Lights, Camera...Kiss the Boss Read online

  ‘If we don’t go it proves Leeds right.’ Brant still sounded furious.

  Ava groaned and put her face in her hands. ‘She is right.’

  ‘She’s not right, Ava,’ Dan said. ‘Don’t give that bottom-dwelling hack the satisfaction.’

  ‘What part of what she’s written wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny?’ Ava pleaded with him. ‘We do go way back. You did create the show around my designs. You did promote me to presenter unexpectedly. We are sleeping together.’ Her voice rose almost to hysteria on that one. She looked at Brant. ‘We were an item as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Regardless of the real facts, how exactly do you imagine we’ll find the high ground here?’

  The car dropped to frosty silence for the next kilometre. Everyone was thinking furiously as the Milana Hotel appeared in the distance. Ava’s throat ached from holding the tears at bay, and from the advancing pain that had crystallised around her heart. Dan buzzed through to the driver and spoke quietly into the speaker. Almost immediately the limo slowed.

  More time. As if that was going to change anything.

  ‘What else does it say?’ Her voice sounded as hollow and dead as she felt. She didn’t look up, but Dan knew the question was for him.

  ‘More of the same. She has a few things to say about my ethics. Brant gets it a few times.’

  It stunned Ava out of her fog the tiniest bit to hear Dan call Brant by his given name. She met his blue eyes with a silent question.

  Cadence?

  Brant shook his head almost imperceptibly, but enough to let Ava know she’d managed to keep their secret. That tiny glowing light was something, at least.

  ‘Okay,’ Dan said, swinging into damage control mode. ‘We can play this two ways. Close ranks. Present a united front and ride out the speculation.’ He looked at Brant. ‘They’ll be expecting you and me to be at each other’s throats, so we make sure we’re the best of mates tonight.’

  Brant nodded and Dan continued. He leaned over and took Ava’s icy hand. ‘Ava, you flash that smile and keep letting it shine. You stay close to one of us at all times. Don’t let anyone get you alone. Even in the Ladies’ Room, you take Carrie. Someone’s bound to be sniffing around for a response. We give them nothing—understood?’

  ‘No comment,’ Ava murmured. Did that actually work in the real world?

  ‘What’s the other option?’ Brant asked.

  ‘We don’t go,’ Dan said.

  ‘Not an option!’ Kurtz nearly choked on his own outrage.

  Dan shot him a venomous look. ‘If Ava wants out, I’ll be with her.’

  ‘Me too.’ Brant and Carrie said together.

  Kurtz turned purple, and eventually dragged his eyes to Ava. Disempowerment was clearly not somewhere he spent his summer holidays!

  She considered the options. Turning around and going home was the most attractive one, but it would only delay the inevitable. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Walking into that crowded function room was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

  When her eyes opened the first thing she saw was Dan, the steadiness of his expression. A quiet confidence had replaced seething fury. Brant, too, looked different, his features hardening into a face that said don’t mess with me. For the first time she recognised why Cadence leaned on him.

  The limo crept along. The hotel drew closer. Ava sat taller on the plush leather seat. ‘If we’re going to do this, then let’s do it.’

  Kurtz sagged with relief and looked every bit the old man that he was.

  She glared at him hard and gave him an order. ‘Tell the driver to put his foot down. I want this over.’

  Ava’s hands still shook, and she had nowhere to hide them. As they stepped out of the limousine Dan and Brant took one hand each, as though by arrangement. It was a dangerously provocative thing to do, under the circumstances, virtually confirming the article’s claims.

  Yet at the same time it screamed we have nothing to hide, and was a clear signal to everyone watching to back off. It was a gift to have two men so experienced with the media flanking her. Gratitude for their unspoken solidarity stole a bit more of what strength she’d been able to muster.

  She squeezed Dan’s hand tight, drawing courage from his solid determination.

  ‘Smile, Ava,’ he whispered as they reached the edge of the dense media throng. She tried. As soon as they were spotted the cameras went crazy. The sudden barrage of flashes made the entrance of the Milana Hotel glitter like a giant diamond. Ava worked harder than she ever had to keep a brilliant smile on her face, even managing to copy a gesture or two from Brant’s public repertoire.

  It helped. A lot.

  ‘You’re doing great,’ Dan muttered through his own tight smile. She was close enough to see fury still darkening his eyes. She knew how she looked, escorted by two burly men, and suddenly felt very much like Dorothy approaching the gates of Oz, flanked by the Tin Man and the Scarecrow. Or maybe she was the Cowardly Lion. She sure felt like it right now. She giggled weakly, entirely overwrought.

  Brant threw Dan a concerned look.

  Ahead, the red carpet bottlenecked into a gauntlet of television and radio presenters interviewing the beautiful people as they arrived. There was no going around it and, judging by the keen interest from the few who glanced their way, their arrival was eagerly anticipated.

  ‘Follow my lead, hon.’ Brant broke away from their defensive line and walked directly over to a tanned male presenter representing one of AusOne’s major competitors. Straight into the line of fire. Dan stepped her quickly past the distracted journalist, effectively screening Ava with his wide shoulders and preventing the journalists on the other side of the gauntlet from catching her eye. It worked—for a moment.

  ‘Ms Lange?’ A young woman from an independent radio station thrust her microphone out in front of Ava so that it was virtually impossible not to stop. Dan released her hand and gently brought her to a halt in front of the woman, whispering her name to Ava. Six other microphones suddenly populated the small space between them.

  ‘Ms Lange, are you looking forward to your first ATA awards?’

  Ava knew the station by its reputation: independent music, young, switched-on presenters, philosophically resistant to commercial gossip. She realised Dan had stopped her there strategically.

  She played to her strength. Directness. ‘Remarkably—yes, I am, Corrine.’

  She hadn’t broached the subject, per se, but she’d shown she wasn’t shying away from it either. The young woman smiled and pressed her luck.

  ‘Got a battle plan this evening?’ she asked.

  Ava laughed lightly, practically high on adrenaline. ‘First order of business is to get in there,’ she said, indicating the crush ahead. ‘Then to avoid any and all newspaper journalists.’

  Next to her, Dan stiffened perceptibly, but the radio journo and her peers within hearing range all laughed. There was no love lost between print and broadcast media in Australia. Even Ava knew that.

  ‘Good luck, Ava.’ The woman smiled and stepped back so they could move on.

  And just like that she survived her first skirmish with the media. She glanced around, risking eye contact with some of the fans in the throng. There was certainly a whole heap of interest in the stars of Urban Nature, and some speculation, but less judgement than she’d feared.

  Much less. Her lungs loosened a little and the smile felt less forced. She paused long enough for Brant to catch up, and then proceeded, flanked again by her two bodyguards, through the press pack.

  ‘Ms Lange…’ A dozen voices juggled for supremacy. ‘Mr Arnot…’

  Someone screamed Brant’s name from the rear of the throng, and Ava’s laugh was genuine. This was her first taste of hardcore fans, but Brant played them like a Stradivarius. If she were ever to survive something like this again, she’d need lessons from the Maddox School of Media Training.

  She stumbled slightly on the thought. Since when was she ev
en considering sticking around long enough to do this ever again? Was the adrenaline affecting her judgement?

  ‘Nearly there.’ Dan guided her with a steady hand, and she saw the red carpet widen out ahead, and then the gaping entry to the Milana’s glamorous function room beyond it. His hand burned against her bare skin and he softly stroked his thumb across her hip. She would never have managed this without him. She owed him—owed them both. Except Brant’s thank-you would be more in the order of a good bottle of wine, whereas Dan’s…

  She chuckled. Then laughed again when Dan’s eyes narrowed. He probably thought she was losing it.

  He wasn’t far wrong.

  They stopped twice more, bypassing certain journalists and favouring others. Brant stole the show, gracing the press with his full attention and taking the heat off Ava. He brushed aside the few tactless comments made by less courteous media, and easily shepherded the interviews into less awkward territory. Since he was the one supposedly scorned, they were more careful with him than they would have been with her.

  It baffled the heck out of all of them that the three were being so supportive and friendly with each other after what they’d read in The Standard.

  Ava didn’t get off completely, though she found herself able to answer questions more easily now that she knew the throng wasn’t out to lynch her, specifically. Her heart-rate slowed to a steady thump, then spiked when a gorgeous-smelling Dan bent close to her ear.

  ‘Last stop, Ava. Get ready.’

  An honest-to-goodness supermodel—now a key presenter for AusOne’s rival network—stood at the top of the sweeping stairs leading to the doors of the hotel function centre. Ava realised with a rush what was coming up.

  The fashion corral.

  She’d watched this part of the ATA ceremony in her pyjamas a hundred times. All the beautiful people passed through the corral, showing off their designer creations and answering questions.

  Live to air.

  Her mouth dried and she scrabbled around in her muddled brain for the name of her designer. Reluctantly Dan released her hand and dissolved into the background, leaving her to face it alone. She felt bereft at the tiny betrayal. Then suddenly Brant swept in beside her and took her arm.

  Better than nothing. His grin was wide and flashing enough for both of them as he greeted the supermodel.

  ‘Ava, Brant. Lovely to see you both this evening.’ The model plied her trademark smile generously. Ava blinked in the bright light from the camera pointing at them. She didn’t want to think about it being live to air. If this woman chose to say something shocking, she’d have no hope of covering her reaction. Brant slid an arm around her and tucked her closer to his side.

  ‘You both look fantastic. Who’s your designer?’ A microphone was thrust towards her. Ava opened her mouth and prayed something intelligent was going to come out. Lord, who was her designer?

  ‘Glenn Lo.’ Oh, thank the stars! ‘I think he’s picked the perfect dress for me.’ She sucked in a nervous breath.

  ‘You look magnificent,’ the presenter said. ‘And what a lucky girl—a gorgeous man on each arm, and a third one gifting you fashion.’

  Allusions, but no direct attack. In fact there was a strange glint of solidarity in the supermodel’s eye. Ava scrabbled in her memory banks. Wait—was this the woman whose ex had put a video on the internet…?

  The model turned to the camera and winked. ‘We should all be so lucky! Speaking of luck—all the very best, Brant, for your category tonight.’

  Seconds later, miraculously, it was over. The three of them stood patiently for the compulsory publicity shots in front of the sponsor’s signage, and then were shooed into the darkened auditorium.

  Ava’s legs began to weaken as soon as they were in the shadows. The adrenaline dissipated, leaving her wobbly. ‘I think I should sit…’

  ‘Hang on, Ava.’ Dan was right there beside her, his hand sliding around her waist. He signalled to Brant, who snagged an elegant chair from nearby and placed it deep into the shadows of a recess. She sank gratefully into it and the two men closed ranks in front of her, facing the crowd, bodies relaxed, as though they were having a casual conversation.

  Dressed as she was, putting her head between her knees was out of the question. She settled instead for letting it sag while she sucked in great a lungful of designer air. I can’t do this. Impossibility washed over her. Who would notice if she tiptoed out now? As long as Brant stayed for his award, Dan, too, for Urban Nature’s…couldn’t she go?

  No, someone would make it their business to notice. And to speculate.

  United front, Dan had said. And not just for her sake. They’d all been tarnished by Leeds’ shameful article. She should remember that.

  Child abuse. Leeds’ allegation suddenly came into clear focus in her mind. Dan’s father…

  Her heart ached for the frightened, lonely little boy Dan must have been if it was true. There was no way she was going to repay his courage by leaving now.

  She flexed and un-flexed her fingers, noticing their tingling for the first time. Had she been numb since getting out of the limo? The natural chemicals zinging around her system had made her oblivious to anything but survival. Like getting through the media pack in one piece. Now that she had, her body’s defences were easing off and pain was returning. Her jaw ached from its rigid smile and her rib muscles were tender from being held so tight.

  ‘Ava?’ Dan’s voice was loud enough to carry to her, but not so loud it would draw any attention. She sighed, knowing she couldn’t stay here all night, expecting them to cover for her. It wasn’t fair to them. They’d been amazing to get her this far.

  ‘I’m ready.’ She stood and stepped into the gap that opened between them.

  The function room was exquisitely decorated, and filling rapidly with Australian and international guest celebrities as well as producers, filmmakers, crew and their partners. Ava scanned the room but saw no sign of Leeds. Maybe the press were still caught up out at the front.

  She relaxed a little, shaking off her nerves and smiling shakily at Dan. ‘Shall we find our table?’

  The first part of the evening wasn’t being televised. Ava was embarrassed to discover they’d arrived well after the earliest awards were read out. She felt affronted on behalf of those people who’d worked hard for their place on the awards list but whose achievement was barely acknowledged by the handful of assembled guests. There seemed to be a category for everything—theme music, catering, costume, make-up, even commercial risk finance.

  None of them sexy enough for broadcast, apparently.

  She paid particular attention to every one as penance for her late arrival, and in solidarity for the little people. As far as she was concerned she was still a behind-the-scenes person at heart. Dan smiled when he realised what she was doing and patiently sat with her, attending to the activity on stage with just as much focus as she.

  How could she ever have thought him disloyal?

  For another thirty minutes other distinguished guests continued to stream into the venue, upstaging the award presentations onstage. The later the arrival, the higher the standing in the industry, it seemed. Ava was too exhausted to care as some big name Hollywood types strolled past them just minutes before the start.

  Carrie caught up with her briefly and pointed out where her table was. Just as Ava had joked, it was right at the back, near the restrooms. The mere thought of the word had Ava thinking about her bladder, and she excused herself quietly.

  ‘Take Carrie,’ Dan ordered.

  Although one or two seemed to consider it, no one actually approached—thanks largely to Carrie’s excellent impersonation of an Alsatian. Every time someone came too close, she swung her body around and glared at them.

  ‘You’ll be growling next,’ Ava laughed, soaping her hands.

  ‘This whole business has me so mad,’ Carrie whispered fiercely under her breath. ‘Of all the people, Ava. You? There couldn’t be a nicer person to wo
rk with in this entire industry. You make coffee for the crew, for goodness’ sake. Who else does that? I just don’t understand it.’

  Carrie’s rigid defence thawed a bit more of Ava’s frozen heart. She’d really lucked out finding this woman as a friend. She squeezed Carrie’s fingers with her own lavender-scented ones.

  ‘I’m so pleased I met you, Carrie Watson. I hope we get to work together for years.’

  Years? Ava shook her head to banish the thought. Not years…months…weeks. She was going home in a few months.

  They stopped by Carrie’s table so Ava could say hello to the rest of the Urban Nature crew present. Most gave her a supportive smile, but one or two had clear speculation in their guarded expressions. Ava sighed sadly, then turned to Carrie. ‘You might as well take your seat. I’m hardly likely to get accosted between here and our table.’

  Carrie started to argue, until she saw the determined look on Ava’s face. She relented, saying, ‘Fingers crossed for both awards, then?’

  The awards. Ava had almost forgotten the whole reason for being here tonight. Nervous butterflies launched in her belly. She wondered how Brant was feeling. And Dan. It was an important achievement for them both. She moved smoothly and quickly towards her table, avoiding eye contact with everyone just in case. The last thing they needed was some kind of public incident.

  Another public incident.

  Dan sat at the table next to Bill Kurtz. Brant’s seat was still empty while he was off schmoozing. Ava frowned, and the hairs on her arms prickled. There was something about Dan’s posture…He sat rigid in his seat, and Kurtz leaned into him like a vulture picking over a carcass. With their backs to her, neither man noticed her approach. There was a momentary lull in the music blaring over the PA system and she heard Bill Kurtz’s booming voice distinctly.

  ‘…never mind your own reputation. I don’t give a toss about that. You put the network at risk, the shareholders, for a piece of skirt.’

  Dan’s body language turned from frigid to fiery in a blink. ‘You couldn’t help yourself, could you, Bill? You haven’t shared a limo in ten years, but you were willing to make a concession if it meant a ringside seat to watch the fall-out of your handiwork first-hand. You’re nothing but an ambulance-chaser—’