Julie Leto – Brazen & Burning (страница 2)

No, Sydney Colburn’s life had come to a stop at precisely five o’clock Wednesday afternoon—a full three days prior to the wedding—simply because she’d reached the pinnacle of her career. Her newest book, a hardcover historical set on the moors of Scotland, had debuted in the number one spot on the coveted New York Times bestseller list. She’d achieved her single most important dream, as evidenced by the newspaper Cassie had carried into the condo and was now spreading carefully over Sydney’s butcher-block tabletop.

“Congratulations. I hear you kicked some literary ass last week,” Cassie said, attempting to couch her understated tone with a wry grin.

“Apparently,” Sydney grumbled.

Sydney had dreamed about this day since she first learned there ever was such a thing as a bestseller list. These novels were in such demand by booksellers and readers across the country that the titles and authors’ names were printed in the country’s most prestigious newspaper.

“Aunt Dev said you’ve wanted this all your life.”

“Well, I don’t think I wanted it when I was four,” Sydney quipped. “My main ambition then would have been a Malibu Barbie with a cool Corvette convertible.”

“You drive a Corvette convertible,” Cassie pointed out. “There may be a connection.”

Sydney raised her eyebrows, wincing as the simple movement made her head throb all the more. “You think?”

Cassie sighed in the way only someone younger than twenty could. Sydney glanced at the refrigerator again, wondering if that “hair of the dog that bit you” saying was true. She owned at least one bottle of vodka or gin or rum or tequila. She vaguely remembered a fully stocked wet bar somewhere in the living room. She didn’t drink much, but when she did, she made it count. Only, she didn’t really want more alcohol. She wanted to get rid of the kid, so she could go back to wallowing in peace.

“When you set a goal, you set a goal,” Cassie continued, obviously intent on having this deep psychological conversation even if Sydney didn’t want to. Oh, well. Why fight it? She didn’t have anyone else to hash this out with.

Devon was on her honeymoon, and while the others in her circle were good for shopping excursions and beachside lunches, none of them were writers. They supported her career by buying her books and talking them up to anyone willing to listen to their pitch, but none of them would really understand the downside of her reaching her ultimate goal. Even though they knew her profession held little of the glamor the media hyped and they respected her hard work, they could see no negatives to her job. She made up stories for a living. She’d just reached a major accomplishment in popular fiction—her name above Clancy, Grisham and Roberts, for this week at least. So while she’d tried to talk to them about how lost she felt, they couldn’t get beyond excited congratulations.

She loved them for the support—she really did. But support or not, she still felt like a drifting boat on a wind-tossed sea.

She wasn’t even sure that Cassie, who’d grown up in Devon’s care and knew more about the publishing business than most literary agents, would truly understand. How could she when Sydney didn’t? She’d accomplished her dream years before she expected to, and still she wasn’t happy. Why wasn’t she flying off to New York to celebrate with her editor? Why wasn’t she searching out a ladder so she could shout her accomplishment from the top of her three-story condominium building?

God, her head hurt.

“I don’t want to talk about this, Cassie.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Sydney’s shoulders drooped. “Did you come here to help or to insult me?”

Cassie’s mother was the Grammy-award-winning rock ’n’ roll phenomenon, D’Arcy Wilde. Of all the sexy acts out there giving music lovers their MTV, only Darcy could make Madonna look like June Cleaver in a push-up bra. Madonna at least raised her own children. Darcy had pawned Cassie off on her sister Devon, and she continued to lead a wild life, trotting from one gig to the next, building a personal empire on a foundation of provocative videos and sold-out concert tours. Though Sydney and Darcy had been compared to each other many times because of their open attitudes toward sex and men, neither of them took the association as a compliment.

In short, they despised one another.

“You know, my mother likes you,” Cassie claimed.

“She also likes tearing strategic holes in her T-shirts and playing peek-a-boo with her nipples on stage. I should be flattered?”

Cassie laughed. “Darcy likes to shock people. So do you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. In order to like shocking people, you actually have to care about what people think about you. I don’t give a damn.”

Clearing her throat, Cassie nodded. “But you gave a damn about making the Times list. So what’s next?”

“Sex on the beach,” Sydney concluded.

“Oh, yeah. Drinking more is the solution.”

“I wasn’t talking about the drink. I’m going to the beach to pick up some glistening hunk, and then I’m going to have sex.”

It had been a long time since Sydney had indulged in an anonymous affair. Too long. She searched her mind for a face—names were usually optional—and she couldn’t place one. Hmm. In fact, the first face that came to mind—rugged, handsome and highlighted by the most unusual almond-tinted eyes she’d ever seen—belonged to Adam Brody. God. Adam Brody. He’d literally disappeared out of her life over a year ago, though he still he managed to creep into her thoughts every so often. At weak moments.

“I shouldn’t be telling you about my love life,” Sydney said.

“You’re not ashamed of your free-love lifestyle, are you?” Cassie asked, her tone a tad too suspicious for Sydney’s liking.

“The fact that Sydney and shame start with the same letter is the only connection between me and that emotion,” she assured her. “On the other hand, I don’t want to corrupt you. My lifestyle is just that—my lifestyle. My choices aren’t for everyone.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Cassie concluded. She scraped her chair back and headed toward the fridge, which Sydney noticed she’d left open.

As she watched Cassie rise on her tippy-toes to peer behind the carton of week-old skim milk, Sydney realized something.

The kid was wearing makeup.

In all the years she’d known her, from way back when Cassie’s main concern in life revolved around Beanie Babies, throughout childhood and her teen years, Cassie chose her clothes for comfort and brushed her hair only after her aunt threatened to withhold her allowance. She eschewed high school homecoming dances and proms in favor of opera night or a hockey game. So why did the levelheaded, giggle-free Cassie suddenly look like an ideal candidate for Temptation Island?

That rumor she’d heard about Cassie and a boyfriend must have been true. No wonder she was suddenly so concerned with the state of Sydney’s life. No one could be more meddling than a young woman in love.

Cassie retrieved a jug of orange juice and shut the door. “You can have your choices, Sydney. Thanks to you and my mother, I have lived a vicarious wild life I won’t ever need to experience for myself.”

Sydney raised an eyebrow, watching through bleary eyes as Cassie retrieved two glasses, filled them, and replaced the jug. She’d always known the kid was mature beyond her years and had had amazing insights since she was old enough to speak in sentences, but sometimes she still surprised Sydney. Mainly because Sydney constantly underestimated her young friend.

“You’re sure?” Sydney asked. “Most kids your age are just clamoring to live life on the edge.”

Cassie visibly shivered. “Most kids today aren’t raised on the edge.”

“Devon made sure your life was normal,” Syd reminded her.

“Thank God. But I eavesdropped on your little tête-à-têtes with my aunt during Tuesday-night poker. And I watched Entertainment Tonight at least once a week to find out which boy toy my mother had most recently dumped.”

Cassie placed one OJ in front of Sydney, then shook out two aspirin from the bottle she found in the cabinet over the sink. Sydney downed them greedily.

“It’s safe to say I’m immune from wanting to be like you or my mother,” Cassie concluded.

Sydney sighed in relief, pressing her hand to her throbbing brow. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Cassie slid back into the chair across from hers. “You look horrible—you know that, right?”

“Doesn’t come as a big surprise.”

“Picking up some nameless hunk might not be an easy feat.”

Sydney chuckled. “Maybe that wasn’t the best idea I’ve had.”

Cassie leaned back, then kicked her feet onto the chair beside hers. “Mom bought me a spa package over at Safety Harbor for graduation that I still haven’t used. I’d bet they’d fit us in on short notice—you being a New York Times bestselling author and all.”

“Oh, and the fact that your mother is D’Arcy Wilde would have nothing to do with it?”

“Couldn’t hurt…”

The idea sounded tempting, even to Sydney in her foggy condition. But after spending the day being salted, exfoliated, massaged and pampered, what then? She’d still have the same problem that she’d had for the past four days. She had no idea what she was going to do next with her life or career.