missed. The concerned calls from Scot and his family members.
Angry calls from his manager, Bret, and the record label. Worst
of all were the messages from Steph. At first she sounded tired
and exasperated, then the messages progressed to teary pleading.
Then anger. After that she left nothing but hang ups.
As soon as his plane touched down in London, he was on
his way to Abbey Road Studios. He owed the band the apology
of a lifetime, and he knew right where to find them. His reap-
pearance was met with a mixture of anger and relief. He slapped
down the stack of songs in front of Bret and launched into a
well-practiced monologue about how he’d needed the solitude to
refocus.
“Well, you could have bloody called us.” David threw a
drum stick at his head. Phillip deftly dodged it and gaped at David.
“We need to get back to work before the studio rips up our
contract.” Bret remarked, putting out a cigarette. Phillip nodded.
“There’s just one more thing I have to do, then I’ll move a
71
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
bloody cot into this studio and live here—I promise.” Nathan
rolled his eyes at Phillip’s oath of loyalty.
“We’ll believe it when we see it.” He lit up a smoke and
waved his cigarette in the air. “Alright, then. What’s so im-
portant that we can’t get right to it?”
“I have to talk to Stephanie first.” You could hear a pin drop
in the studio. No one looked at anyone else.
“Well, I just happen to know where you can find her.” Scot
chimed in as he plucked a few notes on his bass. “She and Chey-
enne are backstage at the Toxicity concert as we speak.”
Nathan gasped overly dramatically and played the first four
notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on his keyboard. Phillip’s
stomach hit the floor. It was like finding out his arch nemesis
had her in a tower with no doors. He thought about his uncle’s
words (anything worth having is worth bleeding for), and his
resolve didn’t falter. He hopped in the passenger side of Na-
than’s Ferrari, and they sped off toward the address Scot had
provided.
The loud splashing sound as someone dived into the pool
pulled Phillip back to present day. Cheyenne surfaced before
him, and the look she wore was homicidal.
“What the hell?” he asked, looking around to see if they had
an audience. Scot smiled and holding up two drinks, saluted him.
“I don’t know. You tell me ‘what the hell’.” She snapped.
With an eye roll, he started to swim away from her, but she
grabbed him tight by the wrist. “Did you say something to upset
Steph?”
Phillip bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t
have to say anything to upset her. My very existence pisses her
off.”
“We’re here for Yara and David. Try to keep the drama to a
minimum.”
“Steph’s already informed me of my role and what my
place is here. I bow to her wishes.”
72
RAGE
She scoffed. “You are such an asshole. Steph always said
she’d never get married. She doesn’t believe in marriage. Not at all. Did you know that? Nope. And why is that? ‘Cause you never bothered to take my advice and actually talk to her about it.”
His face must have betrayed his surprise, because Chey-
enne’s sour expression transformed to one of sympathy. She said
nothing for a minute, but she seemed to be having some sort of
internal debate.
“Steph’s different now, Phillip. She’s a lot healthier in
many ways. I think she’s finally found some happiness. She de-
serves some. What’s done is done.” She turned from him and
swam toward the far edge of the pool where Scot and David
were doing a drunken strip tease before simultaneously cannon-
balling into the water. Phillip shielded himself from the splash as he made his way to the steps. Emotionally exhausted from all the painful memories and awkward conversations, he was ready to
go back to his bungalow for a second nap.
73
CHAPTER SIX
As Stephanie slipped into her heels, she watched dusk settle
over the Sueste Bay. She’d slept through the legendary sunset
and was pissed at herself for it. She’d had to take a prophylactic dose of migraine medicine before lying down. Speaking to Phillip had taken the wind out of her sails, and the two-day journey to get to the island had finally caught up with her.
The orange and amber glow from the bungalows below
caught her eye. She wondered which one of them was Phillip’s
and wondered what the sheets felt like. One such thought led to
another, and seconds later she wanted to slap herself in the face.
The palm trees swayed gently to the strains of samba music
wafting up from the patio below. She knew she needed to get
down to the restaurant; Cedric would arrive soon for the dinner
and cocktail welcome reception. But she had to call Christopher
first.
It was eight p.m. local time, so it was midnight in London.
Feeling sheepish for the late-night call, she decided the need to hear his voice outweighed her fear of being rude. She winced as
she pressed the call button on her cell. He picked it up after one ring.
“Hello, beautiful.” He sounded wide awake as his highbrow
Oxford accent popped through the phone as if he were next door
and not on the diagonal side of the globe.
“Hey. Did I wake you?” She imagined him kicked back on
74
RAGE
his leather sofa with his laptop, wearing his favorite football jer-sey. It still took some getting used to, seeing him out of a three piece suit. Not that she’d seen him “completely out” of the suit.
Not yet. Steph blushed at her train of thought. “I was going to
Skype you, but I overslept. I figured you’re in bed, and that
would be just plain mean.”
His deep voice rumbled with a throaty laugh. “So what are
you saying? It’d be cruel to see me in bed, or that I look unfortunate with bed head?”
Steph smiled coyly and bit down lightly on her thumb. They
hadn’t slept together yet, but things were rapidly moving in that direction. She’d warned him when they started seeing one another that she needed to take her time. She was still bruised from a break-up, and she wanted to get to know him. Steph was done
with impulsivity and relationships. After a series of sexual
hookups- turned-boyfriends, she was ready for a more thoughtful
approach toward her and Christopher’s serendipitous romance.
“I imagine bed head suits you just fine.” She’d been incredibly gun-shy after agreeing to date him at Ricky Gervais’s New
Year’s party. He promised to let her dictate the terms, and she
finally relented. She figured it would rapidly unravel anyhow.
He had three strikes against him right from the start. He was
British, blonde, and in “the business.” She was not looking for a Phillip clone or a rebound guy, so she figured it would die on the vine, and she’d have to go look for a new agent.
Three months of marathon dates with Christopher had
yielded an unexpected result. She’d found she really liked hi
m.
He was so kind and thoughtful. Plus, he had an epic romantic
streak; their first date alone topped most people’s honeymoons.
He’d flown to Paris and stayed in her guest room. They’d spent
two days and three nights together. They’d driven out to Ver-
sailles, and she’d photographed it from top to bottom. They’d
dined at outdoor cafés, and looked at fine art at the Louvre hand in hand. His fluent French and laid-back temperament made it a
75
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
relaxing experience, and she found herself mildly disappointed
when he didn’t try to sneak into her room on the second night.
He did kiss her goodbye, and it was surprisingly nice.
They took turns flying to see each other every other week-
end. Her to London, him alternating between Milan and Paris.
When she happened to be in London, they got together daily.
She doubted it was a coincidence that he hadn’t booked her a gig in the U.S. since he’d taken over as her agent, but found she
didn’t miss the transatlantic hop in the least.
They drank buckets of coffee and discussed articles in the
New York Times and Huffington Post. He was athletic, avidly
playing both soccer and rugby. He dragged her out on bike rides
and meandering walks. He even encouraged her to try yoga for
her nerves. She was shocked to discover she loved it, and now
she was addicted. But Steph’s yoga instructor had tailored the
soundtracks for her, replacing the Mercury Max music for The
Red Hot Chili Peppers.
From date one, Christopher pressed her for answers in a
way no one ever had. When she tried to kill conversations with cheeky quips, he sternly looked her in the eye and redirected the question. Real questions about her parents, her past, and her
views. As a result, she felt like she knew herself better than ev-er—which was both a blessing and a curse. Steph often worried
he was way too nice for her. She didn’t exactly deserve someone
like him, after slamming around the world the past few years like a long-horned bull window shopping for china patterns.
It seemed unimaginable that Christopher had started a brawl
with Phillip. He was usually so smooth and unflappable. Plus
Phillip was a monster of a man and obviously outmatched him.
But Christopher was definitely a man’s man, no doubt about it.
He could square off with the best of them. When she brought up
the wedding and Phillip’s attendance, she could see the rugby
player in him itching to come out and rumble. He’d tried every-
thing he could think of to be able to come along, but in the end, 76
RAGE
his work demands prevented it.
“How’s the island? Any run-ins with Phillip?” Not Christo-
pher’s most suave transition of topics, but she’d anticipated this line of questioning since before she left the U.K.
“Yep. It’s cool. We agreed to avoid one another,” she re-
plied as Kara exited the bathroom looking like Aphrodite incar-
nate with her blonde ringlets and gauzy white dress. She flashed a toothy, wide-eyed grin at Steph, who violently suppressed an
eye roll. She didn’t envy Cheyenne having to live with all her
exuberant enthusiasm.
“Good. I mean…I’m sure that’s for the best.” Christopher
replied. “I’m sorry I can’t be there, love.”
She tried not to flinch every time he called her “love”.
“Chris, I have to go. Cedric’s waiting for me. I’ll Skype you
tomorrow, okay?”
“Sounds good. Steph?”
“I’m still here.”
“I love you.” His declaration was so unexpected that Steph
thought she had hallucinated it. She paused awkwardly and
looked at the phone as if there might be an instant replay waiting for her on the screen. Her mouth went dry, and she didn’t seem
to have the muscle control to form words.
“Bye!” She hit end and dropped her phone on the bed. She
slapped her palms over her eyes and stomped her foot. “Fuck,
fuck, fuck!”
Kara poked her head out from the closet where she’d been
trying on shoes. “Is everything alright, mate?”
“No!” Steph flopped on the bed in a decidedly unladylike
manner, considering she was wearing a dress.
“Want to talk about it?” Kara offered, crossing to her while
putting in dangling earrings.
“No thanks. I just need booze.” Without a thought about her
carefully styled up-do, she buried her head under her pillow with a loud groan. Just when she thought things were shaping up nice-77
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
ly with Christopher, he had gone and thrown a wrench into the
gears.
Kara stuck her hand out to her. “Come on. They have a
great selection of beers at the bar. Cheyenne said beer’s your
favorite.”
Steph thought maybe she’d misjudged Kara when she dis-
missed her as a dizzy blonde. Perhaps she was some sort of sa-
vant or Rhodes Scholar. She took Kara’s hand and allowed her to
pull her to her feet.
When they arrived, a party was in full swing. Several cou-
ples were dancing to the samba band, and Stephanie was amused
when she saw two Victoria’s Secret models flanking her brother
at their table like he was P.Diddy.
“Olá!” Cedric greeted her. Her eyebrow and the corners of
her mouth twitched as she looked at both of his companions.
“Hey there, Padre.” Steph nodded, taking in his causal, col-
lar-free attire.
“Steph, I’d like to introduce you to Antonella and Yasmin.
Esta é minha irmã, Stephanie.” Steph recognized the two women
as two of the bridesmaids. She smiled at them slyly. They smiled back as if she had her camera out.
“Show off,” she said, taking a seat across from him.
She sat and ate her dinner in silence as her three table mates
spoke to each other in rapid Portuguese. She wanted to shake
both of the girls like castanets and say “he’s a man of God, you little whores!”, but she suppressed her instincts. She searched the crowd for someone to talk to, but Cheyenne and Scot had been
dancing together for 45 minutes straight, and they appeared to be in the middle of an intense conversation. She heard the familiar sound of Phillip’s laugh and instinctively turned toward it. He
looked comfortable and dashing in a light grey suit coat with the top three buttons of his white silk shirt unbuttoned. His short hair drew extra attention to his rugged, square jaw. Little Liam was
dragging him around the patio by his arm. As Phillip scooped the 78
RAGE
toddler up in him arms and tossed him high into the air, Steph
realized she’d never seen him interact with a child. He seemed to be enjoying the experience, and frankly, he looked like a natural.
She frowned and blinked wearily. She really needed another
beer.
Nathan appeared at her side while she waited for the bar-
tender. “Stephanie bloody Brier, it’s about damn time you
showed your face!”
“Nate! Hey!” She gave him a hug and went to ruffle his
short hair. “You chopped it off!”
“Don’t mess with perfection.” He dodged her hand and
turned to the statuesque blonde at his side. “I’d li
ke you to meet Saffron.”
“Hello.” Steph looked up at the rail thin woman who tow-
ered over Nathan in 4 inch heels.
“I’ve heard so much about you.” Saffron’s smile implied
that she’d heard quite a lot more than Steph was comfortable
with. With her severe platinum bob and long false eyelashes,
Saffron looked like someone straight out of an Austin Powers
movie. Steph shook her hand.
“I can imagine.” Steph replied sardonically, sipping her
fresh beer. It was perfectly chilled and tasted like ambrosia.
“We heard we missed your reunion with Phillip. I’m so dis-
appointed.” Nathan’s droll tone caused Steph to smile in spite of the context. “Glad to see everyone still has all their limbs.”
“Yes. Too bad someone misbehaved on the plane ride here.
That needed to be taken care of promptly. And it took much
longer than I thought.” Saffron concurred. Nathan grinned from
ear to ear, and Steph slowly turned her head to look at Saffron to see if she was joking. It appeared she wasn’t.
“OOOOOkie dokie.” Steph murmured, taking a much long-
er drink of her beer.
“Well, we kept getting interrupted. Nothing’s quite the
mood killer like Cheyenne and Scot having a screaming match.”
79
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
Steph shot Nathan a disbelieving look, and he laughed. “No,
sweetie, they didn’t join us! They were in the next bungalow
having a spat. You’re so perverted.”
“So tell me Stephanie, are you a natural redhead?” Saffron
asked, her eyes traveling the length of Steph’s neckline.
“Sure am.” She glanced at Nathan as if requesting back up.
“I don’t see any freckles…” Saffron said coquettishly and
turned to Phillip who happened to be passing by, “Tell me, Phil-
lip. Does Stephanie’s carpet match her curtains?”
“Not sure. She’s a big fan of waxing.” He volleyed back
without missing a beat. Steph blinked at him in surprise as he
plucked a glass of champagne off a passing tray and kept walk-
ing. Nathan and Saffron laughed, and then Saffron emitted a
pained groan.
“Uh-oh. That fat bridesmaid is hitting on Bret again.” Saf-
fron whispered. Steph saw a curvy Latina chatting Bret up. He
seemed pretty pleased with the situation, which made Steph un-
Rage Page 9
