by Pamela Yaye
Roderick chuckled, much to her chagrin, and Geneviève playfully swatted his shoulder. “Enough of that. You’re my attorney, not hers, so don’t laugh at her jokes.”
Clutching the flowers to her chest, Geneviève closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet, fragrant aroma. She marched down the hallway, listening to Demi and Roderick praise her show, and pride flowed through her veins. All of the planning, rehearsals and late-night meetings with her band in her hotel suite had been worth it; they’d delivered the performance of their lives, and Geneviève couldn’t be happier.
“Allow me.” Roderick opened the dressing room door. “After you.”
Geneviève went inside, sank into the red, velvet sofa and kicked off her studded pumps. The space was bright, decorated with designer chairs, ornate chandeliers and mirrors, and a walk-in-closet so plush it would make the Duchess of Cambridge green with envy.
“There’s my talented, amazing daughter!” Althea stood in front of the wall-mounted TV with a bottle of Cristal in her hands. Pretty in a tie-waist dress and silver accessories, Althea sauntered across the room with a pep in her step. “Gigi, I am so proud of you I could weep! You were sensational, baby girl...”
Bending down, Althea gave her a hug and a kiss. Her mom smelled of strong liquor, and Geneviève suspected Althea had made several trips to the concession stand during the concert. Or had a miniature flask in her clutch purse.
“You brought your songs to life, and left your fans begging for more. Well-done, Gigi!”
Touched by her mother’s words, Geneviève hugged her tight.
“Roderick, please excuse us,” Althea said, straightening to her full height. “I’d like to have some quiet time with my daughters. You understand, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. It’s no problem at all, Ms. Harris.” Roderick gave a polite nod. “Ladies, enjoy the rest of your night. And Geneviève, congratulations again on your show. You were incredible.”
Roderick left, closing the door behind him, and Geneviève strangled a groan. She wished he’d stayed, and her mom had left. Experience had taught her that when Althea said she wanted to spend “quiet time with her,” it was never as innocent as it seemed, and Geneviève wanted to relax, not discuss her career.
“Gigi, I have great news!” Althea announced, in a shrill, animated voice. “Cosmic TV Network is giving you your very own reality show!”
Geneviève scoffed. “And that’s good news?”
“Of course it is. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime.”
“Mom, if you think it’s such a good idea then you do it.”
“I wish I could, but I’m not one of the hottest pop stars on the planet. You are, and the network is willing to pay big bucks to sign you.”
Althea’s eyes lit up like a casino slot machine, and Geneviève knew her mom was thinking about the financial terms of the deal. What else was new? These days that was all Althea cared about, and Geneviève didn’t understand why. They had more money in the bank than they could ever spend, but it was never enough for her mom. Althea was always on the hunt for the next multimillion-dollar deal, and her quest for more fame and fortune—often at Geneviève’s expense—was frustrating.
I wish things were the way they used to be. Cherished memories came to mind, warming Geneviève’s heart. Over the years, she’d had wonderful times with her mom—collecting seashells at Asbury Park, perusing music stores for vinyl records, participating in their first Mother-Daughter Charity Walk and attending the Essence Music Festival in Durban, South Africa. Her mom used to be easygoing and agreeable, but the more successful Geneviève became, the more demanding Althea was, and they hadn’t been on the same page for years.
The same page? quipped her inner voice. You’re not even reading the same book!
“Filming starts in June, which coincides with your break, and that’s not all. The network is willing to fly you out to LA, put you up in a five-star, boutique hotel and provide you with a chauffeur during your stay.” Althea popped the cork on the champagne, strode over to the mini fridge and filled three glasses to the brim. “The show is tentatively titled One Night with a Pop Star, and the network thinks it could be the runaway hit of the summer!”
“One Night with a Pop Star?” Demi repeated, glancing up from her iPhone. “That’s a dumb title. The network needs to go back to the drawing board. They need to come up with something fun and playful like Geneviève Gets a Man to entice viewers.”
“That’s brilliant!” Althea whooped for joy. “I love it! Way to go, Demi.”
Geneviève glared at her sister. “Thanks a lot, Judas.”
“What? Don’t get mad at me. I’m just being honest.” Demi stretched her legs on the coffee table then crossed them at the ankles. “Forget I said anything. It’s none of my business.”
“Good, because I’m not doing the show.”
“Yes, you are,” Althea insisted. “I’ve worked hard on this deal, and I won’t let you ruin the plans I’ve made. You’re doing the show whether you like it or not, and that’s final.”
“No, I’m not. We’ve talked about reality TV before, and my position hasn’t changed. I have no desire to do a reality show, so kindly tell the network thanks, but no thanks.”
Anxious to take a shower, Geneviève stood, stripped off her accessories and dropped them on the coffee table. For the first time since entering the dressing room, she noticed all of the glass vases were filled with carnations. Did Roderick do this? Had he arranged to have the flowers delivered, and displayed around the room? Admiring the colorful, vibrant arrangements, Geneviève asked, “Where did the carnations come from—”
“Forget about the stupid flowers,” Althea snapped, tapping her high-heel-clad foot impatiently on the ivory carpet. “You’re a star, Gigi, a global icon in the making, and we need to capitalize on your celebrity before time runs out.”
“Mom, I’m still not interested—”
“Why not? Lots of singers have done reality TV with great success.”
“Good for them, but it’s not for me, so forget it.”
Anger flashed in her mom’s eyes, and her face wrinkled like a prune in the sun. “Why are you being difficult? For once, why can’t you do what I ask without giving me attitude?”
“Because I’m not a little girl anymore. I have dreams and aspirations and they don’t include being on a pathetic reality show, or touring ten months out of the year, either.” Geneviève wanted to say more, but thought better of it. There was no use talking to her mom; once Althea got an idea in her head there was no reasoning with her, and Geneviève didn’t have the energy to argue with her mom. Not after a two-hour show. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s a waste of time.”
“Not so fast,” Althea said, sliding in front of her with more finesse than MC Hammer. “We have to iron out the details of this deal tonight because we have a phone conference with network executives in the morning, and it’s important we’re on the same page.”
Geneviève raised an eyebrow. “But we’re going sightseeing tomorrow.”
“We’ll go another time. When we’re less busy.”
“No,” she said, drawing out the word to emphasize her point. “It’s my day off, and we’re going shopping in Barcelona. You said you’d clear my schedule.”
Althea shrugged. “Things change. Deal with it. We have several meetings scheduled after breakfast, and a magazine photoshoot, so you really need to bring your A game, Gigi...”
Like hell I do! This is my life, not yours, and it’s high time you realize it!
Geneviève stared at the dressing room door. She heard footsteps in the hallway followed by boisterous female voices, and guessed her bandmates were waiting for her in the corridor. After each show they usually went to a lounge to critique their performance over cocktails and appetizers, but arguing with her mom was draining, and now all Geneviève wan
ted to do was sleep.
Liar! argued her conscience. If Roderick called and asked to see you, you’d go running!
“I almost forgot to tell you,” Althea said. “You have a vocal lesson tomorrow, as well.”
“No, it’s my day off, so cancel the plans you’ve made, because I won’t be there.” Geneviève pulled her hair back in a bun. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“All right, baby, you do that.” Wearing a sympathetic smile, Althea reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “I know you’re tired, so we’ll talk about the TV deal later.”
Is she for real? Didn’t she just hear what I said? Realizing there was no getting through to her mom, Geneviève threw her hands in the air and entered the bathroom. She locked the door, then slumped against it. She could hear Demi and Althea whispering, and wondered whose side her sister was on. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t signing on to do the reality show, and there was nothing anyone could say or do to change her mind.
Geneviève glanced at her watch. She wanted to see Roderick, to vent about her argument with her mom, but it was too late to call him, and going to his hotel room after dark was out of the question.
A grin curled her lips. Excited about the plan taking shape in her mind, she turned the water faucet on full blast, then stripped off her costume.
Althea knocked on the bathroom door. “Gigi, I’m returning to the hotel,” she said in a cheerful voice. “Sleep well, honey. See you bright and early in the morning.”
No, you won’t, Geneviève thought, because by the time you wake up I’ll be long gone!
Chapter 8
Roderick awoke with a start. Squinting, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows, and stretched his arms in the air. Yawning, he glanced at the digital clock on the mahogany side table. It had been years since he’d slept in, and Roderick wondered if he was tired because of the change of scenery or because of the explicit dreams he’d had last night about Geneviève. In it, they’d made love in her dressing room—twice—then chartered a private jet to a secluded Caribbean island.
Roderick cranked his head to the right. No, he hadn’t imagined it. Someone was definitely banging on the door. Clad in a white, ribbed undershirt and Nike basketball shorts, he rolled out of bed and stumbled into the hallway. Curious about who it was, and why they were interrupting his sleep, Roderick asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Hurry up before someone recognizes me and tips off the press.”
His eyes widened. What was Geneviève doing at his suite? Had someone upset her? Every muscle in his jaw tensed. Had José Sánchez put his hands on her again? The deadline for the settlement agreement had passed, and he feared the college student had hassled her in the hotel lobby. Mr. Cabrero had called him yesterday threatening to sue Geneviève for millions, but Roderick wasn’t worried. He’d find a way to outsmart Dumb and Dumber before he returned to New York. Had to, or he wouldn’t be named senior partner in May.
“Roderick, open up, it’s your favorite pop star.”
Deciding to have fun with her, he joked, “Rihanna, is that you?”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” she quipped, her voice thick was sarcasm. “Now, open the door and let me in before I fire you and replace you with a real lawyer.”
Roderick stared down at his clothes. He considered returning to the bedroom to get dressed, but since he didn’t want to keep Geneviève waiting, he yanked open the door and smiled. “Good morning, Ms. Harris. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Finally,” she drawled, emphasizing each letter. “I thought you’d never wake up.”
“It’s not my fault. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Slacker! I’ve already worked out, had breakfast and blogged about last night’s concert.”
Frowning, Roderick glanced up and down the hallway. “Where are your bodyguards? You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself, especially considering what happened at the tapas bar. It’s dangerous, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
“I gave them the day off,” she answered. “I needed some space. Relax. I’ll be fine.”
Geneviève marched past him, then stopped abruptly. “Are you alone?”
“No.” A grin curled his lips. “Adele and Lady Gaga are on the balcony drinking cocktails.”
“You are so silly. Are you sure you’re an attorney and not a comedian?”
“Positive. I passed the bar my first try with a perfect score,” Roderick boasted, plucking at his cotton undershirt. “Don’t believe me? Ask my mom. She framed the results!”
Roderick laughed, but Geneviève didn’t. He could tell by the pensive expression on her face and her stiff posture that something was bothering her. Her smile was fake, lacking warmth and happiness, and she looked more stressed than a college student cramming for finals. “So, what brings you by this morning?”
“You invited me to go sightseeing with you today, remember?”
“Yeah, but you turned me down. If memory serves me correctly, you were going to Barcelona with your mom to enjoy some retail therapy.”
“Well, my plans fell through, so here I am.” Fiddling with the straps of her nylon backpack, she shifted her sneaker-clad feet. “I just need to get away for a while, you know?”
“Geneviève, what’s wrong?”
“Everything,” she grumbled, her lips twisted in a scowl.
“Talk to me.” Roderick wanted to take her into his arms, to caress her flawless brown skin, but remembered Geneviève was his client, not his girlfriend, and folded his arms across his chest. He’d made the mistake of kissing her once, but it wasn’t going to happen again. “Tell me what’s bothering you. I want to help.”
Seconds ticked off the wall clock, but Geneviève didn’t speak; she paced. It was moments like this, when she was quiet and introspective, that it was easy for Roderick to forget that she was one of the biggest pop stars in the world. She never fussed or threw a tantrum when she was upset, and he appreciated her levelheaded approach.
Watching her, he noted her hostile gaze. Still, she was breathtaking. A stunner. Drop-dead sexy. Her sleeveless turquoise shirt was tied in a knot at the side, and her mesh leggings fit every curve and elongated her toned legs—legs Roderick wished were clamped around his waist.
Scared he’d cross the line, Roderick tore his gaze away from her fit and toned body. He felt it—the familiar pull between them, the electricity crackling in the air—but he’d never act on his feelings. Knew if he did he could lose his job, and Roderick didn’t want to be the laughingstock of the law firm.
His thoughts returned to last year. He’d seen something special in Geneviève the first time they met, but over time her light had dimmed, faded under the glare of the spotlight, and Roderick feared she’d crack under the pressure if she didn’t take a stand against her record label—and her mother. He wanted to share his concerns, but Geneviève spoke, seizing his attention. Her confession made his temperature rise. Roderick didn’t want her to know he was upset about her TV deal. He hated the idea of Geneviève being the star of a dating show.
You want her all to yourself! jeered his conscience. Just admit it!
“My mom’s pressuring me to sign on, and even though I’ve told her a million times I’m not interested, she keeps badgering me about it,” she complained. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Leaning against the back of the couch, stroking his jaw, Roderick considered every option.
“If not for the tour, I’d pack my things and head to the mountains for some R&R.”
“Geneviève, you don’t need to run away. You need to face your problems head-on.”
“And how do you propose I do that? My mom won’t listen to me.”
“Then call the network and speak to them directly. Tell them what you just told me.”
“You make it sound so easy.
My mother’s been my manager from day one, and if I go behind her back and contact the network she’ll be hurt, and that’s the last thing I want.”
“Do you want me to call the network on your behalf?”
“No, I’ll figure something out,” she said with a sad smile. “But thanks for the offer.”
Roderick reached out, took her hand in his and squeezed it. He knew touching her was a mistake, that it could push him over the edge, but he wanted Geneviève to know that he supported her. “We’ll figure it out together. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
Her eyes lit up when she smiled, and Roderick felt proud, as if he’d accomplished a death-defying feat. Geneviève was more than just a pop star; she was a beautiful, intelligent woman and everything about her appealed to him, especially her lush lips. The urge to kiss her was overpowering. It was all he could think about, all he wanted.
Roderick frowned. A voice blared in his head, and it sounded like Mr. Welker. Don’t do this, man. You’re asking for trouble! Heeding the warning, he released Geneviève’s hand and moved away from her. Scolding himself for acting like a horny teenage boy on prom night, he wiped every explicit thought about her from his mind.
It was hard to do the right thing, especially after the conversation he’d had with his brother last night. Duane had called while Roderick was jogging on the rooftop track, but after five minutes of conversation he’d ended the call. He didn’t want to hear about his ex-fiancée returning to the Hamptons days earlier with her beau, and wished his friends and family would stop blowing up his cell about his no-good ex. Roderick didn’t care about Toya. Not anymore. He hadn’t thought about her in months, not since he heard she was engaged, and he wanted nothing to do with her. Toya wasn’t the woman he thought she was, and she’d done him a favor by dumping him.
“If the invitation still stands I’d love to go hiking with you. It’s gorgeous outside, and I don’t want to be cooped up inside the hotel arguing with my mother about that stupid TV deal.”