Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3) (6 page)

Damn him!

Cole cleared his throat. “Uh, so tell me about your job. Please tell me it involves you in some high heels and a pole.” His voice became husky and I had to chuckle, relieved that he had taken some of the edge off the serious turn of our conversation.

“No, Cole. There’s no stripping involved,” I said. It was amazing how seamlessly we could move from being angry to teasing and comfortable. This had always been the ease of being with Cole. While he didn’t profess to be the love poetry and watch The Notebook with you kind of guy, you knew what to expect from him.

Most of the time.

Though the tender comments and personal admissions left me totally unbalanced and I found that I needed this side of Cole that I was familiar with. I didn’t have time to think about the other side he was starting to show me in bits and pieces.

“Damn. Because I would have flown back just so I could be your most devoted customer,” he quipped.

“Well, I think I’d like more out of my life then to dangle off a pole while guys shoved bills down my G-string.”

“Yeah, you’re too smart for that shit. Besides the only stripping you’ll be doing is for me,” Cole announced firmly. And here was that odd subtext again.

“I’m going to be the Events Coordinator at The Claremont Center,” I added quickly, brushing off my discomfort.

“That place that has the opera and shit?” Cole asked.

“Yep, that’s the place.”

“So you’ll be an opera singer?” he asked and I could hear the grin in his voice.

“Ha, ha. No, dumbass. People hire the hall out for special events. I’ll help coordinate those. As well as charity events and fundraisers.” I buttoned up my blouse and did a quick turn in the mirror. I looked good. Professional but classy. I hit the speaker button and set my phone down on my dresser so I could wrap my hair into a bun at the back of my head.

“That sounds awesome, Viv,” Cole said sincerely. Was that genuine interest I detected? No, couldn’t be.

“Uh, yeah,” was all I could say.

“You’ll kick ass, Viv. You always do.” Since when did Cole designate himself my personal cheerleader?

It was disconcerting to say the least.

“Thanks,” I replied shortly.

“I should let you go. I’m sure you’ve got all of that girlie crap to do. I just wanted to call and hear your voice and to say, I uh, I hope I see you soon. Maybe you could fly out for another show. I could pay for your ticket. It’s just better when you’re around.”

It sounded as though the admission were strangling him.

I leaned my forehead against the mirror and closed my eyes. He made it so easy to forget the ugly stuff he did. He made it so easy to want to be with him for real. For keeps.

“Cole,” I began and then I heard something that brought the reality of who he was and who we were to each other crashing into my chest.

“Hurry up, Cole! I need to go to the bathroom!” a female voice whined in the background.

“You asshole,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.

“What?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“It sounds like you need to go and I have to get to work.” I tried to control my temper. I needed to. I was tired of giving him the reaction he was looking for.

“It’s not what you think, Viv. Don’t start being a bitch before you know what’s going on,” he snarled.

He did not just call me a bitch!

“Look, some of us have commitments to keep. Not that you’d know anything about that!” I spat out.

“Is that what all of this has been about? Commitment? Because we’ve talked about this, Vivian, you know how I feel about you. About us. But maybe we need to talk about it again. Because I don’t like feeling like I’m fucking up all the time,” he retorted angrily.

I didn’t have time to get into this with him. And I didn’t want to. My head couldn’t be wrapped up in him when I had to get to work.

“I’ve got to go,” I stated.

“Fine, if that’s what you’ve got to do,” Cole shot back.

My mood had done a one-eighty. Cole could make me giddy like a schoolgirl one minute and so unbelievably angry the next. Why did I subject myself to this over and over again?

“Can I call you later?” he asked gruffly.

“Why?” I demanded, slamming my brush down. I didn’t have time to do my hair now. Cole was going to make me late on my first day. He had an uncanny ability in screwing everything up royally.

“Because, I don’t know, I just want to talk to you. We’ve got a conference call with the label later. They’ve been talking about some new opportunities for the band. I’d like to tell you about them, I guess. But if you’re too busy being pissed at me, maybe not.” No apology for talking to me with another girl in his room. No contrition for playing the slut once again. Just blanket acceptance of what he was and what we were to each other.

“I don’t know,” was all I could say.

“Well, I hope you answer when I call,” Cole said before I could hang up. I didn’t say anything, the silence stretching between us.

“I’ll let you go then. Good luck today. Not that you’ll need it. You’ll be amazing,” he said softly.

“Thanks. Bye, Cole,” I said before I could succumb to his charm.

“Bye, Viv,” he said, my name a whisper in my ear.

I quickly disconnected the call.

I gripped my phone in my hand and stared hard at my reflection in the mirror. Why was I so weak? Why had I settled for this, whatever it was?

I stared hard into the eyes of the tired girl looking back at me and knew one thing for sure.

I was stuck.

And I was ready to make a jail break.

T
he Claremont Center sat on the edge of town on six acres that spread along the river. At one time it had been a working plantation. The three-hundred acre estate had been broken up and sold off over the years and in 1986, Gregory Claremont, a local textile tycoon and his wife Jillian had bought the decaying manor house and surrounding property and pumped millions into fixing it up.

Jillian had been some sort of Broadway star in the 1970s and a well-known champion of the performing arts. At that time the closest playhouse was an hour and a half away. So with their considerable fortune they had turned the stately home into one of the most illustrious performance halls on the east coast.

I parked my car and started walking toward the front of the building. The lawn was impeccably manicured and the large windows twinkled in the early morning sun. The frost still clung to the grass, making it crunch beneath my feet.

I had tried to shake my early morning conversation with Cole on the drive over. Sitting in traffic listening to angry chick music had gone a long way in soothing my jangled emotions.

I refused to fixate on the thousand meanings to our phone call. I couldn’t let myself dissect and tear apart everything he had said to me.

And I sure as hell wouldn’t think too long about the girl’s voice I had heard in the background. Because if I did, my professional first impression would go right out the window.

I was proud of myself when I was able to simmer down and change the radio station to something more upbeat. By the time I pulled into the parking lot out front of my new place of employment, I was feeling much better.

And now my emotions took a nosedive again. Anger being replaced by plain ole nerves.

I was still in a bit of shock that I had gotten the job. I was totally underqualified but obviously I had made someone think I was competent. I really wish I knew how I had achieved that particular feat. I just hoped this job lasted longer than the others.

I desperately needed to get my act together. I couldn’t expect my parents to give me money for the rest of my life. Even if mooching came naturally, I’d still like to have something to show for the four years I spent at college. Believe it or not, I did have some pride.

I walked through the large, oak doors and stood in the middle of the grand foyer, trying to figure out where I was supposed to go. One entire wall was made of glass and overlooked the river. A baby grand piano stood off in the corner. A wide staircase led to the second floor balcony.

A door opened and shut and I turned to see a petite woman with beautifully coiffed grey hair walking toward me. I recognized her from my second interview as Marion Vandy, the Director of Events and Programs for The Claremont Center.

“Vivian! Hello!” she said, holding out her hand for me to shake. Her palm was warm and dry and she gave me a calm and collected smile. She needed to share some of that composure because I was starting to quake in my fantastic pumps.

“Nice to see you! And five minutes early as well! Great start!” she complimented, releasing my hand and gesturing toward the hallway she had come from. I didn’t feel the need to explain that I had broken several traffic laws in getting here.

“I like to make a good first impression,” I said demurely, hiding my trembling hands behind my back and trying to choke the fluttering butterflies in my stomach.

“Impression is everything,” Marion said with a nod, leading me into a spacious office. “Have a seat.” She indicated a comfortable looking chair as she took her place behind a massive desk made from dark, shiny wood.

“There’s a lot to go over. Normally you’d have at least a week to settle into your position. There’s orientation and paperwork. However, some extenuating circumstances are going to change the course of your probationary period.”

“Extenuating circumstances?” I asked, not liking the sound of that at all.

Marion gave me a pained smile. “I’m going to be throwing you into the deep end I’m afraid. We are horribly short staffed right now so unfortunately you’re going to be getting your hands-on training a lot faster than normal.” God, did she have to sound so ominous about it?

Marion folded her hands and leaned back in her chair. “I know from looking over your resume that you have some event planning experience. But I’m sure nothing to this scale.” She didn’t say it condescendingly. It was just the facts. And the truth. I nodded in agreement.

“I planned most of my sorority’s functions and I was involved in event planning at the country club back home in high school. But no, nothing like this. Though I’m a quick learner and I’m more than ready to jump in with both feet,” I told her with more confidence than I actually felt. The team player cliché seemed to do the trick.

Marion gave me a smile full of relief.

“I’m so glad to hear that. Our last Event Coordinator left us in a bit of a lurch. She decided running off with her boyfriend to Europe was more important than giving notice at her job. I am pretty easygoing, Vivian. But I don’t tolerate unprofessional behavior and lack of courtesy. And most of all I expect respect and consideration,” she stated firmly, sizing me up.

I found myself nodding again. “Absolutely. These things are essential. It’s important not to burn bridges,” I babbled. I was going to be responsible. I was going to be competent. I was going to nail this job if it killed me!

Vivian reached across the great expanse of her desk and patted the top of my hand like a kindly grandmother. “You and I are going to get along just fine.” My relief made me sag.

Marion passed me a folder of paperwork to fill out before taking me on a tour of the center.

She showed me the beautiful concert hall decorated in red velvet and dark wood. The acoustics were amazing and I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs to see what it would sound like. But I didn’t think prim and proper Marion would approve.

The Opera House was slightly larger and more ostentatious. The marble etchings on the wall were almost overwhelming and standing in the back of the grand room made me wonder what it would be like to attend an event there. To get dressed up and socialize in a setting that didn’t involve mosh pits.

The much smaller Wheat Theater was a complete contradiction to the rest of the building. It was almost modern with straight, clean lines and an almost non-descript stage area.

When we were finished with the tour, we returned to the foyer to find a small group of four people waiting.

Marion turned to me and gave me a smile. “I told you that you’d be thrown into the deep end today.” She gestured toward the group who were talking amongst themselves. “This is your deep end.”

I felt myself go pale. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to panic.

“They are from the Kimble Greenhouse Project. They are planning a large gala to benefit their charity. This will be the gala’s third year. You will be managing this event.”

“Me?” I squeaked, trying to resist the urge to run screaming from the building. The likelihood of crashing and burning became increasingly more likely. I thought I was ready for responsibility and all that other crap but I was beginning to think I was very wrong.

I didn’t like pressure. It gave me hives. I preferred the whole, no expectations and you won’t get hurt thing. Huh. Maybe Cole and I were more a like than I thought.

Marion patted my back. “I’ll go and get the files from the previous years so you can see what was done before. Just talk with them. Find out their ideas, what they want. Take some notes. Then we can sit down and go through everything. I’ll help you as much as I can, but given how few of us are here right now, I can’t walk you through it the way I normally would. This is your trial by fire, Vivian.” Marion inclined her head toward the group.

“Theo Anderson is the public relations chair at KGP. He’ll be your point of contact. Now let’s head over there so I can introduce you. You’ll be fine.” I was glad Marion had such faith in my abilities. But then again, she didn’t know me yet. Sure, I was no dummy, but I wasn’t sure a whole lot of credence could be given to my ability to not fall on my ass.

I plastered a smile on my face. The same smile I wore during each and every rush event. I figured I could imagine that I was getting ready to chat up a bunch of vapid freshmen hoping to get into my sorority. And if that didn’t work, I’d just picture them in their underwear.

I quickly learned that picturing one particular person in the group would be a very bad idea.

“Mr. Anderson, I’d like to introduce you to our new Events Coordinator, Vivian Baily,” Marion announced, placing a hand on the arm of a very attractive man.