Читать книгу The Downfall of a Good Girl - Kimberly Lang - Страница 7

VIVIENNE LABLANC waited impatiently, trying not to bump her wings against anything or move too quickly in a way that would cause her halo to slide off, as Max Hale gave his introductory speech on the other side of the curtain.

“There are many krewes, but none like the Bon Argent. Five years ago, we decided to do something—in our own hometown style—to raise money for the victims of Hurricane Katrina. We were far more successful than we dreamed. Through the Saints and Sinners Festival—which grows bigger every year—we’ve raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for dozens of local charities, and I thank all of you for your continued support.”

After a short round of polite applause, Max continued to laud their accomplishments, but Vivi listened with only half an ear. She was well aware of the great work of Bon Argent; she’d been involved with the krewe since its inception. Candy Hale was one of her oldest friends, and Max was like a second father. Her mother used to serve on the board, for goodness’ sake, so she didn’t need to be sold on the success. She did, however, need a primer on these wings.

How am I supposed to sit in these things? The feathered and bejeweled wings were beautiful, arching up to head height and hanging to her calves. Vivi frowned as she tried to adjust the buckle on her gold sandals and felt the whole getup shift dangerously. Honestly, she looked less like a saint and more like a Vegas showgirl who’d crashed the neighborhood nativity play.

The Saints and Sinners ball—and the whole Bon Argent krewe—bordered on silly at times, but the costumes and the parody of pomp and pageantry was what had made the Saints and Sinners fundraiser so fun, popular and immensely successful in such a short time.

And there were three hundred people out there eagerly awaiting the announcement of this year’s Saint and Sinner. Following the traditions of the traditional Mardi Gras krewes, those identities were top secret info. As far as Vivi knew, only three people were in the know this year. Max, the head of the Bon Argent charity, Paula, the head of PR, and Ms. Rene, the seamstress who’d made the costumes for the Sinner and the Saint. Even she didn’t know who would be her other half between now and Fat Tuesday.

She had a few guesses in mind.

Unlike the traditional krewes, however, who would crown a king and a queen, Bon Argent had no gender requirements to fulfill. The Saint and the Sinner were chosen for their local celebrity and reputations and could be of the same gender. Vivi had her bets on nightclub owner Marianne Foster, who’d been in the news a lot recently and would provide excellent competition before Vivi crushed her. While Marianne would be popular in the voting and bring in large amounts of money, it wasn’t an overstatement or egoism to say that she, herself, was more popular and could raise huge amounts of money in comparison.

She stomped down the unkind thought. Thoughts were the precursors to words and actions, and she’d learned to keep her head in the right place in order to avoid saying or doing anything she might regret later. It’s about the money we can raise, not about winning.

But it was also about winning. The Sinner had taken the crown the last two years, but this year top honors were going to the Saint, because she simply refused to lose. She’d only lost one crown in her life, and she still remembered the bitter taste of watching Miss Indiana walk away with it. It didn’t matter how much she liked Janelle personally, or what a great Miss America she’d turned out to be, it still sucked to lose.

So she was competitive. It was hardly a personality flaw. No one liked to lose. And in this case, her competitive nature would be beneficial because it was all for a good cause.

Max was now introducing her Cherubim Court: ten local high school kids chosen by the charity’s board to be her team in the fundraising.

And now it was her turn. She took a deep breath, checked her dress, and waited.

“…my pleasure to introduce Saint Vivienne LaBlanc!”

The curtain opened to a strobe of flashes from the photographers gathered in front of the stage and a very heartening roar of approval and applause from the guests. Vivi heard her sister’s distinctive whistle and looked over at the table where her family sat. When she’d left the table twenty minutes ago, claiming she had an emergency phone call from the gallery, Lorelei had given her a knowing look. She waved as she watched people from the surrounding tables congratulate her parents.

Being chosen as the Saint was quite an honor, and Vivi was beyond touched by the applause that showed so many people thought her deserving of it. She’d won a lot of contests in her life, brought home quite a few crowns, but this was different. It wasn’t about being pretty or popular. The downside to her pageant career was the assumption by all that she was just a pretty little face with no real substance. She’d spent years fighting that stereotype, trying to prove that there was more to her. It had been her biggest challenge to date, and the halo on her head was proof she’d succeeded. It might be cheesy and rather silly-looking, but it suddenly meant more to her than any crown she’d ever worn.

Beating the Sinner—whoever that turned out to be—would be icing on the cake at this point, and now she wanted that trophy more than anything.

Vivi removed her halo with the proper pomp, placing it on the blue satin pillow that would hold both the Saint’s halo and the Sinner’s horns until the competition ended and the winner claimed both trophies. She then took her seat with her court and applauded politely as the Sinner’s court, the Imps, was introduced.

Max took a deep breath and looked so excited he might burst with it. “Our Sinner this year is an obvious choice, and we’re so pleased he’s made time in his schedule to reign over this important event.”

The pronoun usage told Vivi that she’d lost her bet. Damn, she’d been so sure it would be Marianne. It doesn’t really matter, she thought with a mental shrug. She was ready to take on anyone.

“…Connor Mansfield!”

Vivi’s smile froze as the crowd broke into wild applause. You’re freakin’ kidding me.

Connor caught a glimpse of Vivi’s face as he stepped onto the stage and nearly laughed at the perfect mix of horror and fury against a feathery backdrop of angel wings. Not that he blamed her; his response had been very similar when he’d heard her name called, but he’d still been safely behind the curtain.

He had to hand it to the board of Bon Argent; they certainly knew how to guarantee maximum attention from the local press—attention that could be otherwise difficult to draw amid everything else happening during the Mardi Gras season. They’d probably break every fundraising record in history.

Vivi just looked like she’d like to wring his neck, but then she always looked at him like that. Some things just never changed, no matter how long you were gone from your hometown.

But the show must go on, and everyone was waiting for them to take their seats so dinner could be served. He removed his horns and solemnly placed them next to the Saint’s halo. Then he walked over to Vivi, nodded politely and waited for her to return the gesture. Slowly, they made their way to the high table. When they reached their seats a cheer went up from the crowd, and the competition of the Saints and Sinners Festival officially began. Servers appeared from the woodwork and the crowd turned its attention to the salad course.

He leaned a few inches in her direction. “You’re going to ruin three years of orthodontic work if you don’t stop grinding your teeth, Vivi.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she released her jaw the tiniest bit. She reached for her wineglass, noticed it was empty and reached for a water glass instead. He saw her look at it carefully, then shrug before she drank. Knowing Vivi, she’d debated dumping it in his lap.

“I’d say Welcome Home, but—”

“But you wouldn’t mean it.” He grinned at her to annoy her.

“But,” she corrected, “it would be rather redundant, considering the reception you just got.”

“Jealous I got more applause?”

“No.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m not an attention whore.”

“Big talk from the pageant queen.”

Vivi inhaled sharply and her smile became tight. “Some of us have outgrown our adolescence.”

He pretended to think about that for a second, then shook his head sadly. “No, you’re still sanctimonious.”

“And you’re still a—”

She stopped herself so suddenly Connor wondered if she’d bitten her tongue.

She inhaled sharply through her nose and swallowed. “You must be very pleased to finally be recognized for your achievements.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Saint Vivienne, but these titles aren’t character references.”

“Oh, really?” Vivi’s face was the picture of confused innocence. “You seem to be perfectly suited for the title.”

And there was the first dig. He should have known that Vivi wouldn’t let that pass. Although he’d been vindicated, rumor and gossip had done their damage. Everyone believed there had to be a grain of truth in there somewhere—which grain it might be was the engine that drove the gossip that wouldn’t die.

Vivi might have hit a sore spot with her first salvo, but damned if he’d admit that. “Sanctimonious and judgmental. You need to increase your repertoire.”

“Maybe you should add some to yours, as well. A little decorum from you would be nice, considering the honor you’ve been given.”

“According to you, it’s not really an honor, now, is it?”

“Yet you still seem very pleased with yourself.” She snorted. “You look ridiculous, you know. Black leather pants, Connor? Really? What is this? 1988?”

He’d had a similar thought when they’d been presented to him. “I agree on the pants. Very eighties glam metal. But then I guess it fits the costume.”

Vivi smiled—a genuine one this time—at the server who filled her wineglass, but the smile disappeared as soon as the server did. “I don’t know what Max was thinking,” she grumbled at her salad. “The Saint and the Sinner are supposed to be local celebrities.”

“I’m literally the boy next door, Vivi. I’m as local as you are.”

“You were local,” she corrected him. “Now you’re international. You’re off touring far more than you’re in town.”

He tried to get comfortable in his chair, but the enormous black wings attached to his back made that feat nearly impossible. He didn’t quite understand the mixed-metaphor approach to Saints and Sinners, but Ms. Rene had gone for a Lucifer vibe. He felt more like a giant crow. “So it’s the fact that my job requirements keep me out of town a lot that you object to?”

Vivi tried to brush her hair back over her shoulder, but it only got tangled in her wings, creating modern art-inspired shapes in the white feathers. She tugged at the strands as she spoke. “I object to the creation of an unlevel playing field.”

Except for that jet-black hair, Vivi had the right looks to pass as an angel—wide blue eyes, fair skin, elegant features. The fire in her eyes was far from angelic, though. Irritation made her movements jerky, tangling her hair even worse.

“How is this unlevel in any way?”

With one final tug that probably pulled some of it out by the roots, Vivi finally got the last of her hair loose. A rhinestone from her wings, loosened in the tussle, fell into her cleavage. Vivi looked down briefly, and Connor’s eyes followed hers to the valley of creamy skin before he snapped them back to her face. She had a beautiful mouth, lush and full and sinful—until she opened it and killed the illusion.

“Your groupies and your fan club and all your famous friends will make sure to fill your coffers so that you win.”

“But that’s what this is about, right? Raising money?”

“Of course that’s what’s important,” she conceded through a jaw clenched so tight it had to be painful, “but you have an unfair advantage when it comes to the actual contest. No one could compete with you.”

He grinned at her. “I’m glad to finally hear you admit it.”

“I meant,” she gritted out, “that I’m a hometown girl and you’re a freakin’ rock star. You have a bigger fan base by default and that’s an unfair advantage.”

“Your title is ‘Saint’, Vivi, not ‘martyr’.”

Vivi’s knuckles turned white, and Connor expected the stem of her wineglass to snap at any moment.

“Just eat your dinner.”

He shot her a smile instead. “You could just concede now, you know.”

She choked on her wine. “Hell has not frozen over.”

“So it’s on?” he challenged.

“You’re damn right it’s on.” Grabbing her fork, she speared her lettuce with far more force than necessary.

Vivi could never turn down a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, Vivi went after everything in her full-out, take-no-prisoners style. He actually respected that about her. It was one of the few things they had in common. Everything else about her, though, drove him insane. Always had.

He really shouldn’t let Vivi get to him. He was an adult, for God’s sake. Vivi might not like him, but plenty of other women did, so her holier-than-Connor attitude shouldn’t bother him. There was something about her, though, that just crawled under his skin and itched.

Would he have agreed to do this if he’d known up front that Vivi would be a part of it? Or would he have just sent another check and let it go?

No, he’d been thinking about home for a while now; this was just the nudge he’d needed to get him here. It gave him an excuse to do some damage control, make some new headlines that didn’t involve paternity suits or sexual activities. He could take a step back and maybe take a deep breath for the first time in years.

He hadn’t realized how truly tired he was. Getting everything he’d ever wanted in life was great in theory, but he hadn’t known he’d be left feeling like a well-dressed hobo. He had accepted that at first: he couldn’t have gotten this far if he’d been tied down to any one place or thing. There was a great freedom to it. But it came at a cost, nonetheless.

Being home—really home, not just the place he slept between shows—made him feel like the earth was solid under his feet again. The ideas that had been swimming unformed in the back of his mind seemed to be taking shape now that he was here. New Orleans was good for his mind and soul, and he could use the next few weeks to really refocus and figure out what was next. Or what he wanted to be next.

He heard Vivi’s deep sigh of irritation and it brought him back to the present. Right now he had a contest to win. It felt good to come home; even better to come home to a warm welcome and the opportunity to do something good for his hometown.

Annoying Vivi while he did it was just a bonus.

Vivi chewed each bite a dozen times and then immediately put another bite in her mouth to keep it full. She couldn’t control her thoughts, but this was one way to guarantee she would not take Connor’s bait and end up saying something she’d regret later.

This just sucked. She’d headed enough fundraisers to know that Connor was a gift from the fundraising gods. The money would pour in and the publicity would be unreal. The rational, reasonable part of her mind applauded Max Hale’s choice and envied his ability to get Connor to agree to participate.

But Connor Mansfield? Argh. If she had to be paired with a musical superstar, why couldn’t they have picked any one of the other dozens of musical legends who called New Orleans home? But, no, they had to get maximum mileage by bringing Connor in, especially since he was very much the biggest Sinner in the media right now.

From the top table she had an excellent view of the entire ballroom. The guest list was a Who’s Who of New Orleans’ rich and powerful, and she knew every face in the crowd. And everyone in the room knew damn well that they hated each other.

Hated was the wrong word. People liked to toss it around, but she didn’t hate Connor. She disliked him a hell of a lot, but hate implied more energy than she was willing to commit. She and Connor were just not meant to occupy the same time-space continuum. Connor was the one person who could make her blood boil just by breathing. Any conversation was just asking for an anger-induced stroke.

She felt a headache forming behind her left eye.

From the looks being tossed their way, every person in that room knew exactly how much she hated being up here with Connor and found it endlessly amusing. There were probably bets being taken right this second that they’d witness a repeat of that ball ten years ago when the Queen had slapped the King ten minutes after their coronation.

Connor had completely deserved it, but it had taken her forever to live that down nonetheless. It had even come up a few months later, in her interview during the Mississippi River Princess pageant, with the implication that she had a penchant for making unseemly scenes that would be detrimental to the title. She’d learned quite a bit about handling herself and her image after that, so in an odd way Connor had helped fuel her pageant success. Still, that night had pretty much been the final straw, and she and Connor had kept a healthy distance from then on unless forced otherwise by circumstance.

But then Connor’s music had started to take off, and he’d spent more time out of town than in it. Within a few years he’d become a rising superstar and their paths had ceased to cross entirely. Bliss.

She would console herself with the knowledge that Ash Wednesday was only four weeks away, and Connor would go back to Los Angeles or New York or wherever his home base was now, and her life would go back to normal. It was a small consolation, but consolation nonetheless.

Could she put up with him for that long? Without blowing her top? They were adults now: older, wiser, more mature. Maybe things could be different. She risked a sideways glance.

Probably not.

Everything about Connor projected smug arrogance. He was overly sure of himself, always seeming to have that mocking smile on his face as if he was laughing at her. Even sitting there, dressed like Lucifer on his way to a Pride parade, he still managed to look confident and cocksure.

Ms. Rene had put him in black leather—not only the pants she’d mocked him about earlier, but also a black sleeveless vest and motorcycle boots. Strips of studded black leather circled his biceps, drawing attention to the powerful bulges no one would expect a piano-playing singer to have.

It was a nice contrast to her all-white satin and feather combo. But where her costume veered to the demure and saintly, Connor’s screamed sex: the leather fit him like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. While Ms. Rene had covered every exposed inch of her skin with body glitter, Connor’s skin had been oiled to give him an otherworldly sheen.

He was tall, dark and dangerous personified—from the dark hair that hung a little too long to the goatee that framed his mouth…She swallowed hard. Her love of art gave her an appreciation for beauty, but this was not just male beauty. There was virility, strength, passion. It was hard not to appreciate Connor on that level. Connor looked up, caught her glance, and grinned a lady-killer smile that crinkled the corners of his rich brown eyes.

It was enough to melt any woman—at least until he opened his mouth.

“Problem, Vivi?”

“Just surprised by your goatee. Lose your razor while you were on tour?”

He rubbed a hand over it. “I thought it went with the costume. Maybe made me look a little devilish, you know.”

“It’s as ridiculous as the pants,” she lied, and went back to her dinner. Connor looked devilish, dangerous, sexy and ready to steal a dozen female souls.

And the women probably wouldn’t even put up much of a fight. Women loved Connor.

Who was she kidding? Everyone loved Connor, praised his talents, celebrated his success. That was one of the reasons why everyone made such a big deal out of the fact that she didn’t.

She wasn’t a hundred percent sure why or how it all started, but in the twenty-five years she’d known Connor she couldn’t remember a single time when he had not irritated her to the point of justifiable homicide.

And it wasn’t like she was evil. She liked people. Connor was the only person on the planet who affected her in that way, and she dealt with all kinds of irritating people all the time. She was known for her people skills. Those skills just didn’t extend to cover annoying man-child rock stars.

As he’d said, he was, literally, the boy next door. Their mothers were on twelve charitable committees together and did lunch twice a week. Their fathers played golf and did business together. She’d spent her whole life hearing about how great Connor was. Sometimes it was like their entire social circle existed merely to live in the shadow of his greatness. They were the same age, went to the same prep school, had many of the same friends, and folks had been pushing them at each other since puberty.

It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that they didn’t like each other, and that Connor went out of his way to annoy her whenever possible.

People were shallow. They let good looks and talent outweigh deep personality flaws.

Or else she was just the lucky recipient of whatever the reverse of charm was. Connor didn’t care about much beyond his own universe—which he was the center of, of course—so it irked her no end that he’d been chosen this year to co-lead the fundraising drive. This was supposed to be about other people, but now it would be all about him.

Losing the Saints and Sinners competition would suck regardless, but losing to Connor would just be more than her pride could stand.

And pride was all that was keeping her in her seat at the moment. She’d need to draw on that pride to save her in the coming weeks.

Conscientious eating kept her from having to make any kind of conversation, and she used the time to mentally flip through her Rolodex and plan out new strategies. She needed to think big—beyond just New Orleans. That would be tough, though, for most of the world had forgotten about the city once the Katrina news left the spotlight.

She could involve her sorority for sure. Maybe she could go to the national level. Hell, she needed to get the whole Greek Council involved. All of her pageant connections, up to and including that former Miss Indiana, every favor she was owed was going to have to be called in. She needed to get creative, since all Connor had to do was smile and the money and the votes would pile up.

Ugh. She’d spent weeks looking forward to this, hugging the secret to herself and looking forward to everything Saints and Sinners entailed. But now…All the joy and excitement had been sucked out of it. Her heart sank as she accepted the reality that, despite her efforts, she was probably going to lose through no fault of her own. That brief moment onstage when she’d congratulated herself for the accomplishment felt foolish now. They’d probably just picked her to add contrast and interest to Connor’s selection. She hated Connor just a little more.

No. She gave herself a strong mental shake. She would not let Connor take that from her. She’d earned this title.

And, while she might lose the competition, by God she was going to make it as close as possible. At least she’d keep her dignity and gain satisfaction for a job well done for a good cause.

Dignity. Hmm…How was she going to keep her dignity through all of this?

A wicked idea pinged and the more she thought about it, the better it sounded.

She couldn’t control Connor or the contest, but she could control herself. She’d been chosen to be the Saint. She just needed to be saintly and gracious. In contrast, Connor would look like an arrogant schmuck and go slowly insane at the same time. It would be a small victory, but she’d take it nonetheless.

She set her fork down carefully and reached for her wineglass. “Connor?”

“Yes, Vivi?”

She raised the glass in a toast, and Connor’s look turned wary. “To a good competitor and a good cause. I’m looking forward to the adventure, because the real winners are the people and the communities we’re going to help. I’m glad you came home to be a part of it.”

Connor’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in his shock, but he recovered quickly and picked up his glass. As he touched it to hers she heard a rumble skitter over the crowd, and there was a strobe of flashes. She put on her very best I’m-so-happy-to-be-first-runner-up smile.

The look that crossed Connor’s face made it all worthwhile. This might be fun after all.

It was certainly going to be satisfying.