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“Bye.”
A second later Callie reappeared. “Today’s paper.” She tossed it on the coffee table. “By the way, Donovan’s column runs in the editorial section—if you’re interested, that is.”
Once Callie had left, Lorelei unrolled the paper, flipped to the middle and pulled out what her grandmother and mother still called the “Wednesday Pages,” even though it was now a glossy, magazine-style insert about society’s doings. There, on the cover, was a full-color picture of Vivi and Connor on their way out of the cathedral. The caption promised a full write-up and more pictures inside. Lorelei flipped to the pages. There were some great shots of the guests going into the church, and a few from the reception. Most of them focused on the star-studded guest list of Connor’s friends in the music business, but there were a few photos of New Orleans’ business and society leaders. She had made the cut, too, in a photo of the bridesmaids and Mom and Dad with Vivi, right before they went into the church. Donovan was in a picture as well, standing in a group with some city councilmen and the heads of three charitable organizations Vivi worked with.
The picture of Donovan made her think of Callie’s parting shot, and she flipped to the editorial section to find his opinion of a bill being argued in Congress this week. It seemed well-written and impressive in its commentary, but she’d need a primer about the bill itself before she could form a cogent opinion.
Lord, even his writing had that condescending, sarcastic tone. Donovan had a hell of a chip on his shoulder.
She folded the newspaper decisively. Time to shake off this whole Donovan thing and move on. Forget it ever happened. She’d go to the studio, get some work done, maybe meet Callie for dinner, if not drinks. She needed to look over Vivi’s schedule, start preparing herself and firm up her plan of action. She would take center stage tomorrow. Her first big appearance in her new temporary role.
Butterflies battered her insides. It was stage fright—but not because she would be center stage. This was make or break time. If she screwed this up, she’d only prove to everyone that she really was a flaky screw-up, an airhead with only her trust fund going for her. But if it went well … She sighed. If it went well she’d be on her way—not just “the other LaBlanc girl” anymore. The last six months had been building toward this moment, and the pressure was doing bad things to her.
It was just one more reason why she needed to forget about what happened with Donovan and focus on what was important. Staying busy was a very good idea; it would give her mind something to think about other than Donovan, and soon enough she’d be past this whole embarrassing situation.
She picked up her coffee cup and the society section again, intending to set it aside for Vivi, when her own name caught her eye.
Several of the younger guests continued the celebrations long into the night, keeping the bar open and the staff hopping. Lorelei LaBlanc, sister of the bride and Maid of Honor, swapped her bridesmaid’s dress for a flirty, sparkly number and danced the night away with some of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Interestingly, she and the most eligible bachelor of all, journalist and TV commentator Donovan St. James, seemed to be quite friendly—much to the dismay of the other eligible bachelors and bachelorettes.
Lorelei nearly dropped her coffee.
Oh, merde.
St. James Media looked like any average office building from the outside, but within the company the building was called “Whiz Castle.” It had been built on the success of an infomercial for the unfortunately named Toilet Whiz, which had taken the company from struggling to superstar nearly overnight and made them the largest direct response and infomercial production company in the South. His father had an original Toilet Whiz framed and hanging outside Studio One in a place of honor.
The sight still made Donovan laugh every time he passed it. Part of Donovan’s success as a TV personality came from the fact he always seemed to be amused about something when the cameras rolled; only a few people knew it was because he’d just passed a framed Toilet Whiz.
Donovan had an office right down the hall from his father’s, but he rarely used it. He wasn’t a part of the business—infomercials had given him a comfortable checking-account balance and paid his college tuition, but he wasn’t interested in the actual production of them—but since his siblings had offices in the building Dad had given him one, too.
He could have used it, but he far preferred to work in his own space, where there were fewer distractions and his tendency to work odd hours went unquestioned. Because he was so rarely there, his office had a sterile, unlived-in feeling. It was expertly and expensively decorated, and it gave him a place to hang plaques and pictures and things, but he couldn’t actually work in there.
He was using the studios more often these days, though, as his TV appearance schedule picked up. Their facilities and staff were truly top-notch, and he’d found he rather liked using the family’s home field. His brothers had even expanded the studio’s capabilities, and St. James Media was getting traffic from a lot of famous faces these days.
Maybe he had contributed something to the family business, after all.
However, it was proving quite handy to have the office to use as a place to drop off his stuff and put on a tie before he went on air. Unknotting the noose around his neck, he headed back toward his office, ready to go home.
His father’s secretary followed him down the long hallway, talking a mile a minute, and he listened with half an ear. As he opened his office door and saw Lorelei sitting on the low sofa under the window, he wished he’d paid a bit more attention.
How had she known he’d be here?
He closed the door behind him. “Lorelei. This is … unexpected.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, really?” Sarcasm dripped off her words.
“Yeah. Your ‘have a nice life’ statement kind of implied you wouldn’t be dropping by to chat.”
“That was before we made the newspaper.”
“We?”
“Yes, we.” She sounded downright irritated about it.
“When? For what?”
“This morning. In the write-up about the wedding.”
“And you came by to tell me about it?”
“I rather assumed you’d already know.”
This was obviously going to take more than just a minute. He sat on the edge of his desk. “Uh, no. I usually skip that part of the paper.”
“Well, it might not be as far-reaching as that transportation bill, but it certainly rocks this little part of the world.”
The mention of his column caught him off-guard. He wouldn’t have thought Lorelei read the editorial section of any newspaper. And normally he’d be surprised that the mention of something two private citizens possibly did at a private function could be considered earth-rocking in any part of the world, but he’d humor her for the moment. “What did it say?”
In response, Lorelei pulled a torn page out of her purse and shoved it at him. It took a second for him to get through a rundown of the guest list, what everyone was wearing and a description of the ice sculptures, but finally he found Lorelei’s name and his. He turned the paper over, looking for more, but on the back was an advertisement for a casino. “That’s it?”
Lorelei’s jaw dropped. “You don’t think that’s enough?”
“I don’t actually see the problem, Lorelei.”
She looked on the edge of a sputter. “My mother reads the Wednesday Pages like the Bible.”
“As does mine. So?”
This time Lorelei did sputter. “So? That’s all you have to say?”
“Well, I don’t see a reason to freak out.”
“Obviously your mother hasn’t been texting you all morning, looking for an explanation because half the city is asking her for an explanation.”
So that was what had her panties in a twist. Damn it. I shouldn’t have thought about her panties. Especially since he knew for a fact that her taste in undergarments ran to the tiny and lacy. “Definitely not.”
“Well, that figures.”
He could hear the sour that must be nice tone under those words. “Look, Lorelei. We don’t owe anyone an explanation for anything—much less some busybody’s baseless speculation in what is little more than a gossip column.”
Lorelei’s eyes widened. “‘Baseless speculations?’”
“Well, it was baseless—at least until your little freak-out gave it credence. The very fact you came running down here makes it look like there really is something going on. Something more than what was publicly witnessed. Someone went fishing and you took the bait. You’ve pretty much told the world we had sex.”
Her eyes widened. “For the love of …” Lorelei obviously hadn’t thought it through until now, and the realization set her pacing in frustration. She started muttering to herself, and he caught the occasional phrase about her mother or Vivi killing her. Even Connor’s name came up once. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to him. “What do you suggest we do?”
He didn’t see the big deal. “We don’t do anything. I’m going to go about my business as always. You can do whatever you think best.”
“Donovan, I’m asking for your help here. You may not care that there’s gossip in the paper, but I do.”
“Since when?” There was certain information a person couldn’t avoid, no matter how uninterested they might be. That included news of the adventures of the young, wealthy, beautiful and fabulous. Lorelei had made the papers plenty of times with far more descriptive rundowns on her activities.
“I know I haven’t cared in the past, but things are different now.”
Her voice lost the impatience and the snark, and for a moment she sounded almost vulnerable. But she was completely overreacting. This was not nearly the catastrophe Lorelei seemed to think it was, and, left alone, it would all blow over soon enough.
“I know I’ve never been a saint like Vivi. Never will be, either.” She smiled weakly, and he realized that it had to be tough to live up to an example like Vivi. “The thing is, with Vivi and Connor on their honeymoon, I’m going to be making appearances on their behalf—for the charities they represent and the organizations they support. I don’t need—and can’t have—this kind of gossip hanging over my head and coloring everyone’s thoughts.” Lorelei’s blue eyes were wide and earnest. She was serious. “It’s not just about me. It’s about them and their reputations and the organizations they do so much for. There’s a lot more at stake than just a little public embarrassment for me.”
He normally didn’t have any patience for the troubles of the children of the city’s elite. Connor and Vivi had been the exceptions that had slowly brought him around to a different view. They hadn’t sat on their trust funds or relied on family connections to coast through in a perfect life. They’d worked hard: Connor with his music career and Vivi with her art gallery and work with every non-profit organization in the parish. That he respected.
If Lorelei had hit him with anything else …
Damn. He felt himself buckling. When had he become such a sucker for a damsel in distress?
“Who did the write-up?”
Lorelei looked relieved as he relented. She glanced at the article for its byline. “Evelyn Jones.”
He knew Evelyn slightly through the newspaper. Her true calling was in tabloid gossip, and the New Orleans society pages were the closest she’d gotten. “Was she a guest at the wedding?”
Lorelei seemed to be thinking. “She was there. I’m pretty sure she left after the cake-cutting, though.”
“Then she’s reporting hearsay. Everyone in the bar that night was just as far gone as we were.”
“Except for the servers—”
“And the one who gave up that little tidbit probably got a nice fat tip for the story.”
“That’s a terrible—”
He shrugged off her outrage. “That’s the way it works. For a hundred bucks I could get a source to swear they once saw Mother Theresa doing keg stands. Times are tough all around. Money talks.”
Lorelei looked outraged. “That’s dishonest.”
“That’s tabloid journalism for you.”
“And you wonder why—”
“I don’t wonder anything, Lorelei. It is what it is.”
“So you’d sell someone’s reputation out just for money?” She looked worried. He assumed she’d only just now realized that he now had quite the story about her to sell. He wouldn’t even have to lie or embellish it, either.
“Calm down. I see no need to spread the news, and I certainly don’t need the money.”
Lorelei shot him a look he couldn’t decipher. Then she sighed and sank back onto the couch. “So how do I disprove something when I don’t know how much of it is true? I’m not a very good liar.” The corners of her mouth turned down as she confessed that like it was a character flaw.
“We did not engage in any PDA at the bar. It was later that …” He trailed off as Lorelei flushed that rosy color. “We laugh it off. That’s it. We and the others were just having a good time—as one does at a party—and any other claims have been exaggerated for effect.”
Lorelei started to nod, but caught herself. “Wait a second …” A suspicious look began to pull her eyebrows together. “How are you so certain that there was no PDA in the bar? You told me it was all fuzzy from the tequila.”
Damn. She’d caught that. “Fuzzy, yes. Total blackout … no.”
“So you do … remember?” The suspicion on her face turned to horror, and then that rosy embarrassed color she’d had since he’d brought up PDA deepened to an amazing shade of red. She crossed her arms over her chest again, but this time it was more a gesture of modesty, like he could see through her clothes. “Oh, my God. It was bad enough to know it happened even though I didn’t remember it. But to know that you do and I don’t …”
Now he felt like some kind of pervert, which made absolutely no sense at all. And he had no idea what he should say to take that vulnerable, disgusted-with-herself look off her face.
“Did I—? Did we …?” Lorelei pushed to her feet and picked up her purse. “Oh, God. I have to leave now.”
“It was just sex, Lorelei.”
“Oh, well, that completely alleviates my mind. Thank you.”
“You want a rundown? A play-by-play?”
Her eyes widened. “You could provide that?”
He let his silence answer her question.
She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.”
Now he felt like a twisted pervert. “Lorelei …”
She squared her shoulders. “I think you’re right, Donovan. We should just ignore the innuendo and laugh it off if anyone has the bad manners to bring it up. Forgetting it ever happened doesn’t seem to be an option anymore—at least for you—but we’ll go with pretending it didn’t.” Lorelei grabbed her purse from the couch and a bitter laugh escaped. “I mean, who’s really going to believe it, right? Me and you? Please. I can barely believe it. It’s absurd.”
The more she tried to convince herself, the more insulted he got. He wasn’t a leper, for God’s sake, and most women wouldn’t be acting as if they’d committed some gross, shameful, unforgivable sin like Lorelei was. Most normal women—women who weren’t like Lorelei and her ilk—considered him a pretty good catch and would be trying to capitalize on this instead of flagellating themselves over it. Their hook-up might have been insane, but it certainly hadn’t crossed over into the absurd. They were both of the same species, whether Lorelei wanted to admit that or not.
She might not remember it, but she’d enjoyed herself. It wasn’t as if he’d forced her into his bed, either. She’d been a willing, active participant who’d gone to sleep with a smile on her face.
His ego had had just about enough of the martyr act, and when Lorelei tried to brush past him, heading for the door, still muttering about absurdity, he grabbed her elbow and turned her to face him.
“I won’t have the ‘bad manners’ to bring this up the next time we meet, Princess, but at least let me leave you with the truth. It was hot, sweaty, athletic sex, and you enjoyed it. You’re quite flexible, you know.”
Lorelei swallowed hard. He had to give her credit, though. She met his eyes and never wavered as he described, in graphic detail, the way she’d ridden him like a polo pony and begged for more. Her pupils dilated until only a small ring of blue remained, and her breathing turned shallow. But as his skin heated with the memory and his erection pressed painfully against his zipper, he cursed the fact he’d let his ego and pride take it this far. Being this close to Lorelei allowed the scent of her perfume to fill his nose with each breath, sending sharp pangs through his belly. Even the soft skin of her arm where he held it seemed to sear his fingers. When her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips he could practically feel it moving over his skin instead.
The air around them felt charged and heavy, and time slowed to a standstill as he let his eyes wander down to her lips and then to the pink flush climbing out of her cleavage. He had so much more to throw at her, but the words seemed trapped in his chest under the desire to do something entirely different.
Lorelei closed her eyes and took a deep but unsteady breath. When her eyes met his again he saw regret there. “You know, the worst part of this isn’t what other people might think.”
He braced himself.
“What really kills me is that you remember it and I don’t.”
The words were out there before Lorelei could stop them, and Donovan’s sharp intake of breath had her regretting them instantly. The moment he’d touched her, though, every nerve in her body had cried out, wanting more of what her mind couldn’t quite remember but her skin obviously did.
And his words … Crude as they were, they had spoken to something inside her, awakening that same feeling of frustration she’d faced every morning this week. The achy need in her core, the shivers in her belly … She wanted to find the cause and the cure.
Donovan is both, her mind whispered.
Lorelei gritted her teeth. That wasn’t an option. The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with anybody. This was a time to focus on her professional life, not her personal life. Hell, it was probably that focus that had led her to Donovan’s bed in the first place; she hadn’t had the time for a social life—and hadn’t wanted the scrutiny, either—and celibacy must not sit well with her. If she gave in to that little whisper, it could torpedo everything.
