Chapter Twenty-four
Zander stood before the mirror in his backstage dressing room, synchronizing the movement of his lips to the enhanced recording of his voice, powerful and strong, coming through his headphones. It had taken several takes to get the high notes right, confirming his decision as the right one.
He couldn’t seem to sing entirely silently, needing lungs and breath, the faintest whisper of words to stop looking like a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass. Hopefully his haircut would also give people something else to focus on, other than his mouth. He’d auctioned a military cut to add to the charity’s coffers in case his performance proved an abject failure.
Closing his eyes to shut out his reflection, he tried to feel the emotion in one of the world’s most powerful anthems, but self-consciousness kept dragging him into parody. Maybe he should try singing this live, maybe he—
With a curse he ripped off the headphones. Elizabeth’s rejection had thrown him completely. But he couldn’t let his disappointment, his frustration distract him from his preparations.
Too much depended on getting this right.
Jamming on the headphones, he launched into the song again. So Doc had let him down when he needed her. How many times had he done that to people? Countless times.
With an immense effort of will, he refocused on analyzing his performance. The passionate conviction wasn’t coming through on “home of the brave.”
So he lip-synced it again. And again. Faking courage, the only virtue that had ever come naturally. If he’d told Elizabeth the truth—I don’t want you witnessing the most shameful night of my professional career—she’d have given him all the sympathy, understanding and moral support he craved, but Zander didn’t want pity. He hated pity. He wanted her love.
So he was back where he’d started. Relying solely on himself.
Well, okay, Freedman, suck it up. Shit happened and you couldn’t hold people to account for failing you. God knew he was the king of failing people. But not tonight. Right now, the truly brave needed the performance of his life.
* * *
“Brilliant rendition.”
“I got chills, man. Seriously.”
“Cried like a baby.”
Accolades ringing in his ears, Zander pumped hands and joked his way through the line of vets and out of the theater in Luther’s wake, climbing into the limo with a last smile and wave. The door clunked shut, cocooning him in the luxury of leather, tinted windows and silence.
Grabbing the ice bucket nestled in the console between the seats, he yanked out the bottle of Krug champagne and vomited in the melting ice, wrenching heaves that burned his gut and throat.
“Zee?” Luther turned from the front seat beside the driver.
Between heaves, Zander said, “Drive.”
The Mercedes pulled away. When his stomach was empty, Zander grabbed the napkin draped around the ice bucket and wiped his face. He might have sold out for a good cause, but it still felt like an addition to his wall of shame.
At the next stoplights, Luther joined him. “I thought you were coming down with something.” His bodyguard passed him a bottle of chilled water. “You’ve been looking off-color all evening. I’ll text Dimity to get you a doctor.”
“No.” Zander unscrewed the water bottle, rinsed his mouth and spat into the ice bucket, then covered it with the napkin. “I’ll be better now.” He was a sham, a fraud, a phony, but it was done.
Leaning against the headrest, he closed his eyes. “Open that champagne,” he said. “I need to wash the taste of success out of my mouth.”
He should be fucking happy. Three more shows and he’d break even on costs. His performance tonight in front of the President would be televised across the globe, his star power would skyrocket. He could cancel the next tour leg and have surgery, confident that Rage could pick up where they’d left off in a few months’ time. Jared could take that time to repair his marriage.
He opened his eyes to see Luther activating the privacy screen between them and the driver. Always so discreet. Dropping the water bottle to the floor, Zander popped the cork himself and splashed champagne into two crystal flutes. He offered one to his bodyguard, who made no move to take it.
“I’m working.”
“As my friend.”
Luther accepted it. “You sure about this?” he asked quietly.
Someone else who knew he’d given up alcohol. The guy accompanied Zander to most of his specialist appointments, had probably put the whole thing together.
“It’s the quiet ones you’ve gotta watch, isn’t it?” Zander commented. The champagne bubbles, tart and sweet, tingled on his tongue. Flute in one hand, champagne bottle in the other, he rolled the water bottle under one booted foot. “They’re the people smart enough to weigh consequences and avoid poor choices.” Elizabeth was never going to say yes.
“You’ve lost me, Zee.”
“Forget it… Cheers.” They tapped flutes and drank. “You’re ex-military, a man used to hard choices.” Zander topped up their glasses. “Does the end ever justify the means?”
“I’m a bodyguard, not a philosopher.” Luther swirled the straw-colored bubbles in his flute. “But this is what I know about army guys. We sign up because we have ideals, we’re deployed at a politician’s pleasure, but we die for the brother standing beside us.” He glanced up, his dark-blue gaze steady. “You did a good thing tonight.”
Then why do I feel so ashamed? Draining his glass, Zander poured himself another. On an empty stomach, after months of sobriety, it wouldn’t take long to numb his self-disgust.
Dimity was finishing a call on her cell when he and Luther arrived at the apartment. His bodyguard had insisted on delivering Zander to his door. “A-mazing performance,” she enthused. “You won’t believe who’s been phoning with congratulations and interview requests.”
“That’s great.” Exhausted, Zander glanced around the apartment. A couple of caterers packing up—no Elizabeth.
“There’s enough food and booze left over if you want me to invite a few people,” Dimity said hopefully.
“God no,” he said, and her face fell. She’d put a lot of work into this event, so Zander compromised. “I’ll celebrate with you and Luther… Is Doc still up?”
“Jet lag caught up with her. She went to bed straight after the broadcast.” There was a question in her voice, probably recalling their earlier argument.
Zander ignored it. “Why don’t you pour us all a drink, I’ll be down in ten.” At the bottom of the stairs, he paused and looked at his bodyguard. “Water for me.”
Luther smiled.
“How’s that celebrating?” Dimity protested. “And I suppose you want a beer,” she added to Luther.
“One day you’ll appreciate a simple man.”
Their voices faded, Zander opened his bedroom door. For a heart-stopping moment he thought Elizabeth was sleeping in his bed, but when he snapped on the light, the dark shape resolved into a jacket.
With a sigh, he changed into loose pants and a T-shirt and headed downstairs, pausing at the closed door of the guest room.
Dammit, they had to resolve this, it was eating him up. Stupid to have jumped to the conclusion that the memoir came first; he’d become too used to people exploiting him. But Elizabeth wasn’t like that. She was kind and sensitive and probably crying her fucking eyes out because he’d overreacted like a drama queen.
Opening her door, he called softly, “Doc?” Light spilled across the bed, illuminating the fall of red hair across the pillow. She didn’t respond.
Now who’s sulking. But Zander didn’t say it, because he was trying to be a grown-up.
Partially closing the door, he walked to the side of the bed, his footfalls soundless on the carpet. Elizabeth lay curled on her left side, hand nestled under her cheek, soundly and peacefully asleep.
Not a care in the world.
And he was a fool. Leaving as quietly as he’d entered, Zander went downstairs, opened the liquor cabinet and broke the seal on a bottle of Grey Goose.
* * *
Muffled laughter woke Elizabeth. Groggily, she lifted her head from the pillow, taking a moment to reorient herself. New York, Zander’s apartment. The spare bedroom. She switched on her cell and read the time. Three a.m. The sleeping pill had worked. Yawning, she padded to the door and opened it a crack, heard the low murmur of familiar voices.
Maybe she should wait until morning. But her parents had never gone to bed on an argument and she didn’t want to either. Sharing in the celebrations would break the ice. Now that they’d both had a chance to cool down, they could laugh about it.
Switching on the light, she dressed quickly and twisted her hair into a topknot. It still stung that Zander hadn’t wanted her at the concert, but he’d been hurt by what he perceived as rejection and in hindsight she hadn’t been very diplomatic. Her overreaction bothered her. She wanted to blame it on jet lag, but she had a horrible suspicion it was another symptom of being cray-cray for Zander.
Luther was the first person she saw as she walked downstairs. Sitting on a couch, he was frowning at someone out of view and though Elizabeth hadn’t made a sound, he glanced up and gave his head a slight shake.
Puzzled, she stopped.
The bodyguard returned his gaze to someone she couldn’t see. “Dimity’s right,” he said lazily, “it’s time to call it a night.”
“You two are lightweights.” There was the faintest slur to Zander’s complaint and Elizabeth smiled. His performance must have gone spectacularly well if he’d relaxed his alcohol ban. But their reconciliation should probably wait.
As she beat a retreat, his voice called, “Hey Doc, don’t be shy. Come join us.”
Busted. Elizabeth descended to the bottom of the stairs. Dimity perched on the edge of a chair with the coiled readiness of a guest dying to leave. “Please talk Zander into going to bed,” she begged.
Zander chuckled. “If anyone can do it, Doc can.” He sprawled in an armchair, bare feet planted on the white rug. Light gleamed on the vodka bottle as he lifted it to his lips. Not tipsy—drunk.
Elizabeth chose a glass from the sideboard and poured herself some orange juice. If she’d thought something was wrong earlier, now she was sure of it. “Did Dimity tell you?” she asked casually. “Some of the networks played your performance on the news.” There had to be more to his strange behavior than their fight.
“Oh yeah, everyone loved it. But what did you think, Professor Winston?”
Polite at least, that had to be a good start. Elizabeth settled next to Dimity. “It’s the first time I’ve ever seen you nervous onstage.” She smiled at him, a teasing inflection in her next words. “Were you overawed by the President?” Hey, it’s me.
“Terrified,” Zander said dryly. “I gotta major crush on the leader of the free world. But it can’t go anywhere because our careers come first.” Eyes glittering, he proffered the bottle. “Want some vodka with that juice?”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll head back to bed.” No point talking to him like this, she’d wait until he was sober. Standing, Elizabeth smiled at Luther and Dimity. “Looks like you two are keen to hit the sack as well.”
“Wow.” Zander set down the bottle to applaud. “You are one insightful biographer, guessing Luther has a thing for Dimity. Mate, here’s your opening. The worst that can happen is she says no.”
The bodyguard’s normally impervious gaze hardened, but he said evenly, “I can handle my own love life. Concentrate on sorting out yours.” Luther didn’t look at Elizabeth, but heat rose in her cheeks. He knew.
Dimity had been staring confusedly at Luther, but she did glance Elizabeth’s way.
Humiliated, she swung around to glare at Zander, who shrugged. “I haven’t said a word. Guess we just weren’t as good at sneaking around as we thought. Real sorry I didn’t stay your dirty little secret, Professor Winston. So do your family know this side of you or are you still trying to be the preacher’s least troublesome daughter?”
“Zander,” she said through clenched teeth. “Stop talking.”
“Stop talking?” He barked a laugh and ran a hand through his short hair so it stood up bristly and aggressive. “That’s a three-sixty turnaround. Normally you’re trying to pry my secrets outta me with a fucking crowbar.” He picked up the bottle again. “Maybe I should have left off crowbar; that sentence stands fine without it.”
Dimity gasped. Luther said, “Shut the fuck up, Zee.”
“No, go ahead,” Elizabeth encouraged with icy calm. Inside, the shards of it sliced and burned. “Say what you really think, Zander.”
* * *
Some sense of self-preservation made Zander pause mid-swig. “Who’s asking? My biographer? My lover?” The love of my life?
Elizabeth’s face was white, but she said very deliberately, “Your friend.”
“That’s a cop-out answer.” He gulped another mouthful of vodka. “My life’s turned to shit since I played nice,” he said conversationally. “I give up all my vices and my voice gets worse. I offer commitment and get slapped down. I do the wrong thing for the right reason and all I feel is dirty. If God wants me to be good, then couldn’t he make being good easier?” He rolled his head back to glare at the ceiling. “Jus’ saying, Lord, need some positive reinforcement down here.”
“We’ll talk when you’re sober,” Elizabeth said.
Her calm angered him. Always so together, so rational, so cold. Why had he made such a fool of himself when she didn’t care?
“Is the spare bed comfortable? I looked in before and you were sleeping the sleep of the righteous. I can’t even remember when I last got a decent night’s sleep.”
“Good night.”
He couldn’t reach her; couldn’t stir a reaction. Why had he fallen so hard for this controlled, bottled-up woman who would never feel for him what he felt for her? Why had he let himself need someone again?
“Let her go, Zee,” Dimity murmured and he ignored her.
“You asked me what I really think, Doc. I’ll tell you.” he called after her and she turned warily. “The book is more important to you than I am. It always was.” His misery, his pain needed a kill. It was mean and snarling, pacing like a wild animal in a cage.
“The irony is that I bought you for your fucking integrity and now it’s coming back to bite me in the ass. But the real joke’s on you. All this earnest probing and researching…but you know only what I want you to know.”
She took a moment to reply, but her voice was steady. “Let me get this straight. You hired me for my professional credibility without any intention of telling the truth? You used me?”
“Don’t look so damn disappointed.” Chuckling, he slugged his vodka, but the liquor didn’t pacify the beast, only opened the cage. “I use everybody, it’s who I am. An asshole. Irredeemable.” He finally got his reaction, the bloom of shock and betrayal. “If you can’t deal with it,” his voice cracked, “leave.”
“We have a contract,” she said numbly.
“And you honor your contracts,” he sneered. “Well, I don’t have any honor and you’re fired.”
Finally on her face was the expression he’d bloodied and destroyed himself for. Disgust. The trifecta was complete. Zander sat back. Now you see me, sweetheart. Now you truly see me.
“You can’t do that.” Even now, there was a thread of compassion in her voice, a last desperate attempt to understand. He couldn’t bear it.
“We have this cute little saying in the States.” Crossing his bare feet on the coffee table, Zander toasted her with the bottle. “So sue me.”
* * *
Dimity chased after her. “Elizabeth, wait up.”
She stopped at the top of the stairs. “Is Zander always such a bastard when he drinks?” she demanded.
“No.” The younger woman looked troubled. “Things must be bad.”
Elizabeth’s lips started to tremble and she bit down hard. “Do not make excuses for him.” She strode toward her room, Dimity in pursuit.
“He’ll be sorry tomorrow.”
“And what, I’m supposed to pretend it never happened? Zander runs with scissors, patch yourself up, people, and get over it.” She spun to confront the other woman. “Is it true? The only reason he hired me was to piggyback on my reputation? He’s been paying lip service to a genuine memoir?”
Dimity hesitated.
“Fuck him,” Elizabeth kicked her bed. “He knew I was taking a professional risk accepting the project and he promised we’d do something real—” Her voice broke.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m mad!” That’s what these feelings were. “I’m not hanging around for a token apology.” In a flurry of activity, she threw the few clothes she’d unpacked into her suitcases. “I’ll write the bloody memoir without him and release it as an unauthorized biography.”
“You can’t,” Dimity said reasonably. “You have a contract.”
“Which Zander just broke.” He’d broken a lot of things tonight but she wasn’t stopping to assess the damage, because if she started crying she might not stop. “If he doesn’t consider the contract binding, then neither do I.”
“He doesn’t mean it.”
“I do.” She gathered the toiletries from the bathroom. “What number do I call for a cab?”
“I’ll call… Where will you go?”
“To a bunker somewhere.”
“Let me book a hotel.”
“I don’t need your help!” She stopped packing and dropped her head in her hands, discovered to her surprise that they were trembling. And cold. “I’m sorry,” she managed calmly enough through her fingers. “I know you’re my friend too.”
Tentatively, Dimity touched her back in a gesture of silent support and she swallowed a sob. “I’ll be fine,” she said briskly, dropping her hands. “It’s just the shock…of being fired.”
She stood a moment, trying to recall what she’d been doing, and then caught sight of the open suitcases. Packing. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would appreciate you calling a cab.” Closing one suitcase, Elizabeth yanked at the stiff zip on the second. “My agent lives in New York, she’ll give me a bed.”
“I hate this,” Dimity sounded near tears, so Elizabeth forced a smile.
“Please don’t worry about me, I’m only temporarily star-struck…cock-struck.” Deliberately she chose the most derogatory term she could think of. “You warned me as much when we first met, remember? Immunity comes when you realize his heart isn’t in it.” The zip wouldn’t close all the way. She left it. “I’m far too sensible and rational to fall in love with him. Which is why I have rules.” She realized she’d stopped making sense and looked at Dimity helplessly. “You must think I’m a complete idiot.”
“No!” The other woman came over and hugged her awkwardly. “I’m thinking I never want to be where you are now.”
Elizabeth laughed weakly. “You always know the right thing to say.”
Then she clutched Dimity tighter. “Get me away from here,” she whispered. “Please.”
Dimity rocked her. “I will.”