Helen’s ride pulled up behind a black Humvee limo idling out front of the Ritz Carlton hotel. On the sidewalk, a wedding party, the bride an exuberant poof of white frosting, posed for photos. Through her backseat window pane, Helen observed their happiness with clinical detachment. Romance was the furthest thing from her addled mind.
She texted Lisa: Wish me luck.
Her phone dinged a second later. Lisa: Good luck. What are you going to tell Brian?
The pair still stood on shaky ground friendship-wise, but at least they were speaking.
Mainlining the positivity gleaned from Lisa’s text, Helen paid the driver and hopped out of a backseat perfumed with saccharine strawberry air freshener. Wind nipped her nose, dashing hair in her face along with misty blasts of drizzle. But the dreary day couldn’t dampen her rising spirits.
Thanks to Stacy, her mom, and a bunch of people the rocker chick brought to L&E from her bartending job, the studio was doing better. Much better. If the influx of new students hung on to their memberships for a few months, Helen and Lisa could get the mortgage current by Christmas. Despite the brisk breezes penetrating her fleece jacket, Helen warmed. She’d done something right for a change, and through the use of smarts and legitimate business savvy for that matter. Maybe Nerissa had the right idea with her talk of Helen using inner strengths.
She sucked in a breath of frigid air and typed a reply. No time to soul search or get ahead of herself.
Helen: Try to convince him that the vision was real, and that he needs to get away from this Joe dude and find that crystal.
Lisa: You got this. Gotta run, off to sub your classes! Wish I could do all of those arm balances as well as you. Hope I don’t splat on the floor and break my nose, LOL.
Helen: Go forth and kick ass. And thank you for understanding.
Lisa hadn’t climbed aboard the witch, magic, and vision train, not yet, but she was humoring Helen and being a good sport. So progress.
The driver plopped her suitcase on the curb, slammed the door, and took off with a squeal of tires. Okay. Go time. Head up, shoulders back.
Wheels of her rolling bag squeaking behind her, she strode through the hotel’s sleek, minimalist lobby while calling upon every ounce of confidence in her arsenal. Real strength came from a place of integrity, personal conviction, and honesty. And honesty was her best bet for getting Brian to open up and to help them undo the hex.
A quick elevator ride deposited her on his floor, fancy as the rest of the hotel with sumptuous carpet in a rich shade of burnt sienna and impressionistic landscape paintings beautifying the walls. She rechecked her text for his room number and made haste to his door.
He’d agreed to see her, and she needed to take this shot. Do right by him.
Helen knocked, and the sound of his footsteps ignited a rush of nerves. Brian had put her up in a different room in his hotel so she wouldn’t have to run around. A small act of consideration rich with kindness. Though the devil allegedly resided in the details, Helen found an angel in the nuances of Brian’s actions.
He swung the door wide, greeting her with a businesslike nod. In a black hoodie and worn jeans ending at bare feet, he emitted a downplayed sort of eroticism. Must have been the subtle intimacy of bare feet. Long, high arches tapered into graceful toes. Made her wonder if the rest of him was like his feet. Well-proportioned, nice length.
She coughed a fake cough, blasting the fantasy out of her mind. This was a serious work visit, not a social call or hookup. “Good to see you.”
“You too. Come in.” Caution in his tone put distance between them. He touched her waist as she walked past, pulling away like he had to guard himself against more contact. She killed the urge to hug Brian. They weren’t on comfy-cozy terms.
Helen propped her bag in a corner, taking the initiative of putting the luggage somewhere in order to bypass mention of a bedroom.
With a panoramic glance, she took in a swank suite more akin to a penthouse apartment than a hotel room. A plush sofa, glass table set with a vase of black calla lilies, and overstuffed chairs dressed a living room overlooking downtown Denver. A few guitar cases and small amps sat piled in a corner. Dang. She had to admit the fancy digs and sprawling view caused her chest to swell with excitement.
“Nice place,” she said.
Had he already brought a woman to his sexy, anonymous, tour-stop bachelor pad? Called upon the services of a random groupie to sate his male urges? The thought lit a flare of envy. But she didn’t smell perfume or other residual traces of femininity, neutralizing the baseless jealously. Yeesh. Why did she even care?
Brian cracked a smile, dimples denting both cheeks. “Thanks. You can help me trash it later, but I get to throw the television out the window.”
Helen twiddled her fingers like a cartoon villain. She had to admit, a man who could deploy observational humor with aplomb took her down like kryptonite. “Is TV defenestration the apex of the rock star hotel room freak-out?”
Brian shook his head and stepped closer. His sea eyes drowned her, mesmerizing in their searching desire. The look in his stare heightened her awareness of his scent, musk blended with shower freshness.
“Oh. No. That’s beginning of the night shenanigans. When I hit my peak I’m driving a Mercedes into the pool and snorting kitty litter mixed with what’s left of the blow.”
“I see. What happens after two a.m.? Gluing the furniture to the ceiling? Stealing a groupie’s pet monkey and lighting its tail on fire?” She eyed his fit, lean body. Good thing she had willpower in spades. Yeah. She did. She had lots, tons.
Helen was here to work on a supernatural conundrum, not to seduce or be
