by Karina Bliss
“Don’t be a such a drama queen,” Frank said scathingly. “You’re not in Hollywood now.”
Seth left before he said something he’d regret.
* * *
Lighter by a substantial fee, Dimity stood amidst her luggage at the bottom of the steps leading up to Zander and Elizabeth’s rental property and watched the Toyota sedan’s tires churn on the rough track as the taxi bumped and rattled its way out of sight. The driver hadn’t been happy at the state of the driveway.
The engine backfired—possibly channeling his annoyance—startling birds from a stand of dense native bush. So much for the element of surprise.
She hadn’t told Zee that she was returning. Ambush was their modus operandi in complex negotiations—catch people off guard, start them on the back foot. And if she had any shot at changing his mind, she needed every advantage.
Ruefully, she glanced to the house, but no one appeared on the decks through one of the many French doors. The house was ridiculously modest for a rock star, a board and batten rectangle weathered to a silver gray with a black corrugated iron roof. If it wasn’t for the panoramic sea views and the number on the letterbox at the end of their perilous driveway she’d have sworn she’d been dropped at the wrong address.
Leaving her suitcases, she shouldered her laptop and handbag and climbed the stairs. With the cab gone, every sound had intensified—the rustle of wind through grasses, the trill of birdsong, and the nibbling of sheep eating grass in an adjacent field. An unwelcome suspicion growing, she tried a few doors and found them locked. No one home.
Now what?
She headed for the outbuildings, hoping to find one open—it was a warm day and she wanted shade for her laptop at least—but even the large rusty-roofed barn was padlocked. So, too, was the separate two-bedroom sleep-out and a small shed.
Peering through the window, Dimity saw it had been converted to a writing retreat. Elizabeth’s laptop sat on a desk, surrounded by manuscript pages. A lot of people would pay a lot of money to get their hands on it. Dimity stopped being annoyed that they locked their doors, when they lived in the middle of nowhere.
Returning to the main deck, she was digging out her cell to break cover when she spotted a solitary figure, with Zander’s distinctive white-blond hair, fishing from the beach.
Pay dirt. Stowing her laptop and handbag under an outside table, she followed a zigzag trail down the hill to the beach, taking off her war stilettos halfway down. This bloody island was going to ruin every good pair of heels she’d packed.
His back to her, Zee was fishing from a rocky outcrop at one end of the beach, wearing faded jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt in psychedelic colors. Possibly why she experienced such a sense of the surreal as she picked her way along the seaweed-strewn foreshore, taking care to stay out of his peripheral vision. She was used to seeing him surrounded by people, or center stage in an arena in Milan, Singapore, Buenos Aires, not on a rock with a rod, alone in the middle of nowhere.
All because a Kiwi woman saw him as an ordinary man.
No, that was unfair. It was Zee, the passionate extremist, who was insisting on giving up everything for love. Why the hell couldn’t he have taken up a harmless obsession like coconut oil pulling or kundalini yoga?
But she had to keep her frustration out of this. Play smart. Disarm him with the last thing he’d expect after yesterday’s verbal assault—conciliation. Lead him gently to the realization that becoming mortal could never work. Find out his plans and then stymie them. If anything, all this was her fault. He had no real idea of the consequences of his actions because she’d made so many go away. That stopped today.
The rocks were covered in barnacles, impossible to navigate in bare feet. With a pang of regret, she stepped into her heels, comforting herself with the thought that Caesar had probably sacrificed a few pairs of Roman sandals through his campaigns.
The odor of sun-ripening bait drifted toward her, and seagulls skulking for scraps squawked loudly to keep away.
Shush, you idiots. Zander turned to look over his shoulder.
His laser-blue gaze narrowed as he waved acknowledgment, possibly because of the glare of the sun. More likely his clever brain was assessing her mood.
Smiling, she returned his wave. And so it begins.
“Good timing, I’m catching lunch,” he commented when she arrived. Glancing into the cooler beside him, she saw a small snapper.
“That wouldn’t feed Diamanté.”
“Patience, woman. I have a bigger one on the hook.” The rod in his hand jerked and he reeled in some line. “If you’d phoned ahead, Elizabeth could have given you a ride.” His conversational tone confirmed he knew exactly why she hadn’t given him warning. “She’s in Oneroa, picking up supplies.”
“I figured the next move was mine.”
The line yanked hard and he started reeling in earnest. “I’m just grateful you’re here. And safe.”
Since Elizabeth had come into his life, he’d started throwing out the occasional “caring” comment. Dimity wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“I’m sorry for overreacting yesterday,” she told his profile. This was her second apology today, she really had to knock this bad habit on the head. Though it had the desired result. Zee nearly lost his grip on the rod. Inwardly, she smiled. “I’ve had a chance to calm down, and while I can’t pretend I’m happy about your decision—” because you won’t buy it “—I respect your right to make it.”
Adjusting his hold, he eased back the rod, making it bow alarmingly, and reeled in more line. “I’m sorry, too. I could have broken the news better.” He added ruefully, “Or at least locked the car doors before I told you.”
She had no intention of rehashing her embarrassing meltdown. “Is the fishing rod meant to bend like that?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, biceps straining. “When it’s a big fish.”
She stepped to a safer distance in case it was a shark. “I’ve bitched about you not confiding in me in the past, so I really appreciate the trust.” Ugh, too much?
“I appreciate—” he braced his legs wide, taking the strain of whatever monster was on the other end of his line “—that you appreciate that.”
This touchy-feely bullshit was embarrassing both of them, so she changed tack. “I haven’t told Seth the truth.”
“I never thought you would.” Because he trusted her. And she could no longer return the favor.
A large fish broke the water, tail flapping, scales gleaming. Not a shark, thank God. Another snapper, twice as big as the one in the cooler.
“Are you going to? Tell Seth the real story?” She didn’t know how long she could skirt around the truth, and she didn’t want to outright lie.
“Because it worked so well with you?” He swung the snapper over the rocks and killed it with a practiced blow under her appalled gaze before she could close her eyes. “Everyone will find it easier to move on if they believe my voice is the issue.” Handing her his rod, he crouched to remove the hook. “Look at it as the most humane way,” he said gently.
It took everything she had not to snap his rod in two. Instead she said calmly, “Man can’t live by fish alone—what are you going to do for income? Because if the insurers won’t pay out, you’re going to be broke. Or are you expecting Elizabeth to support you?”
He frowned as he dropped the fish in the cooler. “I am not. Rage disbanding will be big news. Nostalgia will revitalize sales of the touring album, which will make the distributors happy—right now they’re writing it off. My label recorded and produced it, so that will put dollars in the bank.”
Picking up the bait bucket, he tossed the slimy contents into the sea, causing a frenzy among the gulls. “The other guys have written or collaborated on new songs on the album, and that means royalties for all of us, which should help keep them afloat until they make headway with a new band.”
He rinsed his hands clean in a nearby rock pool. “And I have no doubt my old
labels will release ‘Best of Rage’ albums. I won’t be able to keep Elizabeth in opulence, but we’ll do okay.”
“That’s a relief,” she lied.
Zander picked up the cooler, his tackle box, and the bait bucket, leaving Dimity to carry the rod. “I thought you’d fight me to the death on this,” he admitted as they walked across the rocks.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m gutted.” She adjusted the rod over her shoulder. “But I can see how serious you are—and I’m saving myself more angst by helping you make this work. A lot of people are going to be impacted by your decision.”
“That would have been the case if my voice hadn’t recovered—”
“But it has recovered.” She softened her tone. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Zee.” I’m trying to make you feel terrible. “I just want to make sure we tackle your exit properly, so everyone’s taken care of.”
“I’ve already been working to soften the blow. I’ll still need bodyguards in the States, at least until my haters run out of steam. And I’ve told Luther we’ll go all-out with security when Elizabeth starts promoting her book.”
Death threats were still rife on social media from those who considered he’d committed treason by lip-syncing the national anthem, and he’d already told Dimity how deeply concerned he was that Elizabeth’s memoir might make her a target. “You’ll have plenty to do while I’m selling assets and fighting the insurance company. Elizabeth wants you handling all her promotion so she can concentrate on her own projects again.”
Dimity had fallen behind, so Zander stopped to let her catch up. “The rest of the band still have a bright future. They’re writing great songs, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. There are a couple of producers interested—”
“That’s fantastic,” she said, “but it will still take a good six months to get a new band off the ground.”
“About the same time it would have taken to get Rage touring again,” he pointed out. Damn his logic. “Jared and Kayla are downsizing their house in the New Year to give themselves a financial buffer.”
Dimity sighed. “I just hope the pressure of starting a new band isn’t…never mind, you don’t need to hear it.”
“Tell me.”
“I hope the pressure isn’t going to tip them into divorce.”
Zander stopped to face her. “I thought they’d resolved the problems they had on tour.”
“No, they recognized their problems on tour. If they split up—” over my dead body “—Jared will need to earn enough to set up two households, at least until Kayla can find a job. Which means Rocco and Madison will go into daycare.” They’d reached the soft sand of the beach. She took her time removing her ruined shoes, giving him time to conjure up their innocent faces.
“I didn’t know that,” he said slowly.
Dangling the straps over her wrist, she pressed her advantage. “Moss will play it cool, but Rage is all he has.” To her surprise, her voice caught on the words. Him and me both. Zander glanced over, and she concentrated on re-balancing the pole against her shoulder.
“I’ll still be around to keep an eye on him,” Zander said as they started walking again. “We all will. If anything, Rage’s disbandment will keep him alive longer. He won’t be able to afford as many drugs.”
“That’s cold.”
“Addiction is like a security blanket. Eventually you have to grow up and give it up if you want a bigger life. Only Moss can save Moss. But he’s a smart guy. It shouldn’t take him as long as it took me.”
“You’ve never been an addict, Zee.” He’d come close with alcohol and coke, but he was too driven to risk losing control.
“You’re wrong. I’m a fame-aholic. Adulation was my crack for seventeen years. That’s why I can’t go back.” His eyes were very blue, very determined. “My newfound conscience is still a ninety-seven-pound weakling and I can’t risk screwing this up.”
“This, being your relationship with Elizabeth?” So that was his fear.
“And with my mother and brother. You have no idea the shit I put them through to stay at the top.”
The sand turned cold underfoot as they walked in the shade of pohutukawas.
“If you’re worried about addiction I’ll watch out for you, like I always have.” He was a phoenix, always capable of rising above his limitations through charisma, willpower, and sheer bloody-mindedness. “Besides, Elizabeth won’t let you fall.”
Stubbornly, he shook his head. “It’s not enough that she’s good for me. It has to work both ways.”
She was silent as they climbed the narrow path from the beach through the native bush, trying to understand what he was telling her. Zander Freedman was afraid? It threw her.
He stopped at the top of the hill. “Let’s catch our breath.”
“I’m fine.” What could she say to reassure him?
“I meant our mental breath.”
Trying to hide her impatience, she glanced over the cliff’s edge, and the sea sprawled out before them like a fallen sky. Another day it might be beautiful, today all she could focus on were the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff and the surge of surf choking and smothering them. We don’t have time for this.
“I used to pity people who told me to stop and appreciate the view,” he said astutely. “If you’re alive, then you should be in motion. And what do I know about being still? And yet there are moments, hours even, when I am. At peace. I knew I’d be happy with Elizabeth. What I didn’t expect was the ability to enjoy my own company.”
For a moment Dimity got a glimmer, a firefly spark of what life could be like—and doused it. He’d never thought about the greater good, and he wasn’t thinking about the greater good now. It was still all about him.
If he wanted to sacrifice himself for love, then he could do it for the band family he’d created. The one he’d made them all believe in.
“You want a better work-life balance, I get that.” Not at all. She returned to her agenda. “Which makes me worried for Seth. He gave up everything to join Rage…his girlfriend, his stake in the family business. His father still hasn’t forgiven him for it.” She hated sharing details of Seth’s private life, but this wasn’t the time to be squeamish. She was fighting for their lives.
Zander looked stunned. “Why did he never tell me?”
“Not every rock star wears his heart on his sleeve.”
“Nice dig. But Seth has his head screwed on. He’s the only one I don’t worry about.”
So he was worried about everyone else? Her spirits lifted. She was getting to him. Now to give his newfound conscience more weight than it could carry.
“Have you thought about what Robbie will do?” Robbie had been Rage’s manager for eighteen years.
“He told me when I was in hospital that if Rage disbands he’ll retire. I talked to him yesterday. He hasn’t changed his mind.”
“Did you tell him it’s over?” she said sharply.
“I’ll tell the band first—tomorrow—then Robbie, then all our key people. I want to give everyone time to get their heads around it before I make a public announcement.”
“You can’t do that.” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “I know I’m the Wonder Woman of administration, but I can’t possibly lay the groundwork for a roll-out of this magnitude in twenty-four hours.”
“Is there much work?”
“Oh my God, come with me.”
They reached the deck, still no sign of Elizabeth. The moment they were inside Dimity opened her laptop and started pulling up staff records, split-screening them on the monitor. Zander was a big-picture guy and she was going to bury him under minutiae.
“I estimate you have upward of fifty employees who have worked for you longer than five years.” Painstakingly, she went over every single one of the staff records, belaboring the theme of loyal and faithful servants until Downton Abbey’s crew looked like a bunch of slackers, and her spreadsheet was littered with human sacrifices to his s
elfishness.
“It’s not like we can afford a redundancy payout or long-service bonus, but at the very least we can present them with a glowing reference when you tell them. I’ll also help them update their resumes.” As she talked, her voice grew hoarse. She hadn’t realized how much these people had come to mean to her; how much she knew of their lives through the little things she’d done for them.
Researching the best deals on christening bracelets for Steve the roadie’s first grandchild; organizing an emergency flight to her father’s funeral for Cal the lighting tech. Negotiating a better price with a wedding venue for Consuela the cook’s niece. She paused on a picture of Zander’s executive housekeeper, an Englishwoman in her early forties. Dressed like a punk rocker with the plummy vowels of the Queen, Philippa epitomized their family of talented eccentrics.
By the time she’d finished Zander was looking dazed. “You’re right,” he said. “I haven’t thought this through.”
Her pulse leapt. “You haven’t?”
“I’ll take another look at my financial statements over the next few days, see if we can squeeze some money from somewhere for a long-service bonus. This empathy stuff is new to me, so I really appreciate you pointing it out.”
Disappointment crushed her.
“Clearly, I need to work out how to do better by my staff. All my staff.” He hesitated. “Seeing you so upset yesterday—”
Dimity squirmed. “Let’s not go there.”
“I want you to take the rest of the week off.”
“What?” It was the last thing she expected him to say.
“Do some sightseeing around New Zealand, go to a spa…whatever you want. I’ll cover all costs. Why should the lawyers and real estate agents get all my money?”
She was shocked. “Zee, you can’t manage without me.”
“I can handle the critical stuff for a week, and everything else can wait. I’m serious, I want you to take a break.”
The timing of his magnanimity couldn’t be worse. She couldn’t change anything if she was sitting in a spa in Queenstown. It was the equivalent of Nero fiddling while Rome burned. “But—”