Slow Burn (Feverish #4)

by Jade C. Jamison

  Her face was like stone. “Ready?”

  “Yep. Let’s get you home.”

  From walking to the elevator and riding it down to stopping by the desk to check out, he didn’t say anything else to her and couldn’t look at her. It wasn’t until they were walking out that he could sense her uncertainty.

  Finally, walking alongside him, she said, “Thanks for agreeing to the plan for Fashion Week. I know it’ll work.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He thought it was a stupid idea, but he’d already agreed to it. Anything to be with this woman.

  This woman who didn’t give a shit about him.

  But maybe this was a test. Maybe she wanted to see if he was loyal, wanted to see how far he would go for her. Well, he’d already promised, so he’d follow through—but that was it. After this, he wasn’t about to debase himself for her anymore, and he didn’t give a shit if it helped out his band or not.

  He knew the guys would understand. Still, he thought he needed to spend some time with Clay, ask him what he’d do if he were in Brian’s shoes.

  Fortunately, there was no talking during the bike ride. The Harley was loud, making a lack of conversation preferable anyway. But as he began approaching the drop off area, Brian spotted a guy in a Rockies cap with a huge camera hanging from his neck, already snapping pics of them.

  “How the fuck did this guy know we’d be here right now? Did you call somebody?”

  Sophie let go of Brian’s torso as he stopped the bike. “No, of course not.”

  But he was beginning to have his doubts. How the hell did these vulturous photographers manage to track them down everywhere they went?

  “I want to use them to help us—but here at an airport where we’ve been plotting and planning is not helpful, so, of course, it wasn’t me.” Hopping off the bike with more grace than he would have been able to muster, she then unsnapped the helmet and handed it to him. “My purse, please.”

  Brian got up and opened the storage lid, handing Sophie her purse. Then he looked over at the photographer and glared, even though the guy was keeping his distance. “Have a safe flight.”

  “Since he’s watching us, we should pretend like we’re fighting.”

  He didn’t have the heart for it. “Just flip me off when you go through the doors.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Great idea.”

  Sure. He was full of ‘em. But as soon as her cute little ass was through that door, he got back on his bike and drove as fast as he could—refraining himself from flipping off the guy in the baseball cap. For all Brian knew, he was a fan and, right now, he wasn’t about to alienate someone who might actually care about him, no matter who that person was.

  And he kept telling himself one thing: So long as Sophie kept him in her life, there was hope.

  * * *

  Even though she’d told him he didn’t need to, Rory met Sophie at LaGuardia a little after midnight. And when she walked out, he embraced her. “I’ve missed you!”

  “I haven’t even been gone a day.”

  “I know—but I’m dying to tell you my news.”

  “Then dish.”

  “Hold on.” While Rory flagged down a cab, Sophie lowered her head and took a whiff of herself. Throughout the flight, she’d been smelling Brian on her and was worried that her friend would be able to smell the scent of sex on her.

  And then she’d have so much more to talk about. Better that he distract her with his good news.

  Once they were in the cab and heading toward Manhattan, Rory said, “So there’s this new play with a casting call for gay men.”

  “On Broadway?”

  “Yes. And I’ll be auditioning next week—but here’s the best part.” Sophie grabbed Rory’s hand, sensing how excited he was. “You want to know how I found out?”

  “How?” She’d so missed her friend. His enthusiasm was contagious, just what she needed. She’d found herself falling hard for the rock star, but they could never work. Rory, even when he was floating on a cloud, had the ability to coax her back to earth, fill her with hope.

  “Remember Allen Tucker?”

  “Isn’t he that guy you were snuggling up to last New Year’s Eve?”

  “Yes!” Rory practically squealed, not noticing how his voice made the cab driver jump. Although traffic was pretty light, the driver seemed pretty intense and Rory’s high-pitched voice could be a bit startling. “He still had my number and frankly, I thought he’d been blowing me off—but now, months later, he thought of me—me!—for the cast. But here’s the best part.” Rory, ever the perfect actor who loved creating tension and drama, looked around as if they were surrounded by a crowd of people who were trying to eavesdrop. “He wants to meet for lunch tomorrow.”

  Sophie wasn’t about to ask why Rory thought a lunch date was promising. Instead, she squeezed his hands like he’d been doing hers. “That’s wonderful!”

  “I know. I can hardly wait!” He sat up a little straighter and then asked, “So tell me about your little trip to Denver with that hot ass bass player.”

  Because she couldn’t admit it to herself, she certainly wasn’t going to address her deepening emotions with Rory. Instead, she just said, “He agreed to it. We’re going to see what we can pull off during Fashion Week.”

  “I don’t know, girl. That could so backfire.”

  “Yeah, but it could also work. Think of the possibilities.”

  “Think of the potential disasters. For everything that could go right, a hundred things could go wrong. I know what you’ve been doing up to this point has helped your career, but pulling some crazy shit during one of the biggest weeks of the year could completely ruin everything you’ve worked so hard for. Think about it, Soph.”

  Sophie took a deep breath and looked out the window at the buildings they passed by. Suddenly, she felt smothered, claustrophobic, boxed in by this city she’d grown to love. Maybe it was because her mind kept taking her back to that room with a view that seemed to let her breathe. The one in Denver with Brian holding her closely.

  Turning to Rory, she said, “I think I’m falling in love with him.”

  “Who? Wait, what? The rock star guy?”

  “Yes. I know it’s stupid.”

  “There are worse guys you could fall for.”

  “I know that. I’ve fallen for them. But I’m sure there’s someone out there perfect for me. I just haven’t found him yet.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it. That’s how they keep selling those fairytales, convincing you there’s a Mr. Right out there made just for you. But Mr. Right is a fallacy. You need to find Mr. Compatible.”

  “Well, Brian Zimmer is definitely not that guy. He gets on my nerves, and he knows how to get under my skin. It’s like he likes to make me mad and loves seeing me lose my cool.”

  “Sounds like he’s got a skill for that.”

  “You bet he does.”

  “I’m sensing a but.”

  “You’re not. You’re just fishing.”

  Rory raised his brown eyebrows, and even in the darkness of the cab, Sophie could see the sparkle in his eyes, full of mischief. “Was I that obvious?”

  Sophie gave him half a smile and returned her eyes to the sights outside. As they drove over the bridge, the water below reflected the lights of the city, making it almost look magical. “But he’s caring and gentle with me—and he makes me feel things I never thought I’d feel again.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I want to be with him all the time.”

  “That’s just love.”

  Sophie looked back at Rory. “Exactly. The worst idea I’ve heard in a long time. It would never work with him.”

  “Why not?”

  As if rattling off a grocery list, Sophie touched her index finger to all the digits on her other hand as if checking off boxes. “We live in different parts of the country. He’s always traveling. Women throw themselves at him as if he’s a god. He’s a smart ass. He thinks he’s funny.” She’
d run out of fingers, but she was on a roll and kept going. “He’s an asshole.”

  “So why the hell are you falling for this guy?”

  “I have no idea.” But she couldn’t switch that part of her heart off, no matter how hard she tried.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “My man,” Clay said, slapping Brian on the back as he entered the guitarist’s home. “I’m glad you weren’t so sick of us you couldn’t have dinner.”

  “I like Emily’s cooking, so I couldn’t really say no.” Brian held up a six-pack. “Where do you want this?”

  “In my belly.” Clay laughed. “Let’s put it in the fridge but what say we have one now?”

  “Yeah, sure.” As they walked toward the kitchen, Brian said, “Damn, that smells good. What is it?”

  “No idea.” When they entered the kitchen, Emily stood at the stove, her long, dark hair pulled up in a ponytail. “Babe, what are we eating?”

  “It’s green Thai curry. You like veggies, don’t you, Brian?”

  “You know it.” When Clay handed him one of the bottles, he asked, “You want a beer, Emily?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Clay put the rest of the six-pack in the refrigerator after taking one and then walked over to Emily, kissing her on the cheek. “What’d I do to deserve you?”

  Brian said, “The question should be what did Emily do to deserve you?” When both of them gave him a quizzical look, he said, “Obviously, you did something horrible and this relationship is your way of making up for it.”

  “Always the funny guy,” she said, giving Clay a quick peck. “I’ll let you guys know when it’s ready.”

  “Can we do anything to help?”

  “Just get out of the kitchen so I can work.”

  Clay raised his eyebrows, looking amused. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

  As they stepped out of the kitchen, Brian asked, “Are you working on anything?”

  “Musically, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Nope. I’m treating this like a real vacation. I don’t know why, man, but this tour is wearing me out more than usual.”

  “Turning into an old man?”

  “Nah. I just think I’m beginning to realize the benefits of enjoying time off. I’ll have plenty of time to write more songs once we’re done with this album.”

  “Fair enough.” Finally, at the end of the hall, they entered Clay’s beloved music room. On the walls were framed gold and platinum records, showing off the times the band had sold enough albums to merit the recognition—and Clay’s guitars were in stands, lined up against one wall. The room used to feel more open but now there was only a small part of the space that had furniture to sit on. There were amps and other equipment all over the place. As Brian finally found one chair free to sit on, he said, “You should let Mary in here.”

  “No way. She’s too good a housekeeper. She’d get rid of shit she didn’t think I needed because I hadn’t used it in a while and then when I wanted it, it’d be gone. Like that time—”

  “Jesus, dude. Are you gonna tell me the capo story again?” Widening his eyes, Brian raised his voice, imitating Clay as if the man were a young woman. “One time, Mary was cleaning under the couch and she saw this thing she thought was broken and—”

  “Fuck you,” Clay said, a grin eating up his face, finding a spot to sit on the sofa full of magazines and song books. “So you’ve heard the story before.”

  “Yeah, and if I recall, she asked what it was before throwing it away.”

  “But the point is she doesn’t know what’s important and what’s not. She’d have to ask me about every little thing in here and it would be exhausting.”

  “Yeah, but look at all this shit, dude. You could have a fucking yard sale and still have enough stuff to start over as a garage band.”

  “You callin’ me a hoarder?”

  “How many guitars you really need?”

  “That’s sacrilege, Bri. An axe man can never have too many guitars. How many do you have?”

  Brian wasn’t about to say it out loud. When he used to have a tiny apartment, he had three bass guitars and one standard. Nowadays? “A few.”

  “Exactly. You have no room to talk. So…tell me what the hell that tabloid was going on about yesterday.”

  Brian took a long swig from the brown bottle—because he hadn’t said much about any of this with his best friend. Ever since Dane had found Charlie, Brian had felt like the odd man out—and talking about women, especially when the guys’ women were around, seemed somehow disrespectful. But maybe he could touch on the subject. “You mean the airport photos?”

  “No, I mean the pictures of you at your cousin’s wedding two years ago. Of course, I mean the airport photos. What the fuck was going on there?” When Brian shrugged and took another drink of beer, Clay said, “They’re saying you guys are dating. And I don’t care, man. None of us do. We want you to be happy. We just don’t want the weird drama she brings to the table.”

  “It’s not drama. It’s the press, man. You can’t blame her for that shit. And, whether you like it or not, her drama has helped us sell more albums this go round, even with shitty reviews and some fans trashing it.”

  Clay raised an eyebrow before raising his bottle. “Sounds like you might have something for this little lady.”

  “You know, at first, I just thought she was another dumb bimbo model, but there’s a hell of a lot more to her.”

  “Yeah. If I recall correctly, you also said she was batshit insane.”

  Brian chuckled. “Yeah, I still think she’s got a touch of madness—but she has her reasons.”

  “Holy shit.” Clay sat up. “I think I recognize this look.”

  “What look?”

  “Your face, man. You should see yourself.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “No, seriously. Talk to me, man. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Letting his defenses down a bit, Brian reminded himself that this was Clay, his best friend, and arguably the most sensitive guy in the band. After all, this man had been hurt so badly he’d adopted another persona he used when dealing with women—and even that hadn’t stopped his heart from becoming entangled. If his secret was safe with anyone, it was with Clay. “She’s way smarter than I gave her credit for—and this whole thing with the paparazzi, she’s trying to figure out a way to use them to her advantage instead of just letting them trash her life.”

  “I knew it.”

  Brian ignored him. “Here’s the thing, though. She’s seriously uptight. When she cuts loose, she’s fun to be around—but she’s wound tight, like she’s ready to snap at any given moment. She keeps that shit locked down.”

  “Sounds like baggage.”

  “Maybe. But when she relaxes, it’s…hard to explain. It’s almost like she’s another person. Like she’s the person she’s meant to be.” It was like a revelation then—that was why Sophie had stopped pursuing law. It was changing her—but maybe she didn’t see that modeling was doing the same damned thing. “If she could relax all the time—”

  “That sounds like a full-time job, man. You really wanna do that?”

  Brian downed the rest of his beer realizing he’d probably drunk it too quickly. Was he the man for that job? “I don’t know.”

  “Time to eat, guys,” Emily said, peeking her head in the doorway.

  “Awesome,” Clay said. “This woman has completely turned me around on Thai food.”

  Giving Clay a thumbs up, Brian stood, following him into the hallway. Once they got to the kitchen, Brian threw away his beer bottle. “Before we chow down, guys, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  Emily set a big bowl of rice on the table. “This sounds serious.”

  “Nah. I was just wondering if I could persuade you guys to join me in front row seats at Fashion Week in Manhattan in September.”

  The way Emily’s eyes grew big told Brian he had a chance of talking them into i
t—because if he could get Emily on board, Clay was sure to follow.

  And then he could follow through on Sophie’s plan.

  * * *

  Diane von Furstenberg. Tommy Hilfiger. Nicole Miller. Carrie Hammer. Ralph Lauren. Michael Kors. The names went on and on, and all had designs to wow their audiences. Sophie had been lucky enough to be one of a handful of models appearing for an up-and-coming designer everyone was going nuts over, a man by the name of Sebastian Smithey. The man loved pairing strange colors together and designed clothing that could best be described as angular. Sophie would have taken a job with anyone just to be on that runway, but a designer everyone was holding their breath for? Priceless.

  More than just a dream job, a notch on her modeling belt, though, she and Brian were getting ready for their first staged event. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to pull it off, but he and a couple of his friends were going to be in the front row—the perfect place to put her plan into motion. Although she hadn’t had a chance to peek so she could see exactly where they were seated, it sounded promising. She’d texted Brian last night to make sure they were still a go, but his response had been noncommittal—so, until she actually saw him out there, she couldn’t be sure.

  And the noncommittal part had been due to her request that they not leave a trail. Should something go horribly, terribly wrong, she wanted deniability for them both.

  It wasn’t until the show had actually started and she’d been squished into the first of three Smithey designs that she caught a glimpse of Brian. She was waiting in the wings for her cue and, when the model in front of her got ready to take her walk, Sophie saw Brian to the side—front row, just as promised. The guy next to him was one of his bandmates, but she couldn’t remember his name. It was then that she also recognized the man’s girlfriend. Emily, she thought the woman’s name was, a gal who could’ve been a runway model herself had she wanted.

  Suddenly, Sophie’s stomach clenched, and if she would have had food in her stomach, it would have come up without warning. Why was she nervous now?

  All the people, of course. They’d all be looking at her, and even though she’d been modeling for a while, this was her first live event. She knew to the audience she was nothing more than a walking mannequin, and their eyes would be all over the clothing on her body—but that didn’t help.