Читать книгу Starstruck - Julie Kenner - Страница 10

“GEORGE BAILEY, I’LL love you ’til the day I die.”

“Awww.” Alyssa sank down into her overstuffed sofa and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

Claire tossed a handful of popcorn at her. “The movie’s barely even started.”

“I know,” Alyssa said with a sniffle. “But I know what’s going to happen.” She sniffed again, then blew her nose. “It just gets me every time.

“And the alcohol’s probably not helping.”

“You’re the one who insisted on peppermint schnapps and hot chocolate.”

Alyssa couldn’t argue with that. And, hey, the libations had done their job. They’d both come home from the carriage ride in a funk. The original plan had been to pick out a handful of the many invitations they’d both received and go party-hopping, hoping they’d slide gracefully into the holiday spirit.

But after they’d climbed into Claire’s car, neither one had the energy, and they’d ended up at Alyssa’s apartment, trying to drown their depression in schnapps-laced hot chocolate and a hefty dose of Frank Capra.

“Why can’t we be like Mary Hatch and get a guy like George Bailey?” Alyssa asked.

Claire lifted a brow. “You don’t want a guy like George Bailey. He wants to travel and never has money to fix up his house.”

“It’s a movie, Claire,” Alyssa said, even though her friend was absolutely right.

“You want Sam Wainwright,” Claire said, exhibiting perfect understanding. “The hardcore businessman to George Bailey’s laid-back guy.”

“Alas, there are no Sam Wainwrights in Dallas.”

“Russell Starr,” Claire said, then sat back looking proud of herself.

“What about him?”

“Not two hours ago you told me he was your fantasy man.”

“So?”

“So do something about it.”

Alyssa gaped. “You are seriously crazy, you know that, right? We went out for drinks. One kiss—”

“An amazing kiss.”

“—but just a kiss,” Alyssa said. “It’s not a great romance, Claire.”

“Of course not, since you didn’t call him the next day and push for an actual date.”

No, Alyssa had to admit, she hadn’t. And that was something for which she was still kicking herself. He’d known about Bob, of course, and so she could totally justify in her mind why he hadn’t called her. She was taken. And it was that same reason that had prevented her from calling him. Considering she’d broken up with Bob only a few months later, perhaps she should have rethought that decision.

“You need to learn to go after what you want, Al,” Claire said, frowning as she concentrated on her words. Their mugs were filled with more mint than chocolate, and it was clearly going to their heads. “If there were sparks with Russell that night, you should go for it.”

“The only thing I’m going to go after right now is that partnership. If I don’t bring new business to the firm in the next couple of weeks, my chance takes a nosedive. I already know that Bayne is gunning for the slot to go to Roland. He wants a new partner with SEC experience. He figures that since Prescott’s specialty is mediation, that makes me extraneous.”

Although Alyssa had a number of clients for whom she did general litigation work, more and more she was taking on mediation jobs, setting herself up as an arbiter of disputes and trying to help the sides negotiate their way to a settlement and avoid the financial and emotional toll of a trial. She loved the work, believed in its value, and it irritated her that Roland got partner points simply because he focused on securities law.

Still, she couldn’t ignore reality, and if partnership at Prescott was off the table, that meant that she’d have to start looking for a new job, because she wasn’t about to stay at a firm that was a dead end. The idea of job-hunting gave her hives, and she took another sip of minty chocolate to dull the pain caused by the mere potential.

“Who says you can’t do both?” Claire said, lifting her brows. “A little business…a little pleasure…”

“Claire!”

“Don’t you at least owe it to yourself to try?”

“Fine. Maybe. I will concede that Russell Starr would be a great catch. But he’s taken. The man’s dating a United States senator’s daughter.”

“Not anymore.” Claire took a sip from her mug, her eyes dancing. When the mug came away, a chocolate mustache highlighted her upper lip. “Broke up last week. Your boy’s single.”

“Oh.” The schnapps in Alyssa’s stomach started doing a Riverdance kind of number. “You’re certain?” She didn’t really have to ask, though. As the daughter of a Texas state senator herself, Claire always had the political/social gossip at her fingertips.

“Interesting little tidbit, huh?”

Alyssa frowned, wondering if it even mattered. She had no idea how to go after a man like Russell. And while she enjoyed a fantasy as much as the next girl, the odds that he would come after her were slim. He was the kind of guy who dated celebrities and public figures. Not really in her league.

She took another sip and squinted at her friend, who was holding a finger out and looking downright serious. “What?” Alyssa asked.

Claire frowned, confused. “I was going to say something, but I can’t remember what. But it was profound. Trust me. Profound and brilliant, and if I could remember it right now, it would be the key—the absolute key—to both of us finding the perfect man and living happily ever after.”

“Christmas is only five days away. Can’t Santa just drop the happily-ever-after in our laps?”

“What would you tell him to drop?” Claire asked, sitting up straighter. “Seriously. Give me five things. Five things that would make this your most perfect Christmas ever.”

“Partnership. Locked in.”

“Boring much? Come on, give me something a little more interesting. This is the holidays. The season of parties and fine frockery.”

“Frockery?”

“You know. Dresses and stuff.”

“I am so cutting you off from the schnapps.”

“Just tell me. Come on. You know you want to. Come on,” Claire said, her voice low and urging, as though she was trying to coax a reluctant tabby cat into a carrier. “Come on. Tell Claire every little thing.”

“Fine! All right! Russell Starr,” Alyssa said. “Russell Starr would make it a perfect Christmas.” What the hell? This was fantasy, right? And he was gorgeous. He was stability and security personified. He was fun to be around. And he could land her a job-saving client.

“Better,” Claire said, setting her mug down before she sloshed more chocolate. “But I want more. Christmas isn’t just about getting the guy. What would make the holiday really perfect for you? Five things.”

Alyssa frowned, trying to think something up. But the truth was, everything else about the holiday was going along pretty well. “Good friends,” she said, aiming a winning smile at Claire. “How about you?”

Claire’s grin turned wicked. “Good friends.”

“Cheater. You stole that one from me. What else.”

“I haven’t got a clue. Can we drop the list down to two?”

“That depends,” Alyssa said magnanimously. “What’s the second?”

“The perfect guy.”

Alyssa tossed a pillow at her. “Didn’t I start out there?”

“So let’s do something about it. You need to call Russell.”

“I am calling, remember? Client. Partnership.”

“A date, Alyssa. You need to call him for a date.”

“I don’t know—”

“He kissed you. Trust me. The Russell ball is firmly in your court.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing,” Claire said firmly. “Santa’s elves don’t deliver men. You want a relationship, you have to go after it, balls to the wall.”

“That’s your plan, too?” Alyssa asked, wanting to deflect attention. “Who’s your guy? Joe? Or is he on your shit list?”

“He won’t be on that list anymore if he comes back to me, right?”

“Claire…” Alyssa couldn’t help it. She’d never liked Joe. Not something she could tell her best friend, though. Not when he and Claire had been so serious. And not when there was nothing specific for Alyssa to point to. He was just…something.

And something wasn’t sufficient to justify disclosure. Because the last thing Alyssa wanted was to confess to her friend that she didn’t care for her boyfriend, and then find out that Claire and Joe had gotten engaged.

“Then it’s settled,” Claire said firmly. “We have a plan.”

Alyssa shook her head. “I don’t think I can—”

“Yes,” Claire said firmly, “you can. Who’s the girl who told Bob she’d had enough?”

“I did,” Alyssa said, her stomach already twisting into knots. “But that was like making the decision to give my bicycle to Goodwill. You’re asking me to commit to buying a Rolls Royce.”

“You deserve a Rolls,” Claire said. “Why shouldn’t you have one? And you wouldn’t be buying it, anyway. Just test-driving. But how will you know until you go take it for a spin?”

“I think this analogy’s getting out of control.”

“Maybe,” Claire conceded. “But you have to work for your own happiness, and doesn’t that make sense even more during the Christmas season?”

“I do work for my own happiness,” Alyssa said. “Law school. Job. Really good paycheck.” Even as she said it, though, Alyssa knew that wasn’t enough. The working world wasn’t a safe place. Her mom had been a teacher for fifteen years when she’d gotten laid off without any warning at all. And lately Alyssa was getting calls from law-school friends who’d lost their jobs when the economy had done a number on their firms.

Besides, she didn’t want to be a single girl forever. Not even a single girl with a bank account. The one thing her parents had always had—even despite the fights about money—was love. Her dad may have been Mr. Irresponsible, but he loved her mom deeply and passionately, and her mom returned it in spades. Alyssa wanted that. Craved it. A home. A family.

She just didn’t want the drama that her mother had put up with, and she wanted to know that the mortgage would always get paid.

“You know I’m right,” Claire said, watching her shrewdly. “So let’s go out and get what we want. Take the bull by the horns. The man by the—”

“Claire!”

“Well, you know.”

Alyssa drew in a breath. She’d had a fabulous time with Russell that night they’d had drinks. They’d laughed and talked, and there’d been not a single awkward moment. And then it had all fizzled away.

Why on earth had she let it fizzle away?

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, taking a breath for courage. “It’s our holiday, our lives.”

“And our men.” Claire smiled, smug and determined. “We just have to make them realize it.” She reached for her mug, then held it up in a toast. “To making this the best holiday ever, and to starting the New Year with our men at our sides.”

Alyssa thought of Russell. Of the way he’d smiled at her when they were working on the fundraising campaign. The way his eyes had darkened when she’d drawn a maraschino cherry into her mouth. The way they’d laughed over nothing in particular.

And the way he’d kissed her ever-so-gentlemanly when he’d escorted her to the door that evening. And then she imagined his hands on her in a very not-so-gentleman-like way….

Yeah, she thought as she clinked her mug against Claire’s. I can drink to that.

ALYSSA STARED at the Web page. Russell wasn’t even in Dallas at the moment, which meant that not only was Claire’s Go-for-the-Guy plan not happening, but Alyssa’s own plan to meet with Russell and try to wrangle a new client for the firm had been shot all to hell.

Instead of being conveniently located downtown, Russell was in Santa Fe, at the gala opening of the Santa Fe Starr, an over-the-top, total luxury, full-service, five-star resort located about twenty miles outside of Santa Fe proper. According to the articles she’d found, the resort was absolutely state-of-the-art and the height of luxury. The guest list for the week surrounding Christmas Day was chock-full of the rich and famous, including a few Oscar nominees and Emmy-award winners. All proceeds from the first week went to Love without Boundaries, the charity that Alyssa knew Russell supported wholeheartedly.

“You have to go there,” Claire said.

“Are you crazy? It’s invitation only. It says so right there,” she added, pointing to the article.

“You have to go,” Claire repeated. “You have the entire week off, Alyssa. This is the perfect time. Besides, we just made a Christmas pledge. You can’t wait until after the season to follow through on a Christmas pledge.”

“I didn’t know the pledge would involve cross-country travel,” Alyssa said, thinking of the plane that would inevitably be involved.

“One state. New Mexico’s right next door.”

“Claire.” Alyssa injected a hint of warning into her voice.

“I’m serious. This is your chance.”

“What? To make a fool of myself?”

“To find out if there’s anything between you and Russell. He asked you out, remember? You should have followed through back then. You didn’t. But now you have a second chance. So don’t blow it.”

Alyssa licked her lips, unsure. Russell was perfect, and exactly the kind of man she knew she wanted. But still—

“It’s also your chance to nail partnership.”

Now that was Claire talking sense.

“That’s your cover for going to the resort,” Claire continued, as if Alyssa weren’t already on the same page. “The reason you tell Russell you came. To talk about what Starr Industries wants in its outside legal counsel. You need a new client, right? What better chance to line one up than when you’re looking all sexy and gorgeous in a black slinky dress?”

“And it makes sense to talk to him away from the office,” Alyssa said. “Remind him that we go way back. Maybe even grab a meal with him so that we can get more into the details of what Prescott and Bayne can offer than we could during a half-hour slot in his office with the next appointment scratching at the door.”

“All the experts say that if you want to land a client you first make them a friend.” Claire grinned. “Sounds to me like you’re well on the way with Russell.”

Alyssa shook her head. “But mixing business and pleasure. It could get awkward…”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Jumping the gun much? You don’t have the client or the boyfriend yet. Just go. See what happens. You owe it to yourself to follow up on this, and you damn well know it.”

Alyssa licked her lips. “I’m not sure if it’s crazy or brilliant.”

“Brilliant,” Claire confirmed, passing Alyssa the phone even as she picked up her own cell phone and pushed a speed-dial number. “Dial.”

Alyssa did, calling information first, and then getting patched through to the hotel’s front desk.

“I’m sorry. There simply are no rooms. The resort is in holiday previews, and the rooms not already booked by the public have been blocked off for the guests of the Gala Opening.”

“Oh! Right! Well, that’s me. I’m coming to the gala.”

Across the room, Claire lifted her brows.

“Name, please.”

Alyssa hesitated, wondering how she was going to pull this off. Since nothing came to mind, she said her real name and hoped she could fake it. “Chambers. Alyssa Chambers.”

There was tapping as the woman on the other end of the line checked a computer. “I’m sorry, Ms. Chambers. You don’t seem to be on the guest list. Perhaps you should contact the Starr corporate offices and see if there’s been an error?” Though the woman was perfectly polite, Alyssa could hear the accusation. Perhaps you should hang up now, you lying little twit. “Shall I connect you directly?”

“Yeah. That would be great. Oh.” She pretended that she’d just thought of something key. “Once we get the gala invitation thing straightened out, will I have a room? Or will I be back here with you, trying to find a place to sleep?”

“All the gala invitees have rooms preassigned.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Hold music hummed, and just as someone was picking up with “Starr Industries, how may I help you?” Alyssa hung up the phone.

Basically, she was screwed. No rooms at the hotel unless she was an invited guest, and no way to become an invited guest.

“Maybe you should call Russell and ask for a ticket?”

Alyssa gaped at Claire. “Are you nuts? Even if his secretary puts me through, how am I supposed to explain? ‘Gee, Russell, I want to invite myself to the gala so I can hit you up for your business?’”

“Not work,” Claire said. “Romance.”

“Like that’s much better. ‘Hey, Russell. I had such a great time having a drink with you that one night, please arrange me a room in Santa Fe.’ Um, no.”

Claire made a face. “Okay, you have a point.” She stood up and hooked her purse over her arm.

“Wait a second. Where are you going?”

“Drinks,” Claire said. “Joe. He’s going to pick me up.” She held up her cell phone. “My side of the pledge is moving forward just fine.”

“But—”

“You’ll get there. I have absolute faith.”

Alyssa watched her friend go, wishing she had Claire’s certainty. Because at the moment, the only way she could think of to get to that gala was to ask Russell for a ticket. But that was hardly the image that she wanted of her in Russell’s head. He needed to think of her as competent and capable. A woman who could represent his legal interests and slide easily into his life. She wanted him smitten on absolutely every level.

And one didn’t reach smitten by begging for a room.

No, she’d get to the resort on her own. Or not at all.

Unfortunately, not at all was looking more and more likely.

Maybe she should book a room at a nearby motel and then wander over to the Starr Resort for the evening festivities.

A quick look on the Internet put the kibosh on that plan, though, as it was clear that privacy had been one of Russell’s primary concerns in designing the resort. It wasn’t close to anything. And with the predicted snow and the winding roads, Alyssa had no intention of driving from a Motel 6 to the resort on a daily basis.

Damn.

There had to be a way.

Except there wasn’t.

She sat back on the couch, the mug cupped in her hands, her entire being shifting into mope-mode. Probably best to accept the reality that saving her job and getting the guy was idiotic and oh-so-unlikely.

Sometimes reality really was a bitch.

She sighed, took another sip of chocolate, and decided that it was time to forget about crazy fantasies and force herself into getting some holiday spirit. From the corner of her apartment, the small Christmas tree she’d bought seemed to beckon. She’d held off decorating it, because despite the lights and the carols and the parties and the wassail, the season didn’t feel like Christmas. Not when she was sitting there, a dateless wonder.

“Pathetic.” With a sigh, she dragged a chair to her hall closet, her head spinning slightly from the schnapps and lack of dinner. Her apartment was ancient and had great—if poorly designed—closet space. The hallway linen closet was designed in two sections, with the main section being reachable by normal people, and the top section being accessible only by giants. Add to that the fact that the space went back several feet, and Alyssa sometimes wondered why she hadn’t bought a full-blown ladder to keep in the apartment so that she could get to all her stuff.

Balancing on the chair, she yanked open the cabinet, then pulled down the giant plastic bags stuffed full of summer clothes. Behind them, she’d stashed the boxes of Christmas ornaments, and now she stood on her toes, trying to get her fingers to connect with the boxes.

Just a teensy bit closer…

Her fingers brushed the cardboard, but she couldn’t get a grip on the smooth box. Dammit. She knew there was a reason she should’ve hung on to that ugly step stool she’d hauled to Goodwill last month. Now what was she going to do?

With no other options, she climbed off the chair, grabbed a broom from the pantry, and climbed back on, this time armed. She shoved the broom into the abyss, eased it between the box and the wall, and started using it to ooch the box forward. The box, however, was not inclined to cooperate, and so she jerked hard on the broom, punctuating the move with a rather loud, rather definitive curse.

The box moved.

Not only did it move, it shot forward, having apparently been blocked by a slight bump in the wood that Alyssa’s persistent shoving had overcome.

It teetered at the edge of the closet, Alyssa’s fingers keeping subtle pressure so it didn’t fall, every ounce of her concentration going to keeping her balance despite the mushiness that was her head. She took a breath, satisfied that all she had to do now was shift a little and close her fingers around the box.

But when she tried, the box—that same box with her grandmother’s delicate glass ornaments—tilted forward at a dangerous angle.

She could picture the box sliding through her hands, crashing to the ground, and the ornaments her grandmother had passed on to her smashing into so many bits of colored glass.

Who knew that decorating a tree under the influence could be so dangerous?

She tried to edge the box back into the closet, figuring she could borrow a proper ladder from the manager and try again, but the box was having none of that. Instead, it seemed, her destiny was to remain right there, balanced on a chair, her hands above her head getting tired as she kept a box from falling. And there she would remain until she passed out from hunger or her arms atrophied for lack of blood.

Three taps sounded at the door, and the wave of relief that crashed through her was so intense it almost had her sagging—and the box dropping. “Chris! Come on in!”

The doorknob rattled, and even as she remembered that she’d locked the door, she heard his frustrated “It’s locked, Alyssa.”

The box teetered, she tilted back to catch it, her head swam and she yelped. “Chris!”

“Hang on!” he called.

She heard the slam of his own apartment door, followed a few seconds later by the rattle of a key in her lock. She said a silent thank-you that she’d designated both Chris and Claire as the keepers of her spares, and then muttered a desperate “help!” as the door burst open.

“What on earth—”

She heard the confusion in his voice contemporaneously with his footsteps pounding across her apartment. She couldn’t turn her head to look, but she didn’t have to. She felt his hands around her waist, holding her tight, and the simple pressure gave her such a sense of security that she wanted to cry. She wasn’t going to fall backwards and break her neck. She wasn’t going to drop her grandmother’s heirloom ornaments.

Chris had arrived, and everything was going to work out just fine.

“What were you thinking?” His arm shifted, and she realized he was in short sleeves. The bare flesh of his arm brushed against her midriff, exposed now because raising her arms had raised the pajama tank top above the waistband of her Sylvester and Tweety pajama pants. For a moment—the briefest of moments—she felt a sensual thrill whip through her. Her nipples peaked, and her breath hitched, and she cursed Claire for all her talk about boyfriends and holiday romance because right then all those old Chris-lust thoughts that she’d so thoroughly quashed came rushing back.

At first, she’d ignored that sensual tingle because she’d been dating Bob when Chris had wandered into her life. Then, she’d tamped it even more firmly down because she’d learned about his frequent travel schedule and utter disinterest in managing his money or his career.

Best just to be friends, she’d told herself, and that had been easy advice to follow when she was dating Bob. Now, though, she was single, and even if Chris was as N.M.M. as they came, she couldn’t stop the heat—the desire—that was bubbling up inside her.

She told herself it was the schnapps. The. Schnapps.

Because this was Chris. Her friend. Her best friend besides Claire, and she was not in a million years going to let herself get the hots for him. She treasured the friendship too much to let holiday cheer and an innocent touch blow everything good there was between them.

But, oh, my gosh, she’d like to feel the heat of his kiss right about then.

“Alyssa!”

“What? What?” She realized he’d been talking to her. She’d been in a sensual funk, and she’d completely spaced out. “What did you say?”

“I said, how heavy is the box?”

“Oh. Not very.”

“Then let go.”

“No way! It’s full of Christmas ornaments. The thin glass kind. No way I’m letting them shatter. Why do you think I’m teetering on my toes in the first place?”

The hand on her abdomen shifted, and Alyssa stifled a moan. Alcohol and skin-on-skin touches really didn’t mix. Not if she wanted to keep her wits. Not to mention her distance.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice thick and rich, like warm, delicious chocolate.

“I—” She cleared her throat, mortified that talking was so difficult. The drink, she thought, and the fact that she was currently in the midst of a major romantic dry spell. But she had a plan, and a goal, and a Starr on the horizon. And she would focus. “I do. I trust you.”

“Then let go of the box.”

She took a deep breath and pulled her fingers away, moving to grab the door even as he broke contact with her, his own hands going up to catch the box as it fell.

“Got it. Now let me get you.”

She looked over her shoulder to see that the box was safe and sound on the floor, and when she turned back to face the closet, she felt Chris’s hands on her bare waist. “Turn around,” he said.

“No, I—”

“Turn.”

She turned, and he lifted her off the stool even as he pulled her closer to himself, then slowly eased her down until her feet were touching the floor. It was a sensual journey, and though she imagined that the elapsed time could probably be measured in seconds, to her it seemed like hours. Lazy, hedonistic hours with the press of Chris’s hard body against hers, and the glancing thrill that accompanied the way her breasts brushed softly over his chest as he lowered her body in front of his.

Once her feet were on the ground, she tilted her head back to tell him thank you, and suddenly his mouth was right there, the corners curved up in a grin that was both sexy and cocky, and she realized that she wanted to taste those lips more than she wanted to breathe. And even though a reasonable, rational Alyssa screamed that she was about to make a huge mistake, the Alyssa in Chris’s arms shut her ears and raised herself onto her toes, and then closed her mouth over his and took exactly what she wanted.