Come Fly with Me (17 page)

On Monday morning, after spending a lonely, depressing, rainy weekend in her apartment catching up with her bills and her laundry, Lindsay arrived at work and found an urgent message from Trent waiting on her desk. Since all of Trent's messages were urgent, she debated ignoring it, but finally she
gave in, went up to his penthouse office suite and tapped on the door.

“Who is it?” he barked with his usual lack of congeniality. He hated it when his secretary left her desk, yet he persisted in sending her on errands that took her from one end of the studio lot to the other.

Lindsay sighed and opened the door. Judging from his tone, it was going to be one of those days.

“What's up?”

“I need you to get to New York right away,” he instructed without preamble.

“But I just got back from New York Friday night,” Lindsay protested wearily. She'd been counting on spending most of the week right here in town.

“Janice booked you on the ten-thirty flight,” he continued as though she'd never opened her mouth. “You've got a dinner meeting with Morrie. He thinks David Morrow might be wavering.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” she groaned. “Not this again.”

“Lindsay!”

“David Morrow is not wavering,” she retorted emphatically. “Morrie's just too
greedy to know when to give up. And if you think I'm going to start criss-crossing this continent in pursuit of a deal that will never happen, you're out of your mind.”

He regarded her quizzically. “You have another job in mind?”

“No. I do not have another job in mind. This one suits me just fine.” She scowled at him fiercely. “Most of the time.”

“Good. Then you'd better get moving. You've only got two hours to catch your plane.”

He was obviously unimpressed by her outburst. She tried again.

“I'm not going. I know Mark—David Morrow—is not going to sell us the rights to
Velvet Nights
. Period. End of negotiations. Fini. Have I gotten through to you yet?”

“The question is, have I gotten through to you? I want you in New York tonight, sitting down to a lovely dinner with Morrie, working out the details of this deal.”

“The only thing I'll be doing at dinner with Morrie is breaking his knuckles when he tries to grab my leg. The man's like an octopus.”

“Lindsay!” Trent growled impatiently.

“Okay,” she said at last, throwing up her hands in defeat. “I'll go, if it'll make you happy, but you're wasting the airfare.”

He shrugged. “I own stock in the airlines.”

“I should have known.”

Nearly twelve tiring hours later she was sitting in a pleasant, exclusive French restaurant with Morrie, debating between coq au vin and veal
à la franąise
. She had managed successfully to inch her chair well out of the reach of his roaming hands and had placidly ignored his lecherous glances. She was going to enjoy this dinner from escargots to cherries jubilee, if she had to ask the maître d' to seat her at a separate table.

Unfortunately, before she could place her order the waiter came over with a telephone, plugged it in and said, “For you, mademoiselle.”

“Me?”

“You are Mademoiselle Tabor?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is for you. Long distance.”

Lindsay picked up the phone, expecting to hear Trent's voice. It would not be unlike him to call right in the middle of dinner just to see how things were progressing. Instead, it
was Mark who growled at her, “What the hell are you doing in New York again?”

“Nice to hear from you, too,” she murmured sweetly.

“I thought you told me you were going to be in Los Angeles most of the week.”

“I was, but Trent had other ideas. I'm having dinner with a friend of yours.”

“Morrie?” he asked incredulously.

“Who else? The two of them seem to think you're wavering.”

“Like hell. Put him on.”

She turned to Morrie, who was rapidly turning pale beneath his sunlamp tan. “Your client would like to speak to you.”

Lindsay couldn't hear exactly what Mark was saying, even though he was shouting. As for Morrie's end of the conversation, it consisted mostly of mumbled apologies and incomplete sentences. It did her a world of good to see him at a loss for words. Finally, a defeated expression on his face, he handed the phone back to her.

“How long will you be in New York?” Mark asked.

“Another day or so.”

“You're sure?” he persisted.

“As sure as I can ever be working for Trent. He had a couple of other things he wanted me to check out while I was here. Why?”

“I miss you, that's all,” he said vaguely.

“I miss you, too,” she replied softly, lowering her voice so that Morrie couldn't hang on every word. “More than I can say.”

“Bye, bright eyes. Take care of yourself.”

“Night, love.”

After the call, Morrie behaved as though he were out with his dearest sister. He couldn't have been more polite or thoughtful. Lindsay wondered exactly what Mark had said to turn the groping monster into a docile lamb. He left her at her hotel with a handshake and an effusive apology for dragging her all this way for nothing.

“I'll call Trent myself and explain,” he offered.

“Good idea,” Lindsay replied. “Better he should burn your ears than mine.”

“Good night, kiddo,” he said with a jaunty voice. “If the writer starts giving you a rough time, you can always come back to me.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said as she walked away.

When she picked up her messages at the desk, she noted that there were three from Trent, each sounding increasingly urgent. This time she followed her instincts. She tossed them in the trash, took a shower and went to bed.

Twenty minutes later she was awakened by the shrill ring of the phone.

“'Lo,” she mumbled.

“Lindsay, is that you?”

The sound of Trent's voice snapped her awake. “Of course, it's me. Who'd you expect to find in my room?”

“Why didn't you return my calls?”

“I didn't want to.”

“You didn't want to! What do you think I pay you for?” His voice rose in a shriek, then fell again. “Never mind. Just get on the first plane out of there in the morning and get back here.”

Lindsay moaned and buried her head under the pillow. “Trent, what's going on now? I barely got off a plane. I thought you wanted me to see those advertising people tomorrow and interview that guy who's applying for the legal department.”

“That can wait. I need you back here.”

“What's so all-fired important that it can't wait a few days?”

“Morrow's in town.”

Lindsay sat straight up in bed. The pillow toppled onto the floor. “He's what?”

“He's in town. I saw him in a restaurant tonight. Get back here and maybe you can wrap this whole thing up.”

“There is nothing to wrap up.”

“What does that mean? Didn't you and Morrie settle the details?”

“There were no details to settle. You'll be getting a call from Morrie in the morning. He'll explain.”

“I want you to explain,” he retorted. “No. Forget explaining. Just get back here and set up something with Morrow.” He slammed the phone down before she could respond.

Lindsay was awake half the night after that trying to figure out what Mark was doing in Los Angeles and why he hadn't told her he was there when he called. Whatever the reason, she had absolutely no hesitation in the morning about following Trent's latest barrage of orders. In fact, she could hardly wait to carry them out.

She was at the airport well before flight
time, anxious to get back to L.A. and into Mark's arms. She was so busy checking her watch every five minutes throughout the trip that she hardly even noticed she was on a plane. It was the only time that had ever happened except for the flight she'd taken with Mark at her side.

When she got to Trent Studios just after lunchtime, she riffled impatiently through her messages, certain there would be one from Mark. Surely he'd called her there first yesterday. That was the only way he could have found out where she was last night. There was no message and although her secretary recalled talking to him and giving him her New York itinerary, she said he hadn't said a word about being in Los Angeles.

Disappointed, Lindsay went into her office and sat down at her desk. Now what? He did have an answering service in Boulder. Surely they would know how to reach him. Quickly she picked up the phone and dialed, only to have the girl on the other end of the line tell her that she had no idea where Mr. Channing was.

“I'm sure he'll be calling in, though, if you'd like to leave a message.”

“Just tell him that Lindsay called. He can reach me at my office.”

It was nearly two hours later, when her secretary buzzed her and announced that Mark was on the line. She poked the blinking light without even saying thank you.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he responded in a tone that was less than enthusiastic. In fact, he sounded exceedingly tired and very short-tempered. “I thought you were going to be in New York a couple of days.”

“I was, but Trent found out you were here and ordered me home. Why didn't you tell me you were in Los Angeles when I talked to you last night?”

“It hardly seemed relevant, since you were clear across the country.”

“Well, I'm back now. I don't suppose I could talk you into a nice, quiet dinner at this cozy little place I know of,” she suggested in a low, sensuous voice designed to lure any male straight into a feminine snare. “It has a terrific view and the cook's not bad.”

“Sounds tempting.”

“Well?”

“Unfortunately, I'm in New York.”

“You're where?”

“New York. I thought I'd surprise you.”

Lindsay groaned in frustration. “Well, you've certainly done that.”

“Exactly how long do you expect to be in L.A. this time?”

“Until Trent finds out you're in New York, I suppose.”

“Don't tell him a thing,” he said urgently. “And do not, whatever you do, get on another plane in the next twenty-four hours. I don't care if you can get a deal on the Taj Mahal as a backdrop for an action-adventure blockbuster. Stay put.”

“Any particular reason?” she teased lightly.

“I have plans for you.”

“Sounds interesting. Want to tell me about them?”

His voice dropped to a husky rumble. “Oh, I think you'll find they'll be worth your time.”

“What do I do if Trent wants me to chase after you?”

“Tell him a smart woman never chases a man.”

“Oh, is that so? Did you learn that at your grandmother's knee?”

“No. At my father's. He told me all about my mother's tricks. She played very hard to get.”

“What exactly does that have to do with our situation?”

“Not much, but it may keep Trent in limbo for a day or two while he thinks about it.”

“Trent doesn't like being in limbo. He pays me to chase people.”

“Tell him that only results in two people running around in circles. We're living proof of that.”

“I'm not sure he'll buy that argument.”

“You can sell it to him, sweetheart. You're the best he's got.”

“I couldn't sell you on the
Velvet Nights
deal.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he said with a dry chuckle. “Now will you stay put until I get there or not?”

“I will be waiting right here.”

“Not right there,” he corrected. “I want you at home, in something sleek and sexy.”

“Any particular meal I should have on the stove?”

“If you play your cards right, we won't have time for food.”

“I'll remind you of that when you're rummaging around in my empty refrigerator.”

“Well, you might pick up a bottle of wine.”

“And a loaf of bread?” she taunted.

“It'll be enough for me,” he said and she could picture those dimples of his dipping into his cheeks as he grinned wickedly. “What about you?”

“I think I'll buy a few other things just in case.”

“Lindsay.”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“We're going to make this work.”

“If you say so,” she said, her voice still edged with doubts.

“I say so. I have the final chapter all written.”

“Unfortunately real life isn't quite as easy to manipulate as the characters in a book.”

“It is if you want something badly enough, and I want you, bright eyes,” he whispered,
his voice husky with promise. “See you soon.”

Lindsay gently put the receiver back on the hook and sat back, her expression dreamy. Maybe their story would have a happy ending after all. At the very least, she could hardly wait to see what happened next.

L
indsay took the stairs up two flights to Trent's office. When she walked in, she found his winded secretary slumped down in the chair behind her desk, her shoulders sagging, her face just a shade lighter than fire-engine red, her brown eyes flashing angry sparks.

“I swear one of these days, as soon as I catch my breath, I'm going to kill that man,” Janice muttered ferociously.

“What's he done now?”

“The usual. I just got back from taking papers
clear across the lot to be signed by the producer of one of those sitcoms for the fall and now our beloved boss wants me to trot back across to pick them up.”

“Why didn't you just wait while you were there?”

“Because the man was not in his office and Mr. Langston wanted me back here ‘immediately!”' She mimicked his authoritarian tone precisely.

“Why? What was so urgent?”