The A-List Collection: Hollywood Sinners / Wicked Ambition / Temptation Island

‘Logistics,’ explained Robert. ‘Two of our guests are staying here–Lana Falcon and Cole Steel. We need a limousine out back; the drive round will give them the best approach to the carpet. It’s to be timed to the second.’

Robert and Alberto were walking the Orient. He had deliberately kept the Desert Jewel clear of the premiere–the Parthenon would house their A-list guests while the screening and after party took place here–so he had requested his friend’s assistance in managing the floor.

They passed a dealer and Robert nodded an acknowledgement. ‘We’re closing the Strip,’ he went on, ‘so there shouldn’t be any trouble.’

Alberto stopped outside the auditorium. ‘Can you do that?’

‘We just did. I don’t want Sam Lucas getting stuck behind a goddamn busload of weekend gamers, do I?’

Alberto glanced behind him. ‘And Elisabeth’s performance?’

Robert put his hands in his pockets. ‘After the show. Free liquor’s what a lot of them are here for anyway.’ He grinned. ‘She’ll get a happy audience.’

‘She sounds wonderful, you know.’

Robert eyed his colleague. ‘I know.’

‘I have heard her in rehearsal,’ he said softly. ‘She sings like an angel. Tell me, St Louis, have you?’

Robert tensed. In fact, he hadn’t been around for any of Elisabeth’s preparations–he’d been too busy with his own. Still, he didn’t like the old man’s attitude.

‘What are you implying, exactly, Bellini?’

Alberto leaned back, folding his arms. ‘Exactly nothing.’

‘I resent your tone.’ Robert kept his voice low. ‘Don’t use it with me again.’

Alberto matched his gaze.

At last Robert clapped the older man on the shoulder as he might the flank of a horse, their professional relationship resumed. ‘Let’s walk.’

The men made their way through to the casino. An orchestra of gaming instruments hit them with wild, discordant song: slots switching and flashing; the patter of chips as they spat into trays and were tossed into buckets; the brittle roll of the roulette wheel; and the shouts of the players. And above all, that smell, sweet and sharp, the aroma of changing luck.

‘Tell that jackass he’s had enough to drink,’ Robert instructed his casino manager. He nodded to a man with thick ginger hair and small crab-eyes who kept slipping off his table stool. ‘It’s not a free bar in here. If he’s not happy, get security to take him out.’

His manager followed orders. There were 130,000 square feet of Orient casino–his guys had to survey the tables like hawks.

Alberto walked quickly to keep up. ‘Elisabeth did tell me she was having trouble getting you alone. You spend too much time in the casinos, St Louis.’

‘I’ll spend time where I like.’

‘She wanted to talk to you. She said—’

Robert turned on him, his patience expired. ‘I’ll say this once, Bellini: my relationship with Elisabeth has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it. Christ! If it’s not Bernstein, it’s you.’ It bothered him to think that Elisabeth had been discussing their private lives with one of his employees. He knew they’d spent a lot of time together during Elisabeth’s residency but this was too much–now Bellini was acting like a concerned father.

At the craps deck Robert’s assistant fell into step beside him. ‘Sir, you’ve got a visitor.’

He waved the young man away. ‘I haven’t anything scheduled, they’ll have to wait.’

His assistant leaned in. ‘It’s Lana Falcon, boss.’

Robert stopped. He kept his face perfectly still. ‘Fine. I’ll be out.’

63 (#ulink_69bfa886-1546-52f7-92a3-09ac3601599d)

She was sitting in the foyer on a green silk couch the colour of her eyes. Her face was turned away from him, the delicate line of her profile, the alabaster skin framed by the warmth of her hair. For a moment he watched and remembered her. If this was the last time, he would not forget this picture.

‘Lana.’ He greeted her formally, an acquaintance. Part of him wanted to yell at her. Part of him wanted to kiss her and never stop.

‘Hi.’ She stood, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a self-conscious gesture he knew well. ‘I’m sorry to come here unannounced.’

Robert shook his head, the apology unnecessary. ‘It’s fine.’ Perhaps she was in town on business, wanted to drop by on an old friend. Her audacity galled him. She might be able to play make-believe but it gave her no right to assume the same of him.

‘I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes,’ she said, knotting her hands. ‘You see, I …’ She shook her head. ‘God, how do I say this …?’

He waited.

‘I need your help,’ she said finally, meeting his dark eyes. ‘I didn’t know where else to come. It’s silly, I’m sure–you’re busy.’ Her voice cracked.

Robert knew how he was meant to feel. He was meant to hate her, wish her gone, tell her to leave and never come back and stop crashing into his life just when he thought he had his head together. But he couldn’t.

‘Hey.’ He touched her elbow. Then, aware they were attracting attention, ‘Come on, let’s get some privacy.’

They walked in silence. Lana couldn’t tell if he was angry, disappointed, or what. He carried himself with such control, such power–part of it so familiar and part she didn’t know at all. She wanted desperately to rediscover him.

It was an uncomfortable ride to the thirtieth floor. Robert didn’t speak. The fact of her next to him was so unprecedented that it was as if time and place had dislocated, swapping them over, picking them up ten years ago and putting them down here, now, telling them to make fate from whatever was left.

In his office he poured them two large mugs of steaming coffee, while she walked the room and marvelled at its grandeur. She was in awe: she’d known how rich he was, but seeing him again at the heart of his empire, the full force of his efforts made real, words escaped her.

When he passed her coffee their hands met briefly. He went to sit at his desk but then realised how absurd that was-it wasn’t one of his business meetings, it was Lana.

They perched uncomfortably on either end of a low-backed couch.

‘It’s been a long time,’ he said, sipping his coffee too quickly and scalding his top lip. It seemed such a formal thing to say. Language was useless, a distraction.

‘Three months,’ she smiled. She considered adding ‘And eight days’ but thought that might sound creepy.

‘You know what I mean.’

A silence passed, but they were both happy to let it stand.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

‘Actually, I ate already.’

He nodded.

Then she said impulsively, like a confession, ‘I had a burger.’