Utterly and horribly hungover, Dante dragged his ass into his publicist’s office the next afternoon.
Joan looked up from her desk, glowering at him. “You look like hell.”
“Good thing I don’t partake like I did last night regularly,” he muttered. “Or was it this morning? It’s all one big, hazy blur.” He sauntered to her side table, helping himself to a mug of hot coffee.
“I see you’ve had a busy weekend.” She flipped around the monitor, showing him the Page Six gossip website of the New York Post.
There in full color, a picture of Marquise’s lips pressed to his met his eyes like a slap in the face.
The headline read, Veg-quise. Again?
“Goddamn bitch.”
“At least you stirred up a little buzz for the concert.” She pushed her glasses up her nose, squinting at a tiny sideline about the gig at SoHo-Mios.
“I thought you’d be pleased,” Dante said.
“But wait. There’s more,” Joan said, her face turning pinched and hard. She clicked on the photo, and several more photos appeared.
Dante scanned the images, his face furrowed. The largest photo, one of him ardently kissing Kennedy in the restaurant, made the entire previous night flood his brain. “I made a mistake taking her to such a public place,” he murmured. Another shot showed him exiting the restaurant, with an eager, happy expression on his face. Several more revealed him coming after the photographer. The last one showed Kennedy’s terrified face as the taxi whisked her away. The headlines taunted him with words like Between acts of seduction, Vega tries an assault. And, How will the Marquise de Manhattan take to the new girl?
Dante slammed his hand on the desk. “I thought you said you’d take care of this. What the hell do I pay you for?”
“Calm your britches, hotshot.” The matronly woman straightened in her chair. “I did squash the photos. I gagged the story. Someone else circumvented me. I think we both know who that is. None other than the daughter of the Post’s senior editor, Marquise Dubois. What the hell were you doing with her last night, anyway? I thought you agreed to never see her again. More importantly, I thought you agreed to lay low before the Garden!” She leaned forward in her chair, causing Dante to take a step back. No one messed with Joan Wilson, owner of one of the largest PR firms in New York City.
“I’m sorry,” he said, like an errant schoolboy. “What do we do about it?”
“Hopefully, you do nothing further, and it will all blow over. You know you’ll be stalked, scrutinized, and skewered before a gig like the Garden. But here’s the real reason I called you here today.” She pulled a folder from her desk and spread out a series of glossy photos from a photoshoot a couple months back. “Take a look at what we’ve got in place for pre and post publicity.”
Dante groaned, inwardly. The last thing he wanted to see was how he’d look on the cover of a magazine.
“We’ve got this shot for a feature on Rolling Stone.” She stabbed a photo of Dante with her pen. “And this.” She proceeded to position pictures and articles before his glazed eyes.
All he could think about was getting to Kennedy before she saw the gossip. She probably doesn’t read things like Page Six. At least I hope she doesn’t. I can explain it. I have to tell her myself. Forty-five minutes later, unable to remain in this office, he abruptly stood and blurted, “I’ve got to leave, Joan. Whatever you think is fine. You do good work.” He swished his hand back and forth as if making suds in the air.
Joan’s mouth hung open for a few seconds before she closed it and said, “Fine. I’ll take care of everything.”
“I’m sorry. I remembered something important I need to do today.”
“All right,” she said. She gathered up the images, tapped them into a tidy pile, and placed them in the folder. “Get on with you, then.” She shooed him out of her office.
Dante hightailed it to his car. Instead of the texting, calling, and potential rejection that came with that means of communication, he drove to the Heights Sanctuary to see if she worked today. Why wouldn’t she? It’s Sunday. A day for tourists. He grimaced. Another thing I know nothing about--her work schedule.
His Oliver Peoples sunglasses and NY Yankees ball cap in place, he parked and purchased his ticket at the booth. Upon exiting his car, he swiftly made his way to the same enclosure where he’d first seen her. The tiger, no doubt the same one from the other day, swam peacefully in his pond, carrying a red rubber ball in its powerful jaws. But no sign of Kennedy.
The big guy who accompanied her when the tiger attacked, strode into view, pushing a wheelbarrow.
“Hey! Excuse me,” Dante said, hustling next to the guy.
“Yes?”
“Do you know where Kennedy is?”
“She got called into the director’s office.” He lifted his fist, pointing his thumb toward the building Dante had seen her enter. “Is she expecting you?”
“No. We…we went out last night.” He scanned his brain for a reason for being here. “I was in the area and thought I’d say hello.”
“You live around here?”
“No,” Dante’s face grew hot. “Simply out for a drive.”
“I see.” The male looked like he didn’t believe him for a second. “You can wait in reception if you like. It’s through that door.” He pointed to the building.
“Thanks.” Dante strode toward the nondescript brown building. As he reached for the door, it flew open. He nearly collided with Kennedy as she barreled out of the office, her face a fury.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Sorry,” she said before recognition kicked in. Lifting her head, her face formed a scowl. “Dante.” She said it like it was a curse. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you. The press got hold of…”
“Skip it. I already know. The director called me in to see. You got busy with me, you went to SoHo-Mios, you got busy with some model. It’s all probably a day in the life of Dante Vega, the Magic Mouth.” She pushed past him and stalked toward one of the pens.
“Wait, it wasn’t like that.” He hurried to catch up with her.
“Wasn’t it? Is the Marquise de Manhattan the one who gave you your nickname?”
“Yes, but--”
“Yes, but nothing.” She whirled to face him. “I’m sure this is business as usual for you. I knew it would be a mistake to get involved with you. Good thing I gave up nothing but a few skin cells last night.”
When Dante said nothing, unable to think of anything to say to her, she pivoted and raced away.
“Kennedy!” he called after her. “Wait!”
She flicked her hand in the air and began to jog.
No match for his long stride, he quickly caught up to her. “You have to let me explain,” he said, reaching for her arm.
“Do I? Look. You might enjoy living like this, on the cover of a magazine, in the news all the time, but I don’t. Some nasty people now know where I am. They tracked me through Page Six and found out I worked at the Heights. They contacted Barnes and…” She forcefully squeezed her eyes closed and pressed her hands against her temples. “I should never have gone out with you.”
Her words stunned him. “What do you mean, some nasty people know where you are?”
“Just that. This is what I was afraid of when the cameras went off last night. This is why I’ve been in New York hiding, laying low, avoiding the attention that comes with being a tiger whisperer or whatever name the press gave me. I didn’t want them to find me. But find me they did, so it’s lawsuit city, here I come. Unless they have me arrested.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my past becoming my present. Are you happy now, famous rock star?” Tears trickled down her beautiful face, and she angrily brushed them away.
Dante glanced around. A few people stared at them. “Is there somewhere private we can go?”
“No! I have nothing to say to you.”
“Please, Kennedy. The model you saw last night set that whole picture up. I hate her. She came backstage, approached me, and kissed me while signaling Jordan Jones to take pictures. I had no idea they were there. I went to SoHo-Mios to blow off steam. The way the night ended with you confused me. And to tell the truth, she’s…” Dante paused, realizing the words on his lips had never been uttered to another person. Reasoning it might make Kennedy feel safe enough to open up to him, he blurted, “She’s, uh…I, uh…never mind, long story.” He chickened out at the last moment. Great endorsement to say I’m being blackmailed.
“She’s what?”
“It’s complicated.”
Kennedy’s jaw dropped. She stared at him, blinking. “Is that some sort of recommendation for you? You and she are in the Facebook status of ‘It’s Complicated’? That’s some kind of relationship, in case you don’t know your social media.”
“Shit.” Dante squeezed the back of his neck. “Look. Can we go somewhere to talk…please?”
She glared at him for a few seconds, before softening her gaze. She plucked her walkie-talkie from her hip and brought it to her lips. “Big Jim?” she said.
“Choty goty,” came the crackling response. “Guy looking for you.”
“He found me. Can we use your cottage for a moment? We need a place to talk.”
“Always. You know where the key is.”
“Thanks, Jim.” She replaced the communication device on her hip and said, “Follow me.”
“What’s choty goty mean?” Dante asked. And why do you know where the key to his house is?
“It’s African slang for a beautiful girl.”
Dante’s gut twisted with jealousy. “Are you and him…”
“Dating?” Her gaze slid in his direction. “No. I told you I’m with nobody, and that includes you.”
Ouch. Dante pressed his lips together.
“He’s an extremely valued friend. He helped me through a bad patch.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do, but it doesn’t matter.” She approached a small cottage at the back of the sanctuary. “Wait here.” She disappeared around the corner of the stone building.
Dante stood next to a green-painted door.
Kennedy returned, holding a key. She fit it in the lock and turned it. Then she marched resolutely into the dwelling. “This is where Big Jim lives.”
“It seems kind of small,” Dante said, peering around the space.
“It suits him. Like he told me, he’s lived in a tent, he’s lived in a hut, he’s slept under the stars. He thinks of this place as palatial. Not everyone comes from money.”
Another ouch. Dante felt like Kennedy held a large sword and kept waving at him. “Why are you so judgmental about people with money? We’re born the way we’re born.”
“People with money can use their cash to destroy the lives of people without money,” Kennedy said, her face rigid. “Now sit and tell me what you need to tell me. I’ve got a busy day.”
“I’d rather hear about the bad people who now know where you are. That concerns me. I’ve got resources. I’d like to help if I can.” An expression of…what? Surprise? Confusion? Something he couldn’t quite read flashed across her face.
“No.” She glared at him, her expression fierce.
“Please. I want to help if I can. I got you into this.” He sank into a wooden chair next to a wooden table.
“No!”
The word came out like a strangled scream, knifing Dante’s heart.
“People with money can withhold their money from organizations that need it, thanks to the director describing these magnificent beings as dangerous, further destroying lives. We lost a round of funding. Now I probably have ten big cats to figure out what to do with.” Kennedy began to cry. “I’m going to lose my job. I’m going to lose my tigers.”
Dante’s heart lurched, wanting nothing more than to soothe her sorrow. “Not if I can help it.”
“What, you’re going to swoop in, waving dollar bills around, and this will magically disappear?” She slumped on the bed that lined one of the walls, burying her head in her hands.
“Maybe,” he said sardonically. “It’s not the first time money fixed a situation.”
“I don’t want your help,” she said through gritted teeth.
Quietly sitting back and watching didn’t seem like a good idea. Knowing Kennedy might resent the intrusion, Dante risked rising from his chair and approached the bed, sitting down beside her. He gathered her in his arms and stroked her hair, her back, as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“I’ve had a rough couple of years,” she choked out. “I just want it to go away.”
Her sobs tore at his heart. “Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too. I’d love to help ease your sorrow. At least one of us should have their troubles fixed.”
“You’re a big superstar,” she sobbed. “On your way to the stratosphere. What kind of troubles could you have except how to make time for the next girl? Oh, and making sure your Facebook status is complicated.”
Instantly pissed, Dante dropped his arms and leaned away. He put his hand under her chin, lifting her face so he could look into her eyes and shocked face. “Look. You’re not the only one who has trouble, all right? I do, too. I’m in a fucked up mess with things I can’t talk about. My drummer--a close friend of mine--is an alcoholic. I’m probably up on assault charges for trying to protect my privacy. This frustrating and gorgeous woman who I let get away ten years ago won’t give me the time of day, thinking I’m an arrogant asshole like the trade mags portray me. How’s that for a good time, huh?”
Kennedy looked at him with wide eyes.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” He took a few deep breaths, trying to get his temper under control. “It’s just that…I’m trying, Kennedy. I’m really trying to let you see the real me. Yeah, I’m in the public eye. Yes, I make gobs of money. But a real guy is sitting before you, with real feelings and real desires. I want to get to know you. I want you to get to know me. But I can’t do it if all you do is put up walls to me, and all you see of me is what some reporter said to gain hits on his website.” He used his knuckles to wipe away the tears cascading down her cheeks, gazing into her luminous blue eyes. Even in her sorrow, even in her rage, she still looked like the most beautiful woman on the planet. “Sweetheart, give me a chance. Let me in. Please.”
She let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m scared to let you in. Letting people in only results in tragedy.”
“Tell me about it,” he quipped. “Why do you think I named the band, Marked Love?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Shakespeare. That’s the sum total of what I’ve experienced about love to date. A hopelessly sappy romantic, I’d still like to believe there’s more to love then tragedy.”
“I would, too,” Kennedy said, still sobbing.
“Then don’t you think we should give each other a chance to find out if there’s anything here? Please, Kennedy Swift?” He kissed the tears from her cheeks. He kissed the tears from her eyelids and smoothed back her hair with his palms. And lo and behold, she didn’t resist him. Instead, she sat quietly, allowing him to comfort her. And then, better still, she began to respond to his kisses, pulling him to her lips.