Press Release, page 14
We hold a collective breath as we wait to hear which of our shows will be showered with Dash’s gold.
He paces and weaves around the room, not directing his words at anyone in particular. “You’re my top five shows.” He points at each P.R. rep as he names them off. “Star’s Shadow, The Chieftain’s Son, Down to the Bone, Best and Boggs, and Mage’s Wish.”
I squirm in my seat as he goes down the list. I wish The Chieftain’s Son and not Star’s Shadow had been first out of his mouth.
“I need solid proposals for Sunday. Who can you guarantee in those panel seats? I want star power, high-profile moderators, I’m talking a hook big enough to lift the events center off its foundation.”
My heart refuses to beat in anything resembling a normal rhythm. Who the hell can I pull out of my ass I haven’t already? I don’t even have a lock on Deidre. After yanking her heart from her chest at dinner by offering Jack up for a fan date, I’m not sure Gilly will be keen on helping me.
“Of course, True Time will cover celebrity appearance fees and expenses. Marketing is already prepping swag bags with merch from every show as giveaways for the Sunday audience.” Dash lifts a bottle of champagne from the bar over his head as if he’s about to smash it against the wall to christen his suite. “Set the place on fire. Proposals and celebrity guarantees to me in twenty-four hours, midnight tomorrow night, so I can review your ideas after our True Time cruise event. I want to announce the panel to the public by ten o’clock Saturday morning to generate buzz. Give me a spectacle fans will camp overnight for.”
He pops the cork on the champagne. “To fucking Harborview Hall!”
The room breaks out in applause and champagne starts flowing. I’m no fool. Networking with this bunch is part of the game, but they are also my competition. I need to retreat to my camp and paint castles in the sky to dazzle Dash and win The Chieftain’s Son the slot.
Separating from the herd, I make my way to the door of the suite. Cian’s right behind me. He pulls the door closed so we’re alone in the hall and lifts me off the ground. Spinning in a circle, he crows, “To fucking Harborview Hall!”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
Our shared adrenaline rush surrounds us in a corona of static electricity.
“Haven’t you?” He sets me on my feet and grabs my hand. “My room is closer.” We practically waltz down the hallway, both whirling in the maelstrom of this new possibility. “We’ll pow-wow there.”
My thoughts splatter all over the designer wallpaper. Harborview Hall. Scoring the panel will be tantamount to winning The World Cup. If I make it happen, Dashell Everett will have no choice but to leave me be. The bastard has yet to comment on the social media explosion and press coverage I’ve shared with him about my scavenger hunt. Fool better not be planning ways to renege on our deal now that I’m gaining traction.
Harborview Hall will be my guarantee to keep steering The Chieftain’s Son and boost my rise in the Hollywood playing field of the publicity game.
Cian chatters behind me, but I don’t focus on what he’s saying. Apparently, his racket requires an answer because he captures me from behind, trapping me in his arms. A chin digs into my shoulder and hot breath covers my ear as a preamble to his words. “The smart thing to do would be to shut ourselves away in our separate rooms and construct different proposal masterpieces for the boss.” His lips draw a sizzling line down the side of my neck.
He’s right. That’s the responsible and professional action to take.
The tip of his tongue darts into my ear, sending me into a full body shiver.
“The problem is, there’s no way in hell I can put together a single coherent thought when I know you’re close enough to touch.”
I swivel in his arms, so we’re face to face. “Now, this is quite the dilemma.” I tap a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Niks is right. Scratchy. Oh, so deliciously scratchy. A line of fire runs down my throat, between my breasts, and slides down to the place screaming to feel his scratchy digging deep into my skin.
A ding from the lift startles us apart. Maureen, Grady, Bobby, Gilly, and Jack pour out. Catching sight of me, Bobby launches straight for my position.
“Dammit, did I miss the whole thing?” His eyes dart toward the end of the hall where Dash’s suite is surely filled with a firestorm of gossip about Carnival Studios. “We were hanging with Rich and Amethyst over at the Hotel Joya Brillante when I got the text. I got here as fast as I could.”
Over his shoulder, I watch the two couples disappear round a bend in the hall. I pray the fools stay away from windows.
I look to the bank of lifts. “Where’s Niks?”
Bobby flicks a wrist. “She met up with her manager and Marisa for drinks. Fill me in.”
Maureen’s voice booms at extra volume from around the corner. “Gilly, where’s the key to our room. I call first shower. Movie’s your pick.” Now she’s practically shouting, “You boys have a good evening.” Raucous laughter fills the hallway. That bit of sass was entirely for my benefit.
Bobby catches the stress pinching my face. “They’re playing with you, Meg. Everyone knows to be careful.” He includes both Cian and me in the conversation. “Give me the short version before I make an appearance.”
“You heard about the feds and Carnival?” asks Cian.
Bobby shakes his cell. “It’s all over the news.”
“Prime real estate in Harborview Hall opened up on Sunday right after Dr. Spacebender. True Time grabbed the slot. Everett wants proposals by tomorrow, Friday, at midnight” I say as Cian nods.
“We got the panel?” asks Bobby, excitement seeping from every pore.
I wince. “Sorry, wasn’t clear. He wants proposals of what each of the top five True Time shows can guarantee, hooks and people.”
Bobby’s light dims. “Hmmm. Makes sense. Did he say what he wants?”
Cian waves an imaginary wand through the air. “Magic.”
“Dammit. We’ve already gone balls-out on the show panel adding Sir Kevin,” Bobby rubs his chin. “Should we save him for the new slot? Any confirmation from Deidre? Gilly says she had a conversation with her.”
A flush of embarrassment heats my skin. Is Gilly digging at me by telling Bobby she’d spoken to Deidre before cutting me in? I shake it off. She’s not the payback type, and I need to kiss Gilly’s ass, not grumble at her.
“What are you thinking, Meg?” asks Bobby with an expression so hopeful he looks like a teen waiting for his first kiss.
I rub a finger across lips, tender from Cian’s kisses in the lift. “I’ve had less than ten minutes to percolate.” The deep crease between his brows puts me on the defensive. “I promise I’ll pull something brilliant out of my ass.”
Bobby’s lip crinkles. He’s a bullet train thinker. In ten minutes, he’d have a playbook of ideas. “Of course, you will.”
I immediately regret being short with him. He’s had faith in me from day one. My job is to live up to that. I give him a gentle shove in the direction of Dash’s suite. “Go on and get the schmooze over with.” I wiggle my phone at him. “I’ll text when I’ve got something.”
Bobby nods. “Same. Breakfast strategy session, yes?”
“Nine?”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby. G’night, Meg.” He nods to Cian before walking so quickly down the hall he could be gliding on a cushion of air. Bobby has two speeds, lightning and intense.
Cian flips his keycard out of a pocket and lays it in my hand.
God, it’s tempting, but there’s future-busting work to be done. The sexual tension crackling around us is going to make my hair as ratty as a swallow’s nest. “I’m wondering if we should keep that button on pause for tonight to write up our panels,” I say fingering the keycard.
A rosy wave creeps up Cian’s neck. “Or we go with the two-minds-are-better-than-one model.”
Our gazes linger on the keycard. “Minds are what’s on your mind, eh?”
He moves closer, sliding a hand down my arm to rest on my hip. His focus takes a slow journey down my body. “Everything worthwhile starts with a sharp and willing mind.”
As truly grand as Cian’s been, Dash’s challenge drives us deeper into competition. Parting ways until this is settled is probably smart business. Except the combination of Cian’s hand sliding up to my waist and the want setting my insides aflame steal the smarts right out of my head. My sharp and willing mind will have a hell of a time focusing on panel ideas instead of the possibilities Cian’s keycard unlocks.
The damn lift dings again, launching me away from Cian. A series of sharp, high-pitched barks follow the chime. Niks slinks out of the lift with her girlfriend, Marisa, who’s being dragged by two yipping, white powderpuff mini dogs.
“Shush, babies,” Niks coos to the pair of ornamental hounds. She looks up, delighted to find us. “Hello. Hello, again. We had some fun tonight, yes?”
Cian smiles at her. “It’s one big party here. Cute pups.”
The eejit dogs strike up another chorus of barks. Niks shakes a finger at them. “Not so cute, you naughty girls. We’ll put you in a suitcase.”
I’d like to put her pooches in a suitcase. The logistics of these yapping hair balls coming from Ireland to San Diego had me plucking out far too many gray hairs.
“Meg, you switched my room to a suite, yes?”
I point toward The Chieftain’s Son block of rooms. “To the right and all the way to the end.”
Niks sets a knuckle against her chin, staring at Cian and me with a knowing look. “I think you are new friends. Yes?” She breaks into a huge smile. “I know these things.” One long baby pink fingernail taps a temple.
“Actually,” says Cian. “We’re on our way to a meeting. Have you heard the Carnival Studios news?”
Marisa nods. “Niks’s manager told us.”
Niks frowns. “I’ve worked there. Terrible experience. I’m not surprised.” She shushes the barking dogs. “They never shut up. I should get cats.”
“Thanks to you both for being such good sports about my scavenger hunt.”
“You do know how to keep things hopping, Meg,” says Marisa. She’s smiling, but there’s weariness in her voice. More emotional collateral damage from my best laid plans for the show.
“I am sorry to add to your plate, but there’s a very good chance I’ll need you for a panel on Sunday, Niks.”
One of the dogs lets out a high-pitched whine when Marisa jerks on its leash. The two women exchange an entire conversation with a look. Marisa nods, her chin and bottom lip crinkling.
I’m going to make the woman cry.
Niks takes the leashes out of Marisa’s hand and turns to me. “More appearances, your hunt, all good fun for me.” She flicks her wrist. “Jack, not so much, but he’s a sport.”
“Yes, he is.” I’m banking on Jack’s sportsmanship since I’m cutting his weekend into even smaller slices.
“Goodnight, goodnight,” says Niks, kissing both Cian and me on the cheek. “Text me details.” She slinks down the hall, her ass swaying side to side. Marisa drifts closer to her despite their annoying fur babies. I’m not the only one who catches it.
Cian gives me a knowing grin. “Another pair of Ireland’s secrets.”
“You’re as yappy as her hounds.” I sneak one last glance at his lips and hold the keycard to him.
He stares at it like something a cow left on the path.
“As much as I’m tempted to throw you over my shoulder and carry you into the room”—I shake the keycard at him—“we’ve both got high-stakes work nipping at our asses.”
Cian’s eyes are wide. “You hit me with the image of ass nips, being thrown over your shoulder, and dragged into a hotel room, and then walk away?”
I slip the card into his shirt pocket. “I very much appreciate what you said earlier about seeing me for me.” I linger on those sparkly, dancing eyes of his.
“I need you to believe I don’t see you as a conference hookup.” He checks the hall in both directions, the fancy light fixture on the wall next to the lifts, and a dark wood table with a silk flower arrangement before his eyes flit back to mine.
I cock my head to look at him. “What do you see?”
“You’re, well, uh, a surprise.” He’s still for a moment. “Unexpected, but very welcome.” A Cian chuckle breaks through. “I’m knocked sideways.”
He’s certainly done the same to me, sideways and upside down. I don’t want to hold out on letting him know any longer. “I’m familiar with the feeling.”
Cian lays his hand over the pocket with the keycard, eyes working to read my face. After a moment charged enough to set those silk flowers aflame, he takes a slow, deep breath. “Look, this opportunity is huge. We both want it bad. Even if you are the competition, which”—he holds up a finger—“I won’t pretend you’re not. We’re on a level playing field with a ticking clock to craft a killer panel. Unless you’ve come up with an idea in the half-second since Bobby flew down the hall, neither of us has a hook in mind. I would really appreciate the chance to bounce ideas off your rapid-fire mind.”
I see where he’s going, and it makes sense.
“Come to my room for business. We’ll break down what we need, what Dash expects, set the groundwork and mine gold.” His face is as serious as I’ve ever seen it.
He catches my chin in his fingers. “Brainstorming, Meg. No other body parts involved. I promise.” He holds both hands up, then eases into a sly smile. “For tonight, at least.”
I trust him enough to believe he won’t pounce like a jungle cat on me the second the door shuts, as nice as that may be. It’s distraction I worry about. I pick a stray hair off my skirt to stall. My stakes with Dash are already through the roof. This new wrinkle shoots them past the clouds into star-dotted space. Cian knows Dash better than me. He’ll have a more precise handle on what it’s going to take to impress the boss enough to win the prized slot. Cian and I are at war with the other three shows, and the decisive battle is only twenty-four hours off.
Damn distraction. The good ally Cian seems to be could make the difference between victory and defeat.
Chapter 11
Good Business
We follow the hallway branch leading to the ocean-view rooms of the hotel. Cian swipes the keycard and holds the door open, letting me in before throwing the locks behind me. An entire wall of his room is glass. The moon, one click past half, rides low in the sky on a bed of stars.
Cian blows by me and starts pacing the room. “We’re both double-dipping already. You’ve got Jack on The Chieftain’s Son and Is it Hot in Here? panels. I’ve got Sala on Star’s Shadow and Women Taking Charge. We both need a bang-up triple-dip.”
My shoulder blades remain glued to the door.
Cian raps knuckles on the window. “Dash is looking for the unexpected. A mind-blowing fan experience.”
Kicking off his shoes, Cian plunks into one of the chairs at the table in front of the window and frees a tablet from the messenger bag on the floor. “I’ve got my cast on standby.” The snap of his fingers is a gunshot as he scrolls furiously across his screen. “Yes! MetaMeme is in L.A. If they’ll come down…” He types without looking up at me. “Grab your tablet, Meg. List your resources and every pie-in-the-sky whim you have for the panel. I’ll do the same, and then we’ll put our heads together and suss this out.”
The moment Cian’s door closed, my gnarled vines of memory, self-preservation, and previous lapses in judgement rise from the floor, twisting around me until I’m motionless inside their woody prison. Cian is competition, pure and simple. Have I fallen into the same scenario that ripped the guts from my body on the day I lost the Trinity scholarship because I put my head together with my then-boyfriend on our competing projects? The bastard abused his inside knowledge and our relationship to belittle and denigrate my presentation and exalt his in front of an auditorium filled with classmates, parents, and judges. My sister Taryn is always at me to get past it, but I lost three things in the space of a breath that day: the scholarship, my first love, and trust in anyone but me to create success.
Cian’s stream of consciousness fills the room until he stops cold, catching sight of the statue at his door. “Meg?”
A dozen variations of my own voice hiss warnings in my head. When I kissed Cian on the beach and kept him from walking away from me at Casa de Fiesta, I violated a fundamental truth that’s allowed me to move forward in life. Success is the exclusive responsibility of one person, me. Now I’ve gone and allowed myself to attach to this man. If I felt anything less for him, my feet wouldn’t be planted inside the doorway of his room.
But this is Cian. He matters to me. I’ve already let him in to my life, competition be damned, and I’m not sorry. Staring into the full-length mirror on the wall next to me, I see a fool. Not a fool who is repeating past mistakes, one who believes she’s capable of taking a carefree tumble with Cian and writing it off as nothing more than a July weekend. A weekend is not enough.
He approaches slowly, concern on his face. “You’re sheet white.” His hand finds mine. “Come sit.”
Cian’s touch is warm. Our contact drives spikes of desire through my bones. His kindness and comradery crack my meticulously constructed barriers and me-centric playbook even more. I do my best to shuck off the unease cementing my feet to the floor. I want to take another step with Cian. I want him. So, I allow him to lead me further into his hotel room. “I’m processing the heft of this new opportunity.”
“Don’t go cold on me, Meg.” Cian captures my other hand. “I know a freak-out brewing when I see one. Talk it through. I’m right here.”
Cian must think my reaction is about Dash’s challenge, not my splintering reality. The finger-wagger in my head scolds that success is not a team sport. It’s insisting I be driven by my own inspirations, aspirations, and ability to spin the world in my direction. I’m trying hard to fight it off, but it keeps at me.
You are Meg McGrath. The Chieftain’s Son is your kingdom. You must keep it well and prosperous and not let the enemy behind the gates.
