“Tell her,” I challenged. His eyes rounded in surprise.
“B-b-but—” he sputtered.
Lowering both elbows onto my desk, I leaned forward, and growled, “Fucking tell her, you tiny-dick moron. I dare you. Who do you think you are? If I want to fuck Wynne, I’ll fuck her. Who are you to stop me? No one, that’s who. I own this show. Therefore, I can fuck who I want, but I’m not, so tread carefully with your lies and innuendos, you little twat.” He shot up from the chair so fast it tumbled over onto the floor behind him.
“This whole thing has been rigged from the beginning,” he fumed. Clearly this wasn’t going according to his plan.
“The only one rigging anything is you. Instead of working hard to make yourself unbeatable, you’re in here lamely attempting to blackmail me. All this shows is how little faith you have in yourself. This, right here, Ferris, is why you will never make it in this industry. Now, get the fuck out of my office.”
I didn’t go to Wynne that night, nor did I text her to explain why. It was too risky. I thought about calling her but decided against it. She was better off not knowing. When Jayne failed to pay me a visit, I knew that calling Ferris’s bluff had been the right move.
Friday, I made sure to keep rehearsal as professional as possible. Wynne was quiet which bothered me. Each time I tried to pull her aside to explain, we were interrupted. Finally, I just told her everything was fine and to trust me. She seemed better after that. Ferris was his usual dickhead self. Only now, he was more so, if that was even possible. The fucker kept messing up the duet and bitching about how my voice didn’t sound like Chris Stapleton’s. No shit. Maybe it was because I wasn’t Chris Stapleton.
I didn’t go to Wynne that night, either. I wanted to, but again, I wasn’t willing to risk it. Just because Ferris didn’t have anything on us, didn’t mean he couldn’t get it. Tomorrow this whole thing would be over and we could all move on. Wynne would have a few days of postproduction but after that, I was going to whisk her back to Aspen and chain her to my bed.
The day of the finale was insane. Not only was it New Year’s Eve, but it was snowing like crazy outside. Between fittings and last-minute dress rehearsals, I barely had time to breathe. Wynne was all smiles which was good. What bothered me was that Ferris, too, was all smiles. The fucker knew he was going to lose, so why was he smiling?
By mid-day, my unease had grown to out and out worry, but what could I do? I was flying blind. If Ferris knew something, he wasn’t talking. I was stuck. I felt cornered. The last time I felt this way, my entire career blew up in my face.
I was sweating by the time we made it to the stage that night. The crowd went wild as Wynne’s name was announced. The judge’s song choice was first. Like a pro, my girl nailed Janis and took a piece of the audience’s heart. She also earned a standing ovation from the judges’ table. Ferris was equally as good with his rendition of “Mine”. Round one was a tie.
I was nervous about round two. I’d heard Ferris’s song, but not Wynne’s. Please be good, I thought as she stepped onto the stage. My eyes immediately zeroed in on the guitar in her hands. Shit, she was playing the guitar I gave her for Christmas. It was my signature guitar that had been a huge part of my career with Indigo Road. The media would have a field day when they saw her playing it. I should have said something when I gave it to her. Now, it was too late. The entire world was watching and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Steffi’s head turned and her brow arched in question. “Isn’t that your guitar?”
Playing it off as no big deal, I answered, “Hers is a piece of shit. It’s the least I could do.”
“Look at you with a heart,” she teased. She had no idea.
The theater went silent as the stage faded to black. It was just Wynne and the guitar. My chest constricted as she began to play. Fuck, but she was good. Like everyone else in the room, I was swept up in her voice as she began to sing.
I’d given up. Oh, it was easy to do.
I was tired, so tired of my dead-end life.
Tired, so tired of all the strife.
But then suddenly there was you.
I was hypnotized, held in thrall by her raspy tone and mesmerized by her heartbreakingly vulnerable lyrics.
You lifted me from the dirt and dusted off my pain.
Showed me what I’m worth and that there’s peace beneath the shame.
I found peace beneath my shame.
The knot in my chest jumped into my throat at the realization that she was singing to me. She didn’t want me to hear the song before tonight, because she was saving it for me. My eyes stung and I had to blink a few times to clear them.
My eyes are wide open, my story still left to tell.
I’ve grown, I’ve seen, I believe in me. I now believe in me.
We both have a story. Together we are true.
Oh, we both have a story.
And mine begins with you.
Jesus, she was killing me. Clearing my throat, I took a sip of water.
“She’s amazing,” Steffi whispered. Yes, she is.
The song ended with the audience on their feet, and there was no doubt in my mind that Wynne Benfield had just won the entire fucking competition.
As predicted, Ferris’s song fell flat. The crowd cheered, but no one stood. Poor Ferris.
When it came my turn to sing with Wynne, I made her switch guitars with me.
“Trust me,” I told her, when she started to question it. Instead of arguing, she simply handed over the guitar. Of everything that had gone down between us, her unquestioning trust meant the most. Wynne trusted me and damn if I didn’t feel the same for her.
The moment we hit the stage, it was just the two of us and our guitars. We were so into each other and the song, that we missed all of our marks. I only had eyes for the woman sitting on the stool next to me. As we sang about staying up all night while getting high and setting the world on fire, I had an epiphany. This moment with Wynne surpassed any high or drunken bender I’d ever been on. I wasn’t sure if it was love or not, but I knew that it was profoundly different than anything I’d ever experienced. I also knew that I wanted to take the time to find out what it was, or even better yet, what it could be.
The song ended with everyone on their feet, a deafening roar of voices cheering for the two of us. I took her hand in mine, and she gave me a blinding smile. Then we took a bow.
As Wynne exited stage left and Ferris took her place, that feeling of unease returned. The song went well and we sounded great, but both of us knew that nothing could top my duet with Wynne.
“You had your chance,” Ferris mouthed as Wynne was ushered back on stage. Wait, what? Fuck! Fear, followed by blinding rage, roared through me as my heart thrummed painfully in my chest. I needed to do something, to stop this, but how?
“You need to get back to your seat,” I heard someone say, but I couldn’t make my feet move. I could see it, the gleam of victory in his beady little eyes. I’d fucked up. I’d called his bluff. Only, he wasn’t bluffing. I fucked up, and now Wynne was going to pay for it.
“Sander?” Wynne called out, a look of concern etched across her gorgeous face.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed.
“Clearly Sander doesn’t want to leave, so let’s give him another round of applause!” our MC, Joel, announced.
“Now, Sander,” I heard Jayne whisper. Defeat washed through me as I made my way back to the judges table.
“Aren’t you just the drama king?” March drawled as I took my seat. I didn’t bother to respond. All I could do was stare at the stage.
“Well, folks, it seems that the votes are in! Can we please have a drum roll?” Joel shouted. I wanted to close my eyes, but I wouldn’t let myself. I needed to watch. I could have stopped this. I deserved what was coming.
“America and the judges have voted, and I have to say, it was close. Buuuuut, the title of Million Dollar Musician goes to Wynne Benfield!” Right as Wynne’s name w
as announced, Ferris leaned over and whispered something in her ear. A look of confusion skittered across her face as her gaze flew to me.
Balloons and confetti poured down onto the stage as Ferris jerked the mic from Joel’s hands. “I’d like to say a few words of congratulations, but sadly I can’t, because the whole thing was rigged.” At Ferris’s words, the theater went quiet. “I was told this would be a fair competition, but how can that be when Sander James is sleeping with one of the final two contestants? I approached him about this yesterday, and you know what he had to say?” He held up his phone and realization hit. The fucking prick had taped the conversation.
I flinched as my voice spilled through the mic, out into the packed theater, and across the entire world. “Who do you think you are? If I want to fuck Wynne, I’ll fuck her. Who are you to stop me? No one, that’s who. I own this show. Therefore, I can fuck who I want.” Of course, it was taken out of context, but no one knew this and there was no way that I could prove it.
“I demand that Wynne be removed from the—” Before he could finish his sentence, Wynne turned and bolted from the stage. As I stood to go after her, I found myself blocked by three security guards.
“Move!” I shouted, as I attempted to plow through the middle of where they were standing.
“We need you to stay here, Mr. James,” one of them responded.
“Wynne!” I shouted as I tried diving over them.
“Mr. James, please stop.
“Fuck you! Wynne!” I shouted again.
“Wynne!” I shouted a third time before the guards finally restrained me and I was marched from the building.
Yep, you could say I’d really fucked up this time . . . .
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
“COMING HOME”
Wynne
The heart is a muscle. A complex organ that pumps blood throughout the body. In reality, it can’t break. In my head, it sure as hell could. In my head it was nothing but a shattered mess. Broken wide open by Sander’s betrayal, it now pumped shards of pain instead of blood.
Cameras flashed as my name was shouted repeatedly. My focus was elsewhere. It was fixed on Ferris’s smug face as he leaned in, opened his mouth, and shot my world to hell.
“Sander could have stopped this,” he’d whispered. Stopped what? I’d turned to ask, but he already had the mic in hand. Like a fool, I stood there on the stage, my feet frozen to the floor, my mind trapped by the words as they flew like barbed arrows from his lips. The finale had been rigged. Ferris may have taken the first swing, but it was Sander who had scored the knockout. I was nothing but a fuck. I heard it with my own ears. Nothing. But. A. Fuck. A fucking fool, that’s what I was . . . .
The next thing I knew, I was running. Running from Ferris’s hateful words. Running from Sander’s betrayal. Running from my own stupidity. I was almost home free, when out of nowhere two guards appeared, blocking the exit. They were going to make me go back. Like hell.
Before I could change course, the one on the left called out, “Miss Benfield, follow me!” I hesitated, but then I saw where he was going. He was leading me to the other exit.
“Please step back!” I heard the second guard shout behind us. Cameras flashed like strobe lights as I raced down the hallway and out into the night. Arctic air, so cold that it took my breath away, nearly bowled me over. The realization that I wouldn’t get far without a coat made me rethink my decision to run. What now? I couldn’t go back inside. The answer came in the form of a shiny, black town car. As it pulled to a stop in front of us, the guard stepped forward and opened the door for me.
Noticing my hesitation, he said, “You’re to be escorted back to the studio. Miss Taylor said to inform you that she would meet you there.” With a nod of understanding, I quickly entered the car. I turned to thank him but found the door slammed in my face. The car took off in a flash, and I suddenly felt as if I’d been dropped into the middle of a really bad spy movie.
A minute or two passed before I got up the nerve to address the driver. Sliding forward on the seat, I studied his profile. When he didn’t so much as glance my way, I said, “Excuse me—”
“I know nothing, lady.” His abrupt response felt like a slap. Who was I kidding? This whole night felt like one giant slap.
Up to this point, I’d been in fight or flight mode, but as we pulled onto the highway and I sank back into the warm leather seat, I slowly began to relax. Leaning my head back against the headrest, I stared out the window at the passing cars and let the enormity of the situation sink in. It sank, alright. Like a blood-thirsty tick, it burrowed deep, sucking, gnawing, and gorging until it exploded and was no more . . . until I was no more. Sander had lied. My eyes filled with tears, but I refused to let them fall. Gritting my teeth, I held in the sob, my throat constricting to the point where my lungs ached for release. Suck it in or let it out. Either way, it didn’t matter because I had lost. Not just the competition, but everything. I thought back to Christmas at Sander’s. To his smiling face and the sound of his laughter. To the incredible sex and the hours spent in bed just getting to know each other. I was a great judge of character. I always had been, until now.
“We’re here.” The words had barely left his lips before I had the door open. My feet hit the pavement, and I was running. Bypassing the elevator, I pushed open the stairway door. One, two, three flights flew past me as I bounded up the stairs. My lungs were no longer screaming in pain, but in desperation. What had I done?
The sob finally escaped as I slammed through the doorway labeled number six. Tears blurred my vision as I raced down the hall. I felt like a wounded animal, ripped open and bleeding out. Somehow, I managed to get the door open, and as I stared around the sterile living area, I thought of my little apartment in Florida, my safe haven. The home I’d given up for a chance at fame. I thought of my beloved animals, the job I’d sacrificed, and the people I’d left behind. In the blink of an eye, I’d walked away from it all, and for what? Nothing, that’s what. I’d fallen for a pipe dream controlled by a man, and not just any man, but a man so compelling that I’d thrown away my moral compass, screwed my way into the finale, and was now the laughing stock of the world. The same man who had stolen my heart and ruined me for all others.
An hour later, I was composed, packed, and ready to go. I’d spoken to my mother—who had seen the whole nightmare on television and was beside herself with worry, and was avoiding my father—who I knew was beyond disappointed in me. I had about two hours until the next flight home and needed to get to the airport. The only thing stopping me was Jayne and her directions to stay put. Well, Jayne had better hurry, because with or without her permission, I was leaving. With that thought in mind, I heard a knock at the door. I’d made it halfway across the room when it dawned on me that it might not be Jayne. It might be Sander.
Completely frozen by that thought, I heard a familiar voice call out, “Wynne, it’s Jayne. Open up!” Disappointment and relief warred within me as I moved the rest of the way across the carpet and flung open the door.
The familiar scent of lilacs permeated the air as she swept past me. “We need to talk.” I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped short when she raised her hand. With a slight flick of her wrist, she said, “I speak and you listen.” The apology shriveled to dust on my tongue. This wasn’t the sweet, affable Jayne I’d come to care for over the past three months. Pivoting on her canary red pumps, she faced me, her eyes flashing with anger. “Is it true? Did you sleep with him?” Her acerbic tone put me on edge. Something told me not to answer. “Did he hurt you, because if he did—” Her words dangled in the air between us. All I had to do was shoot them down or give them wings to fly. If I told her I’d been forced, there would be hell to pay. If I denied the whole thing, there would still be hell to pay. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.
“Nothing happened,” I told her.
A sigh of disgust flew from her mouth as she turned on her heels and glided to the s
ofa. Once she was seated, she inhaled deeply through her nose. At that moment, I felt like a naughty child who was trying her patience. In a whoosh of air, she exhaled. Her chin lifted and she stared up at me, her scowl sliding into a smile. A forced and very fake smile. The words tread lightly popped into my head.
“Come, have a seat,” she ordered. I didn’t want to have a seat. I wanted to grab my things and go. As if sensing this, she added, “You’re not at fault, here, Wynne.” It was that misconception that got me moving. I was definitely at fault. She waited for me to sit before addressing what was on her mind. “It appears we’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands, don’t we? Ferris made some pretty serious accusations on that stage tonight, and as much as I would like to ignore them, I can’t. You’re our first Million Dollar Musician. I want this for you, I really do, but I need for you to be honest with me. I know that Sander can be intimidating. He’s a very powerful man. I also know that he’s extremely charismatic. Trust me, I can see the allure. I don’t blame you for getting caught up in his charming little web, but that’s all it is . . . a web. The network doesn’t blame you. We blame him. I need you to know that XtBS is on your side. Anything you say here tonight will be held in the strictest of confidence. Now, in your own words, I need to hear what happened between you and Sander.”
As she was talking, a thought struck. Shouldn’t she be protecting Sander? Yes, they were colleagues, but I’d seen them together. I thought they were friends. Yet, here she was badmouthing him and ready to sell him out at the drop of a hat. Some friend. If this was how XtBS ran their network, I wanted no part of it.
“Nothing happened.” I repeated, this time in a much firmer voice.
“Ferris claims—”
“Ferris is a liar.” I cut in. “Sander was professional. He was nice to me and,” I paused before finishing, “a good mentor.” The words tasted stale and affected, like cardboard in my mouth.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1 Page 73
