Kimberly Lang – The Downfall of a Good Girl (страница 2)

He had to hand it to the board of Bon Argent; they certainly knew how to guarantee maximum attention from the local press—attention that could be otherwise difficult to draw amid everything else happening during the Mardi Gras season. They’d probably break every fundraising record in history.

Vivi just looked like she’d like to wring his neck, but then she always looked at him like that. Some things just never changed, no matter how long you were gone from your hometown.

But the show must go on, and everyone was waiting for them to take their seats so dinner could be served. He removed his horns and solemnly placed them next to the Saint’s halo. Then he walked over to Vivi, nodded politely and waited for her to return the gesture. Slowly, they made their way to the high table. When they reached their seats a cheer went up from the crowd, and the competition of the Saints and Sinners Festival officially began. Servers appeared from the woodwork and the crowd turned its attention to the salad course.

He leaned a few inches in her direction. “You’re going to ruin three years of orthodontic work if you don’t stop grinding your teeth, Vivi.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she released her jaw the tiniest bit. She reached for her wineglass, noticed it was empty and reached for a water glass instead. He saw her look at it carefully, then shrug before she drank. Knowing Vivi, she’d debated dumping it in his lap.

“I’d say Welcome Home, but—”

“But you wouldn’t mean it.” He grinned at her to annoy her.

“But,” she corrected, “it would be rather redundant, considering the reception you just got.”

“Jealous I got more applause?”

“No.” She shifted in her chair. “I’m not an attention whore.”

“Big talk from the pageant queen.”

Vivi inhaled sharply and her smile became tight. “Some of us have outgrown our adolescence.”

He pretended to think about that for a second, then shook his head sadly. “No, you’re still sanctimonious.”

“And you’re still a—”

She stopped herself so suddenly Connor wondered if she’d bitten her tongue.

She inhaled sharply through her nose and swallowed. “You must be very pleased to finally be recognized for your achievements.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Saint Vivienne, but these titles aren’t character references.”

“Oh, really?” Vivi’s face was the picture of confused innocence. “You seem to be perfectly suited for the title.”

And there was the first dig. He should have known that Vivi wouldn’t let that pass. Although he’d been vindicated, rumor and gossip had done their damage. Everyone believed there had to be a grain of truth in there somewhere—which grain it might be was the engine that drove the gossip that wouldn’t die.

Vivi might have hit a sore spot with her first salvo, but damned if he’d admit that. “Sanctimonious and judgmental. You need to increase your repertoire.”

“Maybe you should add some to yours, as well. A little decorum from you would be nice, considering the honor you’ve been given.”

“According to you, it’s not really an honor, now, is it?”

“Yet you still seem very pleased with yourself.” She snorted. “You look ridiculous, you know. Black leather pants, Connor? Really? What is this? 1988?”

He’d had a similar thought when they’d been presented to him. “I agree on the pants. Very eighties glam metal. But then I guess it fits the costume.”

Vivi smiled—a genuine one this time—at the server who filled her wineglass, but the smile disappeared as soon as the server did. “I don’t know what Max was thinking,” she grumbled at her salad. “The Saint and the Sinner are supposed to be local celebrities.”

“I’m literally the boy next door, Vivi. I’m as local as you are.”

“You were local,” she corrected him. “Now you’re international. You’re off touring far more than you’re in town.”

He tried to get comfortable in his chair, but the enormous black wings attached to his back made that feat nearly impossible. He didn’t quite understand the mixed-metaphor approach to Saints and Sinners, but Ms. Rene had gone for a Lucifer vibe. He felt more like a giant crow. “So it’s the fact that my job requirements keep me out of town a lot that you object to?”

Vivi tried to brush her hair back over her shoulder, but it only got tangled in her wings, creating modern art-inspired shapes in the white feathers. She tugged at the strands as she spoke. “I object to the creation of an unlevel playing field.”

Except for that jet-black hair, Vivi had the right looks to pass as an angel—wide blue eyes, fair skin, elegant features. The fire in her eyes was far from angelic, though. Irritation made her movements jerky, tangling her hair even worse.

“How is this unlevel in any way?”

With one final tug that probably pulled some of it out by the roots, Vivi finally got the last of her hair loose. A rhinestone from her wings, loosened in the tussle, fell into her cleavage. Vivi looked down briefly, and Connor’s eyes followed hers to the valley of creamy skin before he snapped them back to her face. She had a beautiful mouth, lush and full and sinful—until she opened it and killed the illusion.

“Your groupies and your fan club and all your famous friends will make sure to fill your coffers so that you win.”

“But that’s what this is about, right? Raising money?”

“Of course that’s what’s important,” she conceded through a jaw clenched so tight it had to be painful, “but you have an unfair advantage when it comes to the actual contest. No one could compete with you.”

He grinned at her. “I’m glad to finally hear you admit it.”

“I meant,” she gritted out, “that I’m a hometown girl and you’re a freakin’ rock star. You have a bigger fan base by default and that’s an unfair advantage.”

“Your title is ‘Saint’, Vivi, not ‘martyr’.”

Vivi’s knuckles turned white, and Connor expected the stem of her wineglass to snap at any moment.

“Just eat your dinner.”

He shot her a smile instead. “You could just concede now, you know.”

She choked on her wine. “Hell has not frozen over.”

“So it’s on?” he challenged.

“You’re damn right it’s on.” Grabbing her fork, she speared her lettuce with far more force than necessary.

Vivi could never turn down a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, Vivi went after everything in her full-out, take-no-prisoners style. He actually respected that about her. It was one of the few things they had in common. Everything else about her, though, drove him insane. Always had.

He really shouldn’t let Vivi get to him. He was an adult, for God’s sake. Vivi might not like him, but plenty of other women did, so her holier-than-Connor attitude shouldn’t bother him. There was something about her, though, that just crawled under his skin and itched.

Would he have agreed to do this if he’d known up front that Vivi would be a part of it? Or would he have just sent another check and let it go?

No, he’d been thinking about home for a while now; this was just the nudge he’d needed to get him here. It gave him an excuse to do some damage control, make some new headlines that didn’t involve paternity suits or sexual activities. He could take a step back and maybe take a deep breath for the first time in years.

He hadn’t realized how truly tired he was. Getting everything he’d ever wanted in life was great in theory, but he hadn’t known he’d be left feeling like a well-dressed hobo. He had accepted that at first: he couldn’t have gotten this far if he’d been tied down to any one place or thing. There was a great freedom to it. But it came at a cost, nonetheless.

Being home—really home, not just the place he slept between shows—made him feel like the earth was solid under his feet again. The ideas that had been swimming unformed in the back of his mind seemed to be taking shape now that he was here. New Orleans was good for his mind and soul, and he could use the next few weeks to really refocus and figure out what was next. Or what he wanted to be next.

He heard Vivi’s deep sigh of irritation and it brought him back to the present. Right now he had a contest to win. It felt good to come home; even better to come home to a warm welcome and the opportunity to do something good for his hometown.

Annoying Vivi while he did it was just a bonus.

Vivi chewed each bite a dozen times and then immediately put another bite in her mouth to keep it full. She couldn’t control her thoughts, but this was one way to guarantee she would not take Connor’s bait and end up saying something she’d regret later.

This just sucked. She’d headed enough fundraisers to know that Connor was a gift from the fundraising gods. The money would pour in and the publicity would be unreal. The rational, reasonable part of her mind applauded Max Hale’s choice and envied his ability to get Connor to agree to participate.

But Connor Mansfield? Argh. If she had to be paired with a musical superstar, why couldn’t they have picked any one of the other dozens of musical legends who called New Orleans home? But, no, they had to get maximum mileage by bringing Connor in, especially since he was very much the biggest Sinner in the media right now.

From the top table she had an excellent view of the entire ballroom. The guest list was a Who’s Who of New Orleans’ rich and powerful, and she knew every face in the crowd. And everyone in the room knew damn well that they hated each other.