The Agent

by Ellen Lane

  And now he was uncomfortably erect.

  Running a hand through his dark hair, Russell blew out an exasperated breath. At this rate, he would be able to neither sleep nor work.

  And all because of the alluring designer he just had to meet.

  **

  Alice stewed.

  She was supposed to be working on the final designs for her collection of hats set to launch in the spring, but all she could do was stare at the empty pad before her as she chewed unbecomingly on her lower lip. She might have been staring at said pad for the last five minutes or for the last several hours.

  Either way, she’d gotten terribly off track.

  With a sigh, she pushed her pad aside, setting her elbows on her desk as she massaged her temples.

  This was ridiculous. It had been two weeks. Two whole weeks since her successful charity event. With all the money she had raised, and the successful debut of her maternity line, she should be over the moon. Instead, she found herself irate and snappish – to the point where everyone in her studio noticed and tried to stay well away from her.

  This should have been one of the most exciting parts of the year for her. The holidays were coming up, her maternity line was flying off the shelves wherever it was sold and distributors were already asking when she was going to start her next collection.

  But Alice could only purse her lips and dwell on the one man who had evaded her attentions: Russell Darwell.

  The night he had rejected her, she’d spent the rest of her party in a fit of annoyance, even snapping at Michael when he asked her how she enjoyed herself. Her reaction had been enough to send him to the other end of the hall – and he even lingered after she left to stay out of the way. When Rose called the next day to make sure she was alright, Alice had apologized profusely, even though her mood hadn’t lifted.

  Commitments.

  She would have liked to think Russell was interested enough to commit to at least a single night with her, but apparently, that was the wrong assumption.

  It shouldn’t matter. He was one of an entire city of men that she might be interested in – it should have been nothing to move on.

  And that was just the problem.

  Alice couldn’t stop bloody thinking about the man.

  A few days after her event, she’d looked him up on the internet, just for the hell of it, and discovered that he was even more well-connected than she’d previously thought. He was the agent to two of the world’s highest paid actresses and considered the man to speak to if one wanted to make a blockbuster movie. Even directors and producers had to bow and kowtow to him.

  When Alice laid eyes on the man’s picture, she frowned. He was, unfortunately, just as devilishly handsome as she remembered. She spent a good five minutes staring into those startlingly blue eyes of his before she shut her laptop and stormed out of her penthouse for a martini.

  Since then, she’d told herself she wouldn’t look him up. She wouldn’t think about him, and most of all she wouldn’t imagine what could have been.

  So why, now, was she sitting at her desk doing exactly that?

  With a groan, Alice rose from her desk, considering for a moment before she made her way from the study towards the kitchen. She needed a spot of tea – most likely properly spiked with whiskey.

  When she turned the corner down the hall, however, she almost collided with Tom, who caught her elbows to steady her immediately. “Steady on, Miss Tate.” When he took in the irate look on her face, he arched a brow in concern. “Are you alright?”

  “Fine, Tom.” She answered quickly. “I should like a pot of tea please, with a generous tot of bourbon.”

  “Of course.” Tom inclined his head respectfully. “Will you take it in the sitting room with your guests?”

  Alice’s gaze immediately jerked to his. “Guests?”

  Tom’s lips curved upward in a distinguished smile. “Miss Catherine and young Liam are here to see you, Miss.”

  Immediately, Alice’s face lit up and her anger faded somewhat. “Are they? Wonderful.”

  There were few problems, Alice had found, that couldn’t be solved by holding a baby in one’s arms. No sooner had she greeted Cat with a warm kiss on the cheek than she confiscated the chubby cheeked Liam from the dark-haired woman and settled him on her lap where he cooed and smiled in pleasure.

  He was absolutely adorable. Sometimes Alice wondered that Elias was his father.

  “You came just in the nick of time.” She cooed to the baby before addressing his mother. “I was on the edge of a fit, I swear?”

  “Really?” Cat’s green eyes lit in concern. “What’s going on?”

  Alice merely groaned, considering the gentlest way to pose her problem. Cat, of course, didn’t have any male problems. She was happily married to an overprotective billionaire architecture mogul who monopolized almost every moment of her time.

  But she was also desperately in love – something that, Alice had to admit, she envied. “Nothing awful. I just…well…there’s been someone on my mind and I’m positive he wants nothing to do with me.”

  “He?” Cat arched a brow, her expression appropriately shocked. “I can’t think of a man within a hundred miles who wouldn’t fall at your feet, slathering. Who the hell are we talking about here?”

  Americans had such a delightfully blunt way of putting things. Alice adored it. “His name is Russell, and though I thought we were getting along famously when we met, he’s expressed no interest in seeing me.”

  Cat tapped her chin thoughtfully as her son drooled all over Alice’s Lanvin. Little Liam was literally the only person in existence who could get away with soiling her designer clothes. “Maybe he’s busy.”

  Well that made no difference. Alice knew he was busy. “Even if he is, if he were interested, wouldn’t he make time to see me?”

  “A valid point. Though he could easily want to see you just as badly and not be available.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” Alice returned sourly, remembering the way the man had rebuffed her. “I all but invited him into my bed, Cat, and he refused.”

  Leaning back against the expensive leather couch, the young woman sighed. “Perhaps he likes a more subtle approach.”

  “He kissed my hand – twice.”

  Cat laughed. “Isn’t that just a British man’s way of saying hello?”

  “Perhaps a hundred years ago.” Cat made a face. “This is the bloody modern age. I think he just wanted to kiss my lips and settled for what he could get.”

  Cat laughed as Liam reached up to toy with a gold pendant around Alice’s neck. “I’m not being much help, I’m sorry. Since becoming a mother, I haven’t had much time for girl talk.”

  “Oh, that’s alright.” Alice waved off her apology quickly. “Who wants to waste time talking about men anyway. Unless it’s this little one, of course.” When she tickled baby Liam, his gay laugh filled the room and lifted her spirits.

  At that precise moment, Tom brought tea and cakes, and the conversation turned to lighter fare.

  It was the first time in two weeks that Alice hadn’t dwelt on Russell Darwell, and she had to admit, it felt damn good. She spent a comfortable afternoon in Cat’s company, and the two agreed to meet for shopping later that week before her friend took her leave.

  By the time she was soaking in the bath later on that night, Alice resolved that she didn’t care one whit about Russell Darwell and what he thought of her. In fact, if he didn’t wish to entertain her, she’d find someone who would.

  She remained resolute in that choice until she actually found herself on a date – of course, at that point, everything fell apart.

  He was ridiculously handsome. That was one of the primary reasons Alice had picked him. One of the premier jewelers in London, he was also fabulously wealthy. Just to ask her out to dinner with him, he sent her one of the most exquisite diamond bracelets she’d ever seen. Such an overt gesture would usually have Alice sending the gift right back to wh
ere it came from, but on this particular occasion, she considered it an invitation.

  She dressed in one of her sexiest Louis Vuitton sheaths and sky-high pumps, pinning up her hair and went to meet Benicio Attoli with bells on.

  So why, now, was she realizing how insufferably dull he was?

  The man was Italian, and while he did have a certain amount of foreign allure, all he wanted to talk about were his jewels and the exotic locales he’d been to. They weren’t even halfway into the first course and Alice was bored out of her mind.

  And with that, all of her irritation came screaming back full force.

  This would never have happened if she’d gone out with Russell Darwell. Perhaps he hadn’t really wanted to be with her, but he would have been polite enough to provide more stimulating conversation. Darwell seemed a man who could genuinely appreciate a woman’s company, at least. Attoli just liked to have someone present to hear him talk.

  But even so…Alice found her irritation perturbing. Six months ago, upon meeting a man like Attoli, she would have taken him to bed just to shut him up – but now, the thought revolted her. The idea of taking a man as pompous and self-absorbed as Attoli to her penthouse…it was almost enough to turn her off her filet mignon.

  “Have you heard of the film agent Russell Darwell?” She wasn’t quite certain what Attoli had been droning on about – something about her eyes being the same color as sapphires sparkling under the starlight or some other bloody nonsense, but she decided to interrupt him at that particular juncture.

  For a moment, Attoli looked confused, then his swarthy face lit up in recognition. “Darwell! Yes, I know him. I’ve sold several pieces to clients that he represents.” He dropped a few names of famous starlets that Alice supposed were meant to impress her. She ignored them completely.

  “What do you know about him?”

  Now, her date arched a brow in curiosity. “Know? I’ve spoken with him a handful of times but I cannot profess to know him personally. Why? Are you planning on working with him?”

  What was she doing? Alice didn’t know if she’d ever performed so completely out of character in her entire life. It was common etiquette that you didn’t talk about other people on a date. Even if this particular date was horrible, that was no reason for her to be a complete cad.

  “Perhaps.” She mused, wondering how on earth she could get this dinner back on track. Was there anything that she had in common with this man? Anything at all? Had they even ordered the same thing for dinner?

  “Well, if you are planning to work with him, perhaps you’d care to speak with him in person. He’s hosting a birthday party for one of his clients in New York next week. She’s commissioned the most beautiful sapphire ring to mark the occasion-”

  “When next week?” The demand rushed from Alice so quickly she was barely aware she’d spoken and Attoli jumped in alarm.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied thoughtfully, toying with one of the several ornate rings he wore on his fingers. “Thursday or Friday perhaps?”

  Alice did her best to look disinterested – especially after her little outburst. With a small smile, she nodded her head, taking a sip of wine. Attoli immediately grinned, raising his glass in a toast to her.

  And Alice prayed the night would end quickly.

  **

  While international stars could be high maintenance, Americans were the next level of opulence. As Russell looked over the mounting bills for his client’s upcoming birthday party, he grimaced. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford it, but he himself had long been against such outlandish displays of wealth.

  Regina wanted to be flown from LA to New York in a private jet and book the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton for an evening. She wanted only the best wine from a specific producer in Martha’s Vineyard and catering from one of the most premier restaurants in the city. For her guests, each gift bag would be filled with over twelve hundred dollars’ worth of designer goodies – and that was just the start.

  Often, Russell didn’t know whether to be amused or aghast at the inclinations of the very rich. Though he was wealthy, he liked to believe that he wasn’t obtrusive about it. For his own thirty-ninth birthday, he had a small gathering of friends at one of his favorite restaurants in the West Village –an intimate and quiet affair. Regina’s party would, of course, be the exact opposite.

  He’d have to have a few of her bodyguards on damage control to make sure the media didn’t catch sight of her on a drunken binge. The actress didn’t drink too terribly often, but when she did, she tended to get absolutely hammered.

  Which was a nightmare for him to deal with.

  When he finished signing off on everything for the party, he decided to take the rest of the afternoon off. It was a gorgeous fall day in the city, the ripe colors of autumn strewn over the streets and blanketing the ground. Fall in New York was crisp and cool – one of his favorite seasons –and it was the perfect day to walk to one of his favorite eateries.

  The moment he rounded the corner to cross Fifth Avenue, he was struck by a new billboard on the building across the street.

  Russell paused.

  The image featured a slinky blonde draped in an alluring, sky blue gown on a chaise lounge. Every facet of her image oozed sex appeal – but it was clear that the gown was meant to shine in this particular ad. The color was pristine, and even from an image alone, one could tell the satin was high quality.

  The gown was, of course, Alice Tate.

  Russell stared at the billboard for long after the signal changed to cross the street. As he did so, he gave into the urge that had haunted him since his encounter with the designer almost a month ago.

  He thought of her.

  Really, when wasn’t he thinking of Alice? He might not allow himself to properly acknowledge it, but the moment Regina told him she was having a party, hadn’t he immediately asked if she’d like to wear an Alice Tate gown to the event? Thankfully, Regina hadn’t realized anything amiss and had simply politely declined.

  He was looking for an excuse to speak with her.

  But with award season half a year away and all of his clients currently very content with their wardrobes what on earth was he supposed to do?

  He should be content and stop obsessing over the woman. She was, after all, half a world away. He’d already told himself that she was beyond his reach, and he was all the better for it.

  Even after he’d returned from Scotland, it had been hard knowing that Alice Tate was in the same city as he was. He even looked up the location of her studio online and contemplated dropping by.

  Not that she would see him after he’d rejected her at her own event. He had, Russell realized, made a mistake – if a self-preserving one. He supposed it was fair that, as punishment, he saw Alice Tate in his dreams.

  And what vivid dreams they were.

  It wasn’t, Russell reminded himself, entirely appropriate to be reminiscing over them in the light of day on a crowded New York Avenue. He might embarrass himself.

  In that vein, he decided instead, to return home for lunch.

  In the comfort of his own home, he ordered out from the bistro and allowed himself to consider his memories of Alice Tate.

  Her and that damn dress.

  Russell knew full well that the woman didn’t walk around in ball gowns, but all he could picture was her modeling it for him – prancing around his apartment as he watched rabidly, enticed by her curves. Of course, this particular fantasy was relatively tame, considering some of the others he’d had.

  It had occurred to Russell that perhaps he needed to occupy himself with another woman to get Alice Tate out of his system. In theory, the plan could work – but he currently found himself too busy and, honestly, unwilling to pursue anyone else. Why would he, when he knew that, ultimately, he would just end up comparing her to his memory of the designer.

  Time would heal all, but in the meantime, Russell knew there would be little he could do to distract himself from Alice
Tate.

  Only work – and God knew he did enough of that already.

  He was actually looking forward to Regina’s party this week. It might be a messy, sordid affair, but it would be the first time in almost four weeks that he’d done something other than work.

  And think of Alice.

  Even if she was delightful to picture.

  Of course, he got nothing done for the rest of the afternoon – or the next day really. What he did do was take a walk down Fifth Avenue to the Alice Tate boutique.

  Of course, she was all over it. Not her image, but her touch was there. Each of the pieces in the shop was just as exquisitely designed as the one on the billboard, and though he knew her work was in high demand, Russell realized that the clothing certainly wasn’t overpriced. There was care and attention to detail in every stitch.

  Almost as if Alice had handmade each one herself.

  He was glad to see that he wasn’t the only workaholic in the cosmos – and when he picked up a winter scarf, he told himself he was just remaining on trend.

  Of course, he didn’t have to wear said scarf to Regina’s party. Russell did it casually, incorporating it into his outfit with a navy blazer and a pair of Italian leather shoes.

  And somehow, it felt good to wear something that was hers.

  The party was, as he’d imagined, an extravagant affair. The ballroom of the Ritz Carlton was roped off and guests were signed in via a closely guarded list. There was a host of security outside, half of which were unneeded, in his opinion – but after only fifteen minutes of finagling, he actually managed to get into the party that he had helped plan.

  For once, it was nice to do the observing, rather than to be observed. With a drink in hand, Russell leaned against a wall and watched the party take place. He would, he decided, stay for an hour or two, find the opportune moment to wish Regina a happy birthday, and then leave Tony and Mike, her preferred bodyguards, on damage control.