Page 25 of Undercover Star
She wasn't at all wrong there. Matisse struggled into the vertical when what he really wanted was to bury his head in the couch cushions and wallow. He'd managed to get everyone out of his dressing room an hour ago, but Marissa wasn't just anyone. She was one of the three people who had keys to Matisse's life, dressing room included.
"After the gala... Josh spent the night at my place."
She pulled up a chair and sat down beside the sofa. "At your place or in your bed?"
"Both."
"And that has you at sixes and sevens, why?"
It was a fair question. Not that Matisse knew how to answer.Because it felt different? Because I wanted him to stay and he didn't?That was as stupid a reason as any other he'd come up with in the last four days.
"He lied to me. He told me the thief was after some ugly jet ornaments. He actually wanted a silver cross."
"And again I'm asking?"
"I don't know. Okay? He was hanging out with me, he talked to Rigger and Oats, maybe I thought... maybe I thought he wanted to be here. And it felt good. Like I wasn't alone. It seemed he understood, but it was all a job, and now it's done and.... Yeah."
"What did you think would happen after the gala?"
"Not... that, obviously."
"I don't mean did you think he'd stay the night. I meant, what did you think would happen after you'd done your bit to help him? Did you see yourself as his sidekick? Watson to his Sherlock?"
"Hardly." Matisse made a face. Whathadhe hoped for? Company? Friendship, maybe? A chance to feel a little less lonely than he had been feeling surrounded by people he'd known for years? Someone to talk to who had a completely different take on things? "I don't know what I thought," he said in the end. "When he wasn't a jerk, he was fun to talk to. Maybe I was hoping we could keep in touch."
"How did he end up spending the night?"
"The thief had a knife. Josh stepped in front of me. He didn't want a hospital, so Oats asked Dr. Cavour to the apartment."
"Was Josh badly hurt?"
"He said not. We argued. And then we... didn't."
"I see." She probably did see. More than Matisse did, too. "Does he know you're not out?"
"Yes."
"And you don't think that might have something to do with him drawing back?"
"Why should it? I didn't lie to him. I told him right off the bat."
"Good for you." Her tone implied the opposite. A part of Matisse resented that, but he kept silent. There was more mileage in listening to Marissa than in arguing with her. "How would you like it if you'd just met someone and he wanted to keep you a secret? How would that make you feel?"
"Safe, probably. You said it yourself, Marissa. We've only just met. And I'm planning to leave all this behind and start over, but it takes time."
"It could take forever. And Josh has no way of knowing. Why should he invest time and effort when he doesn't know you're prepared to do the same?"
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"HAVE THEY STOPPED MOPINGyet?" Marissa stood in the door to Montgomery's office. She looked as put together as she always did, and sounded as if she hadn't slept in a week. She'd just returned from a three-day whirlwind trip to Shanghai and had a legitimate reason for the rasp in her voice and the hint of a tired slump to her slim shoulders.
Tim Montgomery, who hadn't left London, shouldn't have known how she felt. That he did was due to one of their moping charges.
"Josh has barely started. Yesterday, I had to order him to go home. During the week before the gala I had hopes, but he seems to have crawled right back into his private hell. He's buried himself in work, day job and after hours, and if anyone comes close he snarls like a dog guarding a juicy steak. If he wasn't such a damned good detective, he'd have long since been in trouble. I'm sure of it." He poured tea from a delicate pot into an equally delicate cup, set the cup on a saucer, and handed both to Marissa. As always, she savoured the first small sip and then relaxed into her chair with a contented sigh.
"I never thought they'd be so stubborn."
"Matisse, too?"
