jerked his head into the semblance of a nod. ‘Then I’ll say goodbye and thank you to use the back door on your way out.’
‘I always do. Paparazzi, you know.’ She smiled, but he saw her chin tremble, just the tiniest bit, and with stinging certainty he knew that despite her go-to-hell attitude, he’d hurt her.
And even though he knew he shouldn’t care, not one iota, he knew he did. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, because the sooner he was rid of her, the better. She didn’t answer, just stared at him with those storm cloud eyes, her chin lifted defiantly—and still trembling. Swearing aloud this time, Luke turned and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER TWO
“‘BRYANT’S REOPENING HIT exactly the right note between self-deprecation and assurance,’” Jenna read from the newspaper as she came into Luke’s office, kicking the door closed behind her with one high-heeled foot. She glanced at him over the top of the paper, her eyes dancing. ‘It was a total hit!’
Luke gave a rather terse smile back. He didn’t want to kill Jenna’s buzz, but he hadn’t meant the reopening to be ‘self-deprecating’—whatever that was supposed to mean. A quick scan of the morning’s headlines had reassured him that the opening had been well received, if not exactly how he’d envisioned, and the till receipts at the end of the day had offered more proof. It was enough, Luke hoped, to continue the relaunch of Bryant Stores across the globe—if his brother Aaron agreed.
He felt the familiar pang of frustration at still having to clear any major decisions with his brother, even though he was thirty-eight years old and had been running Bryant Stores for over a decade. He’d surely earned a bit more of Aaron’s trust, but his brother never gave it. Their father had set up the running of Bryant Enterprises in his will, and it meant that Aaron could call all the shots. And that, Luke knew, was one thing Aaron loved to do.
‘Getting Aurelie really worked,’ Jenna said. ‘All the papers mention her.’
‘They usually do,’ Luke answered dryly. He spun around in his chair to face the rather uninspiring view of Manhattan’s midtown covered in a muggy midsummer haze. He did not want to think about that out-of-control pop princess, or the shaming reaction she’d stirred up in him.
‘Apparently it was a stroke of genius to have her sing,’ Jenna continued, her voice smug with self-satisfaction.
‘Hitting the right note between self-deprecation and assurance?’ Luke quoted. The newspaper had managed to ridicule Aurelie even as they lauded the opening. Even if Aurelie is too washed up to reinvent herself, Bryant’s obviously can. Briefly he closed his eyes. How did she stand it, all the time? Or did she just not care?
‘Maybe you should have her perform at all the openings,’ Jenna suggested and Luke opened his eyes.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’ Jenna persisted. ‘I know she’s a bit of a joke, but people still like her music. And the newspapers loved that we hired a has-been to perform … They thought it was an ironic nod to—’
‘Our own former celebrity. Yes, I read the papers, Jenna. I’m just not sure that was quite the angle we were going for.’ Luke turned around and gave his Head of PR a quelling look. He liked hiring young people with fresh ideas; he wanted change and innovation, unlike his brother. But he didn’t want Aurelie.
Actually, the problem is, you do.
‘Maybe not,’ Jenna persisted, ‘but it worked. And the truth is that nobody wants the old Bryant’s any more. You can only coast on a reputation for so long.’
‘Tell that to Aurelie,’ he said, meaning to close down the conversation, but Jenna let out a sharp little laugh.
‘But that’s all she has. Do you know she actually wanted to sing something new—some soppy folk ballad.’ Jenna rolled her eyes, and Luke stilled.
‘A folk ballad? She’s a pop star.’
‘I know, ridiculous, right? I don’t know what she was thinking. She wanted to wear jeans, for heaven’s sake, and play her guitar. Like we hired her for that.’
Luke didn’t answer, just let the words sink in. ‘What did you say to her?’ he asked after a moment.
‘I told her we’d hired her to be Aurelie, not Joan Baez.’
He rolled a silver-plated pen between his fingers, his gaze resting once more on the hazy skyline. ‘What did she say?’
Jenna shrugged. ‘Not much. We’re the ones who hired her. What could she do, after all?’
Nothing, Luke supposed. Nothing except lash out at anyone who assumed she was just that, only that—Aurelie, the shallow pop princess. An uncomfortable uncertainty stole through him at the thought.
Who was Aurelie, really?
‘That will be all, Jenna,’ he said and, looking faintly miffed since he’d always encouraged a spirit of camaraderie in the office, she left. Luke sank back into his chair and rubbed his hands over his face.
He didn’t want to think about Aurelie. He didn’t want to wonder if there was more to her than he’d ever expected, or worry about what she must have been feeling. He didn’t want to think about her at all.
Sighing, he dropped his hands to stare moodily out of the window. Jenna’s suggestion was ridiculous, of course. There was absolutely no way he was hiring Aurelie to open so much as a sugar packet for him. He never wanted to see her again.
Then why can’t you get her eyes out of your mind?
Her eyes. When he closed his own, he saw hers, stormy and sad and brave. He was being ridiculous, romantic, and about a woman whose whole lifestyle—values, actions, everything—he despised. She might have written some soppy new song, but it didn’t change who she was: a washed-up, over-the-top diva.
Yet her eyes.
He let out a groan of frustration and swivelled back to face his computer. He didn’t need this. The reopening of the New York flagship store might have been a success, but he still had a mountain of work to do. Bryant Enterprises had over a hundred stores across the world and Luke intended to overhaul every single one.
Without the help of Aurelie.
Aurelie bit her lip in concentration as she played the four notes again. Did it sound too melancholy? She had to get the bridge right or—
Or what?
She glanced up from the piano to stare unseeingly around the room she’d converted into a work space. Nobody wanted her music any more. She might be good for rehashing a few of her hit singles, but nobody wanted to hear soulful piano and acoustic guitar ballads. She’d got that loud and clear.
When she’d stupidly mentioned such an idea to her agent, he’d laughed. Laughed. ‘Stick with what you’re good at, babe,’ he’d said. ‘Not that it’s all that much.’
She’d fired him. Not that it mattered. He’d been about to let her go anyway.
Sighing,
