The Agent

by Ellen Lane

  And even, Alice considered, if she did want one, where on earth was she to find him. She’d travelled to half the countries in the world, met sheikhs, princes, and billionaires, and she’d yet to find a man that made her knees weak.

  Perhaps there was some small part of her that wanted a man to look at her like her brother looked at Rose, but her brother as one of the rare few men in the world to garner Alice’s admiration – and she was related to him. In reality, she barely had the time for romance. She was too busy being a socialite, media idol, and world famous designer.

  If that didn’t fulfill her, what could a man possibly bring to the table?

  **

  He was absolutely knackered.

  Yawning widely, Russell forced himself to look over the forms on the computer screen before him with burning eyes. He’d been up all night with nary a cup of coffee to keep him going, and now, he was certain that his body was about to fail him. Though he worked out regularly and took care of himself, there was no substitute for a good night’s sleep.

  But he couldn’t sleep. Not now. The Academy Awards were in less than a week, and he had to make sure that all of the appearances were lined up. He was an integral part of the planning committee and agent to some of Hollywood’s biggest superstars.

  Which meant that, even if they could sleep, he certainly couldn’t.

  With a wide yawn, the tall, broad man stood up, sending an e-mail before he stretched his long limbs languishingly. It was almost eight in the morning. If he was going to continue like this, he damn well needed some caffeine.

  And quite possibly another ten hours in a day.

  While his coffee brewed, Russell stood before the floor to ceiling windows in his living room, looking out over the traffic of Fifth Avenue below. He loved New York City – always had. When many of his colleagues in the industry suggested that living in LA would be better for his career, he told them to bugger off. New York always had and would hold his heart.

  After London, of course. There was no replacing the city of one’s birth.

  Though born and raised in England, Russell had pond-jumped over to the USA as soon as he was finished with university, hell bent on making his way in the west. At the time, he hadn’t been quite sure what he was going to do, but after meeting an agent by happenstance at a party, everything had clicked.

  At the time, he’d been young and impressionable, convinced that he could do absolutely anything. He hadn’t known the meaning of the world failure.

  But he had learned.

  Russell couldn’t count the number of times he’d failed trying to get ahead in his business. Good agents were few and far between. They had connections, they knew where to go to catch the big fish, and they never, ever gave up. These were habits that he had worked hard to instill in himself – but nonetheless, he hadn’t landed his first big client until he was in his late twenties.

  Now he was almost forty, and after twelve years of wheeling and dealing, he was at the top of his game. It didn’t matter if he wanted to live in New York instead of LA – his clients flew out to him without a single complaint.

  It was gratifying to be good at what one did, and knowing that he had worked hard, despite coming from a privileged background, tended to impress more people than simply waving around one’s credentials.

  But even after how far he had climbed, he still refused to leave the grunt work to people beneath him. It was important to Russell that he be deeply involved in every detail of setting up events and choosing projects for his clients.

  Which was why he never got any proper sleep.

  When his coffee finished brewing, Russell inhaled the heavenly aroma as he poured himself a cup. He might be native British, but in his profession, sometimes tea didn’t cut it. There were days when one needed strong, concentrated caffeine to get through the day.

  As he took a long, satisfying sip of coffee, he paused to examine his reflection in the mirror above the sitting area.

  His peers always told him that he didn’t, and would never look his age. Russell had to admit that not seeing a single gray hair at thirty-nine was a blessing most men didn’t get the chance at. His thick, dark mahogany hair curled about his collar and was in need of a trim. In his opinion, the color accentuated the honey color of his eyes. Eyes, his mother always impressed upon him, that were made to break hearts.

  Russell didn’t know how many hearts he was going to break, but he looked good for his age. He kept his cheeks clean-shaven with just the barest hint of a moustache and goatee. He was tall and lean from the swimming and tennis he enjoyed during his spare time and, after a full eight hours of sleep, he liked to think he could look quite dapper when dressed for an event.

  Luckily, there were no women he needed to impress just now – unless you counted his clients who were waiting to hear what awards they were presenting. Russell’s duty would always be to them first and foremost. His job was important to him – everything else could come after.

  Of course, to be seen working with some of the most beautiful women in the world was to be connected to them. It didn’t matter to the media if they were married or not. Whenever Russell was photographed with a starlet, inevitably, it had to be because they were having an affair. After twelve years, he had learned to simply shrug off the gossip. His clients found it amusing most of the time – except for the one or two times a genuinely shaky relationship had been shunted even more off-kilter by the rumors. In those instances, Russell was pretty certain that his clients were better off without those trappings. No one needed an insecure partner on their arm.

  Why on earth would he have machinations on the women who made his career? He might have been insulted by the media’s assumption that he couldn’t get his own woman if he could bring himself to care that much.

  But Russell supposed that, in his lack of significant other, he invited the stories and the scandal. He never stayed with one woman for long – perhaps because he couldn’t truly satisfy them.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t respect them. Russell’s mother had raised him to put women on a pedestal, and he was more than happy to do so. But he could never really raise any true interest in any one woman. The moment she saw that he wasn’t willing to commit, almost every woman he dated burst into tears, threatened and cajoled, and eventually took their leave.

  It was an irksomely predictable pattern, but one he couldn’t avoid.

  When it came to women, Russell pleased only himself – and it pleased him to keep his private matters private.

  No one had ever come closer to him than in his youth.

  But that had been a long time ago, and he had learned from that particular, agonizing pain.

  He finished his coffee quickly before settling back down at the computer. Luckily, the awards panel had already answered his e-mail. It looked like he wasn’t the only one working overtime.

  It pleased him to know there were people in the business that took their jobs at least as seriously as he did.

  When all of this was over, he’d definitely be due a vacation. But, for the first time in a long time, Russell considered returning to London over somewhere balmy and tropical. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his little jaunts to exclusive beach resorts – he just realized that it had been a shockingly long time since he’d been home. He’d been so wrapped up in work that he hadn’t noticed, and now, when he struggled to recall…he realized that it had been something like two years.

  That wouldn’t do at all.

  When he was finished with the awards, he’d book a ticket to London and visit his family. His clients knew how to contact him, and if there was any direly pressing emergency, he could always fly back to New York.

  Yes.

  That sounded absolutely splendid.

  **

  “Oh my God, Alice. I love it.”

  With a smug smile, Alice watched her future sister-in-law, Rose Lithgall, run her hands over the exquisitely twisted bodice of one of the dresses she made for her. Of course,
she’d known that Rose’s taste catered more towards the simple, so she chose to save some of the most elaborate pieces in the collection for later perusal. It seemed she’d made the right choice.

  Rose had completely forgotten the sparkling water and salad she was enjoying in favor of admiring the piece, and at her side, her fiancé frowned.

  “Isn’t the neckline a bit low?”

  Alice laughed at his overprotective nature. “Fashionably low, darling. It will show off her figure wonderfully.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed in warning, and he took a very threatening bite of his salad. “I’m going to marry her. Who else needs to see her figure besides me?”

  “Oh, Michael.” Rose slapped his shoulder gently. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

  “Yes, Michael.” Alice was enjoying this entirely too much. “Do calm down.”

  “You’re the devil.” Michael pointed first at his sister, and then his fiancée as they shared a grin. “Both of you.”

  They were having an enchanting evening. Alice had just managed to finish all of her work for the week and make it to their reservation on time. She had ordered her favorite broiled scallops and could already taste them, even with the tart tang of her salad’s vinaigrette lingering in her mouth. “Oh, Michael, calm down. I’m sure Rose will try it on for you first before anyone else.”

  “She’d better,” her brother grumbled, taking a sip of his wine. Rose merely sighed, gazing at the libation longingly, and Alice chuckled, patting her round tummy.

  “Three more months, darling. Then, I swear, I’ll monopolize the little darling and you can have all the Rose your heart desires.”

  Michael rolled his eyes playfully. “I won’t have you turning my daughter into a high maintenance social butterfly.” He jibed, gesturing to the waiter to fulfill his glass. “She’s going to be her own woman.”

  “Of course, she will!” Alice immediately agreed without reservation. “A very fashionable woman.”

  Rose merely smiled, taking another bite of her salad.

  As they continued their leisurely meal, Alice introduced a few more of the pieces she’d brought with her. Rose was particularly enamored of a yellow top with easy access for nursing and a pair of comfortable, stretchy wool leggings. Michael was forced to admit that the purple dress was gorgeous and, he admired a more form fitting, long sleeved, wine colored dress.

  At his choice, Rose merely grimaced slightly. “That will show all my bumps and lumps.”

  In response, the man only bit at her neck playfully. “I adore all your bumps and lumps.”

  Alice merely rolled her eyes, feigning disgust. “Honestly, you two. Save it for the wedding night.”

  “And every night,” Michael piped up gaily, making his bride-to-be blush.

  “Not the night of October second,” Alice chimed authoritatively. “You’ll be busy that night.”

  “Will we?” Michael arched a brow in wary intrigue as he raised his head from Rose’s neck. “And what, pray tell, will we be doing?”

  Alice chose that point to pin her brother with the most charming smile in her repertoire. “Well, I only assume that you’ll want to come, of course. I don’t mean to force anything on you.”

  And truly, she didn’t. But, sometime in the past week, she’d come up with a marvelous idea made even more so by the prospect that her brother and his intended might attend.

  “Well, while I was designing this week, I came up with a marvelous idea for how to debut my new line!”

  Her brother, of course, looked far less enthusiastic than her about the prospect, but that seemed to happen whenever she wanted something from him, in all honesty. Considering that she was the one who had snapped him out of his woe-is-me funk and sent him after the woman of his dreams, he practically owed her one.

  When Michael didn’t inquire as to her wonderful idea, Rose gave him a stern look before turning back to Alice with a smile. “What is it?”

  Alice beamed. “A fashion-show fundraiser!”

  Immediately, the blonde’s face lit up, and Alice knew that she’d hit the jackpot. Regardless of whether Michael wanted to go or not, if it was for a good cause, his fiancée was likely to want to be front and center. Rose was such a giving person and an absolute dear. “What a wonderful idea!”

  “Why do we need to be there?” Michael was only half teasing as he winked at his sister, partaking of his second glass of wine.

  “Oh, come on, you adore fundraisers. We could send money to the Congo! They do love you there.”

  Though Alice was serious, her brother flinched slightly. Though the man who had done so had been long arrested, it was a Congolese militiaman who had exposed the fact that he was adopted to the rest of the world – much to their parents’ shame. “I’m not allowed back for the next five years,” he grumbled lowly. “I’ll remind you.”

  “And since you can’t go in person,” Alice returned sweetly, “It would be prudent, then, to show your support by sending what you can their way. Perhaps they’ll be lenient with you.”

  Rose winced. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

  “Well, that’s alright. I wouldn’t want Mum and Dad to send me after you again anyway.” She chose to change the subject quickly rather than linger where it hurt. “But the fundraiser could still be amazing. We could have people bid on the sample pieces, and all the proceeds could go to an African cause. You two can help me host it. It will be amazing.”

  And it would. Though Alice wasn’t usually the biggest fan of stuffy fundraisers, she could see herself enjoying one with Rose and her brother by her side. It would be one of the premier fall events in London – a way to debut her line and raise money for a wonderful cause. She would be keeping busy between the release of her fall and spring lines and, atop that, she would get to spend time with the people she loved the most.

  “I don’t see any reason why not.”

  When Rose agreed almost immediately, her fiancé looked somewhat alarmed. “I can. By that time, you’ll be almost seven months pregnant. Will it be healthy to be on your feet all the time?”

  In answer, Rose merely glared at him. “Do you honestly expect me to spend my last trimester lounging around your flat like an invalid?”

  Alice hid her smile behind her wine glass. Hopefully, her brother was smart enough to know not to answer that question. Instead, Michael merely took a large bite of his meal before clearing his throat. “No, of course not.” He turned to Alice, clearly beaten. “Alright, you win, Ali. We’ll help out.”

  The small woman threw her arms around her brother, squeezing him tightly. “You’re a darling. I adore you.”

  Michael accepted her affection good-naturedly. “Until I piss you off, you do.”

  She never denied that she was volatile. Funny that Michael should mention that when he was actually one of the men she wasn’t usually annoyed with.

  “So, now that that’s settled,” she turned to Rose with a conspiratorial grin. “Baby names. What on earth have you two come up with?”

  They had come up with quite a lot, actually. The front-runners were Victoria, Annette and Elizabeth – all classic English names. Alice, for her part, contributed a few more exotic choices like Jasmine, Lily and Margot.

  They spent the rest of the evening lingering leisurely over their dinner while Rose planned the wines she would have once the baby was born. Though Rose had always been a ball of energy, Alice was sure that growing a new life inside her was no easy feat. When Rose began to nod, she respectfully paid the tab and saw the couple on their way.

  They were outside, waiting for a taxi when Michael started in on her. Honestly, Alice was surprised she’d escaped the prying for the entirety of dinner.

  “Saw a picture of you with your new blonde flavor,” he commented off-handedly. His sister immediately shot him a warning glance, her blue eyes narrowing.

  “He’s not my flavor. And please, don’t, Michael. Not today.”

  With a sigh, her brother turned back to wave at his
fiancée, seated on a bench by the curb. “If you get to recruit me for your fashion show, can’t I at least ask a few questions to see how you’re doing in return?’

  A few? Somehow, with Michael, a few always turned into a bloody interrogation. How was he so wonderfully adept at guilt tripping her? When she thought about it, Alice supposed it had something and everything to do with the man being her brother, blood be damned.

  “So ask.” Even as she invited him, Alice crossed her arms over her chest confrontationally, anticipating a lengthy lecture.

  “So…you’re not dating the blonde?”

  She could have groaned aloud. “No, Michael. I’m not dating him. I have no idea when they snapped that picture.”

  “But you’re at least interested in him?” Her brother rebutted. “You were seen with him.”

  “I’m seen with a lot of people, “Alice returned carefully. For all she could advise her brother on how best to keep Rose happy, he was convinced that he could butt into her love life as well. It would be one thing if she actually had a boyfriend – and if Michael were friends with him, like she and Rose. But this…this was just torture.

  “And are you interested in any of them?”

  Alice frowned up at him breathy. She would think the answer to that particular question would be obvious. “Michael, why does it matter who I’m interested in?”

  “Because,” her brother’s hazel eyes flashed a surprising amount of concern. “I’m worried about you.”

  Oh boy. Here it went. “Why,” Alice began warily, “Are you worried about me? I’m a healthy woman of almost thirty with my own career and a very tight rein of control over my life. What can you possibly worry about?”

  “I worry that you’re not happy,” he replied succinctly, arching a brow as he crossed his own muscular arms over his chest. “That all this running around with everyone under the sun is dangerous. Don't you want a man who thinks the world of you?”

  What woman didn’t want a man who would think the world of her? Alice would give it to her brother, it was a nice idea, but she wasn’t keen on staking her life on it.