Part 22 (1/2)

”Ross, how could you?” she sobbed. ”Our wedding is only a few weeks away.”

”We are not getting married, Heather.”

The sobbing ended abruptly. ”Are you saying you're breaking our engagement?

”We were never getting married. I didn't ask you to marry me. I don't know what you're playing at or if you're actually delusional, but we are not now and never were engaged.”

”I think you'll find that according to the top celebrity wedding planner, the most exclusive caterer, and the most expensive florist in Hollywood, we are engaged. Not to mention, the designer of my $100,000 wedding dress. She's absolutely certain we are engaged and you are paying for my dress.” Heather's voice had turned surprisingly composed.

”You chose to make those arrangements, not me,” he replied, getting irritated. He'd called her to do her a favor, not to get drawn into her insanity again.

Then the sobbing re-commenced. ”Ross, Ross,” she cried brokenly. ”How could you treat me like this? Don't you know you're breaking my heart?”

What heart?

”We're completely off topic. We need to talk about something serious.” Ross found himself writing the words ”wedding planner” and ”contact”.

”What could be more serious than a broken engagement? You're practically leaving me at the altar. I'm going to need compensation.” She didn't sob now. She ranted. ”You owe me something for humiliating me like this.”

”What are you talking about? Are you absolutely mad?”

”You owe me the role of Francesca and a share of the profits for the sequel to SpyMatrix.”

”There is no sequel to SpyMatrix.”

”I know there is. That new film you've been talking about is a cover.”

Ross tugged a hand through his hair. ”Heather. Listen closely to what I'm saying and try to comprehend. We are not getting married and there is no sequel to SpyMatrix. We need to talk about Clarence and his friends.”

Silence screamed from the phone for long seconds.

”Who's Clarence?” Heather finally asked ”Come on now. I saw you talking to him at the convention. The two of you are somehow mixed up with that Gigantor and his boss and I want to know what's going on. Kubikov seems to think I'm trying to blackmail him.”

The call cut off.

”Dammit.” Ross dialed out to Heather's number. A mechanical sounding voice intoned that the voicemail box of the cell phone customer he was calling was full.

Brilliant.

He tore the last sheet of paper off the cardboard backing and then tossed the trash in the wastebasket. He folded the note and then stuffed it in his pocket. Ross would worry about his ”engagement” later.

”We lost them,” Ivan said, closing the door of Kubikov's strip club office behind him.

Kubikov sank down into the desk chair. He removed the Glock from his waistband and placed it in his lap. ”I am not understanding all this incompetence. Why can you not get this done, brother?” He loved Ivan, but he seriously wanted to shoot someone. His brother was the only one around. He stared at the photo of his mother on the wall. She wouldn't like it if he shot Ivan.

One rap of a fist on the door and it pushed inward. Betsy marched in. Just what he didn't need.

”I want to perform tonight,” Betsy said, jutting one hip out and crossing her arms over her chest.

”No,” Ivan said, glaring at her.

”You don't order me around. You aren't my boss,” Betsy said glaring right back at her brother-in-law. ”You're n.o.body's boss.”

Ivan's eyes darted to Kubikov. ”My brother doesn't need trouble from you tonight, woman.”

Kubikov appreciated his brother's thoughtfulness because Kubikov had reached the end of his patience.

”Just go home and be with baby,” Kubikov said, rising. He walked over to the door and held it open for her.

Betsy looked from him to Ivan. ”I'll go home...tonight. But if things don't change soon, I'm going to dance. If not here, at some other club.”

”Okay, okay. Don't threaten me, woman.” He glowered at her.

”Don't threaten the boss,” Ivan warned.

”Why don't you take her home?” Kubikov suggested to his brother. ”That way I'll know she got there safely.”

”Da,” Ivan said and then took Betsy's arm. She didn't protest. The two walked out and Kubikov closed the door behind them.

Finally, someone was doing something he'd asked them to do.

Mo wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. The moisture smeared and the face-her face-staring back at her from its depths, blurred.

”Come on, Mo,” she mumbled to herself. Mo knew she had to leave this bathroom sometime. She'd prolonged it as much as she could. What was she afraid of? Ross certainly wouldn't jump her bones like some ravenous tiger.

But then again, maybe that's what she was afraid of. It would be so much easier if Ross would accept the burden of decision and she could fall into his arms without conscious choice. If she came on to him, would he think her an easy conquest?

Oh, my gouda! She was having the old 'will he respect me in the morning' conversation with herself. But as ridiculous as it was, the question nagged at her. Would he respect her? But at the same time, wouldn't she regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't act on her attraction to him? She had to take this once-in-a-dozen-lifetimes opportunity.

As the blurred image cleared, Mo saw the eyes in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and frightened. If something did happen with Ross, what would it mean? A one-night stand? More? What did she want it to mean?

The ultimate humiliation would be if he didn't want her at all. But what if he did? That thought sent excited tremors-but also spears of fear-through her.

A knock on the door brought her to attention.

”Still all right in there?”

She wasn't, but not in the way he meant. ”Yes, I'll be out in a minute,” she called back.

Mo wrapped one of the larger towels around her damp body. The texture scratched her skin and barely covered all of her important bits.

”I am a confident, sensual woman,” she said to herself in the mirror. Mo turned toward the door and squared her shoulders. She opened the door and walked out into the bedroom with what she hoped was her s.e.xiest self-a.s.sured saunter.

Ross sat on the bed furthest from the bathroom. Talley swished back and forth, rubbing himself against Ross's leg.