Pleasure at Midnight ; His Pick for Passion Page 12

  An hour passed. Hunger pains stabbed Roderick’s empty stomach. He considered going to the concession stand to buy something to eat, but worried if he left, he’d miss seeing Geneviève when she emerged from her dressing room. Roderick was on his cell phone, reading an endorsement contract from a popular tech brand for a heavy metal group he represented, but when he heard Geneviève’s voice he shoved his iPhone into his pocket.

  “Mom, I’m not doing any press, and that’s final.”

  The door cracked opened, and Geneviève shuffled into the corridor, flanked by her mother and sister. Her sunglasses were on, her head was down, and a Gucci bag dangled from her wrist. She’d changed out of her costume and into a black cropped hoodie, wide-leg pants and canvas sneakers. Her damp hair was in a bun, and she smelled of tropical fruit. She looked melancholy, with lifeless eyes and a hopeless disposition. Walking seemed to require all the energy she had. He could see the stress on her face, the anguish, and longed to take her into his arms, but thought better of it. Althea was glaring at him, and Roderick didn’t want any trouble. Arguing with the momager was mentally draining, and if he did, she’d probably call his boss to complain again.

  “Geneviève, you were incredible tonight,” he said, meaning every word. “I’m sorry about what happened at the end of the concert, and I hope you’re not too upset. Are you okay?”

  Her feet slowed, but she didn’t stop. He walked alongside the trio, and when Demi paused to speak to the members of Divalicious, he moved closer to Geneviève.

  “I’m fine, Roderick. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I never worry about you. You’re extraordinary. You always land on your feet.”

  Fine lines wrinkled her forehead.

  “We’ll talk at the wrap party,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise in the corridor. “Make sure you save me a seat at your table. I want to hear all about your—”

  “I’m not going. I’m tired, and I need to rest.”

  Roderick checked his watch, saw the time and frowned. She was lying, trying to push him away. He knew from previous conversations they’d had that Geneviève was a night owl, who stayed up late writing songs, watching movies and playing word games on her iPhone, but he decided not to argue with her. Grateful that Althea was too busy on her phone to notice him, Roderick reached out and clasped Geneviève’s hand. “Can we have lunch on Wednesday in the hotel restaurant?” he asked. “My flight’s at four, but I need to talk to you before I leave. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Slinging an arm around their shoulders, Demi emphatically nodded and joked, “We’ll be there or my name isn’t Super Demi!”

  Demi giggled, but Geneviève wore a blank expression on her face.

  Althea glanced up from her cell phone and jabbed an index finger in Roderick’s chest.

  “Get away from my daughters,” she hissed. “Celebrity attorneys are nothing but glorified babysitters, but Gigi doesn’t need you. She has me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Roderick bristled at her insult, but he didn’t speak. He knew who he was, and what he’d accomplished in his career, and he didn’t care what Althea thought of him. Though he did care what she said to his boss. For that reason, he maintained his cool.

  “Mom, stop it.” Demi took Althea aside and spoke through clenched teeth. “Roderick’s been great to Gigi, and we’ve loved having him here with us in Madrid. He outwitted that pervert who grabbed Gigi at the airport, saved her from a mugger at a tapas bar and persuaded her to finish the rest of the European tour when no one else could—”

  Althea sucked her teeth. “Please, that wasn’t his doing. It was mine.”

  Geneviève exited the front doors of the arena, slipped into the back seat of one of the three limousines parked along the curb and disappeared behind the tinted glass. Fans surrounded the vehicle, shouting her name, banging on the windows and snapping pictures with their cell phones. Her band and bodyguards filed into the other chauffeured cars, and the convoy sped off.

  Exiting the arena, Roderick tossed a glare at the mob and shook his head. No wonder Geneviève was sick of the spotlight and eager to take a hiatus from the music business. He didn’t blame her; in fact, he finally understood why she was at the end of her rope. Like the record label, her fans didn’t respect her personal boundaries and seemed to think her feelings didn’t matter. She’d been riding a wave of popularity for years, and was so relatable and down-to-earth people flocked to her everywhere she went, but it was obvious the nonstop attention was getting to her, wearing her down.

  Heading toward the parking garage, he noticed street performers, chic bars and restaurants, and elegant shops. Friends, couples and suit-clad businessmen clutching coffee cups strolled up the block, their voices carrying on the cool evening breeze.

  Roderick heard his cell phone ring inside his pocket, took it out and checked the number. It was a video call from Morrison, and the moment he heard his brother’s voice he smiled. They used to butt heads constantly, used to squabble and fight nonstop, but these days they were closer than ever, and Morrison was his biggest supporter. He’d been there for him when Roderick needed him most, and if not for his brother coming to his rescue when he’d run into trouble with the Securities and Exchange Commission, there was no telling where Roderick would be. Morrison had loaned him the money he needed to pay the million-dollar fine, and the day he paid him back they’d celebrated with Duane at their favorite cigar bar.

  “How are things going in Madrid?” Morrison asked.

  “Great. I have a few loose ends to tie up tomorrow morning, then it’s back to New York.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Bro, where are you?”

  “I’m just leaving WiZink arena,” Roderick explained. Arriving at the parking lot, he searched for his Ferrari, found it sandwiched between two compact cars with foreign license plates and used the smart key to unlock the doors. “Tonight was Geneviève’s final show in Madrid, and she blew me away. She’s one hell of a performer—”

  “Bro, are those tears in your eyes?” Morrison moved his iPhone closer to his face and stared intently at the screen, as if he was mystified by what he saw. “We’ll, I’ll be damned. You traveled to Madrid for work and fell in love.”

  “Morrison, knock it off. No one’s in love.” Roderick slid inside the Ferrari, slammed the door and put on his seat belt. “Geneviève’s a client, and nothing more.”

  Karma came up behind Morrison, put her chin on his shoulder and waved frantically.

  “Hi, handsome! I miss you. When are you coming home?”

  “Never,” Morrison said with a wry laugh, his eyes alive with mischief. “He’s crushing so hard on Geneviève, we may never see him again, and that’s a shame if you ask me. Who am I going to beat up in the ring when I need to let off some steam?”

  Karma screamed so loud Roderick feared he’d go deaf, and rubbed at his ears.

  “You’re dating my shero? The pop star I’ve been obsessed with since I was sixteen? That’s amazing!” Squealing, Karma plucked the phone out of Morrison’s hand and danced around the room. “I’m so excited I could scream!”

  Roderick winced. “You just did, twice, and it pierced my eardrum.”

  “Back to you and Geneviève. How did you guys meet? Are you serious about her? Was it love at first sight?” Giggling, she dismissed her words with a flick of her hand. “That’s a dumb question. Of course it was love at first sight. She’s a bombshell!”

  You’re right, she is, he thought, as images of Geneviève onstage flashed in his mind, but she’s also fun and thoughtful and kind, and I love her outrageous sense of humor.

  “You have to get her to sing at our wedding,” she continued. “It’ll be your present to us.”

  Chuckling, he started the car and turned on the air condition. Karma Sullivan, his future sister-in-law, had the energy of three women, and every time he tal
ked to the salon owner she made him crack up. Karma was easy to like, and everyone in their family loved her. She went on shopping trips with his mom and sister-in-law, cheered on the Yankees with his ailing father and helped Reagan with her college work. Best of all, Morrison had changed for the better, and after years of being a bachelor he was ready to marry and start a family.

  “Karma, I’m not dating anyone. Geneviève’s a client, who I happen to be good friends with but that’s it—”

  “Yeah, for now,” she quipped, with a cheeky smile. “You’re a Drake, and I know how you guys operate with the ladies, so it’s just a matter of time before you and Geneviève are an item. And when it happens I want to be the first to know, so hit me up on my cell, got it?”

  Cruising out of the parking lot, Roderick pretended not to hear her question. Karma was a popular hairdresser, with a high-end salon in the Hamptons, but she could out-argue anyone, and Roderick didn’t want to be her latest victim. “Karma, I have to run, but tell Morrison I’ll hit him up in the morning.”

  “No, call him before your flight,” she instructed, twirling an auburn lock of hair around a finger. “We have wedding stuff to do after breakfast, and I don’t want Morrison to be distracted when we’re choosing flowers and sampling cake.”

  “Yes, of course, we can’t have that now, can we? Everything has to be perfect for the wedding of the century, or life as we know it will be over.”

  “Watch it, Ro, or I’ll tell Ms. Viola you’re teasing me, and she’ll slap you into next week.”

  Roderick pretended to shiver. “Oohhh. I’m shaking in my Jordans.”

  “You should be. Your mama doesn’t play.”

  “Tell me about it,” he conceded, recalling his conversation with his mother days earlier. “The last time I spoke to her she threated to give me a good, old-fashioned beat down if I didn’t agree to take her friend’s daughter to a charity gala next month.”

  Karma made her eyes wide, and spoke in an awe-filled voice. “And why would you when you have the lovely Geneviève firmly in your sights?”

  He heard Morrison laughing in the background, chuckling as if he were watching a comedy special on HBO, and knew his brother was enjoying their conversation.

  “Bye, Karma,” he said, eager to end the phone call. “Have a good night.”

  “I will. Love you, Ro. Give my best to Geneviève, my future sister-in-law!”

  Roderick ended the call, but he could still hear Karma’s voice echoing in his mind. You’re a Drake, and I know how you guys operate with the ladies, so it’s just a matter of time before you and Geneviève are an item. He jacked up the volume on the stereo system, but as he drove along the freeway, Karma’s words rang in his ears—and for some strange reason her bold, outrageous prediction excited him.

  Chapter 13

  Roderick took off his Ray-Ban aviators, boarded the hotel elevator and leaned against the wall. The space smelled of cheap perfume, and the fragrance overwhelmed his nostrils, causing him to sneeze. A brunette in a tangerine bikini and stilettos winked at him, but he lowered his gaze to his iPhone, punched in his password, then checked his work email. His meeting at Madrid Law had gone better than expected, and Roderick was in such a good mood he wanted to celebrate—with Geneviève.

  He’d played the footage Demi had sent him for José Sánchez and his attorney, and once they watched the forty-second video they were sweating, and stammering. Ten minutes after arriving at the law firm, Roderick was out the front door. He’d emailed Mr. Welker the good news, and his boss had called him immediately, eager for more details. After giving a play-by-play about his meeting, he’d returned to the hotel. He wanted to shower and change before his lunch date with Demi and Geneviève, and worried if he was late they’d leave.

  Yesterday, while buying souvenirs for his niece and nephews at the ABC Serrano shopping center, he’d also bought gifts for Geneviève, and planned to give them to her at lunch. Roderick was proud of her for continuing the European tour, even though she was desperate to return to her home in Philly, and hoped she loved the presents he’d bought her.

  The elevator pinged, the doors slid open on the eighteenth floor and Roderick marched down the hallway, whistling a tune. He was feeling great, energized after his meeting at Madrid Law, and just the thought of seeing Geneviève again made him smile. Last night, after returning to his suite he’d texted her but she hadn’t responded to any of his messages. The footage of her fall was all over the internet, but he hoped Geneviève had put the incident behind her and was in better spirits today.

  A text message popped up on his cell phone. Reading it, Roderick pumped his fist. His day just kept getting better. He enjoyed developing his clients, derived great joy from helping the artists on his roster achieve their dreams, and the Bronx rapper he’d inked a multimillion-dollar contract last month was a superstar in the making. The nineteen-year-old had performed at a charity event that benefited victims of the nightclub shooting in Orlando, and his thirty-minute set had received stellar reviews.

  “You bastard! Where is she? Where is my daughter?”

  Roderick glanced up from his iPhone, saw Althea marching toward him and groaned.

  What now? he thought, tempted to duck inside his suite and slam the door. What is her problem?

  And why was she yelling? Her short, auburn wig was crooked, and she was breathing so hard her cheeks looked like puffed wheat. The momager was shouting and cursing, waving her arms wildly in the air as she spoke, with tears coursing down her cheeks. Listening to Althea rant and rave about him being an opportunist caused his head to throb and his curiosity to rise. He wondered if she’d had cocktails at breakfast, but didn’t ask the question circling his mind.

  Roderick spotted Demi and narrowed his gaze. She was pacing at the other end of the hallway, and Geneviève’s staff were standing in a semicircle, speaking in hushed tones.

  Everyone on her team looked crushed, as if they were mourning the loss of a loved one. Fear seized his heart. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Sense it. Heard it in Althea’s voice and saw it in Demi’s sullen demeanor.

  “Where’s Geneviève?” His pulse was racing and sweat drenched his black, Brooks Brothers suit, but he remained calm, told himself not to panic. “Is she okay? Did something bad happen to her?”

  “Sh-sh-she’s not with you?” Althea stammered. “I—I—I thought she was hanging out inside your suite.”

  “I’ve been out all morning and just returned to the hotel five minutes ago. I haven’t seen or spoken to Geneviève since last night at the arena, but we had plans to have lunch today.”

  Joining them, Demi wiped her bloodshot eyes with the sleeve of her gray Bob Marley–themed sweatshirt and shuffled her sneaker-clad feet. “Roderick, she’s gone.”

  “Gone?” he repeated, bewildered by her words. “What do you mean ‘she’s gone’? Where did she go? Who is she with? When will she be back?”

  “I don’t know. I woke up this morning and she wasn’t in her suite.”

  “Demi, why didn’t you call me earlier? Why am I just finding out about this now?”

  Sniffling, she dragged a hand through her hair. “Sorry, Roderick. I wanted to, but my cell died and I couldn’t remember your number off the top of my head.”

  Struggling to get air into his lungs, he loosened the knot in his black silk tie, then took a deep breath. “How long has Geneviève been missing?”

  “I got up at nine o’clock, and there was no sign of her. Her luggage is gone, and so is the Fiat I rented last week. Gigi was in such a hurry she forgot her iPhone, tablet and computer on the bedside table...”

  Geneviève didn’t forget them, Roderick thought, releasing a deep sigh. She didn’t want you to track her location using the devices so she purposely left them behind.

  “According to the front desk clerk, she checked out of the hotel at the crack of dawn, and
if that isn’t bad enough, I also found this note on her bed.”

  Demi handed him a piece of white paper, and reading it chilled Roderick to the bone. A burning sensation coursed through his chest.

  I quit. I can’t do this anymore. I need a break, so the European tour is over.

  Roderick hung his head. With a pang in his heart, he realized he’d failed at his job—and failed Geneviève—and hoped he found her before one of her overzealous fans did. She was the It Girl of the moment, one of the most recognizable stars in the world, and he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her while she was alone in the city. “Don’t worry. I’ll find her.”

  “How?” Demi asked. “You’re leaving for New York in a few hours.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I know your sister’s safe.”

  Demi bit her bottom lip. “Maybe we should call the police. They’ll know what to do.”

  Althea shook her head. “No way. Absolutely not. It would be all over the news, and that’s the last thing I want. We have to keep this quiet...”

  An Asian couple approached, holding hands and shopping bags, and Althea trailed off.

  Recognizing their need for privacy, Roderick reached into his suit jacket, took out his key card and unlocked the door. He gestured for them to sit on the couch, but they stood in the living room, wearing long faces. Roderick projected confidence, even though he was worried about Geneviève. Not because he didn’t think she could handle herself, but because he’d seen firsthand how aggressive some Madrileños were when they came face-to-face with the talented pop star. Geneviève’s net worth was higher than most African countries, and if she made friends with the wrong people, her life could be in danger.

  * * *

  Past conversations he’d had with Geneviève about her favorite places in the country came to mind. Had she returned to the hiking spot they’d visited last Saturday? Was she cruising along the countryside, enjoying the morning breeze? Or had she traveled hundreds of miles away to the luxury ski resort she loved? Roderick decided to check out all of the places she’d ever mentioned to him, even if it took the rest of the day. He’d call Mr. Welker from the car and explain to his boss why he couldn’t leave for New York that afternoon.