A Diva in Manhattan: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

AUBRIE DIONNE

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Aubrie Dionne 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Aubrie Dionne asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2014

ISBN: 9780007594603

Version: 2016-11-17

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

To Donna Lombardo, the fabulous opera soprano and my good friend. Thank you for all of your insights and advice!

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE: First Sight

CHAPTER TWO: Tea

CHAPTER THREE: Prize

CHAPTER FOUR: Opera Witch

CHAPTER FIVE: Looking Too Hard

CHAPTER SIX: Heroes and Villains

CHAPTER SEVEN: Sabotage

CHAPTER EIGHT: Improvisation

CHAPTER NINE: Time

CHAPTER TEN: From Riches to Rags

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Work and Play

CHAPTER TWELVE: Pearl

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Bumps in the Night

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Message

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Baring It All

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Return to Reality

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Prize Students

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Deal Breaker

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Bianca’s Revenge

CHAPTER TWENTY: Parting Gift

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: Truth

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: Offer

Also by Aubrie Dionne…

Aubrie Dionne

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

First Sight

Alaina sang the last note of her aria and waited for her voice to echo throughout the farthest rows of the Metropolitan Opera House. A year ago, she would have never thought she’d be standing here in front of the judges. But, one favorable review on her Italian tour last summer was all it had taken to escalate her into high demand status and get her the audition of a lifetime for the character of Pamina in The Magic Flute.

She brought her arms down to her sides and awaited judgment. She’d sung her lungs out. If that wasn’t the bomb, then she didn’t know what they were looking for.

Roxanne Smith, an older woman with Elizabeth Taylor’s wild dark hair, and the president of the board nodded to the European conductor, Altez Vior, then addressed Alaina. “Obviously you have the vocals for the part.”

Alaina concealed her breath of relief and bowed her head, trying to look modest - an act that didn’t come to her naturally. “Thank you.”

“But.” Elizabeth’s look-a-like tapped her pen on her cheek.

Alaina swallowed her disdain. She never did like those old movies. “Yes?”

“The role calls for a sweet young maiden in love, which is hardly what you’re known for.”

Alaina bit back a retort. “I can assure you, I’m an excellent actress.”

Roxanne held up a finger. “But will concert goers want to see you in that role? Will they believe you are capable of unrequited love?”

“They will believe what I sing.” She was at the top of her game, and she’d have the audience at her feet with one sweet note. Why couldn’t these idiots see that?

The conductor, nodded, rubbing his hand over his crazy white hair. “Perhaps. But, to get them in the seats in the first place, you need to soften your image.”

Alaina scoffed. Her image? Why, she was the most beautiful, alluring, and versatile soprano around. Who else were they looking for? Mother Teresa? “And how do you propose I do that?”

Roxanne smiled wickedly. “We want you to volunteer as a music teacher at Heart House.”

“Heart House?” Shock weakened her knees, followed by a large dose of fear. That was a charter school for the underprivileged. They scribbled more graffiti on the walls than notes on a page. She’d even heard there were gangs.

Mr. Vior nodded. “That’s not all. You’ll have to attend a number of high profile fundraisers for children with disabilities, victims of tragedies, and the Center for Cancer Research.”

Alaina blinked as she digested his words. Being an only child, she had no practice working with children, the only tragic thing she’d experienced was a bad review, and the thought of anything medical made her sick to her stomach. “I see.”

The conductor raised both his eyebrows. “If you agree, we are willing to offer you the part.”

The bright lights burned into her retinas as a feeling of claustrophobia came over her. For someone who’d been on stage her entire life, social work was far from her comfort zone.

She couldn’t refuse. Singing at the Met would propel her career into the stratosphere. She’d never need to belt out another Ava Maria at a wedding again. She could handpick any role she wanted, join any touring opera company in the country, maybe even the world.

“I accept.”

“Excellent.” Roxanne clapped her iPad case closed and stood. “We’ll see you tonight at our first fundraiser for Project Wish.”

Tonight? She’d been planning on a bubble bath to de-stress. Before she could respond, the conductor walked to the stage and shook her hand. “I look forward to working with you.”

All Alaina could manage was “mmhmm.”

I got the part. She kept repeating that phrase as she slipped on her faux fur coat. She almost forgot her green snakeskin Gucci purse on stage and had to run back for it. She felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a monster truck.

She could sing the part easily enough, but could she teach inner city ruffians? Comfort children with disabilities? Rub elbows with cancer survivors? Compassion was something she reserved for the tragic characters in her arias. In real life, she’d never so much as poured a bowl of Campbell’s at a soup kitchen. She hadn’t had the time. Her parents had her practicing and acting since the age of five when she appeared singing the theme song in an Oscar Mayer ad.

Alaina stumbled into the traffic choked streets of New York, wishing she hadn’t fired her limo driver back in Italy when he’d gotten lost. She raised her hand to hail a cab, but at rush hour, it was like swimming against the tide in a sea of sharks.

As she waited on the curb, drills echoed from across West 65th street. A construction crew tore up the sidewalk.

Honestly, did they have to work at this time of day?

She narrowed her eyes, about to shoot lasers at them for disturbing her peace, when a man caught her attention. Holding a giant plank of wood like it was a golf club, he reached up and handed it to three men on the scaffolding.

Had Hercules come down from the heavens?

The man was tall with broad shoulders, wearing a light blue shirt and jeans. Dark brown hair curled under his hard hat. He had a strong jawline and stood as though he owned the street.

He turned toward her, froze in place, and tipped his hard hat as if saying hello. With the angle of the sun, she could barely make out his face, the hat casting most of it in shadow. Surely, he wasn’t addressing her.

A car beeped rudely in front of her and Alaina jumped. “Holy batshit! What the hell?”

“You gonna get in or not, lady?” A cab driver shouted through the passenger window.

Alaina looked for another cab, preferably one with a nicer driver. No luck.

She sighed and muttered under her breath, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Only when she’d plopped inside did she remember to look out the window for the construction guy, but a large bus had pulled up beside the cab, blocking her view. A young boy stuck his tongue on the window and wiggled his fingers over both ears.

Lovely. Just one more reason to stay away from kids.

What was she doing anyway? Those construction workers were all grunts who drank beer, whistled at women, and watched sports on TV. Any relationship with one of them would last all of two seconds.

Alaina sighed, playing with the ring on her finger. One of these days she’d meet her match.

***

“You’re more likely to fly a green pig to Mars than meet the likes of her.”

Brett ignored his friend and watched the woman slip into the cab, awestruck. Her hair shone like a sunset on fire, reminding him of the many times he’d sit with his father on the side of Saddleback Mountain and watch the evening spread over the valley of forest below their log cabin.

The woman’s fox like features were both alluring and innocent, like she’d lived in a bubble her whole life. The way her fur coat clung to her shapely body stirred urges within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He hadn’t wanted anything since the fire, not like the way he wanted her.

The cab drove away, and the familiar ache of loss settled in his gut. He’d probably never see her again. “Who do you reckon she is?”

Phil shrugged and picked up his drill. He was fifteen years older than Brett with graying hair and thick wrinkles around his eyes. “Probably some opera diva from the Met with a stick up her ass the size of a flagpole.”

His friend started drilling, and Brett searched the curb where she’d stood. Opera? He’d never see an opera in his entire life. All he could think of was Vikings screaming at the top of their lungs and a conductor wearing a powdered wig waving his arms around. Not the most enjoyable pastime.

Phil stopped drilling and reached for another nail. He glanced up at Brett with an apologetic expression, as if he hadn’t realized how far he’d fallen. “A man can dream, right?”

Brett shrugged, trying to push away this sudden urge to find her. He hadn’t dreamt about anything in a long time. Not since he’d left Maine to start over in the big city, where very little reminded him of the home he’d left behind. Except her sunset hair.

Get moving. Stay on the job.

Construction kept his mind busy, kept him from thinking about the past. He walked over to the loading truck and pulled out another plank of wood. The other guys complained about their backs, so he always took the heavy lifting jobs. Compared to logging, this was a piece of cake.

Brett hefted the plank onto his shoulder and carried it to the guys on the scaffolding.

His supervisor, Al Higgins, came over with one eye on his clipboard. “Time for a dinner break.”

“I’m not hungry.” Brett placed the plank down on the curb. The last thing he wanted to do was sit down and stew over his life. “Give it to someone else.”

Al tucked his clipboard under his arm. “Brett, you’re a hard worker, and I like that. But, everyone needs to eat sometime.” He gestured for two other men to pick up the plank.

Brett crossed his arms. “I’d rather finish unloading.”

Al pulled him aside. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather you did, too. You can unload those planks faster than any two men here. But, you know how it is. Government regulations and such.”

Brett nodded. He didn’t want to get his supervisor in trouble just because he couldn’t be left alone with his own memories. “Got it.” He picked up his lunch bag from the giant cooler his team all shared and took a seat on the curb.

Biting into his ham sandwich, he studied the grand building the woman had come out of. Maybe he should see an opera sometime. A comic opera - not something tragic. He’d had enough of that.

A limo with the license plate DeBarr pulled up to the curb, and an older woman in black velvet stepped out while talking on the phone. Her gray hair was cropped around her face in small curls. “Don’t tell me you have another conflict!”

Brett tried not to eavesdrop, but her commanding voice cut through the construction noise and the honking cars. He glanced away, pretending to be interested in the passing traffic and took another bite of his sandwich.

“Project Wish is counting on you. You were going to be the biggest bid of the night.” She huffed, pacing back and forth as the limo waited in the fire lane.

Brett swallowed another bite. Someone was going to get a ticket.

“Fine.” The old woman hung up and stashed her phone in a fuzzy leopard purse. She turned to get back into the limo when she caught his gaze and looked him up and down. Her features changed from irritated to intrigued. “You, over there. Are you single?”

Was she hitting on him? Brett stashed the rest of his sandwich in the bag. “Me?”

“No, the other three hunks eating a sandwich.” She walked over and reached for his left hand. “Well, you’re not married, and you look like you’ll fit in the tux I have in the trunk.”

One more breath and she’d be asking him to marry her. Brett stood and crumpled up his sandwich bag. “Listen, I have to get back to work.”

He turned to leave, and she placed her hand on his arm. “I have an offer you won’t refuse.”

Man, she had a grip like a python. Brett glanced at her wrinkled, boney hand, bejeweled in all types of diamond and gem rings. Only a shmuck would pull his arm away from an old woman. He’d have to convince her there were other fish in the sea. “Although you are beautiful, you’re not my type.”

She laughed as if he was ridiculous. “This is hardly for me. It’s for Project Wish.”

He scratched his head as anxiousness raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He had to get back to work. Chances were, the other guys hadn’t volunteered to unload the truck, and they needed those planks for the next phase of the project. But the intensity in her eyes made him wonder. “Project Wish?”

“A nonprofit agency who lends aid to people who’ve lost everything in natural disasters like hurricanes, floods, fires…”

“Fires?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

A sharp ache spread inside him. Images of his family’s log cabin in flames roared in his thoughts. Brett blinked them away. If he could help someone else who’d experienced such loss. “What do you want me to do?”

She leaned in and dropped her voice. “I need someone to take the place of my son. He was supposed to attend this fundraiser tonight. It’s an annual auction to raise money for Project Wish.”

So her son stood her up. Brett could understand her frustration, but inviting someone from off the street seemed a bit rash. “Can’t you go by yourself?”

She shook her head, and her diamond earrings dangled like pendulums. “No. He was on the auctioning block.”

“Auctioning block?” This did not sound good. Brett glanced back to the construction site. No one seemed to miss him yet.

“A one night dinner date with for two: him and the lucky lady whose purse is big enough to win the bid.”

“You mean you want me to pose as your son, dress up, put myself on the auction block, and take the winner out to dinner?”

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as if she’d underestimated him. “That’s right. And I’ll pay for every cent.”

“I don’t know.” The whole idea seemed too outlandish for someone who liked his world kept simple.

“Please, I won’t be able to find anyone else on such short notice, and it is for charity.”

A charity he believed in. Brett sighed as he considered what it would feel like to put on a tux and schmooze with all the hoity toities of New York. “My shift doesn’t end until seven.”

She clapped her hands together. “Perfect. That’s when the cocktails start.”

He ran his hands through his hair as apprehension tightened in his chest. “I’m not good at small talk. I’ve lived most of my life up in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

She pointed a finger at him. “You’re smarter than you let on. Besides, it’s not like anyone your age has the money to win the bid. You’ll probably be taking out some old spinster like me for coffee. Believe me, you’ll be fine.”

Brett knew he was in too far over his head. But, he couldn’t ignore an organization like Project Wish. And it wasn’t like he was looking forward to a night alone with his thoughts to keep him company. This woman was pushy, but he found her sass endearing. She reminded him of a cross between his own grandmother and Rose from the Golden Girls. Not that he watched the reruns. Well, maybe sometimes he did.

“Okay.” He nodded slowly, convincing himself in the process. “Count me in.”

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