Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(68)

He let out a heavy breath and turned to face her. “I love you as a friend. I always have, and I always will. I’m sorry I lied to you all these years. I never meant to lead you on, not like that. I always wanted you to be happy and knew you couldn’t be happy with me because I can’t make you happy.”

Drawing her hand back, she hugged herself again. “Now what?”

“Now I try to find him and straighten this out.”

“What about the tour? We have a show tonight. And we’re supposed to go over to the children’s hospital later today for that surprise gig.”

“I know. I’m not backing out of my obligations. The band comes first. It always has for me. That’s why I put myself on hold and ended up a drunk.” He returned to his room and put out the Do Not Disturb sign.

He tried calling the alternate number Doyle had left in his voice mail, but it referred people to call the private rehab center in Laguna Beach that he worked for when he was home.

And he didn’t have Doyle’s e-mail address.

He’d never needed it before.

He called Clark and got his voice mail. After leaving him a message to call him, he set his ringer to loud and started stripping so he could get in the shower.

That’s when he spotted the faint marks on his right wrist. Blinking away tears, he found the marker and re-inked them.

Please don’t let this be f*cked up now.





“Did you want a drink, sir?” the stewardess asked.

“Soda water, please.”

“Any food?”

“Not right now, thanks. Just pretzels or chips, if you have them. Something bland.”

“Pita chips?”

“Perfect.”

They were only thirty minutes into the ten-hour flight, and being in first class meant a comfy seat and top-notch treatment.

Tate had spared no expense in his gratitude. Fortunately, there’d been seats left on the early flight, meaning Doyle hadn’t needed to wait for a later one.

Also meaning he had the perfect excuse to pack and leave the hotel immediately.

To not risk having to face Mevi again.

Ever.

To face the fact that he’d ignored his instincts and training and had come perilously close to ruining his life.

Well, his professional life.

His personal life was nuked from orbit.

She poured his drink for him, handing him the cup as well as the rest of the can when he asked for it, and two bags of pita chips. He’d had a bagel in the terminal while waiting to board, so he wasn’t starving, but his stomach was slightly upset.

Tate would have a driver waiting for Doyle in Vienna to pick him up and take him to the filming location to meet up with his new client, actress Pippa Coarsely. She’d just finished a stint in a private London rehab facility for a painkiller addiction. Typical story, she’d had back surgery and gotten hooked on them.

The A-list actress had voluntarily checked herself in before she’d had a train wreck. She knew from having drug addict parents that she was on a downhill slide and wanted to stop it before she went too far. Tate had also readily agreed to Doyle’s tripled fee—although Doyle had considered toying with Tate about his offer of a million pounds—because Pippa was eager to work hard for her sobriety.

That meant she’d be an easy client to wrangle. She wanted to stay clean and sober, desperate to keep her rising career on track. She wasn’t even required to have him there by the studio, since she’d yet to do anything to violate any of her contracts or incur penalties. It was still being treated as an ongoing health issue resulting from her back surgery, since Tate was one of the best in the business at what he did, including spinning stories.

And they’d be shooting at various locales across Europe for the next two to four months, depending on the weather and production delays. Doyle might be needed past the location shooting to when they shifted to England, to shoot remaining footage on a soundstage. He’d already notified The Compound of that, as well as his cleaning service. Wi-Fi on location would be spotty, at best.

His cell phone had been stashed, turned off, in one of his checked bags in the hold. He wouldn’t need it. Wouldn’t work over there anyway, except the Wi-Fi part of it. He’d pick up a cheap phone that would work over there once he was on the ground, but anyone needing him had his e-mail.

He tried not to think about Mevi.

He tried not to think about the fact that he’d broken the prime rule about not getting personally involved with a client.

About the fact that turning his back on his professional responsibilities and ethics had not only broken his heart, but could have jeopardized his career had word of his relationship with Mevi reached the press. Not to mention could have jeopardized Mevi’s recovery.

You stupid f*ck, as Tilly would say.

He settled in to nap. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep last night, having showered and packed after returning to the room and texting Tate, who’d immediately called him and booked his flight.

A little jet lag-induced exhaustion would do him good. It meant he’d be able to sleep when he finally laid his head down in a bed, wherever he ended up.

Might be the last good night of sleep he got for a while, too.





Chapter Twenty-Four


“ You want to tell me why this is so important?” Clark groused.