Chapter Eight
They made it back to the apartment in one piece, and Elle immediately headed to her bedroom to change.
Conrad had tried to get her to talk a few times, but her replies were monosyllabic. He could understand why she was withdrawing, but he knew how destructive that could be, and he didn’t want that for her.
He quickly changed into clean workout clothes because they were comfortable. Then he cued up the DVD and got the wine and ice cream from the kitchen. He selectively turned the main lights off, leaving a couple of lamps and diffused light from the kitchen to light the room; after a shock like this evening, she would never grow tired with all the lights on.
“What’s going on?” she asked as she emerged.
“I figured it was time for your two-by-two,” he said. “And surprise!” He handed her the Parenthood DVD with a huge grin.
“Oh my God, where did you find this?” she squealed happily, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I ordered it.” He smiled. “Come on. I’ve got wine, ice cream, and comedy movies.”
Although she looked pale and drawn, her smile was warm and grateful. She settled down next to him and enthusiastically accepted the glass of wine he poured.
“Aren’t you having one?”
“I think your need is greater,” he told her as he pressed play.
She shared the ice cream with him, battling with their spoons as they passed the pint back and forth. Elle remained slightly subdued for a while, but by the end of her second glass of wine, she was laughing at the movie.
By the time the credits rolled, she was almost back to her old self. She helped him clean up, then said goodnight and headed to bed. Conrad did a final check of the apartment, starting with Elle’s room so he could leave her in peace. He checked that the windows were all closed, the alarm was set, and the door brace was firmly in place.
He was rinsing with mouthwash when he heard the floorboards creaking softly, as if someone was trying to be stealthy. He spat the mouthwash out, and as quick as a flash, he grabbed up his Taser and crept out into the hallway. A light went on in the living room. Keeping close to the edge of the hallway where the floorboards were quieter, he edged closer, ready to strike.
Conrad rounded the doorframe silently, ready to fire on whomever he found. Only quick reflexes kept him from tasering Elle as she turned on the TV.
He hid the Taser behind his back and stepped closer to the couch only to find she had brought pillows and the throw from the end of her bed with her.
“Elle, what are you doing out here?”
She jumped as he spoke, whirling around to him. She wore a guilty expression on her face that made her look adorably cute.
“Elle?” he continued when she stuttered.
“I . . . I thought I might put a DVD on and sleep out here,” she said, abashed.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“Elle, please, tell me.”
“I just . . .” She struggled to explain herself, her voice soft, as though she might be in trouble. “I felt really cut off and vulnerable in there.” She gestured toward her bedroom. “I thought if I slept out here, I could put the TV on low in the background to soothe me. And if someone did come in, I wouldn’t be where they expected me to be.”
“You should have told me,” he said gently as he rounded the sofa, discreetly placing the Taser on the end table where it was within easy reach.
“No,” she protested. “You should go to bed; you need sleep more than I do.”
“I’m used to sleeping on the ground with nothing more than a rough blanket,” he said as he slid between her and the sofa arm, forcing her to scoot over. “This is luxury by comparison.”
“But you—”
“Shh.” He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him, then he commandeered the television remote control and began to surf the TV guide.
“Seriously, Rob, you’re working all day. You don’t need to guard me all night too,” Elle protested.
“Hush,” he said softly.
Ordinarily he’d correct her and tell her to call him Conrad, as he told everyone else to do. There is an intimacy in using someone’s first name, albeit a shallow one, but he hadn’t wanted even that basic connection with anyone in a long while.
Somehow, on her lips, he didn’t mind. He might even say he liked it.
She didn’t argue anymore, and he continued to scroll through the menu.
“How about Aliens?” she asked as it appeared.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.” He side-eyed her.
“Why not?”
“Well, you’re already tense.”
“It’ll be fine,” she laughingly assured him. “Horror movies have never kept me awake! I’ve been watching them since I was a kid. It’s the things people do in real life that make me lose sleep.”
He could understand that. He selected it, and they settled down to watch. As time passed, she snuggled in a little more and he slid down in his seat. After a bathroom break, they positioned themselves so they were more lying down than sitting up. Elle was half on top of him, her head resting on his chest and his hand stroking her soft hair as they lay there.
Neither of them saw the end of the movie before they were sound asleep.
Conrad awoke the next morning to the scent of something delicious cooking. Sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face, he made his way through to the kitchen.
“Morning.” He yawned, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
“Hi.” She smiled at him. She looked bright-eyed and well rested.
“What’s all this?”
“Well, neither of us ate last night, and ice cream doesn’t count, so I thought I’d make us a cooked breakfast. Well, brunch.”
Conrad looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was past ten o’clock. His stomach rumbled as he approached and looked over her shoulder at what she was cooking. The sausages were browning nicely, the beans had just been turned on, and the hash browns were grilling. Eggs, bacon, and halved tomatoes were on the side, ready to be cooked.
“Do I have time to wash up?” he asked.
“Sure, just don’t be too long. How do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled, okay?”
“Yep.”
Lightning quick, he reached around her, stole a hot sausage from the pan, and ran for the door.
“Shit! Fuck that’s hot! Ow, ow, ow! Fuuuuuck!” He juggled the hot sausage from hand to hand.
She laughed at his antics, thinking it served him right, but if he was as hungry as she was, then she couldn’t blame him! Besides, she’d cooked all six sausages in the pack, but they’d likely only eat three or four.
They were probably cooked enough not to give him food poisoning, right?
She set about making them both coffees with the Nespresso machine, which was just ridiculously easy to use.
She had just put the eggs on when he returned, still dressed in his sweats. She filled the plates.
“This for me?” He pointed to the black coffee on the breakfast bar as she handed him his plate and nodded.
“How’s your hand?” she asked as she sat opposite.
“It was worth it.” Conrad grinned, showing her the red mark on the pad of his forefinger, which made her laugh.
They ate mostly in companionable silence, both too hungry to make much in the way of conversation, but as she sipped her coffee, Elle moaned softly.
“You know, I used to think coffee snobs were just being pretentious, but this stuff is lovely.”
Conrad chuckled as he nodded his agreement.
“I feel the same way. Sometimes in the field, the desire to have a decent cup of coffee is all that gets you through.”
“Not a nice glass of whiskey?”
“Eh, that too.” He shrugged with a cheeky smile. “So your itinerary says we’re going to a bar?”
“It’s a photoshoot for my next single, “Everywhere.” We’re filming the video there tomorrow, and Sonic wants the cover art to match.”
“You’re filming the video at a bar?” he asked.
“What did you expect?” she asked with a wry smile.
“I don’t know, exotic locations, dancers, telling a story, isn’t that how music videos are usually made?”
“Sure, if you’re Taylor Swift.” She chuckled. “I’m lucky to be getting a professional video at all. I’m not mainstream enough to be played on music channels.”
“What if you get more offers from the big TV channels?”
“They generally prefer artists to sing live not play their videos. The best I can hope for is a few mainstream sites to link to the video. And it’s a piano bar, not a seedy bar.”
“But getting a million views on YouTube is good, right?”
“Brilliant.” She smiled at the memory of David announcing that last night, but it soon dimmed with her recollection of the other events last night.
“Come on,” he said, gathering up the plates. “You get changed while I clean up, then we’ll get going.”
As soon as they got into the cab, Elle pulled out her mobile and started texting Marcus, asking how he was and letting him know that they were on their way. He replied that his head throbbed, but he’d be there for her. When they arrived, Conrad had to grab her arm while he paid the cab to keep her from running in anxiously.
“Wait,” he commanded gruffly. She fidgeted with her handbag while he took his time to pay and scan the street before he escorted her across the pavement, holding her arm securely.
He understood that she felt guilty and wanted to see how her friend was, but he wouldn’t let her guilt push her into taking chances with her safety.
When they got there, the piano bar was a hive of activity, with a photographer, his assistant, the video director, hair and makeup artists, a stylist with a rail of clothes, Marcus, and an assistant.
“Marcus!” Elle ran over to him the moment she saw him, taking his hands and gazing at him worriedly. “How are you? Did you sleep well? What did the doctors say? I’m so sorry you were hurt! Thank you so much! You were so brave!” Elle exclaimed anxiously, her concern pouring out on Marcus.
For a brief second, Marcus looked triumphant, then he put on an air of nonchalance about his injury.
“I’m fine, Ella! Just as long as you’re all right?”
He looked quite different from how Conrad was used to seeing him. His suit was still impeccable, his tie perfectly knotted and held in place with a tie pin, but his hair was a mess.
The dressing over his wound was huge, about three inches square, and then there was a bandage around his head to hold it in place. On top of that, he seemed to have made no attempt to even brush his hair; it was sticking up at all angles, a far cry from his usual, slicked-back look. He was also sporting stubble, which Conrad had never seen him do before.
He raised a cynical eyebrow at what seemed an excessive amount of dressings for so small an injury, but he didn’t comment.
Marcus brushed off Elle’s worries, trying to be blasé about the whole thing, but judging from his pained expressions and the small winces and groans he let out when he moved too quickly, he gave the impression of being in a lot of pain.
Something about Marcus’s behavior struck Conrad as contrived, but he just filed the observation away for now. If he was honest, Marcus’s whole demeanor left Conrad with a gnawing feeling in his gut, but he tuned it out and focused on memorizing the layout of the bar to determine if anyone there was a threat.
Since the bar was large, he walked around the edges of the room just in case someone was hiding in a nook or behind the bar. He checked people for nervous or furtive mannerisms. Once finished, he made his way back over to Elle, taking care not to crowd her.
“You shouldn’t have come today,” Elle was admonishing Marcus as he approached them. “You should be at home resting,” she scolded.
“I don’t like sitting at home alone, and I couldn’t stay home while you’re in danger. It would drive me mad!” he told her, proprietarily taking her elbow. “Come on, let’s get you into hair and makeup.”
Conrad leaned back against a nearby wall with his arms crossed and watched as Marcus and the director argued over Elle’s “look.” The director wanted her to look fresh and vital, while Marcus wanted a sexy, smoldering, smoky-eyed look. Elle just sat there and watched while they debated her in front of her.
“We need to play to our strengths,” the director said. “She’s naturally beautiful and we should let that speak for itself.”
“Her image has been carefully crafted to have mass appeal.” Marcus sounded exasperated.
“Crafted by who?”
“Look, it’s a mute point anyway, the label has final say so what I say goes.”
The director finally turned to her and asked her opinion, she looked back and forth for longer than she should have and chewed her lip in indecision. Conrad thought she would prefer not to tart up, but when Marcus shook his head in disgust, and raised a hand to his forehead with a wince, she backed Marcus.
Conrad narrowed his eyes. He thought that was a mistake, but what did he know about music videos? She knew and trusted Marcus, while the director was new to her.
An hour and a half later, she looked like one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen, but she didn’t much look like herself anymore. Conrad wasn’t a fan of the look.
Elle wasn’t a femme fatale type, which was what Marcus had instructed they make her up to be. Conrad shook his head. Her sexiness wasn’t the in-your-face kind. Her allure was the innate variety, the kind that took you by surprise and robbed you of your breath for a moment. It was when she gave you a full-on smile and her eyes twinkled. It was when she threw her head back and laughed that husky laugh. It was when she blushed and looked at him through her lashes, as though she wasn’t quite sure if he was teasing. It was those goddamn cute pajamas that should turn any grown man off, but on her they became desirable because they matched her personality.
Today they had styled her hair so it came forward, framing her face and covering most of her right eye. Her eye makeup was smoky and she had red lips. Her dress was a floor-length black strapless gown with some glitter detail on the bottom of the skirt. They’d finished the look with over-the-elbow black satin gloves.
Marcus and the director were arguing by the stage, so Elle went to join Conrad.
“What do you think?” she asked.
His gaze slowly went from her head to her feet, and back again, taking in the full glory of her figure in the clinging black satin. He leaned closer so he could whisper into her ear.
“You do realize they’ve made you look like a goth Jessica Rabbit, right?” he teased, and Elle burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Marcus yelled from across the room.
“Nothing,” she called and waved him away, but she couldn’t wipe the smile from her lips. “You are a very bad man,” she whispered to Conrad once Marcus had turned away.
“Oh my God!” someone cried, and Elle and Conrad looked over to see Marcus swooning on his feet. Conrad might have called it swaying were it not for the hand Marcus had raised to his forehead, just like any good Victorian lady having a fit of the vapors.
He was quickly surrounded by people, including Elle, who slid her shoulder under his and helped him stay upright until someone brought him a chair.
“It’s all right. It’s nothing—just a dizzy spell,” he assured everyone weakly.
“You shouldn’t be here, Marcus,” Elle said firmly. “You need to go home and rest.”
“And leave these philistines to butcher your image?” he demanded with an undertone of bitterness to his words. “No, I’m much better off here, but . . . maybe I will sit for a while.”
The photoshoot was finally ready to start, and Elle joined the photographer on the stage.
“Does someone have a stepladder or a stool for the piano?” the photographer, George, called. He looked rather harassed and grumpy.
“Stepladder?” Elle asked.
“He wants you lying on the grand piano. You know, like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys?” The photographer rolled his eyes. So trite.
She hadn’t seen the movie, but she was familiar with what he meant. She grimaced, carefully keeping her face turned away from Marcus.
“I’d much rather play the piano than lie on it,” she muttered.
George’s features softened. “I know, love. I told him, but His Highness is insistent. We’ll get some shots of you playing it after, I promise.”
“Okay.” She found a smile for him.
“Does anyone have a stepladder? Anything?” George looked around again, impatiently.
“I’ve got her,” Conrad said, leaping onto the stage.
He set his hands on Elle’s waist, waiting for her to nod permission before he lifted her up onto the instrument. She smiled her thanks. For the next hour, she fought to keep her strapless dress over her breasts while Marcus ordered her into ever more uncomfortable, provocative, and ridiculous positions.
First she sat on the edge. Then she lay sideways on the piano and pretended to sing, which wasn’t too bad, but when he had her lie on her back, even her smallish breasts wanted to obey gravity and migrate from her dress to her armpits. That problem got even worse when Marcus told her to lie on her back with her head off the edge of the piano while she mouthed her song, which elongated her neck and tried to pull her breasts up while her dress remained where it was.
Not to mention that her song, “Everywhere,” was not about seduction; it was about loss.
There was a lot of hoisting, tugging, and stuffing, which left her feeling awkward. As though she were intentionally trying to look uncomfortable, Marcus kept calling out seemingly helpful suggestions.
“Sultry, Ella, pout a little.
“Make love to the camera.
“No, no, no. Look at me, Ella. That’s it.”
“Now try to seduce me with your eyes.
“Show me some passion!”
His words were not helpful.
Eventually, she was permitted to leave the piano, and Conrad approached to lift her down, worried she’d break something if she tried to jump down in her four-inch heels.
“Thanks.” She smiled up at him as he carefully slid her down from the piano.
“Let’s take five,” George called, and it felt as if the whole room sighed with relief.
“You okay?” Conrad asked her as she made her way to the piano bench and sat down.
“As long as I don’t have to do any more acrobatics in this dress, I will be,” she grumbled. She tugged the front up as if she’d been fighting it for so long she was now afraid it might fall of its own volition.
“Can I get you a drink?” George’s assistant asked her.
“A water, please?” She wouldn’t ordinarily ask someone to fetch a drink, but she didn’t much fancy the idea of navigating the four steep steps down from the stage in her shoes, which were very pretty but completely impractical. “God, I miss my boots,” she lamented as she held a foot out to appraise how it looked.
Conrad’s lips twitched.
“Here.” The assistant passed her a water bottle. She cracked the lid and raised it to her lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Marcus yelled, getting up from his seat—which had gotten progressively closer and closer to the stage—to chastise her like a schoolgirl.
She froze with the bottle part way to her mouth.
“Uh, having a drink?”
“That’s why we have straws, so you don’t ruin your makeup! Somebody get her a straw!” He rolled his eyes and huffed in frustration.
“You mean the makeup I’ve had touched up three times already?”
“It’s no problem,” the makeup lady called, which made Marcus turn red.
“Okay, okay, I’ll get a straw.” Elle placated him before he gave himself a stroke.
The assistant beat her to it, though, and jogged over with one, mouthing the word sorry as he handed it to her.
“It’s okay,” she whispered back, rolling her eyes. “Thank you.”
After the break Elle had her makeup touched up, then the lighting was adjusted once more. In the next series of shots, she stood at the front of the stage and lip-synched for ten minutes while Marcus yelled ideas at her. Was he seriously trying to make her look like she was giving the mic a blowjob? If she pouted much more she’d start to drool!
The photographer was getting more irritated by not having control over his own shoot, and Elle was starting to look demoralized by Marcus’s constant griping. The director was sitting at the back, a calculating expression on his features as he watched the proceedings. Conrad knew he was planning something. He was keeping a careful eye on the man.
“Give me sensual and sexy,” Marcus called to Elle. “Try a seductive smile while you sing.
“You’re supposed to be alluring, Ella, enchant the camera!
“That’s it, keep it up, Ella, pout! Pout! Pout!
“Wink at me. No, not like you’re telling a joke. Lasciviously, as if you’re promising to meet me later!”
The photographer rolled his eyes a time or two, but he continued to move around Ella, capturing her from many angles.
“This isn’t working,” Marcus declared, and Elle stopped miming her song while it played on.
Marcus rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand and raised his free hand to the dressing over his ear.
“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’ll do better. I promise. Let’s try it again.”
Marcus looked up and nodded slowly. “Okay. But do try to take direction, Ella.” He sounded weary.
“I will.”
Someone put her song back to the beginning, and Elle glanced at Conrad, who was standing behind Marcus. She intended to offer an apologetic smile for his having to listen to this, but instead she found herself captivated by his warm gaze.
As the opening bars of “Everywhere” ended, she launched into the first lyrics.
“I don’t remember the first time I saw you, but I’ll never forget the last. You’ve given me so many memories, but now they’re all in the past.”
Conrad held her gaze while she sang, and his attention took some of the sting out of the song. She’d sung it so many times now, she could do so in her sleep, so she allowed herself to be distracted by him.
“You were so soft, and you were so gentle, but you always beat your own path. Then you were gone, and I’m feeling haunted. Can you see the aftermath? Because I see you everywhere, every day in the mirror, each night in my dreams. Yes, I see you everywhere, from the sun beating down, to the water in the streams. Somehow I feel you with me still, and I know you’ll never leave . . .”
Conrad was moved by not only her music but also by her lyrics. Who had she lost, he wondered. Had one of her boyfriends died? Was this song about a man?
He offered her a warm smile, and she blushed. Her cheeks had little a chance of being seen through the thick makeup, but she looked down to try to hide how flushed she felt. A second later she looked up through her lashes and caught his gaze again, giving him the sexiest smile he’d ever seen. Her eyes seemed to suck him in, and he felt his belly tighten, the beginnings of arousal shivering up his spine. He shook his head to clear it. This was neither the time nor place.
“That’s it!” the photographer was saying. “Perfect, keep it up!”
Deciding to have a little fun with this, Conrad did a very quick rabbit impression—given his earlier comparison of her to the sultry cartoon rabbit, Elle had to work hard not to laugh. Luckily, she wasn’t singing live or she probably would have missed some notes, but the photographer evidently loved her spontaneous expression.
When the song ended, Marcus stood up and began clapping. Conrad smirked. Apparently, Marcus hadn’t noticed that Elle had been looking at him.
The spell was broken, and she turned slightly toward Marcus.
“Ella, darling, that was absolutely enchanting!”
She blushed at his praise, glad to have finally pleased him.
“I think that’s probably all we need here.” He looked to the photographer.
“Aren’t we going to try some of the other outfits?” the director spoke up. His video was supposed to tie into the cover art, and he was not dressing Elle like a high-class hooker for the shoot!
“No, this is it! It’s perfect!” Marcus proclaimed as he walked up to the stage and offered Elle a hand to navigate the steps. “People will just eat this up,” he assured her.
Conrad noticed the director making his way over to the hair and makeup people, talking softly to them all for a few moments, and they nodded back.
Could the director be her stalker? Conrad eyed him suspiciously. Was he planning something? If so, it would be awfully clever to warn the other people of what he was about to do, finding some excuse for it. He could be explaining that he was about to pretend to stab her but wanted her to look shocked—all in the name of art, of course.
Hopefully it was nothing, but Conrad tensed and kept a close eye on his movements, never losing track of him and preparing to jump in if necessary.
“You have me until four o’clock, so we might as well try some other looks,” the photographer offered.
“No, no. No need,” Marcus insisted.
Once Elle had descended the stairs, Marcus pulled her hand onto his elbow and kept it in place by covering it with his free hand.
“Now, my darling Ella, I think you should get changed. Then I’ll take you out for a celebratory dinner!” Marcus smiled winningly down at her.
Elle frowned at that, which wasn’t unusual considering it was only 3:00 p.m.
Conrad approached and whispered so that everyone didn’t overhear.
“I’m sorry, Marcus, but since all the attacks have been at night, we’ve made the decision to remain at home unless the place we’re visiting has its own security.”
“Every night?” Marcus looked to Elle with an expression of shock and outrage. “How ever do you manage being looked after by such a brute?”
“It’s for everyone’s safety.” She smiled at him. “It’s bad enough you’ve been hurt once; I’d hate for something else to happen to you!”
“Well, all right.” Marcus changed tack. “We’ll celebrate at your hotel! Then you can keep an eye on me, like the doctors suggested, and call for help if I pass out!”
It was phrased as a joke, but Conrad read it as emotional manipulation.
Elle didn’t know how to respond, and Conrad suspicions were reignited.
“Come on, where’s the harm in that?” Marcus wheedled. “You get to stay in, and we can celebrate together. I’ll even let you buy me dinner for being your hero last night.”
Conrad frowned. He was beginning to wonder if Marcus was on the spectrum or had some kind of personality disorder, because he clearly didn’t understand social cues and appropriate responses at all.
“Where are you staying now, the Ritz?”
Conrad’s eyes narrowed. They were staying very close to the Ritz. How did he know that?
“I’m not staying—”
“At the Ritz,” Conrad finished for her, worried Elle was about to let slip that they were in an apartment, information Marcus might be able to use to find them since he knew the general location. “We’re in another hotel near there.”
“Well, wherever you are, how about I come to you and we’ll order takeout,” Marcus suggested. Conrad noticed the guilty look on Elle’s face and stepped in.
“I’m sorry,” he said firmly, “we’re not giving out the location where we’re staying. We know we can trust you”—he slipped these words in to appease the man—“but it’s so easy to say something in passing to someone you trust . . . and then the news gets around.”
Marcus was stone-faced.
“It’s nothing personal, Marcus; it’s just the best way I know to keep her safe.”
“How do we know you aren’t stalking her?” Marcus narrowed his eyes and lashed out.
“I suppose you don’t.” Conrad shrugged calmly. “But this all began long before I even knew her name.”
“Says you!” Marcus growled.
Evidently Marcus had an I’m-rubber-and-you’re-glue mentality to disagreements. Conrad didn’t bother to argue with him and turned to Elle instead.
“You should change. Then we can get you home where it’s safe.”
Elle nodded sadly and turned to Marcus.
“Please, Marcus, you deserve to go home and rest. Tomorrow might be a long day, and I’d hate for another awful thing to happen to you because of me. Please, go home and rest. For me,” she pleaded.
There was a flash of anger, then perhaps despair, in Marcus’s face, but he quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression.
“All right. Perhaps tomorrow you and I can share lunch here,” he said, clearly trying to sound gracious and only succeeding in sounding resentful instead. He darted a defiant look at Conrad. “Then we can chat about the rest of your album and how you see your career progressing.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.” She smiled gratefully at him, happy that Marcus had decided not to continue antagonizing Conrad. She leaned in to hug him goodbye. “Thank you for coming, Marcus. I really appreciate it, and I’m so, so sorry you got hurt.”
Marcus wrapped his arms around her and breathed deeply.
“You’re a good girl, Ella. Stick with me, and you’ll go far, I promise.”
“I know.” She pulled out of the hug, her expression slightly odd. “I’m just going to change. You rest up at home, okay? Promise me?”
He assured her he would, and she headed over to the stylist, apologizing for not trying the other beautiful gowns she’d brought with her.
“Why are you doing this?” Conrad turned and asked Marcus, watching him intently for microexpressions.
Marcus’s eyes widened very slightly, and his ears began to blush pink.
“Doing what?” he asked innocently.
“You know what.” Conrad stared at Marcus intently.
“Look, we’re paying you to protect her, but not to imprison her!” he snapped.
“Actually, you don’t pay me. David does. And Elle is not in prison. If she feels that way, it’s because her stalker has driven her to hide.”
Marcus huffed and turned away, heading for the exit. He was muttering about paranoia and idiots, and he mumbled a few curses Conrad didn’t bother to make out. He shook his head, watching Marcus stalk out, puzzled at his inconsistencies.
Once the door closed behind him, everyone in the room literally breathed a sigh of relief.
“Okay, everyone,” the director stepped forward. “I know you all want to get home, but we’d like to try another outfit, so if you wouldn’t mind working the whole day you were hired for, I’d really appreciate it,” the director said sardonically.
A few people groaned, but not the ones the director had been speaking to earlier, so evidently this was what he’d been planning.
“What?” Elle looked to the makeup artist, confused. “What’s going on?”
“We’re just trying something different,” she assured Elle. “Now go look at that rail of clothes and pick out your favorites. Then I’ll take some of this makeup off. We’ll brush your hair out and go with something a little more natural and relaxed.”
“But Marcus—” Elle bit her lip.
“Don’t worry about him.” The director approached her. “We’ve done his pictures, and tomorrow we’ll shoot his video first, then ours. The record label can choose which one they prefer. The key to this second half is just to have fun! Pick what you’re comfortable with, do what you want to do, we’ll make it work!”
Conrad approached them.
“I’m Conrad, and you are?”
“Oh, Paul Danza.” He offered his hand, and they shook. “You’re Elle’s manager?”
He simply nodded, not wanting to confuse the issue with further explanations.
“You don’t have a problem with this, do you?” Paul asked warily, wondering if he had another Marcus on his hands.
“Not at all! I’m just not sure why you’re putting yourself out for someone you don’t know.” Conrad studied the director.
“Because a good director doesn’t control; a good director brings out the best in his stars. Ella here has star power—I can tell. But we haven’t seen that yet. I could go along with Marcus and make something mediocre, but I think we have a chance to make something great if we play to Ella’s strengths and let her be natural.”
“It’s just singing in a bar,” Elle argued with a diffident shrug.
Paul raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t you ever been standing in your kitchen, chopping vegetables, and then a song comes on the radio that makes your hair stand on end? Your song does that to people, and that’s what I want to do. The location has nothing to do with evoking that feeling. You evoke that feeling, and it’s my job to capture that in film format. I can’t do that when you’re hiding behind four layers of makeup and artifice.”
Conrad actually liked him, and if Elle’s tentative smile was anything to go by, she did too.
Three-quarters of an hour later Elle’s hair had been brushed out and was hanging in loose waves down her back. Her makeup was much lighter and softer too, the makeup artist having removed a good deal with Q-tips. Her lipstick was changed for something more neutral and glossy. The dress she’d chosen was simple—a wispy red silk dress that flowed down her body rather than strangling it. It was held up by spaghetti straps and had a handkerchief-hemmed skirt that swirled lightly around her stunning legs. Conrad wholeheartedly approved.
Her look was perfect, still elegant and sophisticated, but it had that easygoing, unpracticed feeling of the first picture Conrad had seen of her.
Unfortunately, all the shoes were ridiculously high, and as she tottered over to the stage, Paul called out, “You can leave the shoes off if you want.”
She looked tempted.
“I doubt most photographs will even show your feet, especially when you’re sitting at the piano.”
That convinced her, and she kicked them off with relief.
Paul then stepped back and let George the photographer do his job.
“Why don’t we start with you at the piano,” he suggested. “Do you want to play or mime?”
“I’d rather play.” She nodded positively.
“Great, you just do your thing, and I’ll take care of the rest,” George encouraged.
She was hesitant the first time, unsure of herself, clearly concerned about Marcus’s eventual reaction to her rebellion, but the second time she played her song, she was a little more comfortable. The third time through, she was feeling relaxed and calm, and George just kept taking picture after picture.
Unlike when she’d made eye contact with him earlier, these renditions were not sexy, they were soulful. She had connected with her song again, and as it neared the end she began to cry, tears sliding down her cheeks softly. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, holding the last note.
The whole room was still.
“That . . . that was amazing!” George broke the silence, and she opened her eyes and looked at him. “I was going to suggest you try singing at the mic too, but honestly, I don’t think we can top that!”
“Really?”
“Really,” Paul said with a smile as he joined them. “You’re a natural at this. And when left to your own devices, of course you evoke emotion—you wrote the damn song!” He laughed, as if unable to believe his luck. “Seriously, love, tomorrow might be a long day, but if you can connect to your song like that again, it will be great!”
Elle blushed and smiled, happy to have pleased him.
“Go change and get on home. I think we’re done here,” Paul praised.
Elle didn’t need telling twice, and she smiled the whole way home.