The Prada Paradox

by Julie Kenner

  “You mean if I weren’t in a thousand little pieces because of the explosion? Yeah, probably.”

  “I don’t think he intends to blow us up,” Blake says. “He said we’d be falling through space, remember?”

  “Either way, we’re dead at the end.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Blake…”

  We’re talking low, and I see Andy shifting toward us. I don’t know if he can hear us or not, but I can tell that he wants to.

  “He said three seconds,” Blake said.

  “I say numbers all the time. That doesn’t mean I’m being literal.”

  “Do we have another chance?”

  That one, I don’t have an answer for.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I say, without hesitation.

  “Then take my hand. I’m cutting the cord.”

  And then, before Andy can figure out what we are up to, Blake does just that. As soon as he does, he starts falling, taking me with him. His hand is tight around my wrist, but otherwise I’m free-falling. The gun is right there, and I grab it. The odds of actually hitting Andy are slim, but I fire anyway. And as I do, the mountain below us seems to explode. I slam back into something hard—and the skin on my arm feels like it’s being ripped off—but Blake never lets go.

  And then we really are falling, the sign crashing down above us. Everything happens in a haze of dust and soot and debris. And when everything clears, I find myself dangling over a mountain, tethered to earth only by Blake’s hand on my arm. His hand, I see, is tight on one of the straining girders from the now collapsed D in Hollywood.

  “I can’t hold you much longer,” he says. “I need you to climb up to me.”

  “I’m trying,” I say. But he’s holding my injured arm, and the pain is too great. I can’t move. I can’t do anything.

  I feel myself start to slip, and cry out for Blake. I have an image of myself splatting on the ground hundreds of feet below us, and that is a reality I really want to avoid.

  “Take that,” Blake says, and I look up to see my black Prada tote dangling right in front of me.

  I tilt my head more, and see Mel among the debris at the base of the sign. She’s holding fast to a rope to which she tied my purse. “Use it as one of those firefighter lifts,” she says. “Get your free arm and head through it.”

  She lowers it down a little bit more, and I squirm through, never letting go of Blake in the process.

  Slowly, she helps us work our way up, until we collapse on the dirt. Solid ground never felt so good.

  “What was it you were saying about not wanting to do North by Northwest?” Blake asks, and I have to laugh. Because, really, the idea of hanging off of Mount Rushmore is nothing compared to this.

  Chapter 59

  Blake couldn’t keep his hands off her. He was amazed she was alive. And humbled that she was his. That she’d risked so much to save him, and that they’d finally won so completely.

  Andrew Garrison—born Archibald Grimaldi—was dead. And that was the big news of the day.

  “How did you find us?” Blake asked Mel as the police took charge of the scene.

  “Stryker called me a few hours ago. He found out that the building where Janus lived had been owned by Grimaldi years ago. Okay, that’s fine. But now it’s owned by a trust. And that trust is controlled by Andy.” She sighed. “I tried to get a hold of Devi right away, then got worried when I couldn’t reach either one of you. Lucas let me in the house, and I saw the computer. After that, it didn’t take long to figure out where you were.”

  “Remind me to give Lucas a raise,” Devi said.

  Mel laughed. “Well, he only did it because you’d told him who I was and what was going on.”

  “I still can’t believe he was Grimaldi,” Devi said.

  “I know,” Mel agreed. “But once we started to look at it, it made sense. He’d gotten poisoned when he helped Jenn, for example. But in retrospect, I think he did it to himself.” She made a show of slapping her neck. “Bam. A poisoned dart.”

  “And he did the same thing with the knife and Janus,” Devi said. “It’s really unbelievable. He seemed so normal.”

  “He was brilliant,” Mel said. “But he was fucked up, too. And obsessed. Obsessed with his game. With making it harder, wilder, better. I think he faked his death so that he could bring it into the real world. No one could argue with his decision if he wasn’t around to fight with. And no one would be looking to lay the blame on him if he was dead.”

  “And he was obsessed with Devi,” Blake said.

  “Yeah. In a big way. And since he was a risk-taker by nature, he took a big one to try to get her.”

  Blake turned to her. “Another crazed fan. Are you okay?”

  She smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m actually fine.” The smile widened. “We really won, Blake. It’s over.”

  Somehow, he knew that she meant more than just the game. The fear, he knew, was over, too.

  “If we won,” he said, “shouldn’t we get a prize?”

  She pulled him close for a kiss. “I’ve got everything I need already.”

  EPILOGUE

  “So, come on, you two,” Letterman says. “Tell the truth. That stunt on the Hollywood sign. That was just a big PR campaign for the movie, right?”

  I laugh. “Now, David. You know we can’t reveal trade secrets. Especially not on opening weekend.”

  He looks at Blake. “Oh, come on now. Toss me a bone. Something.”

  Blake just shakes his head. “Maybe it’s time to show the clip,” he suggests, and the studio audience applauds madly.

  “Yeah,” David says with his trademark grin. “And we’ve got a little surprise for you.” The last, he says to me, and I frown as the video screen drops down. Because this isn’t supposed to be a surprise. My PR folks are very against surprises in the late-night arena.

  But David’s right. Because this isn’t the clip from the movie we’d messengered over that morning. Instead, it’s Blake’s interview from earlier in the year.

  The interview. The one that started all the trouble between us.

  I’m not particularly happy with David for playing it, but I can hardly show it. Not in front of an audience the size of his.

  So I laugh. “What?” I ask. “Trying to drum up ratings with reruns?”

  “Not when I’ve got this,” he says, in that deadpan way he has.

  And now he’s pointing at Blake, who even as I watch is going down on one knee. The audience is way more astute than I am, because they’re already on their feet, stomping and clapping.

  “Devi,” Blake says. “Marriage may not have been on my radar earlier this year. But it is now.” He looks me in the eye, and the studio, the audience, and the noise melts away. “I love you,” he says. “Will you marry me?”

  I nod, because suddenly my voice isn’t working. But I try again and manage a squeaky little “Yes!” before tossing myself in his arms.

  And that, of course, is when the crowd goes wild.

  Up Close and Personal

  with the Author

  Well, it’s time for me to sit down and interview myself again…a melancholy moment, as The Prada Paradox is the last book in the “Play.Survive.Win” trilogy, and thus the last chance I’ll have to interrogate…er…interview myself in this way. So here we go:

  ME: Can you tell us what inspired this book, The Prada Paradox?

  ME: Um, that’s your opening gambit for hard-hitting journalism? I’d think you’d pick a question where the answer isn’t so obvious.

  ME: Obvious? What’s obvious about it?

  ME: I mean, duh! It’s the third book in a trilogy. I was hardly going to write a ranching story, right?

  ME: (deep, heavy, exasperated sigh.) Fair enough, Miss Sarcasm. But I was referring to the fact that this book is set in a different location—Los Angeles rather than New York. Any particular reason?

  ME: Okay, that’s a decent question. I take back my snark.
The book is set in Los Angeles for two reasons, the first being that it’s the natural setting for the overall backdrop of the story (the film industry). Certainly, the book could have been set in New York (the actors could have been on location), but as to that, the second reason applies: it was time to mix it up a little, and Los Angeles fit—fast-paced, fun, and fashionable.

  ME: Alright, then. Let’s narrow the question a bit. How did the idea for doing the third book against the backdrop of the Givenchy Code movie come about?

  ME: Much better question—

  ME: (dripping sarcasm) So glad you approve.

  ME:—and the answer is really quite easy. It’s typical in romantic trilogies, each new story stars a different hero/heroine. The romances in these stories certainly followed that pattern, but the ultimate question of who was pulling the strings of the game remained open, starting in book one and continuing through the trilogy. Because of that open question, I really wanted to bring the series full circle. Not just answer that underlying question, but truly circle the series back on itself. At the same time, I didn’t want to have Mel and Stryker starring again—they’d had their story! But if someone else was doing their story…if a movie was being made…Honestly, it was just one of those brainstorming thing!

  ME: And didn’t you study film for a while, and even work in the industry?

  ME: Ah, this is the part where you show off your investigative skills? Yes, my undergraduate degree is in film, and I practiced law in the L.A. area for a while, did some entertainment-related work, and also worked as a production exec for a small film company.

  ME: So you lived in L.A. Have you been to all the places in the book?

  ME: For the most part, yes (though, ahem, some literary license has been taken, though I won’t say where or how!). And I had a very good friend play research assistant for me. Things have changed in L.A. in the years I’ve been gone, so my friend Stephen Carver suffered mightily to go to Beverly Hills and Universal Studios for me, sending back pictures and descriptions. It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it!

  ME: Pictures, huh? So that “grafitti” in Beverly Hills is real?

  ME: The “Don’t Panic” sign? Absolutely! I have a jpg!

  ME: And that seems like a good place to wrap this interview. Once again, you didn’t panic, even in the face of my hard-hitting interview.

  ME: It was tough, but I muddled through…