by Pamela Yaye
Lines wrinkled her forehead. “Why? The incident is old news.”
Roderick told Demi about his early morning meeting with José Sánchez.
“He’s lying. He grabbed my sister and she had every right to defend herself. It’s a good thing he didn’t touch me, because I would have whupped his ass up and down the airport terminal!”
For the first time all day, Roderick laughed. He had a plan, and hoped Demi would come through for him. Feeling his cell phone vibrate against his leg, he took it out of his pocket and stared at the screen. Mr. Welker was on the line, but Roderick made a mental note to call him back when he returned to his hotel suite.
“Please, Demi? I could really use your help.”
“Roderick, don’t worry. I’m on it. Just call me Columbo!” Demi laughed at her own joke. “I’ll reach out to my social media followers right now.”
“Sounds good. Thanks a million, Demi.” Roderick glanced at the stage, noticed it was empty and heaved a deep breath. He’d been so busy talking with Demi, he hadn’t noticed Geneviève leave the auditorium, and wondered where she was. Demi must have read his inner thoughts because she said, “We’re having lunch at a nearby tapas bar, and if you promise not to bore us with stories about your bougie Manhattan law firm, I’ll save you a seat next to Gigi.”
Chuckling, Roderick nodded in agreement. “Pretty lady, you have yourself a deal.”
* * *
Taberna de Mármol, the bar around the corner from WiZink Center, was decorated with bullfighting gear, cheap wallpaper and fake flowers, but Geneviève liked the secluded location and the quiet ambience of the establishment. The patrons either didn’t know who she was, or didn’t care, and that suited Geneviève just fine.
Settling into one of the padded leather booths, Geneviève took off her sunglasses and rested her tote bag at her feet. Spent after a grueling two-hour rehearsal, she was ready to cut loose with her band, Divalicious, and hoped no one ruined their fun. Her bodyguards, two burly brothers with ponytails named Salvador and Felipe, sat at a nearby table, keeping watch.
“Gigi, your dreamy, fine-ass attorney is headed this way, so perk up, sis!”
Geneviève lowered the menu from her face and scanned the restaurant. Her heart lurched inside her chest, and her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow. Roderick strode into the bar, and silence descended across the room. She had no words. Couldn’t stop gawking at him. With his soulful features, commanding presence and athletic physique, Roderick deserved a billboard in the heart of the city center.
Suddenly short of breath, Geneviève fiddled with her charm bracelet. She was glad she’d taken a few extra minutes to do her hair and makeup. Frowning, she inclined her head to the right. Come to think of it, she’d had no choice. Demi had insisted—no, demanded—that she dress up. Feeling confident in her yellow jumpsuit, cropped, bomber jacket and high heels, Geneviève met Roderick’s gaze. Deep down, she was glad that Demi had invited him to lunch, and was secretly thrilled to see him again. He was smart, intelligent and hot, and Geneviève wanted to know more about him.
Last night, she’d scoured the internet for personal information about Roderick and his illustrious family. She’d read dozens of articles about the Drake family, even watched a decades-old interview about his father, but it wasn’t enough. It only increased her curiosity about him, her interest.
“Roderick, what are you doing here?”
He patted his stomach, drawing her gaze to his chest, and her mouth watered at the memory of his abs. The man was a force, a six-foot-four ebony god, and if Geneviève wasn’t afraid of getting hurt she’d invite him back to her suite, and ride him until sunrise.
“I’m here for the paella, and the half-priced drinks.”
“We’re going to the bar, so keep Gigi company while we’re gone.” Demi stood, grabbed Roderick’s hand and forced him to sit down in the booth. “Laters! Be back in a few.”
To Geneviève’s surprise, everyone surged to their feet, grabbed their cell phones and followed Demi to the bar. What the hell? Geneviève shot daggers at her so-called friends. So much for her girls having her back. Without her band around to run interference with Roderick, she was liable to put her foot in her mouth, and Geneviève couldn’t imagine anything worse than embarrassing herself in front of the suave, sophisticated attorney from the Big Apple.
“I sat in on your rehearsal and it was outstanding,” Roderick praised, an awestruck expression on his face. “Your vocals, your choreography and your energy are second to none.”
“Nicely played, Counselor. Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“It’s the truth,” he said, with a broad smile. “I have no reason to lie.”
A waiter strode by, carrying a tray of sizzling appetizers, and Roderick wet his lips with his tongue. “If the food tastes even half as good as it looks, I’m going to be a very happy man.”
Geneviève moaned inwardly. I wish you were licking me, instead of your lips!
“I know you’ve had a stressful week and you’re trying to relax, but if it’s okay with you I’d like to spend a few minutes discussing my meeting with José Sánchez and his attorney.” Roderick took off his suit jacket, draped it over the booth and rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt. “I know you’re eager to put this ugly incident behind you, but I’m going to need a bit more time to resolve this matter.”
“What happened? Are they still threatening to sue?”
Leaning forward in her seat, Geneviève listened to Roderick with rapt attention. He told her about his impression of the college student, and his strategy to outwit him.
“I hope your plan works, because I’m not giving that creep a dime of my money.”
“Trust me, you won’t have to. I’ve got this.”
“Are you always this confident?”
“Yeah, except when I go up against my brother in the ring.” Roderick shuddered and shook his head. “Morrison is insanely competitive. The last time we faced off he gave me two black eyes—and it was a charity boxing match!”
Geneviève gasped at the thought of Roderick being bruised and battered, but his lopsided grin made her laugh. Crossing her legs, she settled comfortably into the booth. Dropping her gaze to the table, Geneviève scooped up the laminated menu and perused the lunch specials.
A waitress arrived to take their orders. Wearing a toothy smile, she promised to return promptly with their appetizers and a complimentary bottle of wine. The owner appeared, cap in hand, and bowed at the waist. His accent was thick and it was hard for Geneviève to understand him, but she nodded politely as he welcomed her to his family-owned bar.
“Bienvenido!” Bending down, he clasped her hands in his calloused ones and shook them as if he was playing maracas. “We’re honored to have you at Taberna de Mármol, Ms. Geneviève, and if there is anything me or my staff can do to make your dining experience more comfortable please don’t hesitate to ask. We are at your service, and...”
Geneviève glanced around the room, noticed the other patrons watching them and cringed. Every muscle in her body tensed. So much for a quiet lunch. Releasing a deep sigh, she tried not to let her aggravation show. Geneviève knew why the owner was making a fuss over her, and she didn’t like it. He wanted her to rave about his bar on her social media pages, but her iPhone was in the bottom of her Chanel tote bag, and that’s where it was going to stay.
The owner left, and Geneviève sighed in relief.
“So, what do you do when you’re not thrilling audiences and shooting music videos in exotic locales halfway around the world?” Roderick asked, reaching for his glass of ice water.
“I love hiking, snowboarding and skiing, and if I wasn’t a singer-songwriter I’d probably be a ski instructor, or a tour guide in Alaska.”
“I can’t ice-skate to save my life, but I’m a beast out on the slopes.”
“Really? Then you should check out Baqueira-Beret, in Northern Spain. The trails are impressive, and the landscape is breathtaking.” Fond memories filled her mind, warming her heart. “It’s my favorite place to ski, and if I could I’d rent one of the cozy log cabins in Vielha and spend the entire winter up there.”
The waitress returned, set the appetizers down on the table and left. As they ate, Roderick entertained Geneviève with stories about his family, his clients and his favorite vacation spots. Personable and charming, it was easy to open up to him, and Geneviève spoke freely about her twenty-year career in show business. She was having so much fun with Roderick, she didn’t care that the bar was noisy, the drinks were bland and the food was mediocre. They clicked on every level, and time flew by as they relaxed in their corner booth, talking and cracking jokes.
“Your turn. What would you be doing if you weren’t an attorney?” Geneviève asked.
“Working my ass off to become one.”
“I’m not surprised. I bet you love schmoozing with your famous clients.”
“My job seems glamorous, but it’s not. It’s a tough business involving ridiculous amounts of money, people with tremendous egos, extreme stress and short deadlines,” he explained.
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because when I was in high school an entertainment attorney came to speak to my class for career day, and the moment she started talking I was sold. I knew it was all I wanted to do. Some people enjoy reading magazines, but I enjoy studying law books and old court transcripts, and after seven years of practicing law I’m still eager to learn more.”
And I enjoy studying you, Geneviève thought, admiring his face over the rim of her cocktail glass. She spotted Demi exiting the lounge with the band and wondered where they going. Demi was on her cell phone, laughing outrageously, and Geneviève guessed her sister was chatting with her boyfriend, Warner.
Frowning, she wondered how long they’d been at the tapas bar. Deep in conversation with Roderick, she’d lost track of time and forgotten all about her friends. For the first time in months, Geneviève felt relaxed, at ease and she was in no rush to return to the hotel. Roderick was the most fascinating man she’d ever met, and if she didn’t have a six o’clock interview at a local radio station she’d spend the rest of the day with him.
“Where did the name Geneviève come from?” Roderick asked, reaching for his wineglass.
“A Seychelles actress from the late fifties. My mom thought the name sounded exotic, and insisted I use it as my stage name when I signed with Urban Beats Records.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
Geneviève shrugged. “I was a teenager at the time. I didn’t know what I wanted.”
“And now,” he prompted. “Do you know what you want now?”
You mean besides a night with you? Surprised by the thought, she felt heat singe her cheeks. Images of them kissing flashed in Geneviève’s mind, arousing her, and she hoped she didn’t say or do anything to embarrass herself.
The waiter returned, giving Geneviève a moment to organize her thoughts, and when the wide-eyed brunette left with the empty plates, she answered his question.
“I know this is going to sound stupid, but I want to be a regular person for a while,” she confessed, toying with her napkin. “Not Geneviève the pop star, with fans around the world and dozens of number-one hits, just Jennifer, the chill, fun-loving girl from North Philly.”
Roderick touched her hand. “I don’t think that’s stupid.”
Geneviève wet her lips with her tongue. For the second time in minutes, thoughts she had no business having about her attorney consumed her mind, and her gaze zeroed in on his mouth.
“You can’t be anybody but yourself, and pleasing yourself is all that matters...”
He spoke with an air of authority, like a therapist with decades of experience. Jazz music filled the air, drawing Geneviève’s attention to her handbag. Recognizing the ringtone, she knew her mom was on the line, but she decided to let the call go to voice mail. It stopped, then started up again, and Geneviève considered turning off her phone but she didn’t want to waste time looking for her cell in her purse.
“This was fun,” Roderick said, with a devilish grin. “We should do this again sometime.”
His voice was silky smooth, and his smoldering gaze filled her mind with explicit thoughts.
“Do you have plans on Saturday?”
“Why? What’s on the docket?”
“A law joke. Cute. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”
Geneviève smirked. “No, your mama helped me!”
“Keep it up,” he jeered. “One more mama joke, and it’s on.”
Laughing, she wiped her fingers with a napkin, then dropped it on the table.
“I’m going hiking next Saturday. You should come.” Roderick fished his wallet out of his back pocket, opened it and took out several crisp dollar bills. “You deserve a break, so let’s ditch that fancy hotel and spend the day in the great outdoors.”
“I can’t. I promised my mom we’d go to Barcelona, and I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s been looking forward to this mother-daughter shopping trip for weeks.”
“No worries. Another time.”
His words floored her. Another time? What made him think she wanted to see him again? Could he sense her desire? Her need? Were her feelings for him that obvious? Or were his words nothing more than wishful thinking?
Geneviève dodged his gaze. Pretended to admire the framed black-and-white photographs hanging above their cozy, corner booth.
The waitress appeared. “Can I interest you guys in chocolate churros?”
“Nothing for me.” Geneviève was stuffed to the brim, and just thinking about eating the sweet, decadent dessert made her stomach groan in protest. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room before we leave.”
Standing, Roderick took Geneviève by the hand and helped her to her feet. His aftershave tickled her nose, and his touch aroused every nerve ending in her body. He was a gentleman with impeccable manners, and Geneviève appreciated his chivalrous ways. The fact that he was a great human being with a big heart made him even more appealing.
Geneviève strode through the restaurant and into the washroom at the rear of the bar. Small but clean, it had pendant lights and vintage wallpaper. Geneviève entered the corner stall, then hung her purse on the metal hook behind the door.
“Where are you? I know you’re in here. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Geneviève froze. She heard footsteps on the tile floor, and the stench of cheap cologne polluted the air. A dark silhouette in faded blue jeans and muddy sneakers filled the space in the door. The stranger banged on the stall, then spoke in a low, sinister voice.
“I know who you are. You’re that rich American pop star worth millions.”
Her heart jumped into her throat, stealing her breath.
“Give me your purse, now,” the voice thundered with rage. “Or I’ll break down this door and bash your pretty face in.”
Chapter 6
Geneviève’s limbs were shaking, and her high heels were glued to the floor, but she pressed her body flat against the wall, out of sight. A fat, blistered hand appeared under the door, swatting at the air, but she dodged each swipe. The stranger panted, as if he’d just finished running the fifty-yard dash, then cursed in Spanish. Did he have a weapon? Would he use it if she didn’t comply with his demands? Was he acting alone, or did he have an accomplice?
“I’m not playing with you. Give me your purse, or you’ll be sorry.”
Perspiration dotted her forehead, and panic coiled inside her chest. Her stomach churned, pitching violently back and forth, and Geneviève hoped she didn’t get sick. Over the years, fans had done crazy things to get close to her—they’d chased her tour bus, scaled the fence at
her gated mansion, broken into her cars and dressing rooms—but for the first time in her twenty-year career Geneviève feared for her life. Something told her the stranger wasn’t making idle threats, and she didn’t want to be his next victim.
“Perra Americana,” he rasped. “Don’t make me come in there and mess you up...”
Geneviève cocked her head to the right. Who’s he calling an American bitch? Is he on drugs? Anger consumed her, and her hands balled into fists. She wanted to confront him, to ask him who the hell he was talking to, but Geneviève decided to stay put. Remembering her bodyguards were nearby, she reached into her purse, took out her cell phone and punched in her password. She had several missed calls and text messages from her mother, but she typed a group text message to Salvador and Felipe, and hit the send button.
“Geneviève, it’s Roderick. Is everything okay in there?”
“No!” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth so he could hear her outside the bathroom. “Someone’s harassing me!”
Glad she wasn’t alone, Geneviève yanked open the stall door just in time to see Roderick confront the short, potbellied stranger. Salvador and Felipe arrived, grabbed the goon by his wrinkled shirt collar and dragged him out of the bathroom, kicking and shouting.
“Geneviève, what happened?”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes, and her mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak.
“Are you okay? Talk to me. I need to know that you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” she said, wanting to reassure him. “How did you know I was in trouble?”
“I didn’t. I got worried when you didn’t return to our table, so I decided to check on you.”
Relief flowed through her body. “Thank God you did. That guy was scary, and he spooked me pretty bad.”
“I bet, but you’re safe now, and I won’t let you out of my sight.”