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  “Thank you. I understand Bella Flora is pretty gorgeous, too,” Bitsy said.

  A bottle of sauvignon blanc arrived at the table and was poured by a uniformed attendant. For a few moments Nikki allowed herself to miss the moneyed and glamorous life that had once been hers. Salads arrived along with freshly baked breads. Bitsy had been born into serious money, and inherited more, but she had an equally easy manner with guests and the people who served her. Once they might have chatted about common acquaintances and parties they’d both attended, but Nikki had become persona non grata when it became known that the person who had defrauded so many of the local elite was her brother. Grateful for Nikki’s hand in arranging the marriage that had seemingly turned into a true love match, Bitsy was one of the few who had not tarred Nikki with Malcolm’s brush.

  The day was beautiful; the wine was crisp and dry. The salad, which was filled with chunks of crab and lobster, was delicious. Nikki was debating how best to bring up Do Over when Bitsy said, “I’ve really been enjoying your show. I binge watched season one. I had no idea you were so handy.”

  Maddie choked slightly on her wine.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “None of us but Avery started out at all handy.”

  “Yes, that’s half the fun,” Bitsy admitted. “But I’ve loved watching the friendship form between you.”

  “Adversity and being forced to live in such close quarters will do that to people,” Nikki said.

  “I don’t know.” Bitsy took a sip of wine. “Some people in those situations just get nastier. Speaking of which, I think what the network has put you through is appalling.” She set her glass down. “Is that all scripted ahead of time?”

  Nikki snorted. “Good God, no. They just keep dropping these bombs on us, trying their best to humiliate us.”

  Bitsy shook her head in sympathy.

  “We agreed to a televised renovation program. But that’s not even close to what we got,” Maddie said.

  Nikki could have kissed her for setting things up so perfectly. “We’ve had a falling-out with the network.”

  “Oh?” Bitsy finished her salad and set her fork on the plate.

  “Yes. We’re looking at producing the next season ourselves,” Nikki said, careful to keep her tone casual.

  “My daughter Kyra is a filmmaker and can handle the shooting and editing,” Maddie said.

  “Oh, yes, I remember meeting her,” Bitsy said as the plates were removed and the last of the wine poured. “Wasn’t she involved with . . .”

  “Daniel Deranian,” Maddie said but did not elucidate.

  “And Avery, our other partner, is a trained architect and licensed contractor who grew up on her father’s construction sites. She did a show on HGTV called Hammer & Nail,” Nikki stepped in to explain. “She’s got a project already locked up. It’s a really cool midcentury hotel right on the beach near Bella Flora. A mysterious death and disappearance took place there in the fifties.”

  Maddie shot her a look of surprise at the words “locked up,” but mercifully kept silent.

  “Interesting.” Bitsy leaned closer. Sort of like a fish who’d just spotted the bait.

  “Yes, all we need now is a couple of sponsors.” Nikki jerked the bait slightly, then let it dangle. “I don’t know if you’ve seen any of the press coverage but the upcoming season was shot in Islamorada.”

  “No, we’ve barely been in town but Bert loves fishing down there. He’s entered a few of the Redbone tournaments.” Bitsy motioned the server to bring dessert. “What kind of property did you work on?”

  “We were supposed to turn William Hightower’s private island Mermaid Point into a B and B,” Nikki said.

  “William Hightower.” Bitsy said his name with reverence. “I have always thought that man was hot.” Her smile lit her face. “Is he that hot in person?”

  “He is,” Nikki replied, careful not to look Maddie in the eye. They were here to get Bitsy jazzed about the show and eager to invest. The fish had just nibbled. The time had come to set that hook. If that required offering up a slice of Maddie’s personal life, so be it. Maddie’s relationship with Will had hit the tabloids and would be inescapable and undeniable once season two hit the air in June anyway. “In fact, when we leave here, I’m dropping Maddie off at a Miami studio where he’s recording a new song.” She paused to let this sink in. “They’re dating.”

  Bitsy looked at Maddie appraisingly; that appraisal ended in a very large smile. “Shut up!” She practically squealed. “You are not!”

  “I know it sounds completely crazy,” Maddie said. “But I actually am.”

  Sounding more like a high schooler than a society matron, Bitsy peppered Maddie with questions, many of them personal.

  “I’m sorry!” Bitsy apologized as Maddie’s cheeks turned a bright red. “But you’re living pretty much every woman’s fantasy.”

  “I know. I’m still trying to figure out how this happened,” Maddie said.

  The questions continued, but they were asked with such honest enthusiasm and lack of malice that Maddie stopped blushing and began answering.

  Soon Bitsy was telling them that she’d known Bertrand was “the one” the moment Nikki introduced them. “It took him a little longer to accept the inevitable.”

  “I stuttered the first time I met Will.” Maddie laughed.

  “She did,” Nikki said. “I was there.”

  “And he was rude as hell because he didn’t want us there,” Maddie added.

  “Also true,” Nikki said. “If he could have tossed us off his island he would have.”

  “But he didn’t.” Bitsy cocked her head inquisitively. “And he clearly got friendlier. What happened?”

  “I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t know.” Maddie’s smile was pure Mona Lisa. “But it’s pretty great.” All signs of Maddie’s earlier worry had disappeared.

  “Oh, God, how do I get an early look at the episodes?” Bitsy asked.

  “Oh, I don’t think . . .” Maddie began.

  “I’m pretty sure I could get ahold of the entire season for a serious sponsor,” Nikki interrupted.

  Bitsy laughed as she happily swallowed the bait, the hook, the line, and the sinker. “Well, obviously I’ll have to see numbers, but throw in a chance to meet William Hightower and I’m in.”

  Maddie opened her mouth to say something, most likely that she couldn’t possibly use Will that way or some other such nonsense. Nikki shot her a warning look. After all, if Nikki was going to have to tell an FBI agent that he needed to prove he could be helpful to a possibly deranged woman, Maddie could ask Will to say hello to Bitsy Baynard.

  “Done!” Nikki said, extending her hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Just text and let me know where to pick you up on Sunday,” Nikki said to Maddie late that afternoon as she pulled the Jag up to the curb in front of SunSpot Studios. “On second thought, maybe you should just give me a call.”

  Maddie didn’t respond to the jab about her texting. She was too busy searching for her backbone, the one that would allow her to open the door, get out of the car, then walk through the front door of the recording studio.

  “Maddie?”

  “Hmmm?” Her eyes were trained on the small sign above the entry of the perfectly ordinary-looking office building.

  “You’re not getting ready to walk the plank. You’re here to watch Will record. And to enjoy yourself.”

  “Absolutely.” Maddie grasped the door handle and eased out of the Jag. She stood on the sidewalk for a few moments holding her carryall in a death grip. You’re here to support Will. To be with Will. “Thanks for the ride.”

  She watched Nikki drive away before crossing the sidewalk. Pushing through the front door, she entered a lobby done in cool grays and blacks with pops of turquoise and lots of glass and
chrome. The glossy black reception desk was occupied by a stunning redhead in her early twenties. On the wall behind the desk, bold black letters spelled out SunSpot Studios.

  The redhead looked her up and down. “Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that was neither warm nor welcoming and not at all helpful.

  “Um, yes. I’m here for a recording session.” Maddie squared her shoulders, lifted her chin.

  “Oh?” A beautifully shaped eyebrow sketched upward. The girl had flawless skin, delicate features, and even white teeth. Her green eyes turned appraising and Maddie could feel her taking in the “mom” jeans and the less-than-firm flesh she’d gone to such lengths to camouflage. It took everything she had to resist the overwhelming urge to suck in her stomach. “I’m a . . . guest of William Hightower.”

  The eyes lit with surprise. That surprise was tinged with doubt. “Your name?”

  “Madeline Singer.”

  The redhead pulled out a clipboard. Her eyes skimmed down it. Stopped. Widened. She looked Maddie up and down once more. “Let me buzz the studio.” She held the receiver to her ear, not meeting Maddie’s eyes. “Yes, I have a Madeline Singer here for . . . Oh. Yes. Okay.” She turned to Maddie with a puzzled expression. “Aaron will be right . . .” Before she could finish, a thirtysomething young man with intentionally messy brown hair, a boyish face, and a salesman’s smile was striding toward her. “There you are, Maddie! I can call you Maddie, can’t I?” He grasped her hand in his and looked her directly in the eye. “I’m Aaron Mann. Aquarian Records. Will’s setting up to lay down the guitar tracks. Let me take you back to the control room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hope Sabrina offered you something to drink?”

  The redhead’s face fell.

  “Yes, of course,” Maddie said. “But, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Well you just speak up if you need anything,” Aaron said. “Anything at all. We have instructions from Will to take good care of you.”

  Sabrina’s beautiful mouth gaped slightly. Maddie couldn’t resist aiming a smile and a wink her way.

  Aaron talked the whole way down a narrow hall and around a corner emitting a barrage of words that flowed right over her until they reached the control room, which was furnished with a leather sectional, chrome and glass tables, and lighting so low that stomach sucking seemed unnecessary. Plexiglas-framed album covers decorated the walls. A control board that looked like it could pilot a jumbo jetliner stretched beneath a thick glass partition that overlooked a studio. The engineer who sat behind it was wiry with gnarled hands, tattooed arms, and a graying ponytail. He nodded briefly when Aaron introduced them. “Nice to meet you. I’m Wiley,” he said in the raspy voice of a lifetime smoker before turning back to the microphone that hung in front of him. “Can you give me that again, Will?”

  Maddie stepped closer to the glass, where she could see Will sitting on a stool in a darkened corner, his face illuminated by a single spotlight, a microphone in front of him. With a nod of his head he began to pick out the melody. His eyes were closed, his expression more peaceful than she’d ever seen it except in sleep. His fingers moved as if of their own accord. Each note that played from the speakers and reverberated in the control room sounded almost ethereal. She held her breath as she watched and listened. Even Aaron had fallen silent. It was like watching a bird take flight. Or a child reaching for its mother. Or praying in church.

  When the last note sounded, no one moved. She thought she heard the engineer sigh as Will adjusted his headphones and reached for a bottle of water. “I’d like to try that again,” he said after he’d taken a swig.

  The engineer snorted, then flipped a switch to answer. “Hell, no,” he said, not even bothering to look at let alone ask Aaron. “I am not screwing around with perfection.” He switched off the microphone and shot Maddie an oddly sweet smile. “Will and me worked together a good bit back in the day. I almost forgot what a perfectionist he is. Even stoned out of his mind he’d never quit trying to make it better.” His gnarled hands moved bars and adjusted levers. “Why don’t you go on in there and keep him from arguing while I get set up for the next tracks?”

  The last of her discomfort faded when she entered the studio and Will’s face lit up.

  “Well there you are, Maddie-fan. I was thinking maybe you’d changed your mind.” He set his guitar in its stand and walked to her, taking her in his arms and deftly turning her back to the control room as he brought his lips down on hers. The kiss was long and thorough, so thorough that Maddie’s initial self-consciousness disappeared and she began to forget not only who she was, but where they were.

  An exaggerated throat clearing sounded in the studio. “Sorry to interrupt you all,” Wiley’s voice rang out. “But the guys have gone all polite and whatnot. They’re waiting to come in and cut the next tracks.”

  “Oh!” Maddie’s head shot up. Her knees, which had begun to resemble Jell-O, stiffened.

  “Don’t waste one single second being embarrassed, Maddie,” Will said as he let her out of the embrace but kept one arm around her waist. “I can promise you that was tame compared to the things that these guys have seen.”

  “No doubt,” she said as the studio door opened and his bandmates Kyle, Dean, and Robert walked in grinning and pretending to cover their eyes. Despite their effusive greetings and Will’s assurances, Maddie could feel her cheeks heating. They’d picked up their instruments and were teasing Will unmercifully as the studio door shut behind her. But as she took her seat back in the control room, she still couldn’t help wondering whether Will missed having “the wild” tacked onto his name.

  Although she was more than a little ashamed of her wussiness, Nicole put off the conversation about Annelise Handleman and her expectations until Sunday morning. It was the middle of May, warm but not yet hot. They’d spent most of Saturday out on the boat and most of Saturday night in bed.

  She woke slowly and reluctantly to sun streaming in through the sliding glass doors and the lovely scent of coffee brewing. She stretched and yawned and pulled the sheet up to her chin. It smelled of Joe and of their lovemaking, the memory of which twisted her lips up into a smile. She felt a hazy contentment steal over her, a sensation that was unfamiliar and unsettling.

  Her smile fled. She did not do contentment. She had not pulled herself out of poverty by being hazy. Nor had she reinvented herself by relying on others. When she’d loved too much, her own brother had taken advantage of that weakness. At the thought of Malcolm her stomach twisted. The situation with Annelise wasn’t the only one she’d been sidestepping.

  “Are you awake?” Joe stood in the bedroom doorway in an old pair of running shorts, his bare chest tanned and lightly chiseled. A dusting of dark hair arrowed downward.

  “Um-hmmm.” The sight of his naked torso banished Malcolm from her thoughts and reminded her of her own nakedness. She sat up, pulling the sheet with her, though given what had transpired between them the night before and the night before that, it was undoubtedly a bit late for modesty.

  “Are you ready for breakfast?”

  She stretched again. “God, you’re going to spoil me. Food, wine, sex. You’re a hard man to resist.”

  “You’ve figured out my game plan.” His smile was easy, his body and face relaxed. But his eyes were sharp as he came and sat on the side of the bed. “Now, why don’t you tell me what it is you’re worried about?”

  She pulled the sheet tighter under her chin. “You’re not planning to get out the rubber hose and the bare light bulb, are you?”

  “Not unless I need to.” His tone remained easy as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then traced the curve of her jaw with one finger.

  She shivered slightly at his touch. “Is this some sort of advanced technique devised by the FBI?”

  “No, I just like touching you. But if it helps loosen your, um, lips, I mi
ght need to research the possibilities further.” His eyes dropped to the outline of her breasts beneath the sheet, which were practically begging for his touch. She crossed her arms over them, the traitors.

  Gently, he placed his hands on either side of her, then leaned in to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut as his fingers trailed down her neck and skimmed across the sheet.

  “I can’t believe you think you can seduce it out of me.” Her voice came out in an embarrassing croak.

  “I’m not sure who’s seducing whom,” he said, smiling down at her. “You can tell me what’s bothering you before or after, but I don’t think there’s any question that we’re going to make love.” He lowered his head again and pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. To the hollow of her throat.

  His fingers reached for the sheet, but she held on to it. If they made love now, she’d never say what she needed to. Or maybe she’d say too much. “I promised Renée’s sister you’d come talk with her so she could be sure she was comfortable with you.” She closed her eyes but had no idea whether it was a feeble attempt to hide from his reaction. Or her own.

  “She wants to interview me?” It wasn’t irritation but amusement she heard in his voice. “Do I need to bring a résumé? References?” She opened her eyes to find him grinning. “Maybe she’d like to talk to my direct superior?” His hand settled on the sheet over her thigh. “I have no problem reassuring her that I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  She looked away, unable to meet his eyes, and she could feel him studying her. When she forced her gaze up to his, the last vestiges of his smile were gone.

  “I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to ask me for anything when I’ve offered you everything,” he said quietly.

  She pulled the sheet tighter, sat up straighter. “I hate asking. Especially when I can’t offer anything in return.” She hesitated briefly, then forced herself to continue. “I can’t go talk to Malcolm. I want to help you and, and, everybody. But I . . . I know I told you I’d do it, but I can’t. Even thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.”