“Los Angeles?” he repeated.
“That’s right. She’s staying at the Hamilton Hotel. Regan made the reservation for her. She’s such a sweetheart, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, yeah . . . sweetheart,” he said impatiently. “But why?”
“Why what?” Dylan was deliberately being obtuse. He could hear Michael’s frustration coming through the phone.
“Why did she fly to L.A.?”
“The party.”
“Dylan, quit screwing with me.”
“There’s a party tonight at the Sienna Hotel.”
“She flew all the way out there for a party?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Damon’s going to propose—” It was as far as he could get.
Michael shouted, “He’s what?”
“He’s going to propose—”
Once again Michael interrupted. “The hell he is.”
“If you’ll let me explain—”
“She is not going to marry him.”
“Listen,” Dylan demanded. “Damon—”
Michael had ended the call.
Kate walked into the kitchen and asked, “How’s Michael?”
Dylan was shaking his head. “Every time. Every damn time. He never lets me finish what I’m trying to tell him. I tried to warn him about Isabel’s driving. Remember? I said, ‘Isabel likes to drive.’
Michael wouldn’t let me finish. I would have added, ‘But if you value your life, don’t let her. She’s a horrible driver.’?”
Frowning, she said, “And now?”
“He thinks Damon is going to propose to Isabel.”
Kate started to laugh. “Aren’t you going to call him back and explain?”
Dylan grinned. “Now, why would I want to do that? He’ll figure it out soon enough.”
FORTY-ONE
FRIDAY MORNING ISABEL MET WITH HER ATTORNEY, JASON, TO DISCUSS HER CONTRACT, THEN
spent the afternoon being pampered at the spa. She was massaged, plucked and waxed, and slathered with wonderful scented lotion. She got a pedicure and manicure, and while her nails were drying, her hair was washed and dried. When the stylist was finished, her hair fell in soft curls just below her shoulders. It all was completely indulgent, but after the last few depressing weeks, she was ready for a makeover and a brand-new outlook on life.
She paid for all the treatments then and there so it wouldn’t go on the hotel charge and disappear.
Regan had already been so generous. Isabel didn’t want to take advantage.
Isabel was still in her robe when Damon called.
“We might have a problem.”
“Uh-oh. Did Mia say no?”
Damon laughed. “She said yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I didn’t tell Mia you were coming until a couple of hours ago. I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained.
“Okay,” she said, wondering why he was dragging this out. “Get to the problem already.”
“Mia has four younger sisters. Brigit, the youngest, heard us talking. Mia grabbed her and made her promise not to tell anyone so the guests attending the party will be surprised. Brigit promised, but she told one friend, then another and another. You get where this is going?”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t stop there. Brigit, wanting to be the first with such big news . . .”
“Why is it big news?” Isabel wanted to know.
“Brigit might have implied that XO was going to stop by.”
“He’s in Europe. His fans know that.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But as I was explaining, Brigit, wanting to be the first with big news, posted it.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
The picture of overzealous fans crushing her in an attempt to get close to Xavier came to mind and she shuddered. She’d seen firsthand how wild and uncontrolled fans could get. They’d wanted
Xavier. Now, apparently, they wanted her and Xavier.
“There’s more.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Brigit promised she would find out if you were going to ask Xavier to marry you. Then she planned to post the answer.”
Isabel laughed. Xavier’s fans were obviously getting worked up because of what he had said in the interview. The next time she saw him she just might put a gag in his mouth.
“How old is Brigit?”
“She just turned thirteen. The girl knows her way around a computer. She used Mia’s laptop to post.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You won’t meet her tonight. She’s been banned from the party.”
Isabel remembered what it had been like when she was thirteen. Everything was monumental.
“Damon, let her come to the party.”
“But she posted . . .”
“I’d like to meet her. Let her come. It’s not a big deal. I’ll see you soon.”
? ? ?
KNOWING DAMON AS WELL AS SHE DID, TONIGHT WOULD BE AN ELEGANT BLACK-TIE AFFAIR.
Damon came from a very wealthy family, and they dressed up for every occasion. Isabel decided to wear the black dress.
She called the concierge, followed his instructions, and took the service elevator to the garage.
The driver Regan had hired was waiting for her. There was another man in the car with him who rushed around to open the car door for her. He was around six feet and solid. She guessed his job was bodyguard.
“Who are you?” she bluntly asked.
“My name is Conrad,” the driver answered. “And with me is Jones. If you don’t mind, he’ll hang around with you at the party. He’ll stay outside the ballroom but keep an eye on you. When you’re ready to leave, he’ll walk you to the car.”
“I don’t think I need a bodyguard at the party.”
“Mrs. Regan Buchanan thought it was a good idea.”
“I appreciate her thoughtfulness, but I really don’t think I need you to escort me, Mr. Jones.”
“Just Jones,” he corrected. “Mrs. Buchanan thought it was a good idea, and we wouldn’t say no to her.”
Isabel gave in. They were following orders and weren’t going to budge. She wasn’t going to make their job more difficult.
“Thank you for your assistance, then,” she conceded.
Guests at the party were going to think that Jones was her date. He was young enough—early thirties, she thought—and nice-looking. Not that that mattered.
Not as handsome as Michael, of course. The second that thought popped into her head she got angry. She reminded herself that she wasn’t going to think about him tonight.
The Sienna Hotel was twenty minutes away from the Hamilton. The ballrooms were on the lower level, and Conrad pulled the car around to the lower entrance.
Isabel couldn’t wait to see her friends. The party started at eight, and Isabel, with Jones at her side, strode through the people milling around outside the ballroom. She didn’t think anyone noticed her until some young girls rushed over to her with notepads and pens and cell phones. They wanted photos and autographs. Four teenage girls multiplied to eight within a minute. Isabel tried to be gracious as she made her way to the doors.