Because she’d already fallen.
“When I’ve finished talking with Trevor we’ll do a walk around the room,” Michael whispered in a manner that indicated the words were intended for her alone. “Would you enjoy that?”
She blushed at the question, envisioning Michael doing just that.
“Answer me.”
“Yes Sir.”
“I love that color on you.” He brought his free hand up and caressed her cheek.
A commotion from the back of the room gained Michael’s and Trevor’s attention. Brian rushed past the scenes taking place as he made his way to them. He stopped in front of Trevor and dropped to his knees, staring the other man in the eye.
“Anthony called. You need to get to Fantasia— now.”
“What happened?”
The men stood at the same time, revealing Trevor was a couple inches taller.
“It’s Aly.”
“What about Aly?” Michael released Lacey’s hand and leaned forward.
Brian glanced at Michael and quickly turned back to Trevor. “Conner used the cane. She didn’t safe word.”
“For fuck’s sake!” Michael stood, lifting her easily and placed her on her feet. “What the hell is wrong with her?”
“We need to go.” Brian ignored Michael’s outburst, his gaze pinned on Trevor. “When the scene was over Aly went into the bathroom, locked the door and refused to let anyone inside.”
“She won’t talk to me.” Trevor’s livid gaze fixed on Michael, his implication clear.
“I can’t be sure she’d talk to me either.” Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “The last time we spoke we weren’t on the best of terms.”
A shrill ring came from Brian’s pocket and he quickly removed a phone from his black leather pants. Opening it swiftly, he brought it to his ear. “What news do you have?” He closed his eyes and it was easy to sense his rage. After taking a long, deep breath he said, “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
He closed the phone, placed it in his pants and sent a nervous glance to Trevor. “Shiloh managed to get into the bathroom. It’s not good.”
“Clear out the house. The party’s over,” Trevor snarled and strode past them without looking back.
Chapter Eleven
“So you’ll have the final proofs to us by the end of the week? We can’t afford another delay. I’m already feeling the heat and I can’t hold off the publisher much longer.”
Lacey’s agent’s hidden warning set her teeth on edge. She was well aware that she was a week past deadline. The last twenty-four hours had made it virtually impossible to achieve anything that required something as draining as creativity.
“I’ll have it in the mail no later than Friday.”
“Is everything all right? You seem…”
Angry, frustrated, lonely, confused? “I’m fine. I’ve just had a lot going on.”
“Listen, about Scott… He’s not worth it.”
Lacey would have laughed at the irony of crying over Scott if she wasn’t so miserable over someone else. “Scott isn’t an issue. It’s over and done.”
“Okay, well, call me if you need anything. I’ll be in the office most of the week.”
“Will do. Take care.”
Lacey ended the call without waiting for a response and felt even worse at her short and callous treatment of someone who’d gotten her into the business. Helen didn’t deserve it. It was just too damn hard to pretend that everything was fine when Michael had dropped her off at her home and had called only once to say he was sorry and that he’d make it up to her. She’d waited half the morning for another call, a visit— something. Instead she found herself coming in second place.
Again.
That persistent ache in her chest returned when she realized that a relationship with Michael—no matter how much she wanted it, no matter how much she wanted him—might not be possible. For all his talk, he had thus far proven himself to be a bag of hot air and empty promises. It hurt, being cast aside for a woman he claimed he didn’t want. Even though Trevor and Brian had asked him to come, she felt betrayed, set aside.
Forgotten.
A knock at the door had her leaping from her couch. Only one person would be knocking on her door on a Saturday. She tried to count to ten, determined to keep her temper in check. Before she jumped to conclusions she was determined to listen to whatever excuse Michael planned to give her.
Every suspect had the right to defend themselves before the fires of hell came rushing to greet them.
She grasped the knob, opened the door and unexpectedly came face-to-face with a very unkempt Candice.
“Candice? What in the—”
Candice didn’t give her the opportunity to finish, forcing Lacey aside and quickly stepping into the house. She shrugged off the large bags across each shoulder and tossed them onto the kitchen table before she hooked a left and started for the kitchen. Lacey closed the door and followed, watching in disbelief as her best friend made a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
“Candy!” Rushing into the kitchen, she stopped the door from opening fully, preventing her friend from gaining access to whiskey, rum or vodka. “What is going on?”
“Not now.”
“Yes.” Lacey pressed the palm of her hand against the cabinet, putting her weight into her shoulder. “Right now.”
“Shit.”
Candice spun around and left the kitchen as quickly as she’d entered it. She retrieved one of her bags and headed for the bathroom. Before she could get inside the hallway, Lacey jumped ahead of her and blocked her path.
“What’s wrong?”
Candice stared at her chest, refusing to make eye contact. “I just need a few minutes to pull myself together. I’m going to start with a shower.”
“You’re not doing anything until you tell me what the hell is going on.” Studying Candice’s bowed head, she added, “For the record, you’re really freaking me out.”
“Please.”
Candice’s broken plea was one that turned Lacey’s blood to ice, sending cold chills down her spine. She remembered hearing that same tone on a brisk autumn night and had sworn it was something she never wanted to hear again. She stepped aside without another word and watched Candice walk into the bathroom down the hall and close the door. Within seconds, the sounds of the shower shrilled through the house.
The phone rang and yanked her back to the present. She shook off the unwanted memories, walked to the coffee table and retrieved the phone. She recognized the number and almost let the call go to her answering machine. For hours, she’d waited. Now, when the shit was staining her walls, Michael had decided it was time to give her a call.
“Yes?” she answered in the same manner she felt, exasperated and off kilter.
“Lacey? Is that you?” Michael sounded like he’d been put through the wringer.
“Why don’t you answer that question? You dialed the number.” He didn’t reply, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to knee him in the balls or kick herself in the ass. “Yes.” She confirmed her identity despite her short fuse. “It’s Lacey.”
“What’s wrong?” Concern overcame the fatigue in his voice. “Has something happened?”
“You could say that.” After glancing down the hall, she walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
“Are you going to tell me what?”
She could just picture the annoyed expression on his face. “It’s not looking good for you at the moment.”