Trust Me on This (3 page)

Well, first, she'd been dumb. She was used to people who
wanted
to talk to her, who were dying to describe the centerpieces at their anniversary parties. She should have been more convincing. Second, she should have known that the serenity Janice Meredith had shown in the restaurant was at least partly a cover for her pain. She should have been more careful. And approaching her in the elevator, that had been stupid too.
Think from now on
, she told herself.

All right. She was going to have to wait until the woman had calmed down before she could even hope to approach her, and even then it was going to be tough. Somehow she had to convince her of her sincerity. Somehow, she had to show Janice Meredith that she was a reputable journalist, a sympathetic ear. Of course the woman wouldn't talk to just anybody about this. Even if she was committed to a new life of risking, that didn't mean the wounds from the old life weren't still fresh.

But if a friend approached her… If a friend told her that this marvelous journalist wanted to present her side of the story… If a friend—

Somehow, she had to get an introduction from somebody Janice Meredith trusted.

There had been two of them in the restaurant. Trella and Victoria. There might be several Victorias in the pop literature program, but Dennie was willing to bet there'd be only one Trella. And while Victoria looked sharp, Trella had been only marginally sentient, much like the two guys who'd tried to pick her up in the lobby. Trella was the one to go for.

She punched the button for the lobby and went to pick up her bag and find a program and get her racing heart back under control.

Alec was back sitting in his favorite seat by the brass archway to the bar when the brunette crossed the lobby again.
At last
, he thought She'd been gone from the restaurant when he'd gotten back from his phone call, and he'd lost her for half an hour. It made him nervous to think of the scores she could have been making while he was looking for her, but she was there now, steaming across the lobby to the phones.

Didn't this woman ever just walk anywhere? Every time he saw her, she was moving full tilt. She'd run Bond into the ground with all that energy. The thought of Bond as recipient of the brunette's energy made him envious. Harry had told him to make a move on her again. It was his duty to draw a little of that energy for himself.

He straightened to go join her, and then stopped. She was on the phone, checking her watch, and then she hung up and sat down, obviously waiting for someone. Alec relaxed back into his chair to see what she was up to.

Fifteen minutes later, a little blue-haired woman in a silver-gray suit got off the elevator and crossed toward her, and Alec sighed. He knew her, Trella Madison, an old friend of his aunt's, and he also knew she was every con man's dream: friendly, wealthy, and dumb as a rock.

It was starting.

"Thank you for meeting me," Dennie said, sinking into a gilt chair next to Trella. The huge overplush lobby wasn't the best place for an interview—the gold furniture and red-flocked walls made the place look like a nineteenth century Whores "R" Us—but Dennie couldn't afford to be choosy. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this," she told Trella.

"Well, I really just came to tell you that I couldn't possibly talk to you about Janice." Trella beamed at her. "And really, I wish you would just forget this whole thing. You seem like a nice person." She patted Den-nie's hand.

"Oh, I
am
." Dennie leaned forward and projected sincerity with every cell in her body. "And I do sympathize with Professor Meredith. Truly, I do. That's why I want to do the interview with her. The press can be savage on something like this." She beamed back at Trella, trying to look intelligent, compassionate, warm, and honest at the same time. It shouldn't have been hard, she felt all of those things, but trying to keep them on her face made her feel like a fraud. "If you could just tell her that I mean only the
best
for her, and I mean the
best—"

"You know, dear, I think it's a mistake to talk to the press," Trella said, a trifle abstracted. "Sometimes they misquote you, and then sometimes they don't, and you've really said those things, which can be so much worse."

"Don't think of me as the press," Dennie said, trying not to let her intensity flatten the little woman. "Think of me as a friend with a tape recorder. Think of me as somebody who would not dream of misquoting anyone because this is the biggest story of my career, and I want desperately to get everything right."

"I don't think careers like this are good for a woman," Trella said. "They make a woman hard." She tilted her head at Dennie. "You don't look hard yet. Although there is that line between your eyes. Lines are so bad. Why don't you just find a nice man and forget this?" Trella patted Dennie's hand again.

Dennie clenched her teeth and tried to remember that if she ripped Trella's head off, she'd never get the Meredith interview. "Well," she said carefully instead, "don't you think that since I'm not hard yet, that I would be a good person—"

"Miss Banks?"

Dennie jerked her head up at the man's voice. He was a young suit, probably early thirties, painfully thin, prematurely balding and visibly uncomfortable. He was standing beside Janice Meredith.

This could not be good.

"Miss Banks? I'm Paul Baxter, the manager here, and I was wondering if I could see you for a moment?" The man's voice was pleading.

"Why?" Dennie asked, keeping a wary eye on Janice.

"I forgot to tell you, dear," Trella said. "I did call Janice and mention I was meeting you. I hope you don't mind—"

This is bad
, Dennie told herself as her heartbeat moved into overdrive.
Nothing I can't handle, but it's bad
.

Janice Meredith broke in. "It's very simple, Miss Banks. I have reported your harassment to Mr. Baxter. If you attempt to question either myself or any of my friends again, I'll have you arrested. Ohio has a stalking law, you know."

"Stalking?" Dennie blinked, confusion goosing her nervousness along. "I'm on your side. Why would I stalk you? If you'd just let me—"

"Trust me, Miss Banks," Janice Meredith said evenly, "I know exactly who is on my side. And you're not even close. Come with me, Trella."

Trella stood up and smiled uncertainly at Dennie. "It was lovely talking to you, dear. Good luck on finding a man."

When they were gone, Dennie realized she was trembling and clenched her hands together to stop the shaking.

The manager cleared his throat. "I'm sure this was just a misunderstanding," he said, clasping and unclasping his hands. Dennie knew just how he felt. "But if you could avoid Dr. Meredith whenever possible, we'd all be very grateful. And we would like to avoid the police."

"Right," Dennie said. "The police would be bad."

"Thank you," Mr. Baxter said. "I'm sure you meant well, but Dr. Meredith is very powerful, and I just got this promotion, and I—we—the hotel, that is—well, me, too—we really can't afford the bad publicity."

"I understand," Dennie said, beginning to feel sorry for him, but sorrier for herself. She'd almost had a heart attack in the ugliest hotel lobby in Ohio.

"The police would probably be bad publicity." Mr. Baxter sounded unsure.

"I'd bet on it," Dennie said.

"Well, then, you understand." Mr. Baxter nodded once, turned away, turned back, and said, "Uh, enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Dennie said.

When he was gone, Dennie leaned back for a moment trying to calm her panic-stricken heart. You need to find someone you can't charm, Patience had told her, and then Fate sent her Janice Meredith. What a shame she couldn't call Patience on her honeymoon and tell her;
somebody
should be enjoying this.
Think
, she told herself, and then as she registered the curious looks that passersby were throwing at her as she sat frowning, she shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the mahogany and brass bar she could see through the archway at the end of the lobby. People in bars often scowled at random; she wouldn't be noticeable there.

Once inside the cool darkness, she ordered a scotch from the little redhead behind the bar and contemplated the humiliation of her afternoon. First Janice Meredith had looked at her as if she were lower than Howard Stern. And then there had been Trella, the throwback. Find a nice man, she'd said. And then that wimpy hotel manager who was probably the sole support of a large extended family—

"You okay?" the bartender said as she put the scotch in front of Dennie.

"I'm having a rough morning," Dennie said. "People are thwarting me."

The redhead grinned at her. "Welcome to my world. And it's afternoon now, so maybe things will pick up."

"They can't get much worse." Dennie picked up her scotch. "Thanks. I needed this."

"My pleasure," the bartender said.

Dennie sipped her scotch, and the bartender drifted away as she contemplated her problem. Okay, she'd been shot down. She wasn't out yet. She could still get the interview somehow. In spite of Meredith's resistance and Trella's obtuseness and that manager's rabbitlike terror—

She closed her eyes as she felt every muscle she had tense with frustration. Be calm. Tension never got anybody anywhere. Tension was nonproductive. Tension was bad.

Calm was good. Calm. Cool. Sophisticated. If she was calm, she'd think of a solution. If she was calm, she could be charming again. She composed herself, opened her eyes, and looked at herself in the mirror over the bar. Exactly. She looked like an adult. That was good. Very good. She practiced a charming adult smile in the mirror.

"That is
some
smile."

Dennie whipped her head around. Standing beside her was the I've-got-plenty-of-money doofus from the lobby, all blank brown eyes and aw-shucks grin and dumb good looks. He looked a lot like the first guy she'd bumped into at the door, but bigger. Broader. In fact, if he hadn't had such a blank look on his face, he'd have been really attractive. He must have inherited his pile. He couldn't possibly have had the brains to make it himself. Not that it mattered. She had other things to concentrate on. "Go away."

"Aw, now, really." He slid onto the bar seat next to her and smiled at her like a big puppy. Gee, gosh, ma'am. "I bet that smile gets you just about anything you want. Like dinner. It sure would get you dinner with me tonight."

The bartender had drifted back. Dennie caught her grinning and fought the urge to grin back. "No, thank you. As I mentioned to you earlier, you have nothing I want. I would like to be alone now, please." Dennie tried to turn her back on him.

"Pretty lady like you, alone? Aw, c'mon." He ducked his head in front of her, goofily confident.

Dennie reassessed her position on tension as she clenched her teeth. "No, never, not in this lifetime, absolutely not," she said, enunciating each word clearly, and the bartender bit her lip.

His eyes widened slightly, and he drew back. "Gee, usually that smile bit is a great line for me." He blinked at her. "But, hey, I'm adaptable. Okay. Your smile is really bad."

Dennie swung around on her stool to walk away from him before she killed him.

"And you're ugly too."

Dennie froze, and the bartender blinked.

"How am I doing?" the doofus asked, his puppy smile still in place. "Better?"

Dennie shook her head, dumbstruck by his cheerfulness. "I'm ugly?"

He nodded, his head bobbing like a fishing float. "You probably walk funny too. That's why I asked you to dinner. At least you'd be sitting down."

Dennie folded her arms. "My smile is bad, I'm ugly, and I walk funny."

He nodded again. "That's about it. So how about dinner?"

Dear God, and people wondered why so many women were lesbians. "As I said, not in this lifetime," Dennie said, and turned to walk out the door.

"Gee, and my aunt Trella seemed to like you so much."

Dennie swung back around to him. "Trella is your aunt?"

"Well, not really." He leaned back on the bar, looking dumb as dirt. "She's a friend of my aunt Victoria's."

"Victoria," Dennie said.

"Yep."

"Victoria's your aunt." Dennie came back to the bar and sat down, thinking fast. Not even Janice Meredith could have her arrested for talking to Victoria while she dated her nephew. She looked at him again, and he smiled, all teeth. Dear God.

It doesn't matter
, she told herself. All she had to do was be sweet to this twit, meet his aunt, be nice to the aunt, and she'd be in. She could do it. He wasn't bad looking or lecherous or evil, he was just dumb as a rock, which in this case was a plus. Maybe this was Fate apologizing. Dennie smiled at the twit. "I'd love to have dinner with you."

"Because of my aunt?" He looked confused. "Gee, I don't know."

Great, now he was playing hard to get. "Okay, then," Dennie said. "You're ugly."

His eyes locked on hers, and he grinned suddenly, and she was stunned. Humor leaped in his eyes, and a quick, sharp intelligence that disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced his blank childlike stare.
Hello
, she thought.
What's this
?

He aimed his puppy grin at her. "Well, if you're going to sweet-talk me, I'll consider it." He held out his hand. "I'm Alec Prentice."