Placing her phone back on the desk, she read through Olivia’s contract to appear in the concert again. That, at least, was signed. But since she’d somehow got a clause included that meant it was only valid with the accompanying agreed and signed rider, it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. The rider was not only unsigned, but nowhere near agreed.
Violet had emailed over a revised version after their last conversation, deleting the request for ridiculously overpriced vodka amongst other things, and leaving in the more reasonable stuff. Since then, she’d heard nothing from Olivia’s camp.
A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Tom loitering in the doorway. She scowled at him by reflex.
‘What did I do to put such a look on your face today?’ he asked good-naturedly, dropping to sit in what Violet had somehow come to think of as his chair. ‘Since you haven’t actually seen me since breakfast, when I think I was mostly inoffensive.’
‘Jake Collins isn’t answering my calls. Or my emails.’
‘Olivia’s manager?’ Tom shook his head. ‘He likes his games, that one.’
‘I’d rather figured that out for myself, actually,’ Violet snapped. ‘And this particular game is down to you, I think.’
‘You think he’s ignoring you because of what I said to him the other day?’ Tom shrugged. ‘He still deserved it.’
Which was true, but not particularly helpful. ‘I think he’s stringing me along, making me fret until the very last moment when he’ll show up with both the signed rider and my big name act for the concert.’
‘Then why are you worrying?’ Tom asked. ‘Just ignore his little mind games and get on with everything else.’
He made it sound so easy. ‘Because there’s always the possibility that he’s playing a different game. Olivia’s contract is pretty much meaningless without the signed rider and if they pull out at the last minute, once all the concert publicity is done and the programmes printed...’
Tom winced at the implication. ‘So what are you going to do?’
And wasn’t that the three thousand dollar bottle of vodka question? What did she do? Keep phoning and emailing like a desperate person? The ballsy thing to do would be to cancel Olivia altogether, unless the rider was signed by the end of the day—Violet was sure that was what Rose would do. But Violet didn’t have Rose’s connections to help her find a suitably starry replacement at the last moment.
Which only left door number three.
‘I’m going to go and find Jake Collins and his teenage pop idol and get a signature on this bloody rider, that’s what I’m going to do.’ Violet wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Turning her laptop so Tom could see, she elaborated. ‘Olivia’s in the middle of a UK arena tour at the moment. Today’s Friday, so she’s in...’ she ran a finger down the list of tour dates on the screen ‘...Brighton. So that’s where I’m going.’
Tom blinked at her, then a slow smile spread across his face. ‘Road trip. Cool. When do we leave?’
‘We?’ That wasn’t the plan at all. ‘No we. Just me. I need to do this myself.’
‘Hey, I’m not planning on interfering,’ Tom said, holding his hands up in a surrender pose. ‘I just want to see you take Jake Collins down yourself this time. Off the record, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Violet echoed with disbelief. As much as, oddly, she found she wouldn’t mind Tom’s company on the trip, she wasn’t sure this was an episode she wanted finding its way into his book.
‘Besides, I know the PR staff at the venue. I can probably get us press credentials to get us into the gig in the first place.’
Okay, now that would be useful. She hadn’t even thought beyond getting to Brighton to how she’d actually get past security to see the star and her manager.
Decision made, Violet closed the lid of her laptop. ‘Better grab your stuff then. If I want to get there before the gig, I need to leave in...’ she checked her watch ‘...twenty minutes.’
Tom grinned and jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll be ready in fifteen.’
Which was all very well for him. Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for a road trip with Tom Buckley.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOM WAS ALREADY leaning against the car when Violet emerged from Huntingdon Hall eighteen minutes later, overnight bag in hand. He hadn’t wanted to risk her disappearing without him.
Inviting himself along on her little road trip had been a spur of the moment decision, but he’d decided while packing that it was a good one. From a purely professional standpoint, watching Violet take on Jake Collins could be pure gold for the book—not to mention the fact that a couple of hours trapped in a car together would give him plenty of time to interview her on the way to Brighton. For once, she wouldn’t be able to escape his questions.
He was less comfortable with his other reasons for wanting to accompany her. Because he had to admit the truth—to himself, if not to Violet—that when he’d made the decision to join her he hadn’t been thinking professionally at all. He’d been thinking about the look on her face when Jake Collins had spoken to her as if she were nothing. He’d been thinking about her plucking up the courage to face him and demand a signature.
He’d been thinking that he didn’t want her to have to do it alone. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why it mattered so much to him that he would be there to protect her.
Shaking his head to clear his rebellious thoughts, Tom grinned at Violet as she drew close. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’ She gave him a less certain smile. ‘You know, you really don’t have to come. I’ll be fine.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I know. But I’ve been in the country for over a week now, and still haven’t seen anything but the airport and Huntingdon Hall. I’m ready for a road trip.’
Violet opened the trunk and they both stashed their bags. ‘You’ve been to Britain before, though, right?’ she asked as she slid into the driver’s seat.
‘Loads of times,’ Tom admitted. ‘But I’ve never seen any of it with you.’
She opened her mouth as if about to answer, then closed it again, frowning at the steering wheel. ‘We should get going, then.’
Tom settled back into the passenger seat as Violet started the engine, turned on the radio and pulled out onto the long driveway. At least he wasn’t the only one a little unsettled by their connection.
They travelled mostly in silence, content to listen to the radio, until they reached the motorway—and stationary traffic. Tom’s only attempts at conversation—gentle precursors to the questions he actually wanted to ask—had been rebuffed by a sharp, ‘I’m trying to concentrate on the road right now,’ from Violet. Not that he believed her. He knew a stalling tactic when he heard one.
But as the motionless cars spread out ahead of them as they crested the slip road, he straightened up in his seat and prepared to try again.
‘Looks like we might have to catch Olivia after her performance,’ he said, as casually as he could.
Violet swore in response, and he hid a grin. Where had a nice girl lik
e her learnt words like that?
‘That was off the record, by the way,’ she added.
‘Of course,’ Tom said, as seriously as he could manage.
‘Dammit.’ Violet thumped a hand against the steering wheel. ‘Can you check the traffic reports? See how bad this is likely to be?’
Tom nodded and reached for his phone but, before he could find it, a shrill ringing filled the car.
‘That’s mine.’ Violet nodded towards where her phone sat in a little space below the dashboard. Cars up ahead jerked forward, just enough for her to try and edge the car onto the main motorway. ‘Is it Mr Collins?’
Tom fished out the phone and looked. ‘It’s your mother.’
‘Of course.’ Violet sighed. ‘I’ll call her back when we get there.’
‘Or I could just...’ Tom swiped the screen to answer, and gave Violet an innocent smile in response to her glare. ‘Hello, Sherry. Violet’s just driving at the moment. Can I help?’
‘Tom, great—yes, please. Can you tell her that I just had Frances Littlewood on the phone, asking who Violet is bringing as her plus one for Henry’s wedding next weekend? She says one of Henry’s ushers is single if she’s stuck...’
Sherry sounded harried, which was very unlike her. But then, Henry Littlewood’s wedding was the theatre dynasty event of the summer. In fact, he had a feeling that Rick and Sherry were godparents to Henry himself. The Littlewoods had the same sort of money, prestige and power in the acting world as Rick and Sherry had in the music one. It was bound to be quite the event. Quite the public event. Just the sort of thing Violet usually avoided, as far as Tom could tell.
He covered the phone with his hand. ‘She wants to know who you’re taking to Henry Littlewood’s wedding next weekend. Otherwise, Frances Littlewood is setting you up with an usher.’
Violet swore again and Tom grinned, glad Sherry couldn’t hear.