A Captivating Conundrum (43 page)

As always, I wasn't much of a sleeper and found myself waking up with the sun, getting dressed, making coffee and sitting in my bedroom enjoying the view. The rising sun over the Empire State Building, the gorgeous man lying naked on my bed—his perfect form gifted to my eyes only—this was what I called a great scene. In fact, this was what a really good movie was made of.

I heard knocking in the distance, but my mind screamed at me to forget it and simply pretend that perhaps the upstairs neighbors were practicing a tango. I couldn't believe Nic was here already. The show was tonight, the dress was bought, the performer was beyond capable—we had the best and most talented actor delivering my material, and Amber was all good.

I swear, I was going to get Ken the Texan's phone number and beg him to move Nic in with him so he could keep her away from my door at these early hours. 

Sighing, knowing the sound was not going to stop, I walked out of the bedroom, stole one last glance at a work of art, and shut the door behind me. At least one of us should sleep while he could.

Opening the door, I was just about to send out one of my favorite sarcastic comments, but the face staring back at me was actually perched on a tall, thin body. Nic was nowhere in sight.

"Hello?" I said

I know it's a policy always to look out through the peephole but, frankly, I was so into the night before I didn't even think about security. The bright blond hair was messy; in fact, I was staring at the definition of a 'surfer' who'd stepped away from the beach and ended up in New York City looking very uncomfortable, as if missing his sandy beach and not at all happy with the wealth of noise, traffic and people around him.

I tried again. "Can I help you?"

Hs grin was lop-sided. "Sorry. Um, are you Beth Carrier?"

I nodded, searching for a feeling, that feeling of dread or warning inside me, but I quickly noticed that fear wasn't something this man was drawing out of me. He seemed far more nervous than I was. "I am."

The grin straightened a bit and grew bigger behind a pair of huge red lips. He took a deep breath. "Well, you're certainly as beautiful as he said you were."

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

"Oh." He hit his head with the backside of his hand. "My name is Chance Levine; I'm a friend of Matt's."

"Okay." My smile widened, at least we were getting somewhere.

"I came to watch his show tonight. Offer a little, you know, back home support."

I laughed. "Understood." I took a step back and offered him a path inside. "Come on in."

"Umm…" He turned around quickly, as if there was a kidnapper holding him at gunpoint. Sticking my head out, I looked down the hallway and saw nothing to cause his obvious nerves. 

He cleared his throat. "Actually, Ma'am"

"Beth."

"Okay," he said, with a smile, "I was wondering if Matt might be here?"

I nodded. "Yeah…that's kind of why I invited you in."

His gaze dropped to the floor. "Oh."

"Something wrong?"

"I went to the theatre last night when I got in and Matt had already left, but the House Manager gave me your agent's number and then she gave me this address."

I nodded. "And…he's here. So, why don't you come in?"

His voice grew a bit stronger. "Could you just tell him I'm outside?"

I was totally confused.

"If you don't mind?"

"Oh, there you are!" As a stranger's voice appeared, I peeked down the hall and saw a lovely young woman with a seriously pissed off look on her face walking toward us. She aimed her gaze at the man named Chance. "You ran and I couldn't find you!"

I stood quietly, staring at her pinched profile that reminded me of a mom who was about to reconsider letting her teenager live after stealing the family car to meet up with her no-good boyfriend. 

Chance spoke through the corner of his lips. "I told you I was just running up here because the theatre lady said he might be here. You didn't have to come."

"Well, is he?" she asked, paying no attention to me at all.

"No," Chance replied.

I was so confused, wondering what exactly was going on. "This is the writer's home—Lily Stone."

The woman turned to me immediately. "Oh, my God, you are? I LOVE your books!" 

 I smiled back and shook her hand. "Thank you." 

"And you're the writer of Matt's play that we came to see?"

"That's right." 

She giggled like a schoolgirl. "Well, he must really be into it; he's barely called us since he got here."

Chance's face grew paler.

I figured I'd help the guy out. "Matt's very talented, and seriously hardworking. I have to say I'm very lucky to have gotten such an amazing actor. He's going to make my writing seem a whole lot better."

She reached out and slapped my hand, making my coffee spill over the sides of the mug. "Don't be ridiculous. Your books are fantastic." 

"I didn't even know you could read," Chance mumbled.

She hit him on the shoulder. "Can we come in?" she asked.

Chance shook his head, yet the woman had far more determination. 

"Sure," I mumbled, as she pushed her way past me into the house. I wanted to bring out that snooty Yankee, but if these were Matt's friends I certainly didn't want to seem like a bitch the very first time I was introduced to them.

Chance followed. "I'm so sorry," he muttered.

"Coffee?" I asked.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, the woman looked up at me. "Thank you, that's so nice. Most of the New Yorkers I've met are rude. You must not be from here."

Getting the coffee, I could almost feel the sarcasm seep into my mouth like venom from a vampire's fangs. "I'm from Connecticut. The only actual Yankees. We are far more rude."

Chance sat down slowly, looking around the apartment as if waiting for some type of appliance to explode. 

"And who, exactly, you are?" My voice raised an octave as I stared at the woman with her long black hair and matching eyes. Her skin was olive tone, and the figure was definitely curvaceous, but there was something about her manner that made me want to call Nicole and have her bring over her torture kit so that I could make the chick cry.

"Oh, gosh, I am sorry." She reached out her hand.  "I'm Rebecca Fabris."

Sounds like the name of a French hooker
, I thought to myself. "Another friend of Matt's?"

"Well, a little more than that, I'd say." She winked.

The venom dripped faster, causing the coffee to turn rancid in my mouth.

Chance spoke fast, "Rebecca heard that I was coming to see Matt's show and she wanted to…add to the surprise. She wouldn't take no for an answer," he added, in a slightly angry tone.

Rebecca sent him a stinging look, like a praying mantis that was almost done with the carnal relations and ready to rip her mate's head off for fun. Plastering on a completely fake smile, she returned to me. "I'd just gotten back from the runway and I missed Matt. I thought a few romantic nights in New York City would catch us up." She smiled.

"Are you a stewardess?" I know, it was mean, but it just sort of came out.

She blinked her well made-up eyelashes. "I'm sorry?"

I shrugged. "Runway."

The laugh was more of a cackle. "I'm a model. That type of runway."

"Ah." I grinned back, making sure all my Yankee bitchiness was aimed right at her. "I should've known."

"Matt and I are taking that next big step, you know?" she said. "He wanted to go to phase two, like…become exclusive, so I'm here to take him up on his offer."

I kept my smile in place. "Understood. Not getting any younger, I know how you feel." Apparently, this was the girl I had heard mentioned in passing; however she was looking for far more than just some casual dating.

"I must say, you're stunning." She offered a grin. "Are you a model, as well?"

"I'm a writer…only." 

"That's so funny." Rebecca tilted her head. "I was always under the impression that writers were old, lumpy spinsters who sat in rooms with their cats. But you don't fit that category."

"Give me a few years," I shot back. "Although, I'm more of a dog person."

"Mmmm. Seems like you're wasting your time sharing all those good looks with only a computer. Is there something wrong with you?"

"Rebecca!" Chance shouted.

The bitch was in full force in my body. All I wanted to do was take Rebecca by the hand, lead her into my bedroom, and show her exactly how much Matt McKenna apparently cared for her. 

I heard the door creak open down the hall and Bobby appeared, shirtless, into the room.

"Oh, my," Rebecca said.

I stood up, knowing that I wouldn't hurt Matt even though right now I really wanted to. "This is Bobby, my…partner."

Bobby took my hand but his face was a mask of confusion as he stared at the two strangers. "Huh?" he whispered.

"Just go with it, I'll explain later," I whispered in his ear as I reached up and gave him a kiss.

"Well, I take back my previous statement," Rebecca said in a suggestive tone. "You certainly are dreamy, Bobby."

"Ummm, thanks?" he replied.

Chance stood up quickly. "You know, we have to go. I'm so sorry we bothered you; your agent must have given me your address instead of Matt's hotel. I am really sorry about the confusion."

He practically pulled Rebecca out of her chair.

She reached for my hand. "Yes, I definitely don't want to spoil your morning." Looking Bobby up and down, she headed out the door.

I followed quickly, hoping to slam the door behind her as fast as possible. 

Chance looked back at me as the girl sauntered down the corridor to the elevator. "I'm so sorry." He looked down at the ground. "Matt can just give me a call…whenever."

I nodded. 

Closing the door, I couldn't quite figure out how to feel. I didn't like her, of course, but then again an IQ over twenty was kind of a must for me when it came to people and she was a couple points lower than that.

Bobby sat down at the table. "Gonna tell me what that was about?"

I sighed, sitting down across from him. "Those were friends of Matt's who came to town to see his performance tonight."

"Oh," he yawned. "So why the lie?"

I just stared at him.

He sat back in the chair as the light came on in his eyes. "That the girlfriend?"

"Looks like."

"Well, after meeting her for only second, I definitely believe Chris when he says that she's just a dating thing. She's so not Matt's type."

I held up my hand. "You don't have to defend, Bobby. Matt is certainly not committed to me; it's not like we've been courting for years. You know?" I tried to offer the half-smile and sarcastic tone I was so used to. "And we don't really have any idea what Matt's type is, so let's just forget it."