Authors: Alison Rose
‘Are you going to talk, or do we need to call security?’ Paul asked, his tone making it clear that he was ready to sort her out himself if necessary.
Kate held up her hands in surrender. It was time to put up or shut up.
‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve confused you. I had no intention of saying anything, but you have to admit that your father’s reaction when he saw me was …’ Johnson Brand moved forward as well, his expression still wary. Kate focussed on him, trying but failing to ignore the threatening presence of his son.
‘You recognised me, didn’t you? You can’t deny it.’
He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again as she went on.
‘No, let me finish. I can explain this, I think.’ She ran an agitated hand through her hair. She suddenly hoped she had her facts right, otherwise she was going to look really daft here!
‘Look, can we sit down again please? I’m getting a crick in my neck trying to keep eye contact with you two.’
Still suspicious, but with grudging respect, they complied. Kate resumed her seat on the opposite sofa.
‘You were saying?’ Paul drawled, his blue gaze sharp.
Kate really didn’t know why he irritated her so much, but he seemed to have the knack for it. She ignored him and turned to his father.
‘Johnson, the girl you knew – the one you thought I was – Sandy? Was that her real name, or a nickname?’
‘Why do you ask?’ he responded cautiously.
Kate sighed. This wasn’t getting them anywhere. ‘OK. Let’s try this from another angle. My mother spent a year in Indiana in the 1970s. Her name is Alexandra, but I think she’s the girl you called Sandy. And I think she’s the subject of your
Dream Woman
album.’
For a moment there was no reaction from either men.
Johnson didn’t move, but the question seemed to burst out of him, surprising all of them. ‘How old are you?’
Kate stared at him with raised eyebrows.
Where had that come from?
Then she understood. A man like Johnson Brand, forever in the public eye and the target of any number of false claims and accusations, would be expecting the worst. Her tension was dispelled in a gale of laughter. Father and son looked at her, transfixed by her uninhibited mirth, and then glanced at each other. Paul shrugged. They looked back at Kate as she wiped her eyes and made the effort to calm herself.
‘Well?’ Johnson demanded.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate smiled. ‘I’m twenty-three. Don’t worry, I’m not about to claim to be some long-lost love child. And in any case, despite the impression given by your lyrics and your sex god reputation, I strongly doubt whether even a stud like you could have had his wicked way with my mother out of wedlock.’
For a moment there was a stunned silence.
Oh Lord! Why on earth did I say that?
I have no idea – they might have had a steaming affair, and if they did I definitely do not want to know about it! And what on earth was I thinking of calling him a sex god? I’m not a tabloid reporter, for goodness’ sake!
‘I … I’m sorry. Forget I said that. It’s none of my business,’ she muttered, the heat rising in her cheeks.
This time it was Johnson who laughed, a deep, rich chuckle, releasing some more of the tension in the room. ‘I guess we might just be talking about the same gal here, young lady.’
Kate breathed a sigh of relief, allowing herself to enjoy his reaction.
Still frowning, Paul watched the two of them.
‘My mum’s maiden name was Black,’ she explained. ‘Alexandra Black.’
Johnson nodded.
‘She married David Armstrong, my father, when she was twenty-five, and I was born several years later.’
His expression tightened. Paul sat forward. He had no compunction about asking the question his father was too polite to voice.
‘She still married?’
Immediately, Kate felt the familiar empty bleakness. She gave him an icy glare before looking away. ‘My father died of cancer two years ago.’ The quietly spoken words hid a wealth of feelings and for a moment she focussed on the grey skies outside the hotel window before she was able to look at the men again.
Johnson leaned forward, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Kate, I am truly sorry for your loss.’
She touched his hand briefly in acknowledgement and smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Paul wasn’t quite so easy to satisfy. ‘So what are you planning to …’
The ringing of a mobile phone startled them all. Cursing, Paul got up, reaching for the phone in his pocket and taking it over to the window. Kate and Johnson carried on talking quietly, mainly with her answering his questions and filling him in on her mother’s life. But she was always aware of his son in the background, like a big threatening cloud. When he seemed to be winding down his call, she decided it was time to make a quick exit. Glancing at her watch Kate realised she needed to get back to the office if she was going to be on time for a meeting with her editor, Ned White.
The perfect excuse!
‘I need to go. Thank you for your time. You’ve given me lots of good material for the article on your upcoming tour.’
‘That’s OK. Thank you for telling me about your mom. Give her my best when you see her.’
‘I will. I’m glad we had this chat. Which is still, and will remain, off the record by the way.’ She paused, searching his face. He never had confirmed whether her mother was the
Dream Woman
, but it didn’t matter. She knew. She’d always known.
‘But I have to tell you that you were wrong if you think she didn’t care when she left. The
album was only one side of the story.’
Since Kate Armstrong had arrived to interview his father, Paul Brand had been trying to figure the woman out. He couldn’t get a handle on his reaction to her. He realised now he had recognised her too, although he hadn’t known how until she’d revealed her connection his dad’s teenage sweetheart. He’d seen pictures of her mother in his dad’s senior high school year book, and Kate was just like her. Why it should be so surprising, given that he himself was apparently a dead ringer for his dad, he didn’t know. His thought processes had been short-circuited ever since he’d looked into those pretty green eyes. He’d had a heck of a job concentrating on the call from his LA office.
In the end he decided the thing that really rattled him was the blast from his dad’s past that she’d blown in with. The sooner they resolved that, the better. He turned just in time to see the door to the suite close behind her.
‘Where’d she go?’
‘Meeting with her editor.’
‘Hell! I’d better head her off.’
‘Paul, it’s OK.’
‘Dad, you’re too trusting. Leave it to me.’
‘I said it’s OK!’ His father yelled after him as he headed out the door.
Paul spotted her at the elevator. ‘Ms Armstrong! Wait up!’
She barely glanced back along the hallway before entering the car. Irritated that she was going to ignore him, he put on a burst of speed. Her finger was hovering over the button for the ground floor when he reached out a hand to prevent the doors closing. He almost smiled when instead of apologising she gave him the full benefit of those clear green eyes. Almost. Damn, but a man could drown in those eyes!
‘Going down?’
‘Excuse me?’ he responded, heat pooling in his groin. His mind conjured up X-rated pictures. He could almost feel her hands and mouth on him, her chestnut hair against the naked skin of his belly … Had she really asked …?
‘What floor do you want?’
Paul blinked, his mind clearing. Kate looked at him strangely. He shook his head slightly. It had been a long time since a woman had provoked such a reaction in him, and he couldn’t figure out what had happened. OK, she was a looker, but she wasn’t his usual style of tall, leggy blondes.
‘Mr Brand?’ Kate frowned. ‘If you don’t need the lift, would you mind moving please? I have to get back to the office.’
Feeling like a damned fool, he remembered his purpose for chasing her down the hallway. ‘I need to talk to you.’ He stepped into the car as the doors closed. This time it was Kate who blinked, but she held her ground, even as he moved to stand in front of her. ‘You’re aware that we have final approval on your feature?’
‘Of course. You pointed that out a few minutes ago. I’ll email it tomorrow morning. I told your father’s people that when we made the appointment.’
‘Make sure you stick to the original brief, Ms Armstrong. The conversation you had with my dad about your mom is off the record and not to be repeated.’
She looked away. The classic move of the guilty mind. So she
had
planned to use it! For a split second he was disappointed, but then sense took over –
of course she plans to use it. She’s a journalist! Just because it’s her mother involved
…
Hell, it was probably because of that very fact – she could make a damned fortune with that story!
But when she looked back at him, it wasn’t with guilt but with fury.
‘I don’t know the sort of people you usually deal with, Mr Brand,’ she said his name as though it tasted real bad in her mouth, ‘but I am a professional journalist. Not only would I never betray a trust by reporting something given to me off the record, but neither would I
ever
exploit my own mother!’
The elevator stopped at another floor and the doors opened to admit a blonde holding a small dog. Paul moved closer to Kate to give the woman room. Kate edged away from him as though he was some of the yappy little dog’s excrement.
What the hell was happening here? How had some undersized journo managed to make him feel like a heel?
He stood frowning down at her, his irritation growing as she ignored him and the other woman puffed out her chest and looked at him invitingly. He gave the woman a vague smile just to be polite. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kate raise her eyes heavenward. W
hat the hell was that for?
Kate ignored him, turning her attention to the hairy rat in the other woman’s arms. ‘What a sweet dog,’ she crooned, lifting her hand to the animal and leaning towards it.
Paul had a split second to feel the tingle along his spine at her husky tone before the hairball snapped at Kate.
The dog’s owner lost her grip as it lunged. Acting on instinct, Paul grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, hauling it up and away from Kate’s vulnerable flesh. The dog yelped and its owner screeched as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.
‘Move!’
Without waiting for a response, he grasped Kate’s arm with his free hand and hauled her into the lobby, as the yappy, snappy ball of fur dangling from his other hand wriggled and yelped.
He ignored the dog’s owner, who trotted alongside them on too high heels trying to apologise. He totally disregarded the numerous pairs of curious eyes watching their progress across the lobby towards the front door. He was aware of Kate trying to pull free, but she’d started this, so she could damn well hang around to see it through.
He stopped at the bellhop station by the hotel entrance and held the still protesting dog in front of the astonished supervisor and hauled Kate closer to his side.
‘This animal just tried to bite her face off. Who the hell allowed it in the hotel?’
‘I’m all right!’ Kate pulled away again, her face crimson as she yanked on his arm.
‘Only because I was there to grab the mutt before it sank its teeth in. Damn thing ought to be muzzled.’
‘Give me back my dog, you monster!’
Paul winced as the blonde made a grab for the animal, her painted nails digging into his arm.
‘Lady, you are welcome to it. Just as soon as the cops deal with the little matter of how it attacked an innocent woman in an elevator.’
The woman gasped, then burst into noisy tears. Kate shoved him aside and wrapped her arms around her, glaring at him over her shoulder.
Oh hell!
‘What?’ he asked. ‘This dog is dangerous!’
‘Oh no, not my Pookie!’ the blonde wailed. ‘She wouldn’t hurt a flea.’
The mention of fleas had Paul holding the dog even further aloft.
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it,’ Kate soothed, patting the woman on the back. He could almost hear her saying ‘there, there, don’t cry.’ He looked at Pookie. The mutt looked back, subdued by his mistress’s tears, making Paul feel even more of a heel. He glared at the dog.
What kind of a name is Pookie anyway? Pukey would suit it better. Or Barf.
‘It’s as much my fault as anyone’s,’ Kate went on. ‘I must have startled her. I expect she gets nervous in lifts. I know I do!’
This time it was Paul who rolled his eyes. Jeez! What had he done to deserve this? He took a deep breath and let it out. He conceded that he might have over-reacted a little here, but he’d just acted on instinct.
But if I’m gonna get out of this with any dignity left, it’s time
to change tack here, or someone – one green-eyed little journo like Kate Armstrong for example – would have this story all over the 6 o’clock news. He could see it now: ‘Millionaire producer abuses pet in luxury London hotel.’
‘OK, ladies, time out!’
The blonde continued to weep and Kate ignored him. The dog started wriggling again. The bellhop was no help at all, standing behind the counter looking like he wanted to slip out back and forget the commotion going on in the lobby.
With another sigh he put a couple of fingers to his lips and whistled. That got the attention of every damn soul in the hotel. The dog peed. Everyone saw.
Oh man!
Paul thrust the dog at his owner, grabbed Kate by the arm, and headed out the door like the hounds of hell were after them.
‘Will you please slow down?’ Kate pulled on his sleeve. ‘I don’t know where you’re going, but I need to go in the opposite direction!’
He’d dragged her a couple of blocks before he noticed her struggles. His head had been full of tabloid headlines and lawsuits.
Damn!
‘Mr Brand, will you stop right now!’ Kate dug her heels in and pulled him to a halt. ‘It’s all right, I think we lost them.’
He let go of her arm and she folded over at the waist, her chestnut hair flowing around her head as she braced her hands on her knees. Her leather purse slid from her shoulder down her arm and landed with a thud on the sidewalk. She seemed to be real short of breath.
Please God, don’t tell me I’ve hauled an asthmatic on an Olympic speed sprint through London town!
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. She was shaking and pulling in great gulps of air.
Damn!
She held up a hand, keeping her head down.
‘G … Give me a minute.’
‘Kate, do you need a doctor?’
She shook her head and flapped her hand again before slowly straightening up.
He was reaching for his cell phone to call for medical help when he saw her face.
‘Ms Armstrong, are you laughing at me?’ he asked quietly, eyes narrowed.
She shook her head vigorously as she took a deep breath, blinking away the moisture threatening to escape from her beautiful eyes.
‘Absolutely not, Mr Brand,’ she assured him in her prim little English voice. ‘I appreciate that you acted in order to save me from a serious injury.’ A giggle escaped, and an amused tear took flight down her flushed cheek. ‘But you’ve got to admit it was bloody funny!’
‘Ah, hell!’ He gave up, letting his own laughter join hers.
A couple of hours later he managed to sneak back into the hotel without being spotted. OK, so Kate Armstrong was a looker, and she had a killer sense of humour, but she definitely wasn’t his usual type. Remembering Pookie’s mistress made him seriously doubt if he could ever go near another of his usual type again. He’d sure as hell ask if they had any pets first. He couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head with Kate Armstrong.
He’d be damned if he could understand why he’d asked for her number today. Even more surprising was the fact that she’d given it to him, even if it was only her office number. Hell, it couldn’t be because she liked him.
She’d made it obvious she’d found him annoying, so why else would she want to see him again? It was the Brand name, of course. He had yet to meet a female who wasn’t turned on by the thought of being seen around with the son and heir of America’s number one rock legend. He’d even seen it in her eyes when they’d met. He didn’t kid himself women lusted after him like he was a regular guy. They weren’t interested in what was inside. They looked at him and saw his dad and dollar signs. The fact he’d also made a few million from his own writing, managing, and producing some of the world’s top bands and solo artists over the past few years was an added bonus. Man, was he ever sick of women on the make!
No, the delectable Miss Armstrong had proved to be just like every other female and plenty of journalists he’d come across – so in awe of the Brand name she was willing to overcome her natural dislike for the chance of being seen with him, or for another story – ‘Paul Brand, Playboy’, or ‘Paul Brand, Lover’. Not very original these days. He wondered how she could find a new angle to those stories – or maybe she was a hack who would just rehash old news before adding a couple of lies about her own ‘experience’ with him.
At least the others had pretended to like him, even if they never tried to get below the surface. If they had they’d have soon realised that he deliberately played up to a false image in order to maintain his privacy. Kate had fallen for it, hated it, and decided to run with it anyway.
It all seemed so simple, so much the pattern for every encounter he had with beautiful women. But there was something about Kate Armstrong. When she looked at him, even when she was glaring at him, she seemed to reach out and snag him. Was there the slightest chance she was something rare in the publishing world – an honest woman? He smiled. Nah! On that thought he let himself back into the suite.
His father was looking out at the grey sky over London, the red buses and people hurrying along below, so lost in thought that he didn’t even ask about what had happened with Kate.
‘Hey, Dad, what’s up? You’re looking mighty serious, man.’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing, son. Just thinking.’
‘Trying to figure out how to survive on warm beer for the next couple of months?’
‘Actually, no. I was thinking about Kate Armstrong’s mother.’
‘The
Dream Woman
,’ Paul nodded. ‘I wondered if she’d surface when we hit London. I just didn’t figure it would happen so soon.’
Johnson frowned. ‘How come?’
‘Dad, I know all your albums, and
Dream Woman
has been my favourite for ever. I grew up with it. Like Kate said, it didn’t take much to figure out that it was about an English woman who walked away.’
‘I’ve never denied that.’
‘No, but you’ve never confirmed anything either. That’s what fascinates people.’
‘It was decades ago. History. Can I help it if I would rather look forward?’
‘Well you’d better be ready for more speculation, Dad. Especially now you’ve landed in England.’
‘What has that got to do with anything?’
Paul began pacing, enjoying his father’s discomfort. ‘Elementary, my dear Watson,’ he intoned in a creditable imitation of Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes. ‘One, the woman has dark hair and green eyes, just like the delicious Miss Armstrong. Two, she leaves you to cross the ocean – everyone’s guess is she goes to England because you’ve hardly ever been here despite your success in the British charts. Three, there are references in the songs to places in Indiana, where you grew up. Four, my grandparents gave me your high school year book when I graduated. They thought I’d get a kick out of seeing you in your senior year, and there she was – an English exchange student called Alexandra Black. I figured it out years ago, Dad. Chances are plenty of others will too. Maybe after all these years your
Dream Woman
is going to come back and haunt you. I’m only surprised that some of the other journos haven’t asked about her.’ He stopped pacing and faced his father. ‘So, now you’ve met her daughter, are you going to look her up?’