him. “You just got back from St. Kitts. I think we need to establish you working for a bit, you know, build the drama of the season around something. I’m all for the glamour of the high vacation lifestyle, but if we do too much of it without showing you digging into other projects, your brand is going to take some hits on—”
Scott rammed his head against a wall, cracking timbers somewhere within and causing Kat to jump. “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t help it.”
“Listen, pal,” Taggert said with a sweet smile and a friendly tone that set off every warning bell in Kat’s head, “you just don’t understand the business—”
“Is it the funeral business?” Scott asked, turning around to reveal a gash on his forehead that was trailing a thin trickle of blood. “Because that’s the business you’re about to be in—”
A hard knocking at the door caused all of them to jump. “Karyn,” Taggert snapped a finger, pointing Kat’s assistant to the door.
Karyn looked dumbstruck, even though she regularly opened the door and answered the phone. “Uhh …”
“I’ll get it,” Scott said, running a hand across his brow. It took a second for things to settle and for Kat to realize that the knock had come from the back door, the one that led to the pool deck, not the front door where guests would normally—
“Wait!” Kat threw up a hand just as Scott came up short of the handle. The door swung wide; it was unlocked. Oh God … she thought.
“Apparently you people don’t learn from Paris Hilton’s mistakes.” Sienna Nealon stepped inside, dressed in her usual trainwreck of too-loose to be flattering jeans, a blouse top that looked appropriate for a low-paid teacher, lace-up boots of the sort a construction worker or a Goth might wear, and a leather jacket that was too baggy to be cool and too ugly to fit in anywhere Kat had ever been.
“Sienna,” she said, blanching at the woman’s taste in clothes.
“Kat,” Sienna said, halting just in front of Scott and behind Taggert, who stood there looking at her with dollar signs dancing in his eyes. She made a face, like she’d taken a swig of Diet Coke and gotten the lime by accident. “I heard someone’s trying to kill you and I came to help.” She paused. “… To help you , I mean. Not help them kill you. Probably.”
And she grinned in a manner that was not very reassuring.
10.
Sienna
Kat’s house wasn’t the hardest thing to find. I had to stop for one of those star maps, but once I had it, it was easy peasy to come drifting down in the backyard next to the lovely pool and just invite myself in. The temp was a pleasant seventy or so, a dramatic change from both what I’d left behind in Minneapolis and what I’d experienced flying here.
“You don’t look so pleased to see me, Kat,” I said, looking past Scott, who seemed relieved, and another guy, to where the object of my ire waited. She did not look relieved or like she’d peed recently at all, really; she looked like she needed to go, mouth wide in a horrified rictus, like she figured I was going to jump over the lushly appointed couches between us, overturning the end tables as I went, just so I could punch her in her scaredy-Kat face.
NYET! Gavrikov shouted in my head.
Relax, Aleksandr , I thought real loud, I’m not gonna do it . Again .
Probably.
“I’m … glad to see you, Sienna,” Kat said, convincing me that a Best Actress award was not going to be forthcoming to her anytime soon, at least not for this performance. “Really,” she added, not exactly the frosting on the convincing cake.
“Hi, how you doing,” the relieving guy said, sliding up to me. “I’m Taggert.” Like that alone was supposed to mean something to me. “I’m Kitten’s agent-producer.” He waved a hand to move a couple guys with a microphone and a camera huddling in the corner. They started working their way around the room closer to me.
“Aren’t agents and producers supposed
Scott rammed his head against a wall, cracking timbers somewhere within and causing Kat to jump. “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t help it.”
“Listen, pal,” Taggert said with a sweet smile and a friendly tone that set off every warning bell in Kat’s head, “you just don’t understand the business—”
“Is it the funeral business?” Scott asked, turning around to reveal a gash on his forehead that was trailing a thin trickle of blood. “Because that’s the business you’re about to be in—”
A hard knocking at the door caused all of them to jump. “Karyn,” Taggert snapped a finger, pointing Kat’s assistant to the door.
Karyn looked dumbstruck, even though she regularly opened the door and answered the phone. “Uhh …”
“I’ll get it,” Scott said, running a hand across his brow. It took a second for things to settle and for Kat to realize that the knock had come from the back door, the one that led to the pool deck, not the front door where guests would normally—
“Wait!” Kat threw up a hand just as Scott came up short of the handle. The door swung wide; it was unlocked. Oh God … she thought.
“Apparently you people don’t learn from Paris Hilton’s mistakes.” Sienna Nealon stepped inside, dressed in her usual trainwreck of too-loose to be flattering jeans, a blouse top that looked appropriate for a low-paid teacher, lace-up boots of the sort a construction worker or a Goth might wear, and a leather jacket that was too baggy to be cool and too ugly to fit in anywhere Kat had ever been.
“Sienna,” she said, blanching at the woman’s taste in clothes.
“Kat,” Sienna said, halting just in front of Scott and behind Taggert, who stood there looking at her with dollar signs dancing in his eyes. She made a face, like she’d taken a swig of Diet Coke and gotten the lime by accident. “I heard someone’s trying to kill you and I came to help.” She paused. “… To help you , I mean. Not help them kill you. Probably.”
And she grinned in a manner that was not very reassuring.
10.
Sienna
Kat’s house wasn’t the hardest thing to find. I had to stop for one of those star maps, but once I had it, it was easy peasy to come drifting down in the backyard next to the lovely pool and just invite myself in. The temp was a pleasant seventy or so, a dramatic change from both what I’d left behind in Minneapolis and what I’d experienced flying here.
“You don’t look so pleased to see me, Kat,” I said, looking past Scott, who seemed relieved, and another guy, to where the object of my ire waited. She did not look relieved or like she’d peed recently at all, really; she looked like she needed to go, mouth wide in a horrified rictus, like she figured I was going to jump over the lushly appointed couches between us, overturning the end tables as I went, just so I could punch her in her scaredy-Kat face.
NYET! Gavrikov shouted in my head.
Relax, Aleksandr , I thought real loud, I’m not gonna do it . Again .
Probably.
“I’m … glad to see you, Sienna,” Kat said, convincing me that a Best Actress award was not going to be forthcoming to her anytime soon, at least not for this performance. “Really,” she added, not exactly the frosting on the convincing cake.
“Hi, how you doing,” the relieving guy said, sliding up to me. “I’m Taggert.” Like that alone was supposed to mean something to me. “I’m Kitten’s agent-producer.” He waved a hand to move a couple guys with a microphone and a camera huddling in the corner. They started working their way around the room closer to me.
“Aren’t agents and producers supposed
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