There were worse places to get stuck, Ian decided, than in the back of a limo on the way to Miami Beach. Even Sienna seemed interested in the vista of sunset waters and, up ahead, an island filled with high-rises that glistened in the golden dusk. “What if the issue we’re discussing impacts our concert?”
“It won’t.” Rafi assured him. “It can’t. You won’t let it.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?”
“You handled it at the restaurant,” Rafi reminded him. “You’ll handle it again now.”
Graham said, “Connor is one of the team. You bring the others along. He will follow.”
“He needs to wake up, is all,” Rafi said.
Graham said, “Connor’s played with this group for years. Isn’t that what you said? He trusts them. Helikesthem. If Connor sees the others responding to you in a happy and positive manner, he willwantto follow their lead. And yours.”
“Let’s not forget, he is also a highly successful actor,” Rafi added. “Hard as it may be for him to accept, he is being given his role. By you.”
“Mark my words,” Graham said. “He is a trained professional. He’ll come around.”
“Kicking and screaming, most likely,” Rafi said.
“Tantrums are part of working with artists,” Graham added. “It’s in all our contracts.”
* * *
The Ritz Carlton was a bastion of South Beach. The high-rise towered like a gleaming marble pinnacle above its older, more tawdry neighbors. As Ian had requested, an assistant manager was there to greet them and personally open Kari’s limo door. They were ushered straight through a lobby filled with families and the clamor of half a dozen languages. A smiling bellhop held the elevator door open for them, pressed the top button with a gloved finger, and waved other guests to a different lift.
When it was just the three of them, the hotel director ventured, “Was your manager correct when he said Mr. Hart intends to take the Royal Suite’s second bedroom?”
“Yes,” Kari replied. “He does. Absolutely.”
“I must tell you, that comes as a great relief. Ms. Kerkorian was adamant that we also find space for Connor Larkin and a Mr. Daniel Byrd.”
“Good for Kiki,” Ian said.
“Yes. Well. Ms. Kerkorian actually insisted that we take in your entire group. Including the film crew. Eleven rooms in total.” The manager sniffed. “I had such a difficult time trying to explain that we have been booked solid for months. But you know Ms. Kerkorian.”
“So Connor and Danny have arrived?” Ian asked.
“Seventh floor. The family we were forced to relocate is now, thankfully, in the suite originally reserved for you, Mr. Hart. If you had insisted on taking that, as well, I don’t know what we would have done.” He smiled nervously at Kari. “The call from your manager, Ms. Langham, truly made my day.”
The suite was, in a word, stunning. High ceilinged and flowing in lyrical majesty, one grand chamber after another, out to where the trio of balconies overlooked the Atlantic. Parlor large enough to contain a grand piano resting under one of four chandeliers. Full kitchen. Dining room.
The master bedroom was only slightly smaller than the downstairs lobby.
Kari took one look and told Ian, “You can definitely sleep in here.”
“Not on your life.”
“Ian, I can’t . . .” She stopped because he had already turned away and was headed for the double doors on the parlor’s opposite side. “Please.”
“Sorry. Not happening.” He slid back the doors and discovered a Canali suit bag on the bed. “What’s this?”
“Compliments of Ms. Kerkorian,” the hotel director informed him. “I believe there’s a note.”
Ian opened the envelope and read.
For my newly favorite bad boy. In case my attorneys still have your clothes under lock and key. Consider this a bribe to have you continue this spate of good behavior. Please. For all our sakes.
Once the bellhop had deposited his cases in his bedroom, Ian called Arthur. “I forgot to ask about our dress for the concert.”
