by Elaria Ride
I shrug. She’s still coasting on jealousy from getting her number cut. It’s not a good look, but I refuse to let it bother me.
Tori heaves a dramatic sigh. “I know you think I’m kidding, but your range is really suffering. You used to be able to hit the highs and lows, but even after months of practice, you still aren’t where you should be. The years just haven’t been kind, I’m afraid.”
She clucks her tongue, and I bite back a snort. Does she expect me to whip out a eulogy? Here lie Mariah’s geriatric vocal cords, retired forever at the ripe old age of twenty-five…
“And to be frank, dear,” Tori continues through a simpering wince, “I think it would be better for everyone if you stopped while you’re ahead. Watching you perform is getting a little sad. You don’t even have half the range of Colt Waverly, for instance.”
She ends with a serious stare, her head cradled in her palm.
And I almost burst out laughing. Does she think I’m buying this bullshit? Colt, of all people?
“Do you have a point other than insulting me?” I drawl, leaning back. “'Cause I gotta be honest, Tor — all I gotta do is check Facebook if I want to see some trolls in action. I don’t need it in my face.”
For some reason, this enrages her.
“Look, I just came here to help you!” Tori insists, narrowing her eyes. “I thought you’d want to see what Russ found. I’ve been sworn not to show you, of course,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “But girl to girl? I thought I was doing you a favor. I was gonna share some facts about your… declining abilities… while telling you about what the cops found at Carter’s apartment, but—”
Ice fills my veins. I only hear part of what she says. “What about his apartment?”
A wry smirk twists her lips. “Well, this is supposed to be top-secret… but just between you and me?” She shoots me an evil wink. “I thought you’d want to see what they found the other day. Might give you a whole new understanding of why Carter looks at you like that.” She waggles her eyebrows as if she finds her words significant.
Then she pulls back with a bored sniff. “I knew there was a reason he’s not into me.”
This time, I don’t hold back the laugh. “Tori. I’m devastated on your behalf that not every man alive is worshipping at your feet. But some guys just—”
But my words fail in my throat as she thrusts the phone in front of my face.
Shit.
There’s no way I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. Boxes and boxes filled with my articles… mounds and mounds of everything I’ve ever posed for. Easily hundreds of dollars of content. On me.
No wonder he knows everything about me. No wonder he read my file so thoroughly. No wonder he even knew about my IUD. When he admitted to touching himself and thinking about me… is this what he meant? Is he obsessed with me, like some demented star-fucker? Holy mother of God, this is even creepier than the stalker…
“Is that…?” I start weakly, unwilling to believe it. My stomach churns in my throat.
“All from him,” Tori croons, her voice taunting.
I let out another soft swear, running a hand down my face. Despite everything Luke’s promised, I see the proof, right in front of me. I bite my lip and try to center myself, but it’s no use.
Because I now know — beyond a shadow of a doubt — that Luke Carter is a user… just like every other jackass I’ve dated.
25
Luke
I return home Saturday night in confusion and dismay. The pictures very clearly conveyed something Mariah denied: she definitely used her allure to get to the top.
But to my surprise, I don’t even give a shit what’s in those photos. I’m more tormented that she lied about it.
Because in my line of work? Liars don’t make it long.
Mariah’s already in bed when I get home, which is just as well. I don’t have the mental capacity to question her about why she lied to me. They have a Sunday rehearsal tomorrow. With the change in the lineup, they need an extra day to rehearse. Something about cutting Tori’s song and changing the sound cues.
I quickly change into my pajamas and slide in next to Mariah, not acknowledging that we haven’t said a word. She’s either sleeping or pretending to be, and both are ok with me. I lie there for a few minutes, trying to settle my racing heart… but try as I might, I can’t stop Russ’s words from replaying in my head. You’re not the first boy she’s entrapped in her web. I swallow, blinking up at the ceiling, as I recall how fluidly she’d shifted into a giggling idiot during the Amanda Blevins interview.
Is it possible she’s been playing a part this entire time? Even with me? I glance over at Mariah. Her eyes are closed as she breathes deeply in and out.
For the first time, though, I don’t even want to know if she’s faking it.
We travel to the studio the next morning in a weird, awkward silence that hovers between us for the rest of the day. My finger-light touches on her back remain a constant source of comfort (perhaps for each of us)… but I think we both know there’s something missing in my touch.
Something changed yesterday — and not just for me. Mariah used to spend the day sending me flirty little winks and coy smirks. Today, she regards me with a cool indifference. Like I’m not even there.
It’s a blessing when the end of the day finally arrives. I escort her offstage and into her dressing room. She used to flinch whenever I opened the door, but this time, she’s stoic. Unmoving. I settle onto my couch in the corner as she sits in front of the vanity.
I’m about to bring up whatever the hell is going on when she beats me to the chase.
“Tori had some interesting things to impart yesterday,” she starts, staring at her cuticles. For some reason, there’s an edge in her voice.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” She clears her throat. “It seems you have quite the collection of Mariah Matthews memorabilia.” Her eyes flit up to mine. “Care to explain that?”
I shrug. “Did I ever deny having a crush on you?”
She scowls back. “You certainly didn't mention having stacks and stacks of pervy shit hidden away at your apartment!”
I wince, but she’s not wrong. I raise my hand to explain, but Mariah beats me to the punch.
“I should’ve known that the two boxes you dropped off weren’t enough,” she whispers, her eyes narrowed in contempt. “And don’t even get me started on how you knew I had an IUD, Luke — that’s a new fucking level of wrong!”
“Uh, maybe because I’m good at my damn job?” I demand, my brow knitting. “That’s part of your file, Princess. Read it your damn self if you’re so curious.”
But Mariah doesn’t seem to process anything I’m saying.
"I’ve had users of every shape and size,” she says, voice quivering. “I’ve had the ones who slept with me for music connections. Or to launch their acting careers. But I never, never thought I’d have one who just wanted to fuck me.”
She flashes me a fake smile. “As a fat girl, I never thought I’d have to worry about that. Thank you, Luke Carter, for showing me how naïve I was to trust a bully.”
Well, if she’s playing the trust card…
“Don’t act like you’ve been completely honest here, either,” I retort.
Mariah’s eyes snap back to mine. “What does that mean?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I saw those photos of you and Chase Harlan.”
“What?” Her voice is a deadly whisper, her face pale. “When… how could you possibly have—”
“Schmidt showed me yesterday.” I try to summon disgust when all I feel is pain. “And I know you know which pictures I’m talking about. The ones you’ve tried your damnedest to hide.”
I release a muffled swear as I stare at the tips of my boots. I hoped, in my heart of hearts, that they’d been Photoshopped or I'd misunderstood the context. But her silence speaks volumes.
A moment later, I cut the silence with a humorless chuckle. “All I k
now is, those pictures look pretty compromising for someone who makes a big song and dance about being independent — and relying only on her skills.”
“You have no idea what the hell you saw,” Mariah snaps, her voice laced with vinegar. “You’re not even in this fucking industry! Chase doesn’t even book things!”
I’m about to ask what the hell that has to do with anything… but right in front of my eyes, I watch her shift from the caring, sweet girl I fell in love with into the cold-hearted diva everyone loves to hate. The same one I’ve been horrified I’d see again.
Mariah arches an eyebrow. “Stop pretending to be talented, Luke.” She sniffs, her eyes traveling up my body. “It doesn’t suit you.”
I give her a withering stare as I return my expression to that impassivity.
“Listen, doll-face, I don’t care who you fuck,” I lie, crossing my arms over my chest. “But for the love of God, don’t pretend that you don’t use sex to get what you want. Just like everyone else.”
There’s an icy pause.
“Get out,” she breathes, averting her eyes. “This is done. Your employment is done. Everything is done.”
I send her an exaggerated wink and start sauntering towards the door. “Sure thing. Just keep me posted on when you finally realize this whole thing was a setup.
Just like always, Mariah, I’m two steps ahead of you.” I shoot her finger guns as I walk away, unable to prevent a final retort from over my shoulder. “But if you haven’t figured out by now this whole thing is a damn setup, there’s not much I can do.”
From behind my back, she lets out a noise somewhere between a growl and a scream. I shudder, pausing in my steps. That’s almost identical to how she sounds, right when she comes… just like the moment I realized I’m actually ass-over-tits in love with her.
So fuck me, right? I shake my head, swallowing. What a mistake. This whole stupid thing was such a damn mistake…
“You know what’s funny?” I murmur, my lips drawn in a joyless smile I direct towards her door. I release that same humorless chuckle again. “I’m actually in love with you, Princess.”
And with that I leave her in the silence of her lonely, fancy dressing room.
26
Mariah
It takes a full half-hour for to me to compose myself enough to leave my dressing room. I’ve sat stock-still for thirty minutes, my mind whirring through what led me here, my head and heart aching with the sting of betrayal.
I’ve rehashed the argument more times than I can count, berating myself for getting involved with another user. For fuck’s sake, will I ever catch a break? A spot in my sternum throbs from the pain of withholding unshed tears, but I refuse to cry until I’m alone. Until I know he can’t hurt me anymore.
I have no desire to know when Emmett will officially replace him. My only concern is that it happens soon. It’s pathetic to admit, but even Luke’s absence as I gather my things and head outside is an unpleasant reminder of what I thought we shared. Who I thought he was.
That fucking prick, I think with a shudder, gripping my purse more tightly against me as I stride outside, waving goodbye to the production crew along the way. If they notice (or care) that I don’t have a bodyguard, they say nothing. Which is just as well for me. I’d rather not be reminded, either, that I can’t keep any man around for long — even a paid surveillance officer.
I’m still seething as I push open the outside door. I can’t believe Luke trusted Twit, of all people. That he took those ten-year-old photos at face value. It’s pretty clear that I made the right choice in keeping certain parts of my past to myself. Luke and I just come from different worlds. There’s no way he’d be able to handle the realities of this industry. There’s no way he’d understand the truth. He’s just a star-fucker wannabe who weighed me down, and then got out as fast as he could when things got messy.
The familiar police escort SUV is waiting at the curb, as I’d figured. I quickly walk towards it, eager to get this day over with. I’m grateful that Rod doesn’t like to chit-chat when he drives. Even twenty-five years of acting experience couldn’t force me to behave myself if I had to speak to anyone in PMS right now.
What a bunch of fucking traitors…
Thankfully, though, Rod isn’t in the driver’s seat. Word of Luke’s termination must have traveled fast. I can only assume the rest of PMS went along with him. A sad smile curls my lips as I open the back door of the SUV and climb inside. How long has it been since I’ve done that myself? No matter. I need to get used to it.
“Hey, Russ,” I murmur, scooting across the leather.
“Mary,” he greets, his eyes never leaving the road. I close my eyes, leaning my face against the cool glass of the window. For the next ten or fifteen minutes, I sit in silence… trying to get a grip on my thoughts enough to explain how I feel. A buzzing from my phone rips me from my pity party. Oh. Right. I should’ve been listening to my music recording… not wallowing.
I remove my phone from my purse just as a text notification flashes across the screen.
Sabrina, 5:17 PM
WHERE R U GOING??? Are u ok????
My brow furrows. Does everyone and their mom know about this? I hastily reply with: Fine. I guess. Russ taking me home.
I roll my window down and gaze out at the street, hoping the breeze will distract me from the sting of tears behind my eyes.
A second later, my phone chimes again.
Ur not at the airport? Russ said U were at the airport. Please call me!
Wait… what? I look up at Russ in the rearview mirror.
“Is there some reason Sabrina thinks I’m going to the airport?” I ask. “I thought we were going home.”
His eyes meet mine just as he takes a turn down an unfamiliar road. For some reason, there’s a detached coldness behind his gaze. Despite everything I’ve gone through, it sends a shiver up my spine.
“We’re not going home, Mary,” he says, his words as brittle as ice.
I stare back at Russ uneasily. Sabrina wouldn’t have sent me that text out of the blue. Goosebumps erupt across my arms, ones that have nothing to do with the cool evening air.
Something feels very, very wrong here…
But before I have a chance to object, my head is yanked — hard — against the seatback. I let out a startled cry as an icy hand grasps the curls at the base of my neck in a claw-like grip. In one swift motion, a hand reaches into my lap and tosses my phone out the open window.
“Drive!” snarls a familiar voice in my ear. “Floor it, Russ! We need distance from her device so they can’t triangulate the signal.”
Triangulate the — what the hell is going on here?! I try to bite down on the hand covering my mouth, but I don’t get there fast enough.
“Night night,” whispers the voice.
And then, there’s a blinding, piercing pain as something sharp and pointy slips into the base of my skull. I cry out in agony and confusion, fighting hard against the sudden sleepiness flooding through my veins, but it’s no use… all I can do is release a whimper as the interior of the car fades into blackness.
27
Luke
The phone rings on the dresser across the guest room. I toss a final pair of boxers into my duffel bag and march over to answer it. I’m hopeful it’s Emmett. For once, I’m calling in a favor to him: we’re swapping this job — and this time for keeps. With any luck, I’ll be on a plane out of the country by this time tomorrow. If I have to grift for employment, so be it. There’s nothing worse than this.
“Carter,” I clip, answering the phone.
But it’s not Emmett on the other line.
“Luke,” says Sabrina, her voice panicked. “Mariah’s in trouble. There’s something wrong!”
My jaw stiffens into a firm line. I’m tempted to respond with a childish, “When is she not in trouble?”
“What trouble?” I ask instead.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line.
/> “Look,” I start, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m not going into detail, but I’m no longer employed by your family. Ok? So you might as well—”
“ — she’s been kidnapped. I’m sure of it.”
I snort. “Yeah. I’m not sure of it. Brannon Pierce is in jail. So—”
“—no, you don’t understand!” says Sabrina, more hysterically than before. “Russ sent a group text that Mariah was going to the airport for a vacation. That didn’t sound like her at all, so I texted her. But Luke, she had no idea what I was talking about! All she knew was that Russ was taking her home!”
Wait, what?
Something about Sabrina’s tone pricks the hairs on the back of my neck. I swallow and look around the empty apartment. Despite our… differences… I know that Mariah would never up and leave her family without an explanation.
“All right,” I relent on a shudder. “I’m still at her apartment. I’ll have a look around to see if there’s anything off. Have you contacted everyone else?”
“Y-yes,” Sabrina says thickly. “I’m already at the police station, just waiting for everyone to show up.” Wait, is she actually crying? Something about that gets my back up even more. Sabrina’s personality is so even-keeled.
“Ok,” I say firmly, goosebumps erupting on my arms. “I want you to follow my instructions very carefully. First, find Rod and give him the phone. Ok?”
“I’m already at his desk!” For the first time, she sounds relieved. “Here you go.”
There’s a shuffling as the phone changes hands. I use the opportunity to stride into Mariah’s bedroom and take a peek around to make sure nothing is amiss.
I’m just giving her vanity a once-over as Rod answers. “Hey.” He sounds exasperated. “Sorry to bug you. Sabrina’s here. They sent her back to my desk, but I’m not sure what else to do besides—”
