What I Did for Love

  Poopy and the waiters began steering all the guests toward the grand foyer for the bride and groom’s entrance. Chaz started to get nervous. Georgie was used to being onstage, but tonight was different, and Chaz didn’t want her to trip or do something equally embarrassing in front of all these people. The musicians began playing an overture by Mozart or somebody. Bram came into the foyer from a door on the first floor. This was the first time Chaz had seen him in a tuxedo, but he acted like he wore one every day—like James Bond, or George Clooney, or Patrick Dempsey, but with lighter hair. He looked rich and famous, and Chaz felt a swell of pride that she was the one who took care of him.

  He moved to the bottom of the grand staircase and gazed up. The music swelled. And then Georgie appeared, and Chaz felt that same rush of pride. Georgie was glowing and healthy instead of starved and sunken-eyed. Chaz had made sure of that. She glanced at Bram and saw that he thought she was beautiful, too.

  Georgie had insisted they travel to the party separately, so Bram was seeing her for the first time. He’d half expected her to appear in Scooter’s skunk costume, as she’d threatened. He should have known better.

  Georgie looked as though she’d run naked through a crystal chandelier. The gown formed a slim column of sparkling ice that molded beautifully to her tall, slender body until it reached her knees, where it flared gently to the floor. A fine clasp of crystal lace caught the fabric at one shoulder, leaving the other bare, and a delicate lace panel cut a diagonal swatch across her body—offering the faintest and most ladylike glimpse of flesh.

  This was what audiences had waited eight seasons to see—the vision they’d been cheated of by his destructive behavior—Scooter Brown’s transformation from homeless orphan to an elegant woman with a generous spirit and lively openness that no Scofield had ever possessed. He was shaken. He could trifle with Scooter, but this intelligent, sophisticated creature felt almost…dangerous.

  Her hair was perfect. Dark, soft curls pinned back, with a few left free to dip around her face in a stylish tousle. For all Georgie’s insistence that she relied on April for everything, she had a strong sense of what worked for her, and she hadn’t made the mistake of letting anyone get near her naturally pale skin with a tanning air-brush. Nor had she decked herself with too many jewels. A pair of spectacular diamond chandelier earrings dangled from her earlobes, but she’d left her slender neck bare to make its own statement.

  Paul stood at her side, her hand resting lightly on the sleeve of his tuxedo. Having her father escort her down the staircase wasn’t part of the plan, and the expression on their faces as they smiled at each other disconcerted him. He knew Paul had been hanging around a lot lately, but Bram had been working such long hours that he had no idea what had happened to improve their relationship.

  Paul and Georgie began descending the staircase. Bram couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wasn’t considered beautiful by Hollywood standards, but the problem lay with the standards, not with her. She was something far more interesting than a Botoxed, liposucked, trout-mouth, silicon-enhanced California Frankenbeauty.

  As she paused at the landing, he belatedly remembered he was supposed to have climbed the steps to meet her. But she was used to him missing his cues, and she didn’t wait for long. He unglued his feet and climbed the stairs, stopping three steps below her. He turned one-quarter profile to the crowd and extended his hand, palm up. Corny, but she deserved the most romantic picture possible. Paul kissed Georgie on the cheek, nodded at Bram, then yielded the stage to the bride and groom. Georgie’s hand slipped warmly into his own. The guests broke out in applause as she descended the three steps to his side.

  They faced a ballroom brimming with smiles and good cheer, although half the guests were undoubtedly placing bets on how long the marriage would last. Georgie gazed up at him, her eyes tender. He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. He could play fricking Prince Charming every bit as well as Lance the Loser.

  But he had to work hard at being cynical. Tonight might be nothing more than another Hollywood fairy tale, but the illusion felt real.

  Georgie wanted it to be real. This night. The magical sparkling dress. Her friends around her, and the soft expression on her father’s face. Only the man standing at her side was wrong. But he didn’t feel as wrong as he should. They mingled with their guests, who were dressed in everything from jeans and tennis skirts to dinner jackets and schoolgirl outfits. Trev and Sasha had volunteered to give the toasts, but after everyone was seated, Paul rose unexpectedly and raised his glass. “Tonight we celebrate the commitment these two amazing people have made to each other.” He gazed at Georgie. “One of these people…I love very much.” His voice broke, and Georgie’s eyes filled with tears. Paul cleared his throat. “The other is…growing on me.”

  Everyone laughed, including Bram. The past week with her father had been strange and wonderful. Knowing how much he loved her—how much he’d loved her mother—meant everything. But as Paul began expressing hope for the bride and groom’s future, Georgie worked to keep a smile on her face. Telling her father the truth instead of trying to hide her mistakes for fear of disappointing him was the next step in her journey of becoming her own woman.

  Paul had waited until this morning to tell her he’d invited her ex-agent as his date. She was glad he’d thought of it, no matter how awkward greeting Laura had been. “It’s a nice thing to do for her,” he’d said. “This way everyone can see that you still consider her part of your inner circle.”

  Georgie had tried to make a joke out of it. “It’s also the perfect way to start letting people know you’re returning to acting, and that Laura is representing you.”

  His face had fallen. “Georgie, that’s not why—”

  “I know it’s not,” she’d said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way.” They were navigating a new relationship, with both of them trying to find their footing. She’d poked him in the ribs to make him laugh.

  The other toasts followed—Trev’s irreverent, Sasha’s warm, both of them funny. As the meal began, she and Bram were subjected to frequent interruptions from guests tapping their water goblets. Their public kisses no longer felt so phony. She’d never known a man who enjoyed kissing as much as Bram Shepard…or one who did it so well. She’d never known a man she enjoyed kissing more.

  At the next table, Laura toyed with a bite of lobster and surreptitiously pushed up her bra strap. She’d planned to wear a garden-party dress tonight, like so many of the other female guests, but at the last minute, she’d changed her mind. This was a business occasion, and she couldn’t afford to be tugging on a bodice that would inevitably show too much cleavage or worrying about bare arms that weren’t as toned as they should be. Instead, she’d opted for a simple beige business suit, a draped-neck camisole, and pearls—the sort of outfit Mrs. Scofield had worn. Other than her perpetual problem with bra straps, she’d done fairly well keeping herself neat.

  Paul’s invitation had been a shock. She’d called to break the news that he’d struck out on his first audition, but that the casting agent wanted to see him about another part. Just as she’d launched into her standard ego-repairing pep talk, he’d cut her off. “I wasn’t right for the part, but the audition was good practice.” And then he’d invited her to the party.

  She would have been foolish to refuse. Being seen here tonight would help put a little of the luster back on her professional reputation, as Paul very well knew. But she couldn’t help being wary. Paul’s icy personality had always been the perfect antidote to his good looks and other male assets, but his new vulnerability made it tempting to view him in a more unsettling way.

  Fortunately, she understood the perils of female rescue fantasies. She was clear about what she wanted from her life, and she wouldn’t screw that up just because Paul York was both more interesting and complicated than she’d ever imagined. So what if she was sometimes lonely? Her days of letting a man distract her from her real goals were long behi
nd her. Paul was a client, and being seen at this party was good business.

  He’d been attentive all evening, a perfect gentleman, but she was too nervous to eat much. While the others at the table were engaged in private conversations, she leaned closer. “Thanks for inviting me. I owe you.”

  “You have to admit tonight hasn’t been as awkward as you thought it would be.”

  “Only because your daughter is a class act.”

  “Quit defending her. She fired you.”

  “She needed to fire me. And the two of you haven’t been able to stop smiling at each other all evening, so don’t bother playing the tough guy.”

  “We talked. That’s all.” He pointed to the corner of his mouth, indicating she had something on her face. Embarrassed, she snatched up her napkin, but she didn’t get the right spot, and he ended up dabbing at her with his own.

  She grabbed her water glass when he was done. “It must have been a great talk.”

  “It was. Remind me to tell you about it the next time I’m drunk.”

  “I can’t imagine you ever getting drunk. You’re too self-disciplined.”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “When?”

  She expected him to brush her off, but he didn’t. “When my wife died. Every night after Georgie fell asleep.”

  This was a Paul York she’d only just begun to know. She gazed at him for a long moment. “What was your wife like? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  He set down his fork. “She was amazing. Brilliant. Funny. Sweet. I didn’t deserve her.”

  “She must have thought differently, or she wouldn’t have married you.”

  He looked slightly taken aback, as if he’d gotten so used to regarding himself as a second-class citizen in his marriage that he couldn’t comprehend it any other way. “She was barely twenty-five when she died,” he said. “A kid.”

  She rolled her pearls between her fingers. “And you’re still in love with her.”

  “Not in the way you mean.” He toyed with the spun sugar miniature of the Scofield mansion resting above his plate. “I guess the twenty-five-year-old inside me always will be, but that was a long time ago. She lived in her head a lot. I was as likely to find the car keys in the refrigerator as in her purse. She didn’t care anything about her appearance. It drove me crazy. She was always losing buttons or ripping things…”

  Gooseflesh crept along the base of her spine. “It’s hard to imagine you with anyone like that. The women you date are all so elegant.”

  He shrugged. “Life is messy. I look for order wherever I can find it.”

  She pleated her napkin in her lap. “But you haven’t fallen in love with any of them.”

  “How do you know? Maybe I fell in love and got rejected.”

  “Unlikely. You’re the grand prize in the ex-wives sweepstakes. Stable, intelligent, and great-looking.”

  “I was too busy managing Georgie’s career to remarry.”

  She heard his leftover self-rebuke. “You did a good job with her for a lot of years,” she said. “I’ve heard the stories. As a kid, Georgie couldn’t resist either a microphone or a pair of dancing shoes. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

  “She loved to perform. She’d climb up on tables to dance if I wasn’t watching.” His expression clouded over again. “But still, I should never have pushed her so much. Her mother would have hated that.”

  “Hey, it’s easy to criticize when you’re standing on the celestial sidelines watching somebody else do the heavy lifting.”

  She’d had the audacity to make light of his sainted wife, and his expression grew still and cold. In the old days, she’d have fallen all over herself trying to make up for it, but she didn’t feel the urge, even as his frown grew more pronounced. Instead, she leaned closer and whispered, “Get over it.”

  His head snapped up, and his killer glare turned his eyes into bullets.

  She met his gaze straight on. “It’s time.”

  Withdrawal was Paul York’s weapon of choice, and she waited for him to turn away, but he didn’t. The ice melted from his eyes. “Interesting. Georgie said the same thing.”

  He retrieved the napkin Laura had dropped and gave her a long look that melted her bones.

  Chapter 23

  At first Chaz noticed the waiter because he was really cute and he didn’t look like an actor. Too short, but with a nice body and a dark, burr haircut. As he passed the hors d’oeuvres trays, he kept stealing glances at everybody, a little sneaky, but she was doing the same thing, so she didn’t think much about it. Then she noticed the awkward way he kept turning his body.

  When she finally figured out what he was doing, she was totally pissed. She waited until the meal was nearly done before she excused herself and slipped into the service hallway, where she found him arranging dishes on a metal cart. As she came up next to him, he took in her halo with a cocky grin. “Hey, angel. What can I do for you?”

  She glanced at his name tag. “You can hand over your camera, Marcus.”

  His cockiness faded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You have a hidden camera.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  She tried to remember where television investigative reporters hid their cameras.

  “I know who you are,” the waiter said. “You work for Bram and Georgie. How much do they pay you?”

  “More than you’re getting.” Marcus wasn’t tall, but he looked like he worked out, and it belatedly occurred to her that maybe she should have gotten someone from security to handle this. But there were people around, and it seemed better to keep it quiet. “You can either give me the camera, Marcus, or I’ll have somebody take it off you.”

  She must have sounded like she meant it because he looked uneasy. The fact that she could intimidate him, even a little, made her feel good.

  “It’s no skin off your nose,” he said.

  “You’re only trying to make a living. Yeah, I understand. And once you hand it over, I’ll forget about it.”

  “Don’t be a bitch.”

  She moved quickly, reaching for the top button on his vest, the one that didn’t quite match the others. The button came off in her hand, and as she pulled it free, she met resistance from a thin piece of cable.

  “Hey!”

  With a jerk, she yanked it free. “No cameras allowed. Didn’t you get the message?”

  “What do you care? You got any idea what the photo agencies pay for shit like this?”

  “Not enough.”

  He’d turned red, but he couldn’t wrestle the camera from her without everyone seeing. She started to walk away only to have him come up behind her. “You could sell your story, you know. About working for them. I’ll bet you could get at least a hundred grand. Give me my camera back, and I’ll put you in touch with this guy. He’ll handle the whole thing for you.”

  A hundred thousand dollars…

  “You wouldn’t even have to say anything bad about them.”

  She didn’t answer. She just walked away.

  A hundred thousand dollars…

  A funny video montage of Skip and Scooter clips played after dinner. Shortly before the cake-cutting ceremony, Dirk Duke appeared with a microphone. He was the most popular DJ in town—real name Adam Levenstein—and Poppy had hired him to spin music for dancing, which wasn’t scheduled to begin for another half hour. Dirk was short, with a bullet-shaped head, tattooed neck, and Ivy League education he did his best to hide. Tonight he wore a badly fitted tuxedo instead of his customary jeans. “Yo, everybody! This is a great party! Let’s give it up for Georgie and Bram.”

  The audience dutifully gave it up.

  “All you Skip and Scooter fans. Seeing Bram and Georgie married is great, right?”

  Applause and a couple of whistles, one of them from Meg.

  “We’re here to celebrate a marriage that happened two months ago. A marriage none of us was important enou
gh to be invited to.”

  Laughter.

  “And tonight…We’re going to do something about that…”

  Four waiters appeared bearing an arched bridal bower draped in white tulle caught up with blue hydrangeas. Poppy trailed behind in a floor-length black dress, her face smug with anticipation.

  Georgie poked Bram with her elbow. “I think Poppy’s just unveiled her surprise. The one you told her to go ahead with.”

  Bram grimaced. “You should have hit me over the head. I don’t like this.”

  Georgie liked it even less as she watched the waiters position the bower at the front of the ballroom. Bram swore under his breath. “That woman is officially fired.”

  “As an ordained minister in the Universal Life Church”—Dirk paused for dramatic effect—“it is my honor”—another pause—“to ask our bride and groom to step forward and”—raised voice—“repeat their vows in front of all of us!”

  The guests were eating this up. Even her father. Poppy’s glossy, inflated lips formed a triumphant smile. A muscle ticked in the corner of Bram’s jaw. Poppy had no right to stage something this personal without consulting them.

  Bram clenched his teeth and rose. “Put on your game face.”

  Georgie told herself it didn’t mater. What was one more public performance after so many? Her crystal gown rustled as she stood.

  Dirk elongated his vowels like a game-show host. “Dad. Come up and join them. Mr. Paul York, everybody! Bram, choose your best man.”

  “He chooses me.” Trev shot up, and the guests laughed.

  Georgie felt as though she were suffocating.

  “Georgie, who’s your maid of honor going to be?”

  She looked at Sasha, at Meg and April, and thought how lucky she was to have these wonderful women as her best friends. Then she cocked her head. “Laura.”