Mind Over Matter

  She felt a little tug of sympathy, a small glimmer of amusement. “Having trouble separating the wheat from the chaff, Brady?”

  “You could call it that. In any case, it looks like we’re going to be running around on the East Coast awhile. A palmist in the mountains of western Maryland, a house in Virginia that’s supposed to be haunted by a young girl and a cat. There’s a hypnotist in Pennsylvania who specializes in regression.”

  “Fascinating. It sounds like you’re having just barrels of fun.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any business that would bring you out this way.”

  “No, why?”

  “Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind seeing you.”

  She tried to ignore the fact that the idea pleased her. “David, when you put things like that I get weak in the knees.”

  “I’m not much on the poetic turn of phrase.” He wasn’t handling this exactly as planned, he thought with a scowl. Then again, he hadn’t given himself time to plan. Always a mistake. “Look, if I said I’d been thinking about you, that I wanted to see you, you’d just say something nasty. I’d end up paying for an argument instead of a conversation.”

  “And you can’t afford to go over budget.”

  “See?” Still, it amused him. “Let’s try a little experiment here. I’ve been watching experiments for days and I think I’ve got it down.”

  A.J. lay back on the bed. The fact that she was already ten minutes behind schedule didn’t occur to her. “What sort of experiment?”

  “You say something nice to me. Now that’ll be completely out of character, so we’ll start with that premise…. Go ahead,” he prompted after fifteen seconds of blank silence.

  “I’m trying to think of something.”

  “Don’t be cute, A.J.”

  “All right, here. Your documentary on women in government was very informative and completely unbiased. I felt it showed a surprising lack of male, or female, chauvinism.”

  “That’s a start, but why don’t you try something a little more personal?”

  “More personal,” she mused, and smiled at the ceiling. When had she last lain on her bed and flirted over the phone? Had she ever? She supposed it didn’t hurt, with a distance of three thousand miles, to feel sixteen and giddy. “How about this? If you ever decide you want to try the other end of the camera, I can make you a star.”

  “Too clichéd,” David decided, but found himself grinning.

  “You’re very picky. How about if I said I think you might, just might, make an interesting companion. You’re not difficult to look at, and your mind isn’t really dull.”

  “Very lukewarm, A.J.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “Why don’t we take the experiment to the next stage? Spend an evening with me and find out if your hypothesis is correct.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t dump everything here and fly out to Pennsylvania or wherever to test a theory.”

  “I’ll be back the middle of next week.”

  She hesitated, lectured herself, then went with impulse. “Double Bluff is opening here next week. Friday. Hastings Reed is a client. He’s certain he’s going to cop the Oscar.”

  “Back to business, A.J.?”

  “I happen to have two tickets for the premiere. You buy the popcorn.”

  She’d surprised him. Switching the phone to his other hand, David was careful to speak casually. “A date?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Brady.”

  “I’ll pick you up on Friday.”

  “Eight,” she told him, already wondering if she was making a mistake. “Now go to bed. I have to get to work.”

  “Aurora.”

  “Yes?”

  “Give me a thought now and then.”

  “Good night, Brady.” A.J. hung up the phone, then sat with it cradled in her lap. What had possessed her to do that? She’d intended to give the tickets away and catch the film when the buzz had died down. She didn’t care for glittery premieres in the first place. And more important, she knew spending an evening with David Brady was foolish. And dangerous.

  When was the last time she’d allowed herself to be charmed by a man? A million years ago, she remembered with a sigh. And where had that gotten her? Weepy and disgusted with herself. But she wasn’t a child anymore, she remembered. She was a successful, self-confident woman who could handle ten David Bradys at a negotiating table. The problem was she just wasn’t sure she could handle one of him anywhere else.

  She let out a long lingering sigh before her gaze passed over her clock. With a muffled oath she was tumbling out of bed. Damn David Brady and her own foolishness. She was going to be late.

  5

  She bought a new dress. A.J. told herself that as the agent representing the lead in a major motion picture premiering in Hollywood, she was obligated to buy one. But she knew she had bought it for Aurora, not A.J.

  At five minutes to eight on Friday night, she stood in front of her mirror and studied the results. No chic, professional suit this time. But perhaps she shouldn’t have gone so far in the other direction.

  Still, it was black. Black was practical and always in vogue. She turned to the right profile, then the left. It certainly wasn’t flashy. But all in all, it might have been wiser to have chosen something more conservative than the pipeline strapless, nearly backless black silk. Straight on, it was provocative. From the side it was downright suggestive. Why hadn’t she noticed in the dressing room just how tightly the material clung? Maybe she had, A.J. admitted on a long breath. Maybe she’d been giddy enough, foolish enough, to buy it because it didn’t make her feel like an agent or any other sort of professional. It just made her feel like a woman. That was asking for trouble.

  In any case, she could solve part of the problem with the little beaded jacket. Satisfied, she reached for a heavy silver locket clipped to thick links. Even as she was fastening it, A.J. heard the door. Taking her time, she slipped into the shoes that lay neatly at the foot of her bed, checked the contents of her purse and picked up the beaded jacket. Reminding herself to think of the entire process as an experiment, she opened the door to David.

  She hadn’t expected him to bring her flowers. He didn’t seem the type for such time-honored romantic gestures. Because he appeared to be as off-balance as she, they just stood there a moment, staring.

  She was stunning. He’d never considered her beautiful before. Attractive, yes, and sexy in the coolest, most aloof sort of way. But tonight she was breathtaking. Her dress didn’t glitter, it didn’t gleam, but simply flowed with the long, subtle lines of her body. It was enough. More than enough.

  He took a step forward. Clearing her throat, A.J. took a step back.

  “Right on time,” she commented, and worked on a smile.

  “I’m already regretting I didn’t come early.” A.J. accepted the roses and struggled to be casual, when she wanted to bury her face in them. “Thank you. They’re lovely. Would you like a drink while I put them in water?”

  “No.” It was enough just to look at her.

  “I’ll just be a minute.”

  As she walked away, his gaze passed down her nape over her shoulder blades and the smooth, generously exposed back to her waist, where the material of her dress again intruded. It nearly made him change his mind about the drink.

  To keep his mind off tall blondes with smooth skin, he took a look around her apartment. She didn’t appear to have the same taste in decorating as Clarissa.

  The room was cool, as cool as its tenant, and just as streamlined. He couldn’t fault the icy colors or the uncluttered lines, but he wondered just how much of herself Aurora Fields had put into the place she lived in. In the manner of her office, nothing was out of place. No frivolous mementos were set out for public viewing. The room had class and style, but none of the passion he’d found in the woman. And it told no secrets, not even in a whisper. He found himself more determined than ever to discover how many she had.

  When
A.J. came back she was steady. She’d arranged the roses in one of her rare extravagances, a tall, slim vase of Baccarat crystal. “Since you’re prompt, we can get there a bit early and ogle the celebrities. It’s different than dealing with them over a business lunch or watching a shoot.”

  “You look like a witch,” he murmured. “White skin, black dress. You can almost smell the brimstone.”

  Her hands were no longer steady as she reached for her jacket. “I had an ancestor who was burned as one.”

  He took the jacket from her, regretting the fact that once it was on too much of her would be covered. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “In Salem, during the madness.” A.J. tried to ignore the way his fingers lingered as he slid the jacket over her. “Of course she was no more witch than Clarissa, but she was…special. According to the journals and documents that Clarissa gathered, she was twenty-five and very lovely. She made the mistake of warning her neighbors about a barn fire that didn’t happen for two days.”

  “So she was tried and executed?”

  “People usually have violent reactions to what they don’t understand.”

  “We talked to a man in New York who’s making a killing in the stock market by ‘seeing’ things before they happen.”

  “Times change.” A.J. picked up her bag, then paused at the door. “My ancestor died alone and penniless. Her name was Aurora.” She lifted a brow when he said nothing. “Shall we go?”

  David slipped his hand over hers as the door shut at their backs. “I have a feeling that having an ancestor executed as a witch is very significant for you.”

  After shrugging, A.J. drew her hand from his to push the button for the elevator. “Not everyone has one in his family tree.”

  “And?”

  “And let’s just say I have a good working knowledge of how different opinions can be. They range from everything from blind condemnation to blind faith. Both extremes are dangerous.”

  As they stepped into the elevator he said consideringly, “And you work very hard to shield Clarissa from both ends.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about you? Are you defending yourself by keeping your relationship with Clarissa quiet?”

  “I don’t need defending from my mother.” She’d swung through the doors before she managed to bank the quick surge of temper. “It’s easier for me to work for her if we keep the family relationship out of it.”

  “Logical. I find you consistently logical, A.J.”

  She wasn’t entirely sure it was a compliment. “And there is the fact that I’m very accessible. I didn’t want clients rushing in to ask me to have my mother tell them where they lost their diamond ring. Is your car in the lot?”

  “No, we’re right out front. And I wasn’t criticizing, Aurora, just asking.”

  She felt the temper fade as quickly as it had risen. “It’s all right. I tend to be a little sensitive where Clarissa’s concerned. I don’t see a car,” she began, glancing idly past a gray limo before coming back to it with raised brows. “Well,” she murmured. “I’m impressed.”

  “Good.” The driver was already opening the door. “That was the idea.”

  A.J. snuggled in. She’d ridden in limos countless times, escorting clients, delivering or picking them up at airports. But she never took such cushy comfort for granted. As she let herself enjoy, she watched David take a bottle out of ice.

  “Flowers, a limo and now champagne. I am impressed, Brady, but I’m also—”

  “Going to spoil it,” he finished as he eased the cork expertly out. “Remember, we’re testing your theory that I’d make an interesting companion.” He offered a glass. “How’m I doing?”

  “Fine so far.” She sipped and appreciated. If she’d had experience in anything, she reminded herself, it was in how to keep a relationship light and undemanding. “I’m afraid I’m more used to doing the pampering than being pampered.”

  “How’s it feel to be on the other side?”

  “A little too good.” She slipped out of her shoes and let her feet sink into the carpet. “I could just sit and ride for hours.”

  “It’s okay with me.” He ran a finger down the side of her throat to the edge of her jacket. “Want to skip the movie?”

  She felt the tremor start where his finger skimmed, then rush all the way to the pit of her stomach. It came home to her that she hadn’t had experience with David Brady. “I think not.” Draining her glass, she held it out for a refill. “I suppose you attend a lot of these.”

  “Premieres?” He tilted wine into her glass until it fizzed to the rim. “No. Too Hollywood.”

  “Oh.” With a gleam in her eye, A.J. glanced slowly around the limo. “I see.”

  “Tonight seemed to be an exception.” He toasted her, appreciating the way she sat with such careless elegance in the plush corner of the limo. She belonged there. Now. With him. “As a representative of some of the top names in the business, you must drop in on these things a few times a year.”

  “No.” A.J.’s lips curved as she sipped from her glass. “I hate them.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  “Then what the hell are we doing?”

  “Experimenting,” she reminded him, and set her glass down as the limo stopped at the curb. “Just experimenting.”

  There were throngs of people crowded into the roped off sections by the theater’s entrance. Cameras were clicking, flashes popping. It didn’t seem to matter to the crowd that the couple alighting from the limo weren’t recognizable faces. It was Hollywood. It was opening night. The glitz was peaking. A.J. and David were cheered and applauded. She blinked twice as three paparazzi held cameras in her face.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” he muttered as he steered her toward the entrance.

  “It reminds me why I agent instead of perform.” In an instinctive defense she wasn’t even aware of, she turned away from the cameras. “Let’s find a dark corner.”

  “I’m for that.”

  She had to laugh. “You never give up.”

  “A.J. A.J., darling!”

  Before she could react, she found herself crushed against a soft, generous bosom. “Merinda, how nice to see you.”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you how thrilled I am you’re here.” Merinda MacBride, Hollywood’s current darling, drew her dramatically away. “A friendly face, you know. These things are such zoos.”

  She glittered from head to foot, from the diamonds that hung at her ears to the sequined dress that appeared to have been painted on by a very appreciative artist. She sent A.J. a smile that would have melted chocolate at ten paces. “You look divine.”

  “Thank you. You aren’t alone?”

  “Oh, no. I’m with Brad….” After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled again. “Brad,” she repeated, as if she’d decided last names weren’t important. “He’s fetching me a drink.” Her gaze shifted and fastened on David. “You’re not alone, either.”

  “Merinda MacBride, David Brady.”

  “A pleasure.” He took her hand and, though she turned her knuckles up expectantly, didn’t bring it to his lips. “I’ve seen your work and admired it.”

  “Why, thank you.” She studied, measured and rated him in a matter of seconds. “Are we mutual clients of A.J.’s?”

  “David’s a producer.” A.J. watched Merinda’s baby-blue eyes sharpen. “Of documentaries,” she added, amused. “You might have seen some of his work on public television.”

  “Of course.” She beamed at him, though she’d never watched public television in her life and had no intention of starting. “I desperately admire producers. Especially attractive ones.”

  “I have a couple of scripts I think you’d be interested in,” A.J. put in to draw her off.

  “Oh?” Instantly Merinda dropped the sex-bomb act. A. J. Fields didn’t recommend a script unless it had meat on it. “Have them sent over.”

  “First thing Monday.”

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