C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (13 page)

It was a standing ovation, unheard of in this business. They bowed and C looked over at his brother. T was breathing hard. Sweat poured from his face and his back was drenched. He’d poured himself into the song, undoubtedly said a silent dedication to that witch he was married to.

And all C could feel was envy, all he could think about was getting through the next hour, thanking the judges for their inevitable decision, then the media circus that would follow. He’d hold Abby and make that damn announcement but never, never could he imagine dedicating a song and performance to her.

***

The sweet young thing that had taken the up-and-coming female vocalist award smiled broadly at the camera and called out the nominated songs. The screen filled with boxes, with five bands or single artists that sat in the auditorium or, in BCA’s case, caught its breath in the wings. She fumbled with the winner envelope and quickly scanned it.

“Well, what a surprise!”

Jemma’s heart skipped a beat and she chanced a quick glance at Lyla. Red had usurped the place beside her former daughter-in-law and the two women held hands. After all, the simple notes of the song had been written for Lyla by Red’s son. Lyla closed her eyes. “Oh, Sam,” escaped in a whisper.

The young presenter gave a little squeak. “Bone Cold—Alive,
For You, Love
!”

“Oh, thank God!” Lyla sank back on the cushions and the collective tension eased. How they had all wanted this.

Jemma watched the band catapult itself from behind the curtains and take the statues. Neither T nor C had put their jackets back on.

T approached the microphone, the undisputed spokesman for BCA. “We’d like to thank the judges, the millions of fans who bought this recording, the production company that’s leased it for their movie, and last, but by no means, least, my wife. This truly is for you, love.”

In record time, they were off the stage and by the next award, jacket on, statue peaking out of his pocket, T was back to present performer of the year. That award given, he thanked audiences everywhere and signed off, blowing a kiss to the camera that Jemma knew was for Lyla.

Lyla clicked the remote and a new screen popped up. Locating the correct channel, they found themselves backstage at the awards ceremony. “Now we can watch the interview.”

“How long’s this gonna’ take, Lyla? I’ve got to be to work early.” Sally stretched. “My boss don’t like me being late.”

Lyla smiled over at the Quik-Lee cook. “Don’t have a clue. Surely they’ve already interviewed everyone else but BCA and performer of the year. And your boss can come help you in the morning, you know.”

“Yeah, sure. That man’s gone, you’d better sleep late.” Sally laughed to herself, and she and Mar-Mar nudged each other in the ribs.

“Looks like they’re next!” Mandy pointed out as a young woman finished her interview with the media and BCA appeared in the immediate background.

“C’mon, fellows, now that couldn’t have been a surprise!” The questioner was lost in a sea of cameras and microphones.

“The surprise was that other songs were nominated!” C might have let T have center stage for the night, but he was out to rule the post-game show. Jemma shook her head in morbid fascination. Did she really want to watch this?

She couldn’t move.

“C, be honest, you’ve been quoted as saying you never liked the song because of its origins. What do you think of it now?”

“Money in the bank.” He indicated his pockets.

T bumped at him. “And a reminder that one-quarter of the royalties go to our drug-rehab center in Kentucky.”

C pointed at T with his thumb. “Nothing like a reformed drunk.” T shook his head.

“C, you’ve been seen around town this week with Abby Sander. Again. Any truth to the rumor you two are tying the knot?”

“Why don’t you ask the lady herself?”

Jemma split her attention between Lyla and the TV screen. Lyla’s mouth had dropped open and her brows raised. T pursed his lips and crossed his arms. His gaze narrowed on C. Jemma supposed the curvaceous blonde in the skintight white dress that was wriggling her way through the media horde was Abby Sander.

She stepped up beside C and flashed him a media-perfect smile.

“Well, Abby? Going over to the other side?”

“Going to have to start saying only nice things about the rock star America loves to hate?”

She flashed them a dazzling smile and in answer raised her left hand. The stone caught the light and twinkled.

“My goodness, she’s going to go supernova and take them with her.” Bertie reached for the controller and clicked it off. “I’d say we’d seen enough of that!”

There was a collective “amen.”

Chapter Twelve

J
emma stood between her inner and outer offices and considered the folders she balanced on her arms. The top two properties were sold, the bottom one in estate litigation, the three in the middle being shown by Carolyn that morning. Her attention snapped to the front door as it opened and she heard a familiar voice.

Her heart gave a little lurch until she realized it was T on his cell phone and not his brother. Just exactly what had she expected the morning after the awards show, the morning after he had announced his engagement? What had she expected ever? She’d finally realized last night that even women in their thirties could still believe in white knights and chargers and redeemed men. Foolish women still believed, and she guessed she was just one of them.

T was winding up his conversation. “Be home in about twenty. Pat the baby for me.” He slipped the phone into his rumpled khakis front pocket. His golf shirt looked like he’d slept in it.

“You’re back unexpectedly soon.”

“It can be done when one owns the plane and,” he held up a hand as if taking an oath, “if one does not party all night in celebration of one’s award.” He shook his watch down. “Eleven in the morning. Not bad. Home in time for Lyla to feed me lunch.”

“And I’m sure she’s glad to do it.” Jemma leaned back against the doorjamb.

“Nah, I have marching orders to get take-out at the Quik-Lee.”

“So what can I do for you here that would keep you from that?” She pinched her lips together and raised her eyebrows. “Something tells me this isn’t a social call.”

He shrugged. “Probably not in the strictest sense, no.” He rocked back on his sandaled heels. “Can we go in your private office?”

“Sure.” Jemma pushed off the jamb and led the way in. She dropped the folders on her desk and headed to her chair.

“No, Jemma, please. Sit over here, on this side of the desk.” He closed the door.

Jemma’s sense of foreboding took center stage. “T, I—”

“And call me Sam.” His tone was subdued as he pulled a chair from its corner of the office to face the one C had been occupying. He indicated she should sit.

To be asked to call him Sam put her on the same level of familiarity as Bertie and Red, Harrison and Lyla. She’d never heard Dub refer to him as anything other than “that man.”

“Okay, Sam.” She tried out the new name. “I must admit you’ve got me a bit on guard.”

“And that might not be a bad place to be.” He leaned over and set the phone off the hook. “No interruptions, Jemma.” He sat down opposite her, clasped his hands, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a position so similar to C that her heart picked up its beat. He was so serious. How important was what he had to say? Had something happened to C that hadn’t made the morning news?

She perched on the edge of the old desk chair, heard the leather of the seat crack even at that. He raised eyes so full of worry that she almost leaned over to comfort him. But, no, he was calling the shots here, and she didn’t think he was going to be the one needing the pity by the time this conversation was over.

“You watched last night?”

She nodded. “You know I did. Sitting in your recliner. Such as it is.”

He managed a slight grin. “How much of last night did you see?”

“Bertie clicked it off about the time your new sister-in-law dazzled America and the world with a rock the size of a small Texas county.”

“Why’d she click it off?”

“She was afraid Abby would go supernova and we didn’t want to watch.”

He laughed and straightened up. “I should have figured as much.” He balanced his palms on his knees. “Nothing much happened after that. Media wanted to know the date for the wedding. The happy couple couldn’t tell them just yet. We did some more promo for the movie and then it was someone else’s turn.”

Jemma nodded. “So?”

“So I’m not a total party-pooper. I share a limo with the new relationship over to the first big party.” His eyes roamed the office walls before coming to rest on her. “Can I be blunt?”

She felt her patience slipping. Or was it merely a build-up of anxiety over this unexpected call? Her tone was clipped. “Please.”

He pulled his shoulders back and looked her straight in the eye. “He’s coming back.” He lowered his chin and his eyes darkened. “For you.”

Jemma caught her breath. “Didn’t we just have a conversation wherein C is engaged and going to live happily ever after? He
told
you that?”

“Didn’t have to tell me a thing. By the time I’d scooted with them to three parties and they were dropping me off at the private airstrip, I knew. He was pretending to be as happy as Abby seemed to actually be. That’s all it was. Pretense. I know. We have no past without each other. We formed each other. I know him.” He rose and looked down on her. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, but this marriage will never get off the ground. He’ll not go down that aisle.”

Jemma looked away so T wouldn’t see the mix of emotions crossing her face. She felt his fingers on her chin as he turned her face to his. “When he called me Sunday afternoon, he was on an emotional roller coaster. He didn’t know what he wanted. He’d proposed, he’d been accepted, he should have been high as a kite. But he wasn’t.” He released her chin, but she continued to look up at him. “He told me what he told you Friday afternoon, that he’d not be back if Abby would have him. But, Jemma, he was just fooling himself. He connected with you. Or he wouldn’t have spoken to you last night after you’d rejected him.”

“You’ve got to be wrong.”

He shook his head. “This is your warning. I know you don’t want a thing to do with him. For whatever reason. And I could think of ninety-nine valid ones to leave him alone before I could even think of one reason to let him near you.”

“Surely it’s just like raising a red flag in front of a bull. And once he conquers the bull, he’ll be gone. Well,” she rose now and stood in front of T, “he’s not going to conquer me. I’m not going to have anything to do with him. If
I
may be blunt, Sam, I think he’s despicable. He’d better stay with what he’s got because there’s nothing for him here.”

T rested his hands on his hips. “I hear you. And I think that’s a fine idea and attitude for your own self-preservation.” He walked to the door, rested his hand on the knob. “But he’ll be back, Jemma, and he’ll be charming. And if you can resist him, you’ll be the first.” A slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Because unbelievable as this sounds, I think he means to make you the last.”

***

No, no,
no!
He had to be wrong, he simply had to be!

Jemma sat behind her desk and kneaded her temples with fingertips sore from the exercise. Had Sam not seen the joy in C’s face as he held Abby and let her tell the world? He was having some sort of cock-eyed wish fulfillment fantasy, wanting his brother to be settled down with the same type girl he had. Except Jemma wasn’t like Lyla. Lyla’d had a happy marriage, children, unreal sorrow, happiness again at last. Jemma could relate to the sorrow, but she doubted she’d ever have the others.

There was a hard rap on the door and Jemma snapped her head up just as Norm strode in.

“You fire that Cartwright woman?”

“No, Norm—”

“Well, you should! She’s not out there.”

“She’s busy with clients.” Jemma didn’t rise. Just what she needed at the noon hour, another man with a problem. “Have a seat, Norm. How was New England?”

“Didn’t come to talk about New England. Damn bunch of fools. We’d have had a fine trip if we hadn’t had the women along.” He dropped his overall-ed bulk into the old leather chair. It groaned under his weight. That was the reason it sat in the corner. She should have thought to move it back there, but Sam had upset her past thinking straight.

“Well, why did you come?”
“You show the house while I was gone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t thought it was right for anyone yet.”

“I’m not getting any younger. A bunch of us men are going on our own trip, no gals along, and I need that property sold fast!”

Jemma laced her fingers on her desktop. “You are hardly destitute. Sell some stock.” He humphed. “But I do have someone in mind, Norm. I just need a little time to convince them your place is perfect.”

“Not going to sell out to the birders.”

“We’ve covered that already. No charitable donations of wetlands.”

“Damn straight!” He pushed himself out of the chair and it squeaked. “You need some new furniture, Jemma.” At the door, he turned to her. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you find yourself a man!” A smile spread across his face and the old brown eyes crinkled. Jemma felt herself stiffen. “Heard the brother of that lowlife Lyla got was sniffing around!” He chuckled. “Now, girl, that’s biting off more’n you can chew.”

***

C felt the sun on his face and wondered that the blinds were open. He raised one eyelid and sought the bedside clock. 11:32. Jeez, how did that happen? They’d gone to bed before three. He shouldn’t have slept so late.

But it had been a strenuous three days. The round of parties on Wednesday night had lasted until five in the morning Thursday. Abby had had to be at work that day by noon, and he’d checked in at the office. Still no word from Fletcher and the secretaries were beginning to show signs of a slack hand at the reins. C had taken it upon himself to reassert his authority, taking over Fletch’s office and acting like he owned the place, which to a certain extent, he did. He’d rounded up half the band and they’d jammed all evening until Abby had shown back up with a list of places to see-and-be-seen.