by Larissa Ione
Grumpy and depressed, he kicked off his boots and called to Norbert, who popped up from where he’d been sleeping on the couch. Sean petted the furball until, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light flashing on his answering machine. His heart skipped a few beats. It was Robyn. It had to be.
He pushed the button and tapped his fingers on the table until the sound of his agent’s voice made his stomach drop all the way to his feet. He listened to Samantha outline her plans to put him back into the spotlight—the interviews, the Letterman gig. Now he knew what Robyn had been talking about; she’d been here when Samantha called. No amount of cursing could even begin to express his emotions, but damned if he didn’t try.
Norbert rubbed against his shin, and Sean bent down to pet the cat. “I’m an idiot, Norby.”
Norbert agreed with a solemn meow.
“You couldn’t have argued a little, you fleabag?”
Norbert stalked away, tail flicking. Sean let out a guilty sigh and fetched some treats from the kitchen. As he fed the cat he berated himself some more.
He’d probably lost Robyn for good. The one person who had ever given him a rush greater than any competition win. The one person outside his mother and sisters who had ever treated him like he was more than an empty-headed athlete. Somehow, he had to fix this.
He dropped a handful of treats on the floor and hurried to the phone, where he dialed Robyn’s room. A female voice answered and his gut churned.
“Robyn?”
“Karen.”
He winced. “This is Sean.”
“Jerk.”
She obviously knew what had happened. “I don’t suppose Robyn is there?”
“Even if she was, she wouldn’t talk to you.”
“Karen—”
“Leave her alone. She doesn’t need to listen to more of your lies. You used her. You tricked her. Not even Damon hurt her like that.”
Being put into a category with Damon—no, worse than Damon—made him ill. “I know I hurt her. But I need to explain. I want to make it up to her.”
She said nothing.
“Please.”
She heaved a loud sigh. “I don’t think you can. What you did was pretty harsh.”
“I know.”
“Worse than harsh.”
“Yes, I deserve to die. Will you help me?”
Karen sighed again. “I’m going to regret this, I’m sure, but if you’re serious, if you really want to get her back, it’ll take something huge. Just so you know.”
“Huge.”
“Really huge.”
“Right. Thanks, Karen. I appreciate it.”
He hung up the phone and fetched a beer from the fridge. Huge. What the hell did that mean? What could he do? Somehow, he had to convince Robyn that they belonged together no matter how public his life became. Heck, with her radio background and his up-and-coming TV career, they could develop something big together, something they could share.
Unwilling to accept any form of defeat, he crawled into bed, wishing she was here to warm the sheets for him but feeling excited about tomorrow. First he’d announce the ski competition, and then he’d find Robyn and win her over. How, he had no idea. But he knew why.
If he didn’t get Robyn back, all the fame and fortune in the world meant nothing.
Chapter Fourteen
Robyn tried not to rub her puffy, red eyes as she drove from Hausfreunde to the high school, where she’d participate in the auction set-up. It figured that the one day she needed to look good was the day she looked like a listless, sunken-eyed zombie following a night of crying on Karen’s shoulder.
After she’d fled to her room following the confrontation with Sean, she and Karen had ordered room service that included all of the desserts on the menu. Even though Robyn had resisted gobbling up every last bite, guilt had set in. Guilt that she’d allowed someone to affect her so badly that she’d run to food for the first time in years. It was a measure of just how deeply Sean had ingrained himself into her soul, and a measure of just how stupid she’d been to allow it to happen.
Making matters worse, she’d been so furious with both Sean and herself that she’d gone to Damon’s room and pounded on his door, wanting desperately to tear him apart with her bare hands. Fortunately, he hadn’t been there, but even if he had, he most likely would have slammed the door in her face. He loathed confrontations, which was probably why he’d asked Sean to keep her busy in the first place. Confrontations led to anger, and anger led to Robyn not doing favors such as setting up Rolling Stone interviews.
Yes, she had him figured out. He wanted time to worm his way back into her good graces, and if that failed, he probably planned to wait until she was desperate for a job and at that point, he’d dangle one in front of her—a reward to be had only if she arranged the interview.
Still angry, she’d gone back to her room, only to learn that Sean had called, wanting to see her again. For what reason, she had no idea. The only explanation that made sense was that his competitive nature wouldn’t allow him to lose something—even something he didn’t want.
He’d called again this morning. The pain of hearing his voice had been excruciating, had pierced her incredible anger long enough for her to listen to what he had to say, that he wanted to meet with her before the ski competition.
Bad move, mentioning the competition. She’d told him where he could shove his invitation, and after she hung up, she’d taken off, blood boiling and nerves rattling, to the bakery.
The bakery that smelled of pastries and chocolate and warm walnuts and hot coffee. The bakery she’d loved all her life but that had also been a dangerous comfort for her. All that food and all her weaknesses had combined to make for a volatile mixture.
This morning, though, she fought the urge to binge. She’d settled for a cup of coffee and some self-liberating therapy. First, she’d called Brad to warn him that Damon might use her name to finagle an interview—and Brad, after hearing what Damon had done to her, had made clear that there would be no interview. She almost felt bad for her ex. Almost. Next, she’d dug into the dough, helping the staff create the daily specials. The time spent at the bakery had helped her think, and when her mother arrived to work, they’d had a long talk. By the time Robyn left the shop, she’d known what she had to do.
Now she just had to make it through the auction.
She trained her eyes on the high school a couple of blocks ahead. It had been remodeled to blend in with the newer, prestigious homes that had taken over the neighborhood, and it no longer resembled anything close to the ugly, squat prison building she remembered.
Far from it, in fact. An enormous party tent had been set up on the snow-patchy lawn adjacent to the gym, and strategically placed four-bulb Portofino lights and colorful paper lanterns added to the glitzy, festive atmosphere. Her classmates had spared no expense, had even added a red carpet that stretched from the parking lot to the tent entrance, and outdoor heaters lined the pathway.
Swallowing a wave of nervous nausea, she turned into the parking lot, which had already filled with vehicles. With only three hours to go until the auction began, classmates were scrambling to finish setting up, and she would have to let them know she was going to emcee.
She parked near the gymnasium and hurried across the lawn, her high-heeled boots crunching in the patches of snow. Her skirt, a calf-length emerald wrap, swished in the crisp air, periodically letting cold drafts fan across her legs as she walked past the larger items to be auctioned. Rafts, motor scooters and canoes had been displayed outside the tent, and as she approached, she mentally calculated possible bids, hoping the ads she’d placed in the newspapers and on the radio attracted enough guests to drive up the bid prices. With any luck, the fact that they hadn’t been able to announce a celebrity auctioneer wouldn’t result in a huge loss.
She slipped into the tent, where the morning sun had warmed the air enough that the heaters had been turned off. Robyn shrugged out of her coat and p
lucked her nametag out of a basket near the entrance. As she fastened it to her blouse, she sorted through the dozens of classmates until she found Linda near the buffet table that would soon be heavy with cuisine from several pricey delis. The other woman was instructing two former band-class members on where to place two locally donated oil paintings.
“Linda. It’s Robyn,” she said, after the men had lugged their cargo away.
Linda’s eyes flared and dropped to Robyn’s nametag as if needing proof of her identity, and then she settled into a comfortable smile. Linda had never been overly friendly to her, but she’d never been rude, either.
“It’s good to see you. We’ve talked so much over the phone I feel like we’re friends.”
Sure, now that I’m thin. Smiling politely, Robyn nodded. “Did a shipment arrive from Los Angeles? Should have been a box from—”
“From GeeWiz,” Linda interrupted, sounding a touch awed. “He sent several boxes. How did you arrange that? It’s wonderful!” She gestured toward the back of the tent to a top-of-the-line karaoke machine that had been placed on a pedestal near the center of the stage with some of the more expensive items to be auctioned. “And he sent a videotape addressed to you. The note says to play it when the auction starts. We set up television monitors so people can watch.”
Robyn bit down on a groan. George possessed a twisted sense of humor, so no telling what he’d put on that tape. She’d be wise to screen it before she played it in front of a crowd.
“Now, let’s introduce you to everyone and let them know this is your baby.”
Robyn gave a panicked shake of her head. “Uh, no, that’s okay—”
“Don’t be shy.”
Linda took her arm and dragged her toward the stage. To Robyn’s horror, Linda stepped up on the platform and grabbed the microphone.
“Everyone? If I could get your attention?” Linda gestured to Robyn, who wondered if she could find a hole to crawl into. A nice cold one to counter the heat in her face. “You may or may not remember our head auction coordinator, Robyn Montgomery, but here she is. She’s going to make sure that this is the biggest money-raiser this school has ever seen!”
Applause followed, and Robyn smiled weakly as she raised a shaky hand to wave at the ocean of stunned faces.
Linda cleared her throat. “If you’ve read the bio pamphlets you know Robyn is a successful music director at one of the country’s leading radio stations. So she’s got some very prestigious contacts. In fact, she arranged for video jockey GeeWiz to send autographed items from some of the hottest pop stars.”
More applause. More heat in her face.
“She’s also arranged for a celebrity emcee.”
Robyn’s heart seized. It just…stopped. Her throat closed up, cutting off her breath, and she looked at Linda, shaking her head wildly, waving her hands to stop. Linda frowned and spoke into the mic again.
“Robyn is a little shy. Just a moment.” She covered the mic with her hand and bent close enough for Robyn to smell the other woman’s designer perfume. “What’s wrong? You got an emcee, right?”
“No,” she said on a groan. “I told you my emcee cancelled.”
“But I thought you were getting another one!”
“I thought I could.” She lowered her voice more because people had gathered around, curious. “It didn’t work out.”
“You’re kidding,” Linda breathed. “What do you plan to do?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Handle what?” Gigi’s voice carried loudly from behind her and Robyn ground her teeth.
“Nothing.”
“We don’t have an emcee,” Linda said.
Gigi’s face lit up. “Really.”
“We have an emcee,” Robyn said. “Me.”
“Oh, this is precious.” Gigi climbed up on stage and snagged the mic from Linda. “Everyone, listen up. We have a special surprise today. Our own Robyn Montgomery is going to emcee the auction.” She made a theatric, sweeping gesture with her arm. “Should be fabulous.”
This time there was no applause. Lots and lots of dead silence, but no applause. Robyn stood there like a complete idiot.
This was not turning out at all like she’d planned.
“So, do you miss this?” Jason Freeman, Sean’s fellow commentator, gestured at the French skier who just blew across the finish line.
Sean peered down at the racer from his position in the tiny elevated booth near the base of the run and considered his answer carefully since his words would go on air. “I miss the racing, but I don’t miss the practice.”
Jason, a former Olympic medalist himself, nodded, jiggling his head-mic. “I hear you there. But practice is what gets you to the Olympics, and Owen Keaton, who is up now for Canada, is on the fast track to the next winter games.”
And that quickly, they were back to giving the viewers a running commentary. Sean had effortlessly settled into the routine, which had been a huge relief. He hadn’t tripped over his own words, hadn’t forgotten a name or any of the lingo.
Even better, he wasn’t the slightest bit jealous of the skiers, which surprised him, given that he’d felt a distant burning in his gut every day for the last two years when he thought about what he lost, and what he’d love to have back.
But right now, what he wanted back was Robyn.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop hoping for a miracle. He had to find a way to win. Had to find a way to slide across the finish line with a record time on the clock. When a competition win had mattered, he’d squeaked by with a hundredth of a second to spare, and he’d do it again.
But how?
They went to commercial and the door to the announcer room whispered open. Damon strutted in, leaving snow tracks on the sisal carpet.
“You guys are doing a fantastic job.” He clapped Sean on the shoulder. “As soon as you wrap up, head to the party at the Rendez-Vous.”
He winked as though he was merely making a suggestion to attend the party of the year at the state’s most exclusive resort, but the man had issued a command. “A lot of important people will be there. Everyone who is anyone in the biz.”
Sean shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was schmooze with a bunch of people he didn’t know or like.
And what. The. Hell. Something was wrong, because they were exactly the people with whom he needed to schmooze if he wanted to spark a successful career full of cameras and sports. So what if the new career took away from his time on the slopes and his job as an EMT? The medical job was just busywork anyway.
He looked out the window at the couples who snuggled against the cold and at the skiers who’d finished their runs and now waited for the race results. Behind the crowd, ambulance crews stood by in case a skier or bystander needed medical attention.
No doubt the medics were bored out of their gourds as they waited for a call that would get the blood pumping, that would define the very reason they worked and that made all the hours of tedium worthwhile. Sean knew exactly how they felt, and as scenes from every crazy, hectic, exciting call flashed through his head, he remembered the satisfaction he took from making a difference in the lives of people who needed him. He thought about how skiing treacherous terrain in search of lost skiers shot him full of adrenaline, and how just snuggling with Robyn felt like a jolt of life itself.
And he knew. He didn’t want to go to a party. He wanted to work. As an EMT. He wanted to ski. As a patroller. He wanted to snuggle. With Robyn.
And damn it, he wanted it now. He stood and looked Damon straight in the eye. “I’m not going to the party.”
Damon’s greasy smile slid off his face. “The station execs will be there. If you don’t show up, I can’t guarantee your job.”
“Right. The job.” He glanced at a cameraman nearby, who signaled five seconds to on-air. “Tell you what. You keep the job. You keep your condescending attitude and your threats. I’ll keep my sanity. And Robyn.”
Jason, who s
eemed to be holding back a snicker, tugged Sean’s sleeve and mouthed “on-air”.
With a shrug at a visibly agitated Damon, Sean returned to his seat and commented on the last skier, an Italian, who took the championship.
Sean glanced behind him and saw that at some point Damon had left. Too bad. He wouldn’t be around to hear what was coming next. Well, he’d hear, but by the time he charged up to the booth, Sean would be long gone.
Jason, talking into his headset, looked at Sean. “Well, that concludes the competition. Stick around for the post-game analysis, and tune in tomorrow for the world snowboard championships. Sean Trenton, thank you for being with us.”
Sean smiled. “My pleasure.” He looked down at the scripted thank-yous he’d been given to read. “I’d like to thank all the locals for their hospitality, and special thanks to Drake Motors, Martin Hotels and Tristan Family Restaurants for their sponsorship.”
He shoved the script away. “And I’d also like to thank Albert McKinney High School for their support of Ski-Do, a non-profit organization that helps put underprivileged kids on the slopes. In fact, the school is hosting a charity auction this afternoon, and bids will go to a good cause. I’ll be there, and we’ll see who else I can round up. Hope to see you.”
Jason looked horrified. He glanced at the off-air indicator light and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sean, buddy, you just broke a cardinal rule. No personal promotion on air. You screwed yourself.”
Grinning, Sean pushed away from the desk. “No way, man. I think I just saved myself.”
Robyn stood on the stage, knees shaking, using the narrow podium as a shield. It was time for the auction to start, and here she was, unable to speak to the audience in the half-empty tent.
By past standards, the turnout wasn’t bad. By her standards, attendance was a failure. The local radio stations were supposed to have advertised the auction several times daily for the last week, but she’d learned that none had. Damon had struck again, part of his “crushing her”, she guessed. Somehow, he’d managed to cancel the announcements.