Sympathy for the Devil Read online

  “It’s very sexy,” I said, wondering a little at my own daring.

  He didn’t look over at me, but I could see one of his eyebrows lift slightly. “You like it better than the Bentley?”

  I said, with a curl of the lip, “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that comparisons were odious?”

  That got a laugh. “So I did. I must confess to wanting to make something of a splash. Even Bentleys can be seen around town, but the dealer assured me there were only three of this model currently in Southern California. I figured those were fairly good odds.”

  “Unless Jay Leno is eating at the Ivy tonight, too.”

  He shook his head, grinning. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  The restaurant was coming up on our left; somehow Luke managed to maneuver the car around to make a U-turn that brought us up directly in front of the valet station. Even in a place as used to money, celebrities, and upscale automobiles as the Ivy, I could see heads turn as Luke made his way over to the sidewalk. A valet hastened to open the passenger door for me. Maybe the restaurant’s patrons were trying to see if Luke and I were famous. After all, who else would be riding around in a car like that?

  Praying I wouldn’t wobble too much on my spike heels, I took Luke’s hand as he helped me out of the Aston and on to the maitre d’s station. The Ivy is known for its outdoor dining, even in the winter, but Luke had secured us a premium table near the fireplace in the front room, for which I was glad. I didn’t have a problem with al fresco dining when the season allowed it, but I never understood the logic in huddling under those outdoor gas heaters and trying to pretend it was still eighty degrees out when everyone was bundled up in coats.

  I couldn’t be sure whether it was because they really did think Luke was the local version of James Bond or simply that “doors opened” for the Devil. Whatever the reason, we were shown to our table immediately by a staff that was all smiles. Once we were seated, I kept shooting surreptitious glances around the room, trying to see if I recognized any celebrities, but although most people there were glossy and perfect, they didn’t look famous.

  “I promise I’ll tell you if any movie stars show up,” Luke said from behind his menu.

  “I wasn’t looking,” I said hastily, opening up my own menu.

  The familiar sly smile was back. “Of course you weren’t.”

  Our waitress appeared, as flawless as the restaurant’s patrons, and Luke said, “I think a bottle of champagne is in order, considering why we’re here.” He glanced up at the waitress and requested some Cristal, then said, “I think you’ll find that lobster goes very well with champagne.”

  “I can imagine,” I replied, giving him a smile that felt weak even to me. Champagne. Great. Now how was I supposed to tell him I didn’t think I should be celebrating at all?

  To cover up my growing unease, I pretended to peruse the menu, scrutinizing it the way an IRS agent would dissect a questionable tax return. Luke was right — the lobster salad would probably go best with the champagne, and that way I’d still have enough room for dessert. I’d heard the desserts here were fabulous.

  Then the waitress came back with the champagne and a silver bucket, and proceeded to push out the cork without the precious liquid inside fizzing up or spilling. That was a talent I lacked, but I supposed it was one you’d have to develop quickly if you were opening bottles that cost hundreds of dollars.

  We placed our orders. Luke waited until the waitress had gone before he lifted his glass of champagne and said, “To your recent promotion.”

  I managed to mumble a thank-you and sipped my champagne. This was my first Cristal, and I had to admit it was awfully good. I actually could taste a difference between it and the lesser champagnes I’d drunk in the past, and I’m the first person to admit that my palate is far from developed. The bubbles seemed to evaporate in my mouth, and it had a wonderfully light taste that somehow reminded me of clover honey and almonds.

  “That’s amazing,” I said, after I had helped myself to a second and third sip.

  “Just another of this world’s distracting pleasures,” he replied, and his gaze seemed to rest on my mouth for a few seconds.

  I had an acid flashback to how his lips felt pressed against mine, and a slight shiver worked its way down my spine. It just wasn’t fair that he should be so damned attractive, so completely charming in his way. How was I supposed to fight against that? I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. Okay, so he’d pulled a few cosmic strings and gotten me the job of my dreams. So what? It wasn’t as if he’d offed Brian in order to get me the feature editor position. In fact, Brian had come out ahead in this particular diabolical machination, since he’d gotten his dream job at the Reporter. No harm, no foul.

  That was just self-serving rationalization, though, and I knew it. Luke couldn’t go around disturbing the order of the universe just because he was trying to impress me or get on my better side. The truth of it was that I already cared for him; I didn’t need favors or presents or other disguised bribes to get me to open my heart. Too late for that.

  “Um…about the job, actually,” I began, after I’d braced myself with a few more swallows of Cristal.

  “Yes?” The blue eyes were unreadable.

  “You didn’t…I mean, did you…did you have anything to do with that?”

  A long silence. The voices of the people around us rose and fell in their various conversations, but I couldn’t distinguish any individual words. The sound was as impersonal and meaningless as surf breaking on a shore.

  Finally Luke said, “Yes, I did.”

  I hadn’t expected him to admit it so casually. What I also hadn’t expected was the wave of anger that rushed over me. He’d replied as if the whole thing didn’t really matter very much. When I spoke again, it was in a tone of choked fury that I still hoped wouldn’t carry to the next table. “How could you?”

  “How could I?” he repeated, looking a little confused. “How couldn’t I, when it was something you wanted so much?”

  “Because — because — ” I found myself spluttering, and then had to regain my composure when the waitress appeared with my lobster salad and Luke’s crab cakes. I managed to wait until she had departed before I snapped, “Because it’s wrong! This is my career we’re talking about, not a pair of shoes I saw in a store window!”

  “Calm down,” Luke said. His mouth still had its usual wry twist, but I thought I saw a hint of puzzled anger come and go in his eyes.

  There were very few things that irritated me more than someone telling me to calm down. It was so condescending. “I am perfectly calm,” I replied, striving to make my tone very cool, very cutting. “I am merely pointing out that what you did was wrong.”

  He took a sip of his champagne. “How so?”

  “Because a job like this was something I wanted to earn for myself! I didn’t want it just handed to me on a silver platter!”

  “Oh, I see,” Luke said. He gave me a sardonic look, complete with lifted right eyebrow. “Like the way you earned that car you drive?”

  Well, of all the — I gritted my teeth and told myself that flinging a butter knife at his head probably wasn’t the best response. “That was a present,” I shot back.

  “So was this,” he returned, imperturbable as always.

  Of course I knew the situations were completely different, but at the moment I was so angry I couldn’t think of any way to articulate the finer points of the disparity. Cristal is meant to be sipped, but I just seized my champagne flute and downed the rest of the glass, then poured myself some more. Maybe if I got drunk enough I wouldn’t remember how much I wanted to throttle him at that moment. “If you want to give me a present, then buy me a necklace or something,” I said. “You don’t just gift-wrap a career and give it to someone. How am I supposed to know if I’m any good if I didn’t earn that job for myself?”

  “How much of anything have you ‘earned for yourself’?” Luke asked, and for the first time I could see a litt
le of my own anger reflected in his eyes. “Your education? Bought and paid for by your parents. The deposit on that quaint dwelling you call home? Your father, I believe.”

  “I got my current job on my own,” I retorted. I didn’t want to let him see how much his words had stung. It was true that my parents had paid for my college. I hadn’t even worked much while I was in school; I put in about fifteen hours a week as an English tutor while Micaela held down two jobs in an effort to supplement her scholarships and student loans. Of course, Nina hadn’t worked at all, but that didn’t make me feel much better.

  “True,” he said. “Although I believe you first got the editorial assistant job because the publisher’s wife was an old college friend of your father’s.”

  “What?” I gasped. I hadn’t known that. No one had ever said anything to me about a connection between my father and Mrs. Donnelly.

  “Well, your father avoided mentioning it because he knew it would have upset you.”

  Arguing with someone who was in possession of far more knowledge of the situation than you could ever hope to have was definitely frustrating at best and demoralizing to boot. To my horror, I could feel angry tears begin to prickle at the back of my eyes. Was I so incompetent, so unqualified, that the only way I could get a decent job was to have someone give it to me as a favor?

  “You shouldn’t have told me that,” I muttered, looking down toward my neglected lobster salad and forcing myself to eat some, even though my roiling stomach told me food was the last thing it needed at that moment.

  “Typical,” Luke remarked, and this time he made no attempt to hide the mocking edge to his voice. “You mortals never want to hear the truth, do you? You want to live in a make-believe world where everything goes as planned, where everything is orderly and neat. Let me tell you something.” He leaned forward, and for the first time since I’d met him I actually felt a ripple of true fear pass through me. What looked out as me through his eyes definitely was not human. “The world isn’t an orderly place. It’s full of death and pain and despair.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” I demanded. “If it’s so awful, why all the running around in designer clothes and the fancy cars and the house? Why the wining and dining and seduction? Why?”

  “Because it’s still better than Hell, you foolish girl!” Following that statement I thought I saw a few widened eyes at the next table, and Luke obviously did as well, because he lowered his voice before he continued, “There are forces at work here you couldn’t possibly comprehend.”

  “Try me,” I said, forcing a bravado I certainly didn’t feel into my voice.

  His gaze shifted away from me. Suddenly he looked very weary. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “I can’t.”

  From his tone I knew that I would get no further on that line of inquiry. I also knew if I dropped it, then I still might have a chance of salvaging the evening. But my pride had suffered a stinging blow because of that revelation regarding how I’d actually gotten my first job at the magazine. Part of me wanted to hurt him for telling me something that wouldn’t make any difference at this stage of the game. Angry as I was, I could also feel the hurt start to claw its way up into my consciousness, like the first flare of agony when the pain medication begins to wear off.

  “You’ve told me I didn’t have enough confidence,” I said, forcing the words past the choking sensation in my throat. “Well, how is securing this job for me when I’ve done nothing to earn it going to make me feel better about myself? Don’t you understand what you’ve done?”

  He stared over at me, almost expressionless, except for the tension along his jaw line.

  “You tried to buy my heart,” I said, and finally the tears welled up past all my efforts to keep them at bay. I could feel them begin to trickle down my cheeks as I added, “And you didn’t even realize it was already yours.” Then I pushed my chair back and stood, turning and rushing blindly through the crowded restaurant and into the cold night air. I had staggered almost halfway down the block before I realized he hadn’t come after me. I stood alone on the street corner, tears stinging on my face, while a couple walked past arm in arm and gave me a curious look.

  Angrily, I reached up to wipe the offending moisture from my cheeks. At least I’d had the presence of mind to gather up my purse as I fled the restaurant. Feeling chilled to the bone, I pulled out my cell phone. I always kept the numbers of several cab companies programmed in there just in case of date disasters, and I called one of them now.

  I didn’t dare allow myself to feel or think. I just waited alone there in the darkness, until the cab finally pulled up and took me away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Somewhere a phone was ringing. With a groan, I pushed the covers off my head and then blinked at the light filtering its way through the curtains. As soon as I recognized the sunlight for what it was, my brain started to throb. It took a few more minutes for my battered gray matter to process the fact that someone must be calling me. I groped for my cell phone where it lay on the nightstand.

  “Christa, where the hell are you?” Jennifer’s voice, sounding more than a little pissed off.

  “Uh — ” I blinked again, trying to focus on the clock that hung across the room on the wall above my dresser. It couldn’t really be that late.…

  Apparently it was. “You said you were going to meet me at Abbey Rose at two. It’s now almost two-thirty. Did you forget?”

  Probably the brain cells that were supposed to retain that particular piece of information had been obliterated somewhere between the first and second bottle of wine. I sat up, and a swirl of stomach acid splashed up against my esophagus. Not good. “Sorry,” I mumbled, praying I wouldn’t vomit there and then. “I guess I did.”

  A long pause. “You sound terrible. Is everything all right?”

  No, it most assuredly wasn’t, but I didn’t feel like getting into it right then. “I can be out the door in fifteen minutes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded, then realized that was a stupid thing to do, first of all because Jennifer couldn’t see me, and secondly because it made my brain feel as if it were sliding around inside my skull. “Sure,” I replied, after the room stopped spinning.

  “All right,” Jennifer said, but I could tell she was definitely less than thrilled with me. “I’ll just have all the other girls get their fittings done first. It takes about fifteen to twenty minutes with each person, so that gives you an hour.”

  “No problem,” I said, then hung up.

  Not a moment too soon, because at that point I had to push myself out of bed and run down the hall to the bathroom, where I threw up the remnants of last night’s pity party. After I was done, though, I actually felt a little bit better. I staggered to an upright position, brushed my teeth not once, but twice, and then finally got in the shower and turned the water on as hot as I could stand it.

  All right, so coming home and getting completely smashed after my fight with Luke probably wasn’t the most mature thing to have done. At the time, though, it had seemed like a pretty good idea. Anything was better than the horrible empty feeling that had taken over once I realized he wasn’t coming after me. For the record, I don’t have a habit of drinking away my problems. Once in college, right after Brad left for Stanford, I did have a bit of a lost weekend. The problem with using alcohol to erase painful memories is that, once the buzz wears off, you’re left with a really nasty headache in addition to those painful memories.

  But last night I had completely lost it. I’d wanted to forget the inhuman look in Luke’s eyes as he stared at me, the cold contempt in his voice. For the first time since I’d met him, Luke had actually acted the way I expected the Devil to behave. And, to put it mildly, I hadn’t liked it very much.

  Was it all over, then? Certainly by leaving me to make my own way home, Luke had sent a very clear signal. He wasn’t about to come crawling after me, and at th
e moment, as much as it hurt to think about never seeing him again, I wasn’t going to ask forgiveness when I hadn’t done anything wrong. Okay, causing a scene at the Ivy probably wasn’t the best way to have handled the situation. But in this case I actually felt I had the moral high ground. He was the one who had trespassed, not I. Maybe I’d shown a lack of judgment by confronting him in such a public place, but if making a foolish decision were actually a punishable offense, pretty much everyone I knew would have had to put in some jail time at some point.

  Still, I felt absolutely wretched, and it wasn’t just because I had a raging hangover. Once I got out of the shower, I opened the medicine cabinet and popped a couple of ibuprofen, then threw on some moisturizer, a little lip gloss, and some mascara. I looked like crap — dark circles under my eyes, skin pasty and blotched, but I didn’t have time to apply any spackle to cover up the worst of it. Don’t cry, I told my decidedly wan reflection. Your eyes will get red, and you’ll look even worse than you already do.

  Then I ran a comb through my wet hair, pulled it back with an elastic band, and hurried into my bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater. What I really wanted to wear was my rattiest, most comfortable sweats, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t go over very well with Jennifer. At least this way I appeared halfway presentable as long as you didn’t look too close. By then I’d already used up fifteen precious minutes, so I grabbed my purse and hustled out of the apartment, telling myself my head didn’t hurt as much as I thought it did and that the painkillers would kick in at any moment.

  All I could do then was pray to whatever capricious gods ruled L.A. traffic that there wouldn’t be any accidents or freeway construction to slow me down on the trip into Pasadena. On a good day, when cruising at the speed limit was actually a possibility and not just a foolish dream, the drive only took about twenty minutes. But I’d had times when those fifteen miles or so stretched into an hour of agonizing stop-and-go traffic.