Bad Girl

by Piper Lawson

  Nothing.

  I try to ignore the disappointment.

  “I’m totally going to fuck you someday, Hales. But not until you beg me.”

  It’s arrogant, but after spending the summer bartending, I’ve had guys tell me a lot of things.

  If it were any other guy, I would’ve kicked him out on his ass in two seconds flat—with or without Andre’s help.

  With Jax, I don’t want to.

  I want to lock the door so the world can’t get in. I want to see every inch of his perfect body. I want to feel the shivers through mine.

  But it’s never going to happen because the thought is completely terrifying. Compared with the guys I’ve been physical with, Jax is like another species. Strong and hard and confident. A meteor that’s going to blow me apart, leave me picking up the pieces after.

  I shove off the thoughts, grab the computer I’m working on, and tuck it under my arm.

  The basement’s nearly empty, and it’s not until I’m on the second floor that I see even a single other employee.

  On the way to the mailboxes, I pass a studio and hear my name.

  I stick my head in, and my grumpiness melts away as I catch sight of the last person I’d expected.

  “Jerry! What are you doing here?”

  My former mentor smiles up at me from his chair. Today he’s wearing a long-sleeved tan shirt that makes him look like Yoda.

  He basically is.

  “Miss Telfer. Got a few months before the next tour. Figured I’d whip some kids into shape here.”

  I’m not at all sure he needs to be doing another tour, but I step into the studio and peer through the glass. My jaw drops more.

  “Lita?”

  “Haley!” She opens the door that separates the artists and the producers, grinning as she leans against the doorway.

  She glances down at my accessory. “Whoa. What is that?”

  “Plays Betamax,” Jerry offers.

  “It’s a computer.” I swallow my grin. “You’re back recording already?”

  “Yeah. Were you in a sauna?”

  I wipe at the sweat on my forehead. “Close. Server room.”

  “Huh. You should help on this album.” Lita says it like it’s an easy thing, but once the idea enters my brain, I can’t kick it.

  “That would be awesome.” Being in this office and actually doing some production has adrenaline coursing through my veins. “This is the EP you were talking about this summer?”

  “Yeah. I really think this could be the difference maker.” Her eyes glow. “I’d love to run some of the tracks through your program.”

  My heart kicks in my chest. “Yeah. Sure.”

  She’d watched me tweak it this summer in Nashville, running version after version to optimize it the best way I could.

  We catch up for a couple of minutes, then I start to the elevator.

  “Shit,” I mutter as the doors open, realizing I’ve forgotten my paperwork. I start to turn on my heel, but the man in the carriage calls out.

  “Haley.”

  “I forgot something.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder, but Cross holds the door.

  Eventually I step inside, shifting the shell of a computer under my arms so I don’t drop it. “What’s that?”

  “A hard drive. A useless one. I was going to try to fix it this weekend.”

  The gray in his hair shines as he cocks his head. “You’re taking company property off the premises.”

  “The premises will be more valuable without this.”

  I half expect him to send me back upstairs with the computer, but he doesn’t. Cross just stands there, staring at the seam in the doors.

  “I trust Wendy’s keeping you busy.”

  “Actually, the state of this place is keeping me busy.” I debate how much to say, then go all in because honesty’s almost always better. “Wicked is ten years behind on hardware. Fifteen on software. You won’t fall off a cliff, but it’ll be a slow death if you don’t start upgrading.”

  “Thank you for that perspective.”

  “I am doing everything I can,” I say so it doesn’t only sound like I’m complaining. “Over the next two months, we should be able to bring email and databases up to date.”

  He turns his gaze on me. “I was told this summer that project would take eight months and we’d have to delay other projects in order to do it.”

  I hesitate because I don’t want to get Wendy in trouble. “Well, I think I can do it in two.”

  The door dings, and he strides out of the elevator.

  I trot after him, which is ridiculous since two minutes ago I wouldn’t get in the elevator with him. “Mr. Cross!”

  “Shannon.”

  I look past him. There’s no one around us, but clearly he doesn’t want this to get out.

  “What would it take for a chance to do something other than computer upgrades?”

  His dark eyes say he’s as intrigued as he is wary. “Such as?”

  I bite my cheek. “Lita’s new album. I want to work on it. I think I can make it better.”

  A slick Town Car approaches before gliding to a halt in front of us.

  “No.”

  “No?” I nearly drop the hard drive but scramble and manage to catch it. “But there must be a way. I can keep doing the upgrades, do this on top. Lita already said she’d be fine with it.”

  “You’re naive.” His sharp voice cuts the humidity in the air like a knife as he stares at me over the door of his car. “I had hoped when I sent you on tour this summer that you’d prove you weren’t a typical college student. That, like me, you want more and will do whatever it takes to get it. But I gave you an opportunity hundreds of students would kill for, and you ran from it. Second chances don’t come easily in this world, Haley.”

  I lift my chin. “I don’t know. I’m giving you one, aren’t I?”

  His expression darkens, his gaze narrowing like he smells something bad.

  Then Cross slides into the car, and a moment later, it glides away.

  Saturday, I’m up before noon and take Scrunchie for a walk on campus to clear my head. The grounds are quiet, but even though only a handful of students are crossing the quad, I feel apart from it.

  “Haley?”

  That voice has me stiffening as I turn. “Professor Carter.”

  His button-down and T-shirt make him look like a grad student. His blond hair is styled, his smile easy.

  At least until he sees Scrunchie. “What is that?”

  “Exotic cat.”

  “Right.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t heard from you in ages. Or seen you in class.”

  Since you refused to submit my program and hired someone else?

  “There was a snag with my scheduling. I’m taking a semester off.”

  “Huh. Well, you look fantastic.” I’m not sure he even took in my yoga pants, T-shirt, flip flops, and messy bun because his grin is automatic. Less earnest than Dale’s, but it comes easier than Jax’s. “I was thinking about your program. I know we missed the Spark competition, but there’s a bigger one this fall that was just announced. You’d need to run more trials. Which means more data to feed the beast. But if you’re serious about it, we could have it ready. The prize is twenty-five thousand. The deadline is end of October.”

  I glance down to where Scrunchie is tugging at his leash, eager to find the perfect grub. Carter’s offer brings up a host of emotions. Flattery because he thought of me for this. Excitement because getting his eyes on this would help my chances a lot. There’s likely no one else I could get with the insight to help me like he can.

  But he already stepped on me once this year, and I like to think I’m not stupid.

  “The exposure’s even better than the money,” he says. “The winner gets written up on the top tech blogs.”

  My gaze snaps up. “I wrote some other code this summer. An interface that helps deal with memory and attention limitations. If I win, do you think I could use
the platform to raise awareness for that? Maybe find other developers to work on it?”

  “I suppose.” He shrugs.

  “Let’s do it,” I decide.

  “Great. Oh, while I’m at it, I got some money for a research assistant position. Do you want it?”

  I ignore for a moment the fact that I’m not technically enrolled because that’s something I’m going to fix soon.

  Do I want to work for the most brilliant guy I’ve ever met? The one I’ve been dying to work with for the last three years?

  He looks so honest, but Cross’s face rises up in my mind again.

  Prove to me you’re smart.

  Prove to me you’re special.

  Prove to me you want it.

  I’m done proving it.

  “Actually, I’m pretty busy with work. And now this competition. But thanks.”

  I pull up the competition info on my phone as I walk away.

  By the time I get home, my mind’s going a mile a minute.

  Serena greets me as I enter our apartment. “Hey, roomie. Aww, you took Scrunchmuffin for a walk.”

  “He was scrunchmuffining my shoes. You’ll never guess who I saw on campus.”

  “Who?”

  “Carter.”

  Her jaw drops. “What’d he say?”

  “He offered to submit my program to an even bigger competition this fall, which I’m going to do. He also asked if I wanted to be his RA. Which I’m not.”

  “Damn. You are a badass with the men. Last weekend you bring home a rock star. This weekend, you shoot down the Nerd Prince of Harvard.”

  “MIT.”

  “Whatever.” She slants me a look. “I can’t wait to see how you’re going to top this.”

  “There will be no topping. I’m just tired of being pushed around. By Cross. By the university. Everyone.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  “There’s one problem. I agreed to the competition before I read all the specs. I need a ton more data to test my program.”

  Her face screws up. “You lost me.”

  “Basically, I need to test how my app stacks up at creating a hit track compared to the industry’s best producers. Which means I need access to a lot of tracks. With different versions, which will let me test the human’s choices against my algorithm. And I don’t have a lot of time. I need someone who can give me approval for a lot of hit songs at once.”

  “Cross?”

  “That was my first thought. But no.” Not without leverage anyway. “There’s someone else who can.”

  7

  “You’re going to get fat.”

  I look up from the paperwork at the hotel lobby restaurant and nod at the empty plate in front of me. “You don’t know what was on there.”

  “Burger. Fries. Side of pickles.” Mace looms over me, his hair pulled back in a ponytail. His trademark beard has been tamed into a slick goatee.

  “Tell me you’re auditioning for a hipster revival of Pirates of Penzance.”

  He rubs a hand over his face. “I was going to apologize for being late. But I realized you wouldn’t give a shit anyway.”

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  I shuffle the papers into the folder.

  Our feet are soundless as we cross the lobby carpet. I stop at the concierge’s desk on the way to the elevator. “I’m expecting someone this afternoon. Buzz them up.”

  “Of course, Mr. Leonard.”

  We ride the elevator up, and I swipe my card at my door and step inside.

  Mace groans. “Nice digs.”

  In the final days of tour, the realtor sent me listings for three huge mansions on the outskirts of Dallas. But I didn’t go to see any of them. All three felt too permanent, too big. Which led to me renting the two-bedroom penthouse of the best hotel in town.

  The living room is big enough to throw a party in, with low twin couches facing one another and a dark wood table between them. Art occupies the walls. There’s a TV that comes down from the ceiling at the drop of a button.

  “You haven’t seen the best part.” I take him out to the balcony, and he whistles.

  “Life is good, huh?” Mace leans over the railing.

  I study the landscape, the skyline of the city. Beneath us, people bustle around.

  Some days I’m not sure how Mace and I ended up playing our own songs for packed houses instead of homeless or busting our asses for minimum wage. I know what that’s like because it’s where I came from.

  “What about your sister and Annie? Are they on this floor too?”

  My mood goes to shit in two seconds. “I stopped by the house for a talk with her husband earlier this week.”

  His brows pull together. “You’re a public figure. You’ll get in a shit-ton of trouble for that.”

  “The asshole called Grace and said I threatened him. She left, went back to him. Annie too.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  That’s why my lawyer’s due to stop by in a couple of hours. My agent phoned around and referred me to someone local who’s expensive, good, and discreet. I’ve spent half the week with him.

  It’s also why I spent this morning looking over my finances. I’ve got more money than I could’ve counted as a teenager and I’m determined not to go bankrupt like some artists. I lived enough of my life poor to know I’ll never let myself end up there again.

  “What do you do? Now that you’re off tour.”

  “I see my kid. I eat food that’s not from a box. I work out.”

  Mace grunts. “I’ve built the Millennium Falcon, the Y-Wing, and the snowspeeder since we got off tour. And you know what I realized?” I shake my head. “All the little yellow LEGO dudes are the same, light sabers or no.” He shoves a hand through his hair.

  “Maybe you need a girl.”

  “Fuck no. I need a job. I can’t even remember a time before I played for a band.”

  I recall the dimly lit venues I’d sneak out to with friends when I could afford to. Mace was way beyond the little shows and bars—I knew it even then. That was why I asked Cross if we could bring him in when Cross made me an offer. I wanted something familiar from home.

  The music, the lifestyle, seemed to be part of Mace. At the time, I hadn’t realized how much.

  He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and I raise a brow. “What happened to the nicotine patches?”

  “The lesser of many evils.” He shoots me a nervous smile as he lights it and takes a long drag. “When’re we gonna record that album?”

  Prickles of warning, twined with guilt, take up residence in my gut.

  “I’m not in a hurry. Been cooped up on tour for eighteen months, man.”

  “Give me a date. I need something to look forward to.”

  I could lead him on, but I owe him better. “I don’t know when. When I signed the deal with Cross to do this last album, I didn’t know about Annie.”

  His face goes pale. “So, what? You’re out for good because you want to be a family man?”

  “It’s not just that.” I snag his cigarette and take a drag before passing it back. “The first album was me on my knees. It was never supposed to catch on. The second was me figuring out what the hell was going on in a world where I wasn’t scraping for enough to buy mac and cheese. The third album—”

  “It was weak,” Mace says. “It was you in a power struggle with Cross. And maybe the producers saved your ass, but it was the worst thing you’ve put out.”

  I nod because he’s not wrong. “I’m not putting out another shit album for Cross, or the money, or the lawyers.”

  “Then make it a real album. The kind that leaves you bleeding on the floor.”

  He says the words as if it’s never occurred to me. The possibility of doing exactly that’s drifted through my mind dozens of times.

  I love making music. There’s no question.

  But it’s a toxic relationship, like mine with Cross. The songs I write that m
atter have all cost me something.

  Some days, I wonder who I’d be if I hadn’t cut those parts of me out.

  My friend finishes his cigarette, and I hold the door for him to go inside.

  We shoot the shit for an hour, talking about Kyle’s new charity commercials and the fact that Brick bought a place down the street from Nina. We complain about music and TV and the price of beer before I finally walk him out.

  I check my phone in the kitchen. The lawyer wants to reschedule because they didn’t get some papers in time. Grace hasn’t replied to the text I sent two days ago, and I’m edgy. I’m on strict instructions from the lawyer not to doing anything stupid—technically, I think he said don’t do anything—but I haven’t seen my kid all week and I’m agitated.

  Another text from earlier this week catches my eye.

  Haley.

  Instead of responding, I turn off my phone and change into swim trunks and take the elevator down to the pool level.

  The smell of chlorine when I pass through the doors hits me like a drug.

  Coming off tour’s like getting released from jail. You’ve got to have routines, or you’ll destroy yourself.

  Which is one reason I’ve swum thirty laps every day since returning to Dallas.

  The place is empty, and I have my pick of lanes. I drop my towel on a chair and dive in.

  There’s something about water that’s cleansing. It strips us all down, makes us equal.

  I never paid attention to science in high school, but in these moments, I get that we’re all just atoms. That when you look close enough, we’re all part of the same stuff put together differently.

  When I get to the end of my first lap, I hit the wall and flip over. Front to back. Back to front. Front to back.

  Somewhere between the first laps and the last, memories drift through my mind.

  They start with the swimming lessons Grace and I took at the community pool as kids.

  Before long, more recent ones take over.

  The night Haley and I spent a night together last weekend is still the brightest thing in my mind even though all I did was hold her.

  I left last week because I wasn’t ready. I needed to get control of myself.

  But after everything that’s happened this week, that control feels more elusive than ever. Except for these moments, when I’m punishing my muscles and all I can feel is the burn deep inside them? It feels like I’m strung tight enough to snap.