“Last time I saw her she was running after her mother, so I’m really not sure.”
“Do you think anyone retrieved the camera before the picture was sent?” As she spoke, Amy was pulling out her BlackBerry from her purse.
Funny how, now, she was the one in contact mode. Or maybe it wasn’t so hysterical after all, Roper thought. “You do realize it doesn’t matter whether or not the photo was retrieved before it was sent,” he said.
Amy’s eyes, which he’d grown used to seeing full of laughter and delight, now dimmed. “I know. Big Mama knows where her daughter is and that she’s been with you. It won’t be long before the world knows it, too.”
Her voice dropped along with the light mood he’d been savoring for days. They were both keenly aware of the fact that their idyllic time together was at an end.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CASSANDRA PACED THE FLOOR of her hotel room in bare feet. The rooms had been renovated and hardwood floors replaced what had once been plush carpet. She appreciated the chic modern look, but the last thing she needed or wanted was for her next-door neighbor to hear her and know she was back in her room. She still didn’t know who Harrison had bribed to place him in the suite next to hers, but if she ever found out, she’d make sure that person was fired.
She marched to the window and back, her silk loungewear sweeping the floors. At this rate she could save the hotel money on vacuuming and dusting. A glance at the iHome clock radio/stereo on the shelf told her that it was time for Buckley’s show.
Since her son’s sudden departure, she’d taken to listening to Buckley the Bastard, hoping he’d hear about Roper’s whereabouts before she did. He had spies everywhere. But since Roper and Amy had been gone, all Buckley had done was call John a coward for leaving town. The man was all about name-calling. Yet he was persistent, and somehow, someway, he’d find out where her son had gone.
And she’d be listening when he revealed all. She flipped on the cable station that broadcast his radio show simultaneously.
The man droned on about hockey and she sighed.
A knock sounded at her door. She assumed it was Harrison and she sat quietly, hoping he’d go away. He knocked again.
“I died and went to heaven,” she called out to the person on the other side of the door. Her stomach flipped like a schoolgirl’s. Like the schoolgirl she’d once been the last time they were together, when she’d been head over heels in love with him.
She’d been in love since, but she’d never had the depth of feeling she’d had—still had—for Harrison. But those feelings scared her because he was as strong a personality as she was. And she’d been on her own for so long, she feared his ability to twist her to his whim would cause her to lose herself. And even if his whim suited hers, she didn’t want him to know he was in control. In essence, her feelings for him and the influence he wielded over her, scared her.
“You’d be in heaven if you’d just let me in,” he yelled back, his voice deep through the closed door. “We have business to discuss. I have some head shots of actors and actresses I want to screen-test for the show.”
Business or not, she didn’t want to be alone with him. “I’m sleeping,” she called back.
“You signed the contract, Cassie. You’re in this project. Working with me. So open the door.” He banged harder.
She cringed and hoped the guests in the neighboring rooms didn’t call and report them.
Yes, she’d signed the contract. She’d been tricked. She just wasn’t sure who’d done it. One minute she’d been having lunch with Yank Morgan and Harrison, who’d insisted on coming along. She’d been certain she could charm John’s whereabouts out of Yank. The next minute the subject changed from her son to the TV series and Cassandra’s resistance to the project. Yank had declared he had the perfect replacement for Cassandra. An unknown. A woman who’d never acted a day in her life. He’d suggested Lola, his wife, a lovely although plain woman, who couldn’t hold a candle to Cassandra, not in her heyday, and not now.
She’d looked to Harrison, expecting him to laugh. Instead he’d nodded thoughtfully and he’d agreed. Cassandra had lost it then. Even though she’d played into Harrison’s hands, she’d stood up in the middle of the restaurant, in front of the maître d’ and everyone, and announced there was nobody better to play th
e role than she.
Harrison had whipped out a contract and she’d signed. She’d signed without her agent, without her attorney, on principle and acting in anger. Next thing she knew, Harrison had called his assistant and the news had hit the press.
They’d conned her and she’d allowed herself to be conned.
Suddenly she heard Buckley’s voice loud and clear again. It had turned quiet and she realized Harrison had stopped banging on the door.
“Whew.” She hadn’t thought he’d give in and walk away so easily.
And though it was what she’d wanted, she found herself disappointed in him, anyway. She lowered herself to the couch and five minutes later, the key card sounded in her door and housekeeping let him inside.
“Your room,” the maid with a heavy accent said, smiling shyly up at him before she walked away.
The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Harrison inside Cassandra’s room.
She jumped up from the couch. “Well, of all the nerve!” she said, striving for her most indignant tone.
He walked forward, toward where she stood by the couch. His masculine, sensual cologne wrapped around her, touching her inside and out.