Romy Sommer - To Catch a Star

She lifted her head and put the car in gear.

Still, neither fear nor anger was an excuse. She’d behaved insufferably tonight. Christian was right – she’d been judgmental and condescending. Just because he represented everything she distrusted and despised didn’t mean she had to say it out loud.

She’d lied too. She’d pretended not to know who he was. But even she, enclosed in her ivory tower, had heard of Christian Taylor, the man who’d made his fame playing the ultimate superhero.

She sucked in a deep breath and pulled away from the hotel forecourt.

The last thing she felt like right now was a charity banquet. Especially one where she’d just insulted the guest of honour. She turned the car in the opposite direction to the banquet hall and headed home. She’d have a bath and curl up in bed with a book. And if her father wanted to know if she’d done as he asked and met Christian Taylor, at least she could answer honestly that she had.

And she’d send up a prayer that it was over and done with and she never need see him again.

“You may go straight in. Your father’s expecting you.”

His executive assistant waved her in, and with only the barest pause in her stride to acknowledge the older woman, Tessa headed towards the closed office door. Her heels beat out a firm rhythm on the parquet floor. She hesitated at the door; her hand suspended a centimetre from the solid wood door.

Did her father know what had happened last night? He always knew everything. Was he disappointed in her? Or had he summoned her here today to insist on a bodyguard? Whatever it was, his assistant had said it was urgent. So urgent she’d left one of the world’s leading dress designers standing open-mouthed in the bridal boutique.

She steeled herself with a deep breath, straightened her back, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She opened the door and stepped in.

Her father stood in the bay window, which overlooked one of Neustadt’s numerous squares, a leafy oasis amongst the eighteenth-century buildings, his back to her and his hands clasped behind his back, like a king surveying his domain. Which wasn’t far off.

Victor Thomas Adler, Twelfth Count of Arelat, former Supreme Court Judge and new head of the nation’s Intelligence Service, wielded almost as much power in the little European nation as the Archduke or the Prime Minister.

He turned as she closed the door behind her. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He waved her to the seat across the desk and she sat, folding her hands demurely in her lap. Her hand felt bare where her engagement ring usually sat. She’d barely had it a few months and already it felt like a part of her. As soon as this interrogation was over, she needed to collect it from the jeweller’s, along with the insurance valuation certificate.

“Your assistant said it was urgent.”

Please, please don’t let him have heard about last night… she hated to disappoint her father.

“Did you enjoy the banquet last night?”

She blinked.

He never indulged in small-talk. So why did he want to talk about some charity event? She crossed her fingers in her lap, careful they were out of her father’s line of vision. She nodded. “It was a lovely evening.”

“Did Stefan go with you?”

“I told you last week that he’s away. He has meetings in New York.”

He wasn’t happy with that. He’d already made his feelings known on that score – he didn’t think Stefan would make a good husband for his only child. He’s too wrapped up in his work. He should take better care of you.

Her father was a good one to talk. He was married to his job.

She was used to being alone. And tough if he didn’t think Stefan was good enough. The man he’d thought suitable – the man they’d both thought eminently suitable – now lived in exile half a world away and she had to move forward with her life.

She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted a family. And since Fredrik’s departure, she and Stefan had seemed inevitable. She’d known Stefan since they were children. They’d grown up in the same social circles and his family lineage was almost as impeccable as her own. They were friends.

“You met the American actor?”

“I did.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

Her father moved to the chair behind his desk and sat, steepling his fingers together.

Oh-oh, she was in trouble. She just didn’t know what for, yet. For lying to him, or for paying so little attention to her safety that she’d endangered herself? Or both?

“I spoke to him.”

His eyes narrowed. Worse, then. Did he know how rude she’d been to a visiting celebrity? He might not be big on small-talk but he was big on manners. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he’d wanted her to meet the man.

“What did you discuss?”

She’d replayed the conversation enough times in her head since last night to be able to answer that. But somehow she didn’t think ‘ I mistook him for an escaped con ’ or ‘ I insulted him ’ would rank highly in her father’s estimation.

“We spoke about opera and ballet … and the Los Pajaros children’s charity, of course.”

“Of course. And what was he wearing when you had this scintillating conversation?”

He wanted to talk men’s fashions? Something was going on here she couldn’t quite see. Did he know she hadn’t attended the banquet last night? Did he know she was lying? He always knew everything… but she was in so deep now.

She closed her eyes briefly and summoned up an image of Christian Taylor. Torn evening jacket, crisp white shirt ripped to reveal bare, hard chest beneath. Smooth, muscled chest… skin a rich cappuccino colour. “He wore an evening suit, like everyone else.”

Her father leaned forward in his seat. “Very interesting… in view of the fact that he never made it to the banquet last night.”

Oh-oh. She cleared her throat but couldn’t think where to start.

“Which means you never attended either.”

She lifted her chin. “It’s a long story.”

He waved his hand, not interested, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief at not having to divulge the entire sorry story.

“You have the opportunity to redeem yourself. After last night’s stunt, the film production company is looking for a PA for Mr Taylor. Someone local who knows their way around this city and who can ensure he gets to where he’s needed on time. I suggested you.”

Tessa choked. “I’m not a PA!” And it wasn’t as if she needed a job.

She flinched as Christian’s words reverberated, still sharp in her memory. “ So what difference are you making in the world? ” Spoken in a tone so scathing, it had burned at her all night.

“It’s not much different from being a social secretary. You have plenty of experience at that.” Her father relaxed a fraction and almost smiled. “You’ve been doing it for me long enough.”

She tried to think, but her head had turned to mush. See Christian Taylor again? Oh no! Not after last night… “I’m planning a wedding.”

“You have an assistant,” he pointed out.

Precisely. She had an assistant. “You can use Anna. I could pull her off the wedding preparations for the next week, and she’s an excellent PA.”

And Anna would probably love the idea of being around movie people all day.

Her father shook his head. “Not just anyone can do this job. I need your help.”

She shut her mouth. He never needed help from anyone. Her father was the most self-assured, most formidable man she’d ever known. She’d often had reason to be grateful she was his daughter, the one person in the world he cared about, and not on the receiving end of his less-merciful side.