by JB Salsbury
“How far is—”
“Ryder?” Dave pops his head into the room. “You’re up.” He doesn’t even acknowledge me.
But Ryder does. “It was great meeting you, Bethany. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
He follows Dave out of the room.
“Nice guy.” I pull out my phone, do a quick search for Ryder the drummer from Las Vegas, and add Jesse’s name in the search. “Whoa.”
He might be newly famous in the music industry, but he comes from a famous family.
“Ryder Kyle, son of Universal Fighting League owner Cameron Kyle and the world famous supermodel Delilah.” That would explain his perfect bone structure. Ryder Kyle hit the DNA jackpot.
Jesse
“Jes, this is the guy I was telling you about,” Dave says with all the excitement of a kid with a new toy as he motions to the new guy as though he’s channeling a The Price is Right model. “Ryder Kyle.”
I shake the guy’s hand, but I’m all out of pleasantries. I’ve spent the last however-long signing a hundred different contracts that will micro-manage the next five years of my life. From here on out, I can’t even burp without it threatening my contract.
Dave made it crystal-fucking-clear that these are the only conditions under which the record label will take me back. No more mansion recording studio with free rein. Now I’m going to the on-site studio and have to clock in on time. If I’m even a minute late, I’m in breach of contract. My anger stirs up the monster in my gut, and he arches his back and preps for a fight. I’m the talent making these assholes all the money, yet they treat me like a snot-nosed kid!
You need them in order to get your music heard.
At that, the monster curls back up and disappears.
Logic is a motherfucker.
We all circle ‘round the table while Mark and Dave go through Ryder’s significantly shorter contracts. His don’t include curfews and consequences or the “sign over your life” clause.
I try to imagine how different things will be, having to check in frequently and get permission before leaving the city. I’m surprised they don’t want to stick a tracker around my neck.
“Dave played me some of your new stuff,” Ryder says, calling my attention to him. “I look forward to showing you what I’ve written.”
I eye Dave skeptically. “Are you sure about this? I think I could get Nate back if you’d let me talk to him.”
My manager looks at me as if I’m a puppy who shit on the carpet again.
“All right.” I throw up my hands. “I’m just sayin’ Nate was the best.”
“Then you shouldn’t have fucked his wife,” Mark Arenfield growls from the end of the conference table.
I cringe. “Girlfriend.”
“Fiancée,” Dave clarifies.
Ryder stares between us, waiting for the fight to escalate, but we all take a collective breath instead.
“Right, we’ll have a full band meeting at Arenfield Studios tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.” Dave motions to the new guy. “Ryder and the rest of the band will play what they’ve written for you, and we’ll get a firm recording date in the books.”
“Great,” Mark says, standing and looking me square in the eyes. “Last chance. You fuck this up, we’re done.”
“Understood.”
After Mark leaves, Dave pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Chris and Ethan to confirm tomorrow.” He heads to one side of the room.
Ryder comes to sit next to me, and he leans in. “Between us? She seems worth it.”
I glare at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “It’s hard to find anyone real anymore, ya know? I’m not saying what you did was right, but I can’t argue the outcome didn’t pay off.”
I blink, trying to figure out what the hell he means. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
His eyebrows pinch together.
“Great,” Dave says. “It’s a done deal.”
“Good.” I stand quickly. “I’m going home.”
“Hold on,” Dave says and addresses Ryder. “Could you give us a few minutes?”
He shrugs. “Sure thing.”
Dave waits for Ryder to leave and close the door.
Fuck me, what now? I run a frustrated hand through my hair, willing my temper to cool.
Rather than take the seat across from me, he takes the one right next to me. “We need to talk about Bethany.”
For a moment, my stomach turns over on itself. I’d almost forgotten she’s here. I check the time. Fuck, she’s been waiting for nearly two hours.
“After the photos of you two kissing surfaced, I didn’t think much of it. I assumed, like in the past, you were just blowing off steam with whoever was available.”
I frown, not liking the way Bethany being categorized as a random piece of ass makes me feel. Being with her has nothing to do with her being the closest woman available, even though I guess she was.
“When you told me you were bringing her here, I ran a background check.”
“Jesus, Dave.”
“You pay me to look out for your best interests.”
“You’ve met the woman. She’s a fucking saint.”
He sucks air through his teeth. “She’s pretty clean, I’ll give you that. No arrest history for drugs or alcohol, the two things I was most concerned about.”
“She’s clean, much cleaner than me, much cleaner than any other woman I’ve been with. There’s no way—”
“She’s not clean.”
I ball my fists under the table. He has no idea who he’s talking about. Bethany is as good as a person can possibly get.
“Bethany has a charge for—”
“Hold on.” I close my eyes and breathe deeply, giving the monster oxygen to fuel his temper. “This sit-down is because you scraped up some bullshit charge from Bethany’s past?”
“Here me out—”
“No.” I stand. “Unless she slit someone’s throat, I don’t give a fuck. Honestly, even if she did kill someone, she would’ve had a good reason. I’m going home.”
He frowns. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“What are you afraid I’m going to do? Drown myself with vodka in my bathtub?”
“That would be difficult since I had the place cleaned.”
Something tells me he’s not talking about Merry Maids. “See? I’ll be fine. Where is she?”
“Swag room.” He punches something into his phone then looks at me. “Johnny will be your bodyguard while you’re in town. He’s waiting for you on level 2B.”
I walk past him, eager to get the hell out of here.
“Jesse!” I turn around, and Dave says, “You don’t want to hear it from me, fine. But as your manager, I highly advise you to ask Bethany about her past. You do not want to get blindsided with this by the press.”
“Let the press throw a bitch fit over an unpaid parking ticket or a littering charge. I know Bethany. You need to back off.”
I don’t wait for his response. I storm down the hallway and past Ryder, who steps back when he sees me coming. Shit, am I that obvious? I slow down and shake out the tension in my muscles.
When I get to the swag room, I stop short in the doorway.
Bethany is on a rolling office chair, her bare feet on one wall and her dress falling to her upper thighs. “In three, two, one… blast off!” She pushes off the wall and rolls to the other side of the room, where she braces her feet again.
“Ground control to Major Tom, we are go for lift-off!” At the word off, she pushes again, this time harder, which makes her spin. Her smiling eyes come to mine, and she slams her feet to the floor to stop her spinning. “How long have you been there?”
“Only long enough to witness the last two launches.” I step inside the room, feeling a thousand times lighter from just seeing her face. I nod to the chair. “Don’t let me stop you.”
She bunches up her perfect toes, the light purple nail polish standing out boldly against t
he white marble floor. “I think I’m good. Are you finished?”
“I am, but I hate to interrupt the important work of NASA.”
She shrugs and scoots her chair to the corner where her shoes lie next to her bag. “I think we got what we needed.” She slips on her shoes and scoops up her bag. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s science.”
I’m trying hard to keep a straight face, but I’m losing. “Yeah, I get it.”
She crosses the room toward me, her simple white sundress bringing out the warm color of her skin. She stops and smiles at me. “So? Where to next?”
“Home.”
Her smile falls. “Your home?”
I pull her close, pressing her hips to mine. “Yes. Did you think we’d be sleeping in the streets tonight?”
“I thought maybe a hotel?”
“That would be weird when I have a perfectly acceptable house not far from here.”
“Okay, um… any chance we can grab some food first? I’m starving.”
I can’t believe I didn’t think she might be hungry. This is why I don’t do relationships—one of the many reasons I don’t do relationships. I can barely be responsible for myself, much less someone else.
Bethany
Jesse calls Dave as we move through the halls toward the elevator. I try to school my response to hearing Jesse request a private chef come to his home for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow.
People stare at our clasped hands, and a thrill shoots through me at his public show of affection. When we get on the elevator, a man and two women follow us on. I tuck back behind Jesse, feeling their eyes flick toward me—or hopefully they’re looking at Jesse.
The elevator pings, and when we step out into the parking garage, we’re greeted by a huge man in black slacks and a black polo shirt, standing in front of a brand-new black Cadillac Escalade. His chest is wide, his arms stretch the fabric of the shirt, and I bet he only fits through doorways if he walks sideways.
“Mr. Lee.” He shakes Jesse’s hand. “I’m Johnny.”
“This is Bethany,” Jesse says. “She’s never been to LA. I was thinking about a tour.”
“Absolutely.” Johnny pops the back door. The interior is charcoal leather, and the windows are tinted so dark that when we’re inside, it feels like being in a cave.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Johnny drives us up and out of the underground parking, and when we emerge into the bright Southern California sunlight, I’m grateful for the tinted windows.
Jesse tells the guy, “We need to get some food, then we’ll go sightseeing.”
“Really?”
He throws an arm over my shoulder and pulls me closer. “Yes, genius. What are you hungry for?”
I shiver at the rumble of his question against my temple. Only Jesse could make a simple lunch request sound sexual. As much as I’d love to tackle him, I am hungry, so I answer honestly. “I’d kill for an In-and-Out burger.”
“Fast food?” He cringes. “With all the choices, you pick fast food.” He grins and shakes his head. “All right. Johnny, can you buzz us through In-and-Out?”
“Sure thing.”
“Good. And on the way, we’ll drive down Sunset Boulevard.”
I squeal like a little girl and press my nose to the glass while Jesse shows me his town.
19
Bethany
Jesse played the perfect guide and indulged my tourist heart by showing me all the sites of LA, from Hollywood Boulevard to Rodeo Drive and Warner Brothers and Paramount Studios. We weren’t able to get out for fear of him being recognized, but it didn’t really matter. I enjoyed it just as well from the safety of the backseat behind tinted glass. We sat in traffic for an hour to get from Santa Monica to the Griffith Observatory in time to watch the sunset behind the Hollywood sign.
Sitting on the hood of the car as the final ray of light dips behind a thick layer of smog, I lean into Jesse’s side. “This has been the perfect day.”
His arm comes around me. “I’m glad you had fun.”
I tilt up my head. “What was your favorite part?”
I expect him to say something about the meeting with his record label, maybe the new direction of his career. Strangely, he hasn’t talked about that much since we left the Arenfield offices.
“Watching you power that animal-style burger was pretty impressive.”
I smack his chest. “I told you I was hungry! And a gentleman never reminds a lady of her vulnerable moments.”
He chuckles and hops off the hood before wiping the backside of his jeans with his hands, which is kind of funny considering there isn’t a speck of dust on the car. “I’m not kidding. I’ve eaten a lot of meals with a lot of women.” He holds out his hand to help me slide down. “I love eating with a woman who enjoys her food.”
I take his hand and scoot off the hood. “That’s a really weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”
“Let me explain it this way,” he says as he circles to the back door and opens it for me. “Eating with a woman who’s terrified she’ll gain a pound is like fucking a woman who fakes her orgasms. Eating with you, well…” He bites his lip and grins. “It’s the real thing. It gets me off watching you get off.”
I hop in the car, feeling flushed. “How completely predictable of you to turn food talk into sex talk. And I highly doubt you’ve been with a woman who’s had to fake it.”
He slides in next to me. “You’d be surprised.”
My eyes pop wide. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“My place,” he says to Johnny then angles his body toward me. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not me. Some women try to boost my ego—”
“Ha! Like you need it.”
“Agreed. You’d be surprised how many women act like they’re hoping for an Oscar after their sex performance.”
“Huh.” I watch the distant lights of downtown Los Angeles fade as we make our way deeper into the Hills. “That really surprises me.”
“You know what surprises me?”
I turn toward him.
“The fact that you seem completely comfortable talking about other women I’ve fucked.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I wouldn’t say I’m comfortable, but I do like hearing new things about you. It’s unfortunate, but understandable, that a lot of your life happens to revolve around the woman you’ve… been with.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve never been with a man who has faked an orgasm.”
He laughs. “No, I don’t suppose you have.”
“Yours have all been real.”
“Yep.”
“Wyatt’s too, and the guy I lost my virginity to—”
“Okay, gross. You’re a better person than I am. I don’t want to hear about all the dicks that have been inside your body.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Too late!”
He blinks. “What?”
“I said it’s too late. You already have.”
“You’re telling me you’ve only been with three guys?”
I shrug as embarrassment floods my veins. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t sleep with people unless I’m in love with them.”
His expression is blank for a few pregnant seconds before he nods.
“Whoa!” I press my nose to the window and stare at the house we’ve stopped in front of. “Is this yours?”
He pops the door open, and I follow him out with my backpack slung over my shoulder. The house is set back into the face of a mountain. It’s lit up inside, and every wall is made of glass held together by columns of stone or wood. The exterior is simple—trim green grass, concrete rectangles set in the grass to make a walkway, and succulents everywhere. It has a mid-century modern design, but the lights and windows give it a warmer feel.
“Come on.” He grabs my hand and leads me up the driveway to the garage.
He punches in a number on the keypad, and it opens to reveal a four-car garage. An old hotrod of some kind in
a shining blue, a big black pickup truck, a tiny red car that I’m pretty sure is a Ferrari, and a sleek black motorcycle fill the tidy space. He pushes open the door to the house, and my nose fills with the sweet and spicy scent of Asian food.
“Mr. Lee,” a small Asian man in a chef’s jacket greets us in the kitchen. “Welcome home.”
“Good to be home.” Jesse drags me through the kitchen, only giving me a second to take in the masculine wood cupboards and stainless steel countertops.
“This place is amazing,” I say as he leads me up a floating staircase to the second story. “How long have you lived here?”
“Few years.” He opens a door to a room that matches the downstairs—dark gray flagstone tile, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a manicured lawn and—
“Look at that pool.” The shimmering blue water is still and level with the horizon, like something one would find at a five-star resort hotel.
“Did you bring your suit?” Jesse says from the doorway of what I assume is his bathroom.
“No, I wasn’t expecting all this.”
He frowns. “Damn, I was kind of hoping to become intimately familiar with that unicorn.” He winks.
“It’s a Pegasus, and I only wear that suit when I swim with Elliot. I do have adult swimsuits.” I turn back to the view, hopeful that he’s visualizing a string bikini, not my tankini made for a much more mature adult.
I imagine the pool parties he must throw. Picture the hoards of tiny models in their barely-there suits, parading around in hopes of getting his attention. How many women have been in my very same position in this room, wondering the same thing?
But he loves me.
That thought pushes out my insecurities.
His arms come around me from behind, and his lips find my ear. “You don’t really need a suit to swim in my pool.” He nips at my lobe. “We can go skinny-dipping after the chef leaves.”
A delicious shiver skates up my spine. “I’ve never swum naked before.”
He nuzzles my neck, and I relax against him. “Perfect. Then I’ll be your first.”
I only wish I could say the same to him.
