The Last Man on Earth Page 22

  He kept his expression bland and shifted sideways in his chair to hide his sudden arousal. He hadn’t actually stopped by her table to seduce her. Although he couldn’t seem to keep from thinking about doing just that whenever she was near him for more than five minutes.

  But he’d had his chance with her. He’d made his decision. And she’d made hers by agreeing to marry another man.

  He picked up his coffee cup. “I wanted a chance to talk to you in private. It occurred to me that you might have wondered if I had anything to do with the decision to accompany you on this trip. I didn’t. It came as much of a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to you.”

  “And?”

  “And seeing that we are here, I thought it would make both our jobs a great deal easier if we put aside our personal difficulties and worked together as professionals.”

  “I am always professional, and as far as personal difficulties, I know of none that will interfere with my work. Whatever former . . . arrangement we had with each other, that’s in the past. It’s no longer important, certainly not to me.”

  His jaw stiffened. He willed his muscles to relax before curving his lips into a relaxed, friendly smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind if we drive out to the set together?”

  She glared at him. “Don’t you have a rental car of your own?”

  “Yes, but it seems a waste for both of us to travel separately when we have the same destination. Why not share one car and save the company some money?”

  “I had no idea you could be so frugal. I’ll have to remember to put you in for one of those employee awards. You know, the kind they give out to the thrifty little Boy Scouts who salvage used paper clips and dig barely scratched binders out of the trash.”

  Zack tossed back his head and laughed. “You have a real gift with language, Red, you know that? One of the reasons you’re so damned good.”

  “What are you up to, Zack?” she demanded again, eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing. Honestly.” He sighed. “I just thought it might be nice if we could get along while we’re here. Three days. Two and a half, really, since I’m leaving late on Wednesday afternoon.”

  She studied him for another long, considering moment. “And that’s all?”

  “That’s all. Really.”

  “Well, I guess it is only three days. Two and a half,” she corrected. “I suppose I can be civil and friendly to anyone for two and a half days.”

  “Even me?”

  “Yes, even you,” she said with a smile.

  They shared a moment of warmth and camaraderie, the kind they hadn’t shared in a very long time. Then the waitress arrived with Zack’s breakfast and shattered the mood.

  “Better eat up,” he suggested as he tucked into his eggs. “They start shooting in an hour.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Less than an hour.” Pushing aside the last niggling threads of caution, she stabbed a fork into a piece of cantaloupe and began to eat.

  • • •

  The first day’s shooting went well.

  Giatta’s president, Giancarlo Leonelli, arrived around eleven, roaring toward the set in a sleek black luxury sedan—his own company’s design, of course—trailing a plume of dust in his wake, kicked up off the unpaved desert road.

  A lean, dark man of medium height and middle years, he had a fondness for Cuban cigars and attractive women, emerging from the car with one of each in hand.

  His companion, a leggy blonde with a voluptuous Sophia Loren figure, paused for a dramatic moment in the piercing Arizona sunlight to slip on a pair of sunglasses and a stylish wide-brimmed hat. Only then did she deign to join the others already assembled.

  Introductions made, Leonelli monitored the proceedings for a time from the shade of a temporary awning. Puffing his cigar in silent consideration, he watched the shoot while the blonde lounged in a nearby chair.

  By early afternoon, the heat became oppressive and the director decided to shut down production. Work would conclude tomorrow.

  Before he left, Leonelli conferred with Madelyn and Zack, suggesting they meet him and his blonde companion, Nathalie, later for dinner and drinks.

  Located about ten minutes from the hotel, in a quiet section of Phoenix, the restaurant Leonelli chose was a small but elegant Greek establishment where he dined whenever he was in town. Done in white and blue with pretty little curtains, neat wooden tables, and authentic Grecian decor, it was rather like stepping into another country. Even the scents in the air were different, exotic, mysterious, delightful.

  Madelyn liked it immediately.

  She gave Zack an easy smile as they were shown to their table.

  He’d been true to his word today. Both of them had, burying their past under a comfortable layer of professionalism. She didn’t know when it had happened, but their agreement seemed to have smoothed away the worst of her nervous edges.

  This trip might work out all right, she told herself. The trick was to keep the focus on business and steer any other conversational gambits into safe, neutral waters.

  The talk moved along at an easygoing pace while they feasted on a delightful assortment of appetizers followed by crisp salads dressed with feta cheese, kalamata olives, and a tangy Greek vinaigrette.

  They were finishing their main course—Madelyn had selected a succulent roast lamb with tender baby vegetables—when Nathalie turned and spoke to Leonelli in a quick rush of Italian.

  He’d explained earlier that although Nathalie understood a bit of English, she had little facility for speaking the language. She was far more comfortable using him as an interpreter, an indulgence he was happy to grant.

  Leonelli focused on Madelyn. “She wants to know if she might have a closer view of your ring?”

  Madelyn placed her fork on her plate. “My ring? Oh, of course.” She held her hand out to the other woman, who leaned forward to see.

  “Do you play golf, Signorina Grayson?” Leonelli chewed a bite of moussaka.

  “Madelyn, please.” She smiled.

  He swallowed politely. “Madelyn.” He waited for her answer.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. My father tried to teach me years ago, but I fear I wasn’t the best of students. I concentrated my efforts on tennis instead.”

  “Tennis is too hot and exhausting, all that sweating and chasing, and for what? A fuzzy little ball.” He gave a dismissive gesture. “Golf is much better, a refined sport. You will play a round tomorrow, no? With Zack and me. Four o’clock. Now that you are a woman grown, you will like it as you did not as a child.”

  “Quanto bello,” Nathalie pronounced, beaming and nodding her appreciation for the close-up view of Madelyn’s ring.

  Madelyn returned the smile.

  “So, you will golf?” Leonelli persisted.

  “Of course she will, Giancarlo.” Zack nudged Madelyn’s foot under the table. “Won’t you, Madelyn?”

  Barely, she kept herself from growling at Zack. “Four, is it? The filming should be concluded by then. I’d be delighted to join you. Just don’t expect too much.”

  “We will spot you a few extra strokes, and Zack can help you with your swing.”

  “I can take care of my own swing, but thank you for the suggestion.”

  Leonelli looked back and forth between the pair of them for a long moment, then let out a hearty chuckle. “Independent American women.”

  Nathalie interrupted him with another spate of Italian.

  “She wants to know when you marry?”

  Madelyn addressed her reply to Nathalie. “The wedding is in December, the twenty-seventh, just after Christmas.”

  Leonelli relayed the answer and another question. “She says she loves weddings. You send her a picture.”

  “All right. Of course,” Madelyn agreed with a smile.

  “She says too that you
make such a beautiful couple and she knows you will be very happy together. Whatever little spat you’ve had, you must forget tonight and make it up in bed.”

  Madelyn’s eyes widened in shock. “You think that Zack and I . . . ? No, she misunderstands. He and I . . . we only work together. We aren’t getting married. I’m engaged to another man.”

  Clearly surprised, Leonelli relayed the information to an equally surprised Nathalie. “She apologizes for the mistake. You seem like two people in love; that is all. Well, perhaps we should think about dessert.”

  • • •

  Feet planted in the short, clipped grass, Madelyn focused her energy on the small white ball beneath her. Concentrate, she told herself.

  Line up the shot.

  Swing the club.

  And on the downward pass imagine the ball is Zack’s head, centered smack-dab, right there on the tee.

  Madelyn drew in a deep breath and lifted her club.

  Whap.

  The ball sailed in a clean, fast arc out over the fairway. Long and high, traveling, traveling, until it lost momentum and dropped onto the turf. After a pair of bounces, it rolled, quick and true, straight into a sand trap.

  Damn, she hated this game. And it was all Zack’s fault. Him and his opinionated foot.

  She should have kicked him a good one last night for nudging her into this—literally—and used her heel to mash a couple of his toes in the bargain. She should also have been independent enough to have refused Leonelli’s offer with a firm, polite, Thank you, but no, thank you. I don’t play golf.

  Instead, here she was, trapped. Not only in this viciously numbing game, but with Zack as well.

  Ever since that dreadful moment last night when she’d been forced to explain it wasn’t Zack she was marrying, she’d been on edge again. Whatever control she believed she’d gained over the situation, whatever ease, had vanished completely in that instant. She still didn’t know what that blonde, that Nathalie, thought she’d seen. Certainly nothing in her. There was nothing to see, not any longer.

  Zack must be responsible, the one who’d sent out revealing signals. Except that made no sense.

  Nathalie had mentioned love, and if there was one thing of which Madelyn felt sure, it was that Zack did not love her. He didn’t believe in such a useless, fragile emotion. Love, after all, was for fools. Obviously, Nathalie was a romantic with an overactive imagination, seeing emotions where they did not exist.

  Leonelli strolled across the fairway. “Good try, Madelyn. The ball traveled well and you improve with each shot. I think if you keep trying, we make a golfer out of you yet.”

  “It’s going to take a lot of trying, Giancarlo, especially now that I’m trapped in the sand.”

  “I been in the sand lots of times, but that will be our secret. Lucky for you, I know just the right club to get you out. Come on, we all keep playing.”

  The three of them climbed into the golf cart, Zack and Leonelli in front, and drove on. Zack led off next, his form impressive as he set up for his shot. Unlike Madelyn, Zack had a natural affinity for the game, coupled with the wisdom to know how to play well, but not too well. Trouncing the client was not the objective here.

  As she stood next to Leonelli to watch and wait, she couldn’t help but notice how splendid Zack looked in golf attire. The way his leaf brown polo shirt displayed each curve and angle of his torso. And the fascinating play in his loose-legged cotton trousers, the beige material tightening and releasing like a lover around his hard thighs and taut buttocks every time he bent or stretched.

  Hands on hips, he studied the course, then placed his golf club onto the turf next to the ball, letting it lie in a line between his legs as he squatted to visualize the shot.

  Madelyn forced her eyes away. “What did you think of today’s shoot? I thought the rushes looked good. Once the editing is completed, the commercial should have a strong visual impact.”

  Leonelli folded his arms over his chest, his eyes on Zack as the other man stood and moved into place to make the play. “I liked it, yes. It should keep people’s attention. And as you mention, once the editing is done and the pretty women are added, it will be, how do you say? Bellissimo.”

  “Pretty women? I’m not sure what you mean, Giancarlo. The ads for the XJL aren’t slated to have models in them. It’s a completely new product with a totally new campaign, one that showcases the car. There are no women.”

  “The ad is good. I tell you I like it. But when a man thinks about a car, especially a Giatta car, he thinks also of a beautiful woman, one he admires and longs to possess. For a man, there are no two things more desirable than to have the car and the woman. That is why we must have women in our ads. It has always been so.”

  Seeing Madelyn’s speechless expression, he continued, “Do not worry. All will be as you have planned except in this one matter.”

  Zack swung his club up, then down in a clean, powerful stroke, his body forming a line of fluid precision and control. With a loud thwack, the ball flew fast and straight, as though borne on wings. Yards distant, it fell to earth and slowed, rolling until it stopped a mere inch or two short of the hole.

  “Great shot,” Leonelli called to Zack.

  “Giancarlo,” she said, “this is a serious change, one we need to discuss.”

  “Grazie for your concern, but all of this, it has been taken care of.”

  “Taken care of how? I don’t—”

  “Zack, he is a man. He understands and has seen to the details. He said not to trouble you with this, so don’t be troubled. All is well.” He selected a three iron from his golf bag. “Now I must make my shot or those behind us will grow annoyed.”

  A red mist of rage enveloped her as Leonelli’s words sank in. So Zack was taking care of it, was he? she fumed. Seeing to last-minute details she need know nothing about? Changing her ad campaign, her commercials, interfering with her work without so much as a whisper? Her hands balled into fists at her sides and her neck muscles drew tight.

  “Madelyn. It’s your turn.” Zack halted near her elbow.

  When had he moved so close? And how could she have failed to notice? As for the game, she’d seen nothing—certainly not Leonelli’s last shot—blinded, apparently, by her anger.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She couldn’t look at him.

  She couldn’t speak to him.

  If she did, heaven knows what sort of dreadful invective might spew from her mouth. She was tempted to take a swing at him, to plant a fist right in his face. Wouldn’t he be surprised? It might be worth it just to see his shock.

  But for now she needed to control herself. Creating a scene in the middle of a public golf course, in the middle of a game, in front of a client, well, that would be unprofessional and juvenile. No matter the provocation, she would not give in to her emotions. At least not here. Grim in her fury, she gave Zack a curt nod then yanked a club out of her bag.

  How she made it through the remaining six holes, Madelyn would never know. It took everything she had to keep playing, and what had rated up to that point as a barely adequate performance quickly deteriorated to the level of miserable disaster.

  By the final hole, humiliation came in a close second to the anger still churning through her system. Too proud to cry, she donned her best smile and shrugged with the self-deprecating acceptance of a good sport.

  Leonelli won.

  As well as he’d played, Zack had been forced to take an extra stroke or two on a couple of holes, giving the Italian the advantage, narrowly. Madelyn was sure Zack had been deliberately careless with his putting. Recognizing his skillful duplicity only added fuel to the fire smoldering within her.

  Back at the hotel, she politely refused Leonelli’s invitation to dinner. A headache, she told him, an excuse that was fast threatening to become reality as a knot of pai
n gathered at the base of her skull. Eager for a few moments to herself, she made her way across the tiled width of the lobby.

  She punched the button for the elevator and pretended not to notice Zack when he walked up next to her.

  She maintained her silence for a full thirty seconds. “Don’t even speak to me,” she hissed, her eyes fixed on the lighted number panel above.

  He sighed and folded his arms over his chest.

  One of the four available elevators announced its arrival with a tiny ding. The illuminated arrow showed it was headed downward to one of the hotel’s lower levels. She and Zack were going up.

  A pair of teenagers dressed in bathing suits and flip-flops raced on, elbowing each other in between uncontrollable fits of giggles. The doors closed.

  “We’ll discuss it later; don’t think we won’t,” she bit out. “Right now, I just want some peace and quiet.”

  Zack leaned over and pressed his finger against the already lighted up button. He said nothing.

  “I can’t believe you’d do such a thing.” Madelyn tapped a foot against the floor, still refusing to look at him.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Leonelli’s got a big mouth. I should have known he couldn’t keep it closed for more than two minutes straight.”

  “It’s a good thing for me he couldn’t. What were you going to do? Order the new ads behind my back, then spring them on me once it was too late to have them redone?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to discuss this now.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t.”

  The elevator arrived. He stood aside and waited for her to enter.

  Once inside he punched the number for his floor on a panel to the right. She punched the button for her own floor on an identical panel to the left. The doors closed, leaving them alone.

  “I was going to talk to you about it, you know,” he declared as soon as the elevator car began to rise.

  “Oh, is that why you told Leonelli to keep your little meeting a secret? Because you wanted to surprise me with the changes and not . . . how did he put it . . . trouble me with the details?”

  “No, I didn’t want him to mention it I because I knew you wouldn’t like making changes to the ads and—”