Free Once More With Feeling by Nora Roberts

had forgotten about the party. Rehearsals had run over, then she had found herself driving into Beverly Hills to window shop. She hadn’t wanted to buy anything but had simply wanted to do something mindless. For weeks there had been nothing but demand after demand, and she could look forward only to more of the same in the weeks to come. She would steal a few hours. She didn’t want to think about her mother and the clean white sanitarium or song lists and cues or her confusion over Brand as she browsed through the treasures at Neiman-Marcus and Gucci. She looked at everything and bought nothing.
    Arriving home, she was met by a huge handwritten note from Julie tacked on her bedroom door.
    Party at Steve Jarett’s. I know—you forgot. IMPORTANT! Get your glad rags together, babe, and go. Out with Lorenzo for dinner, we’ll see you there. J.
    Raven swore briefly, rebelled, then capitulated before she stalked to the closet to choose an outfit. An hour later she was cruising fast through the Hollywood Hills. It was important that she be there.
    Steve Jarett was directing
Fantasy.
He was, at the moment, the silver screen’s boy wonder, having just directed three major successes in a row. Raven wanted
Fantasy
to be his fourth as much as he did.
    The party would be crowded, she mused, and looked wistfully at the open, star-studded sky. And noisy. Abruptly she laughed at herself. Since when did a noisy, crowded party become a trial by fire? There had been a time when she had enjoyed them. And there was no denying that the people who haunted these parties were fascinating and full of incredible stories. Raven could still be intrigued. It was just that . . . She sighed, allowing herself to admit the real reason she had dragged her feet. Brandon would be there. He was bound to be.
    Would he bring a date? she wondered. Why wouldn’t he? She answered herself shortly, downshifting as she took a curve. Unless he decided to wait and take his pick from the women there. Raven sighed again, seeing the blaze of lights that told her she was approaching Jarett’s house. It was ridiculous to allow herself to get tied up in knots over something that had ended years before.
    Her headlights caught the dull gleam of sturdy iron gates, and she slowed. The guard took her name, checked his list, then admitted her. She could hear the music before she was halfway up the curving, palm-lined drive.
    There was a white-jacketed teenager waiting to hand her out of the Lamborghini. He was probably a struggling actor or an aspiring screenwriter or cinematographer, Raven thought as she smiled at him.
    â€œHi, I’m late. Do you think I can slip in without anybody noticing?”
    â€œI don’t think so, Ms. Williams, not looking like that.”
    Raven lifted her brows, surprised that he had recognized her so quickly in the dim light. But even if he had missed the face and hair, she realized, he would never have mistaken the voice.
    â€œThat’s a compliment, isn’t it?” she asked.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” he said so warmly that she laughed.
    â€œWell, I’m going to do my best, anyway. I don’t like entrances unless they’re on stage.” She studied the sprawling, white brick mansion. “There must be a side door.”
    â€œAround to the left.” He pointed. “There’s a set of glass doors that lead into the library. Go through there and turn left. You should be able to slip in without being noticed.”
    â€œThanks.” She went to take a bill out of her purse, discovered she had left it in the car and leaned in the window to retrieve it. After a moment’s search, she found a twenty and handed it to him.
    â€œThank
you!
Raven,” he enthused as she turned away. Then he called to her, “Ms. Williams?” Raven turned back with a half smile. “Would you sign it for me?”
    She tossed back her hair. “The