It’s about thirty-six hours before my deadline.”

“Could I ask who your story is going to be about?”

She understood his meaning perfectly. “I haven’t decided yet. That’s why I need to talk to him.”

“Miss Wheeler, I’ve come to understand that you and Zander—”

“Alex.”

“You two have history, and I understand that things didn’t end well back then. But I hope you aren’t writing your story for revenge. Zan—I mean, Alex—deserves better than that. I’m prevailing upon you as his friend, not his agent. He’s a good guy, and he’s been through a lot. He doesn’t deserve to be embarrassed in the media.”

“I don’t want revenge, and I don’t want to see him hurt,” Faith said. “But I have a job to do. I need his help to figure out the best way to accomplish that.”

“Could I ask you a question, Miss Wheeler?”

She brought her feet up to the seat of her chair and scratched at the petal-pink polish on her toes. “Sure,” she finally sighed.

“Were you in love with him?”

Stinging tears sprang to her eyes. Her heart pounding, she swiped them away. “Yes.”

“Hmm. That makes things a bit more interesting.”

“How so?”

“I think he loves you, too.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Faith said. “Not anymore.”

“I know him, and I am very concerned about what he’s willing to sacrifice to make you happy. My mother has discovered so many people, and very few of them are who the public thinks they are. Some of our clients are so lost in Olivia Baxter’s mythic reinventions, they really start to believe they’re the people she has taught them to be. That raw, rough-edged mountain man I met five years ago is still very close to the surface of Zander Baron. I don’t think you’ll have to scratch very hard to get to Alex, and I won’t let you ruin him, Miss Wheeler.”

“You can’t stop my story, Mr. Baxter,” Faith countered.

“No, I can’t,” he conceded. “But I think I can postpone it.”

* * *

“I don’t like this,” Daiyu complained, slumping against one of the rectangular columns in the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. “It’s too straightforward. I feel like a mall photographer.”

“Quit complaining,” Faith whispered fiercely from her position behind the column. “Harley Tatum’s bachelor party is one of the most hush-hush get-togethers in town, and you and I are the only invited media. This will be a great story for us.”

“For
you
,” Daiyu sulked. “My photos are going to look like crap. I’m used to flying by the seat of my pants, not walking around in the light posing people like Olan Mills.”

Faith rolled her eyes in exasperation. The Beverly Wilshire was one of the most storied establishments in Beverly Hills. Its Tuscan stone exterior and ornate Carrera marble façade were first made famous by
Beverly Hills Cop
.
Pretty Woman
later made the interior more famous—never mind that the interior shots of the latter movie had been filmed on soundstages.

The lobby of the real Beverly Wilshire looked nothing like the version in
Pretty Woman
, and Faith much preferred the muted champagnes and golds of the real hotel. Regal columns supported the high ceiling, and the entire space was a wonderful example of Italian Renaissance architecture.

In her punk/goth chains and ripped black denim, Daiyu looked as out of place in the glossy luxury of the lobby as the Clampett’s jalopy at a Porsche dealership. With her camera hanging from her neck, strangers might have mistaken her for a tourist, but hotel employees and celebrities knew that Daiyu was one of the most talented photographers working in Los Angeles.

In an attempt to shorten the reins of one of his more notorious clients, Brent had organized Harley’s bachelor party and had arranged for Faith and Daiyu to be added to the guest list. Brent’s intervention was the only reason the desk manager tolerated the presence of
Personality!
personnel. Even so, he eyed them suspiciously.

“Is it going to be much longer?” Daiyu asked. “The early shift will be leaving the clubs soon, and I want to get some shots for my book.”

Daiyu wasn’t the typical paparazzo on the hunt for photos to sell to the highest bidder. Most of the images she captured were for
Personality!
stories, pictorials and fillers, but the best of her work was reserved for her book, a collection of artistic candids she had been working on for two years. From veteran stars like Sean Connery and Elizabeth Taylor to newcomers like Zander Baron, Daiyu aimed her lens at anyone she found beautiful, compelling, unusual, or all three.

“Harley Tatum better be sober,” Daiyu groused. “I want him for my book, but not if he’s drooling and playing with his toes.”

“Could you try to show a little enthusiasm for this job?” Faith pleaded. Shifting her satchel on her shoulder, she craned to see around the artistic arrangements of fresh lilies on the table in the center of the lobby, to improve her view of the entrance. “Harley and his guests should be pulling up in their limo any minute now.”

“
Now I know it was a waste of time, workin’ so hard to make you mine
,” Daiyu sang, the notes breaking with an odd country twang as she gazed at the chandelier high above the flower table. “
Another guy comes and sings his song, you turned away, you done me wrong
.”

“Please,” Faith winced. “Didn’t we hear enough of that song after he won
Rising Star
last year?”

“I can’t help it,” Daiyu said. “I have a talent for instantly learning all the words to songs everyone hates.”

Faith spied the nose of a Hummer limousine gliding to a stop before the sparkling glass doors of the hotel entrance. Loud male laughter soon filled the spacious lobby, and Faith recognized Harley Tatum’s voice before she saw him and his cohorts. A hotel employee guided them toward the elevator, with Harley’s boot heels announcing their procession across the highly polished marble floor.

“We’re on,” Faith said, leaving the sanctity of the pillar. Daiyu fell into step behind her as she caught up with Harley’s party.

“Whoa!” Harley said, his blue eyes sparkling when he caught sight of Faith. “Brent went high-end for us.” He took off his cowboy hat and, holding it over his heart, he bowed to Faith. “And how many diamonds are you rated?” he asked with a flip of his long, strawberry blond hair.

“She’s not a call girl,” Zander growled, moving to the front of the group. “She’s a reporter.” He took Faith by the arm, the gesture as much possessive as protective. “What are you doing here? This is a private party.”

Faith shook out of his grasp. “Brent Baxter invited me to cover Harley’s bachelor party for my magazine,” she answered, smiling primly. “I have a deadline to meet, and I needed a story. A good one.”

“So you’re crashing the bachelor party because of me?” Zander asked.

“I’m here because of Harley Tatum,” Faith explained. “When an up and coming country rocker’s first CD goes platinum the same week he completes his second stint in rehab, proposes to his baby’s mama and decides to get married, it makes the magazine.
Personality!
prefers to emphasize the positives in a celebrity’s life. Harley’s attempts to start over and build a decent life for himself will make a great feel-good cover story.”

Zander clenched his jaw, which only emphasized its squareness.

“Would you rather I write the story I had originally planned?”

The lift of her eyebrow took him straight back to a secluded lookout spot on Kayford Mountain, and it disarmed him. The more he studied her, the more familiar his feelings for her became, and the harder he found it to leave her side.

“Olivia traded my story for Harley’s,” Zander said knowingly.

Faith and Zander held back while the other men and Daiyu entered the elevator. “Don’t undersell yourself,” she whispered. “It’ll take more than Harley’s stag night to compensate me for holding off on the scoop of the year.”

“Just the year?” Zander asked, moving close enough to catch the scent of her hair. “Now who’s underselling me?”

“You’ve only got one box-office hit on your filmography,” Faith said, her heart thumping so hard she thought he might be able to see it bouncing against her low-cut blouse. “If your next two flicks do as well, then my scoop might warrant an upgrade. It’s directly proportional, Zander. The brighter your star shines, the bigger your secret becomes.” She sidestepped away from him and entered the elevator, where Harley’s eyes went straight to her bosom. “I hope you can bear the weight of it.”

* * *

“Holy crap.”

Daiyu said what Faith was thinking as they moved through the eighth-floor suite where their private butler was taking drink orders for Harley and his guests.

“This place is bigger than my parents’ house. Heaven probably doesn’t have a living room this big,” she sighed.

Faith brushed her fingers over the large, peculiar petals of a ginger flower protruding from an enormous floral display occupying the entire top of the telephone table nearest the door to the suite. The tropical arrangement complemented rather than overwhelmed the subdued beige and green décor.

The thick carpeting silencing the clomp of his boots, Harley exited the second of the two master bedrooms. “This ain’t no party until some honey shows up, and ain’t nobody here but us fellas.” He eyeballed Faith and Daiyu, who quickly ducked behind Faith. “Of course, one pretty filly is better than no pretty fillies.”

Harley made a beeline for Faith, but Zander intercepted him before he could get within arm’s reach. “Why don’t you grab a cranberry juice or something from the bar?” Zander suggested. “Brent said that he’d arranged for the entertainment. Let’s just wait for it to get here.”

Harley snatched off his straw cowboy hat and threw it to the floor. “Cranberry juice?” he exclaimed. “There ain’t no dang alcohol here? Aw, man!”

“Dude, you’ve been out of rehab for about ten minutes,” laughed one of Harley’s friends, who was dressed similarly in high-end designer cowboy apparel. “It’s the rest of us who ought to be complaining about a dry stag party.”

“Who’s that guy?” Daiyu asked, venturing out of Faith’s shadow.

“He’s a civilian,” Zander said. “Justin or Dustin, or something. He’s one of Harley’s friends from Tennessee. He’s not in the business.”

“He’s cute,” Daiyu remarked. She made a half-hearted attempt to smooth down her hair, but the heavily shellacked spikes popped right back up. “Excuse me, Faith, Mr. Baron,” she said. “I think it’s time for my close-up.”

Daiyu was a good foot shorter than Harley’s friend, and they couldn’t have been more different in appearance, but they seemed to hit it off. Daiyu said something, Justin or Dustin bowed his head closer to hear her, and then laughing, the pair started toward the balcony and the fully stocked—but non-alcoholic—bar.

“I don’t know how she does it,” Faith said, staring past Daiyu and fixing her gaze on the view of the Hollywood Hills. “She can get any guy she wants.”

“And you can’t?” Zander asked skeptically.

“No. I can’t. Things start out okay, but then I just lose interest. I don’t want to settle for someone who doesn’t have that spark.”