Taking the Lead(2)

"But they do say posh. And I think we need more posh if we're going to get that UK record company bidding on the rights to the next record. Tashonda, you're making him look cream-in-your-pants stunning but just a touch disreputable, right? We're so done with the ragamuffin look."

"Yep. I'm cleaning him up nice-you're going to love the blond-but I'm leaving a little beard stubble," the stylist said. "That's what you want, right? Your memo said to upscale his usual 'bad boy' look."

Christina didn't wait to hear any more before she barreled on. "Exactly. This is edgy-sexy phase two, from bad boy to playboy, okay? Back to what I was saying. Axel, I don't like this date you're bringing tonight. This is a big spotlight."

"And I told you, it's too late to change it. You know how fussy they are at these awards ceremonies? Security on Buckingham Palace isn't half as tight. Plus I think Sakura spent her entire month's income on a dress. Chris, I'm not jilting her even if you've got Scarlett Johansson lined up."

"But Axel-"

"No buts, Chris. I know this is all about image-"

"It's the Grammy Awards! There will be a billion photos of you and her! There are rumors about her, you know."

I closed my eyes while Tashonda held her palm against my forehead and hairsprayed my forelock. I guess the "wet look" was back. When I could breathe again, I said, "Come on, Chris, those rumors should just go along with the whole edgy-sexy image to begin with, right?" If she only knew  …

"Not that kind of bad, though! Are you paying her to go to this?"

"No, I'm not paying her! We're friends, Chris. I'm allowed to have friends. And I'm allowed to choose my friends. The day I'm not is the day I'm walking away." Right. Like I could walk away from a platinum-selling rock band and musical career. I was bluffing, but one had to draw the line somewhere.

Christina let loose a string of Catholic curses that showed her Filipino upbringing. I didn't even know some of the saints she invoked to express herself. But she relented. "Don't make me sorry about this."



       
         
       
        

"I won't. Besides, it's a double date with Sakura's former college roommate. Someone you might have heard of. Ricki Hamilton?"

"What? The Hamilton heiress?" Christina shrieked with glee. "She and her sister are worth billions! Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I just did."

"And who's her date-who who who?"

"I have no idea, Chris. The limo will be here in-?"

"Twenty minutes," Tashonda said firmly. She looked at me critically with a rhinestone poised on the tip of her index finger.

I gave her a smoldering look and mouthed almost silently, so Christina couldn't hear: "Bad boys don't wear rhinestones. Come on."

"Hm," she said, tilting her face toward the phone. "Christina, not sure this rhinestone idea is going to work."

"No? Are you sure?"

"Don't want to overdo it, you know? With the close-ups on high-def TV, it might actually be too much sparkle. There will be glare."

"Oh." Christina sounded deflated. "Well, see you at the after-parties. Later, Axel."

"Later, Christina." I clicked off the phone and hopped out of the chair, catching Tashonda around the waist and twirling her as if we were on ice. Then I dipped her and planted a kiss right on her sternum where her shirt's neckline plunged. "Thanks," I said, as I righted her. "For everything."

She said nothing but fanned herself with an open hand as I sauntered away.





CHAPTER ONE


OVERTURE


RICKI

"Ms. Hamilton. The car is ready."

I turned toward Jamison, who was standing in the doorway with his usual impeccably bland demeanor, his hands folded. "Do I look all right?" I asked him.

"Stunning as always, Ms. Hamilton," he said, his voice low and smooth.

"You didn't even look," I complained. I gave myself one last glance in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the two-story foyer. If I'd had my way, I would have had one of Sakura's designer friends make me something artsy and avant-garde to wear. But if image is everything, then an expensive, big-name designer's dress was required wear. It was off-white, beaded, classic. If that wasn't good enough for the paparazzi, then there wasn't much else I could do. "Where's Sakura?" Last time I checked, the stylist had been affixing some glass beads in her hair.

"She is already in the car," Jamison said with a slight bow. That was as close to telling me to hurry as he would ever get. When he'd first taken the butler job with my grandfather he'd gone to finishing school. I wondered if that was where he learned to be so  …  polite-pushy? pushy-polite? Maybe it was a Cuban thing. He had come to the States when his family fled Castro and at first my grandfather had hired his older brother. Jamison wasn't his real name: it was the name he'd picked for himself. It suited him. His wavy black hair was slicked close to his scalp and I felt he was a thousand times more polished than I was. He gestured toward the door. 

"Fine, fine." I hurried across the entryway toward the front door, reminding myself not to do anything to dislodge the dress or my coiffure. Members of the staff were bustling about, readying the mansion for tonight. We didn't host this kind of soiree that often anymore, only a few times a year, not like in my grandfather's heyday, when the "Governor's Mansion" was host to a steady stream of Hollywood's elite. Cy Hamilton, the man they called the "Governor of Hollywood," had liked to party.

Sarah-Sakura, I mean-was waiting in the limo, looking as perfect as always. Somehow she managed to rock an Asian style without ever coming off like a parody of a geisha or kung-fu movie courtesan. She was half-Japanese and all business when it came to finding the right clothes. Mine just had to look expensive or people would talk. Sakura's had to look unique and yet tasteful and powerful and creatively artistic all at the same time. I took the seat across from her in the stretch and off we went to pick up her date, then mine.

She grinned. "This is like prom night, only better."

I shrugged. "The prom night I never had." Being a Hamilton heiress, I didn't exactly have the standard American upbringing. "It's just an awards ceremony, Sarah."

"Sakura," she corrected.

"Don't worry; I'll get it right when it counts."

"And don't rain on my parade. Maybe this is dull and boring for you, but it's my first time at the Grammy Awards."

"You went to the Oscars last year," I pointed out.

"As official arm candy to a total bore. And he wasn't even a nominee. Axel's band is up for Best New Artist." She drummed her toes excitedly on the carpeted floor of the limousine. "Plus I really like him."

"Like him-like him?" I asked pointedly. This wasn't the first time Sakura had mentioned this guy. I admit I only knew him from the entertainment trade magazines where he was, admittedly, one of the only rock stars I thought was cute. It might be really good for Sakura's career to date a rock star.

But she dashed that idea. "Not like that. As a friend, I mean." She glanced out the window, not that she could see much through the tinting. "He's really great. A really great guy."

"Didn't he start out a client of yours, though?" I was trying not to sound judgmental about it, really I was.

She sighed. "I'm not doing the professional dominatrix thing anymore, Ricki."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I met him at a photo shoot if you must know," she said with a sniff.

"The photo shoot where you're in a latex catsuit with a whip and he's in a cage?" Of course I'd seen it. After we learned the terms of the will, I found out that the staff regularly scanned all the tabloids looking for anything about BDSM to make sure our family wasn't being implicated. They regularly showed me anything remotely having to do with kink and pop culture.

She sighed. "Yes, that one. But he is sooooo not a submissive."

"No?"

"Definitely not. In fact, I'd say he's a dom but you wouldn't necessarily guess that from the vanilla supermodel arm candy he's been seen with."



       
         
       
        

"You don't think he shows his kinky side to the press?"

She clucked her tongue. "You of all people should know most people don't."

"Yeah, yeah." The whole reason my grandfather had built the secret dungeon in our basement had been to give A-list kinksters a private place to meet and spank. Well, and so he could spank them himself, honestly. These days the members were mostly A-list because of their money, though, not their celebrity. We had a lot of presidents and vice presidents of major film studios and entertainment corporations. I know Grandpa Cy had meant well, but I couldn't help but think my main job was to ensure that these entitled executives could get their knobs polished in the most exotic fashion possible. "Hey, wait a second. Is this all a setup so I'll consider him for membership?"

Sakura held up her perfectly manicured hands in surrender. "I swear, I didn't plan it that way. He really has become a good friend, and he asked me to go to the awards, and since I knew you were going, too, I thought it would be a good idea to double date."