“Tell me!” I begged.
“Wynne—” His tone said it all. God, I was so stupid. Of course, he didn’t love me. He was Sander James. I was nothing but a contestant on a musical game show. Another piece of ass to him. He told me not to fall in love. He told me but I didn’t listen. I should have listened. I scrambled from the bed and frantically began searching for my clothes.
“Wynne, stop!” he growled, but it was too late. The damage was already done. The next thing I knew, he had me pinned against the wall. I was caged between his arms. “Baby, stop,” he urged. Tears trickled from my eyes and down my face as I attempted to get a hold of my emotions. “Shit is happening and I’m just trying to protect you from the backlash,” he slowly explained. “That’s all.” My ass that was all.
“Why did you come here? I was doing fine without you,” I whispered through my tears.
A pained look appeared on his face and he closed his eyes. “I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t.”
Hope flared inside me as I begged, “Please, talk to me.” His eyes opened, and I knew what he was going to say.
“I can’t.” He could, he just wasn’t going to.
As I stared at the face of the man I loved more than anything in this world, the man who would never love me back or ever trust me with his secrets, I realized that it was over. Even though it killed me to say them, I managed to get the words out. “Then I guess it’s over.” Sander opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you love me, I mentally begged, but he didn’t. He just gave me that look, the one that made me feel two feet tall. Then he shook his head, withdrew his arms, and took a step back. He was letting me go. I was no longer caged. I was no longer . . . anything. As I scrambled to get dressed I could feel his gaze on me. At this point I was out and out sobbing. He was letting me go. It really was over.
I had my bag in hand and was halfway to the door when he called out, “This isn’t over, Wynne.” I didn’t bother to reply.
I cried all the way home. The poor Uber driver kept asking me if I was okay. Thankfully, Mom and Walter were out, as I was in no mood to answer questions.
“Come,” I said to the animals, as I stormed upstairs to my room and flopped onto my bed. Once again, I was a broken-hearted mess and all because of Sander James. No, correction, all because of me. I shouldn’t have gone last night. I was doing okay without him. Now I was back at square one. Stupid, stupid girl. Would I never learn?
Carrie called in the middle of my cryfest and I told her everything. She blew up. As in, called Sander every name in the book. This led to a dissertation on all of the things that she hated about him—all of which I loved. Pretty soon, she was making shit up and we were both laughing. I told her about my meeting with Chaz and Olivia—a meeting that she would have been involved in had she not been boning Kazen Grange on his office chair—and after giving a shout of delight, she ordered me to sign it. I wanted to sign it, so why was I hesitating? Sander, that’s why. My heart squeezed inside my chest. He didn’t know about it. I would have told him, had he not been so busy trying to sex me into silence. Carrie was right. Screw Sander James and his secrets. Screw Million Dollar Musician. Screw everyone. No joke, I was done. It was time to move on.
Shaking thoughts of Sander from my head, I leaned over the side of my bed and pulled the contract from my bag. I started to read it to Carrie, but didn’t get very far. While she talked about Kazen’s gigantic manroot, a word that I found rather disturbing, I skimmed over the first ten pages of the contract, which mostly consisted of a bunch of legal jargon that I couldn’t begin to decipher. Chaz had warned me. In fact, he said that I should just skip to the final page and sign on the dotted line. This was right after Olivia informed me that they were offering me six hundred thousand dollars to sign with them. Six. Hundred. Thousand. I stared at the number on the page and wondered if I should have a lawyer look at it. I mentioned it to Carrie and we both agreed. Why delay? A lawyer would just cost money, and I had none of that at the moment. Plus, the faster I signed with Happenstance, the faster I could put all of this behind me. I reached for a pen, and right as I was about to sign my name, I hesitated. Mom and Walter would advise me to contact a lawyer. Sander would too. It was this thought that spurred me to put the pen to the paper and just do it.
Kazen called in and Carrie had to go. That’s when the idea hit me. Chaz and Olivia’s plane didn’t take off until later today. Scrolling to Olivia’s number, I pressed send.
She answered on the second ring. “Olivia Marshall.”
“Hi, Olivia, it’s Wynne, and…uh…I just signed the contract.”
“That’s great! Have you had breakfast yet? If not, why don’t you bring the contract and join us here at the hotel.”
Three hours later it was a done deal. I was officially signed with Happenstance. Not only that, but I was their first solo artist. In less than two weeks, I would be in Austin, Texas, opening for Meltdown at a charity function. My heart may be broken, but my life was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
* * *
“STRAIGHT ON”
Sander
“Mother fucking fuck!” The shout tore from my mouth as I stared at the hotel room door. What the hell just happened? One moment Wynne was in my bed and the next she was gone. Everything in me wanted to go after her, to tell her my plans, to give her whatever she wanted. Here I was trying so damn hard to protect her, but from what? I was beginning to wonder. Was it them? Was it me? Maybe it was both.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” The fact that I was asking an empty room pretty much said it all. I always thought that drugs would be my downfall. “Fuck,” I whispered, scrubbing my hands through my hair. Wynne. My beautiful unjaded girl. The need to protect her beat at me. Like a force I couldn’t control, it was an instinctually compulsive obsession. The more she fought it, the worse it got. I knew all too well how cruel the world could be. Wynne just thought she knew, but she had no idea how bad it could get. What happened to her was nothing. It could have been, could still be, so much worse. Alex was right, I shouldn’t have come. I had a plan and now I was questioning everything.
Sighing, I dropped to the sofa. The rumpled bed stood before me and my mind swam with thoughts of last night. Wynne’s performance, my talk with Chaz, hiding in a fucking janitor’s closet, and all so I could see her again, touch her again . . . taste her again.
In an attempt to ease the pain, I bent forward, lowered my elbows to my knees, and dropped my head to my hands. She told me she fucking loved me and I just stood there like an emotionless prick. Why didn’t I say it back? Why did I let her go? None of this mattered without her. And just like that, I knew what I had to do. Screw the plan. Screw revenge. I needed to fix this and fix it fast or I was going to lose her. That is, if I hadn’t already lost her. My stomach twisted at the thought. First, I had to cancel my flight. I dove for my phone right as it rang. Alex’s name popped up on the screen.
“Talk fast,” I answered.
“This doesn’t sound like a man who got laid last night.” Alex was a damn good lawyer and a great friend, but he had this knack for annoying the hell out of me.
“Did you call to discuss my sex life, or do you actually have something to say?”
“Snappy,” he muttered.
“Alex,” I warned.
“Fine, do you remember the guy I was telling you about that used to work for XtBS?” My interest was instantly piqued.
“The friend of yours who worked in the legal department?”
“Yeah, remember they fired him for bringing his girlfriend on set after hours? Well, he still has connections there, and one of those connections told him that XtBS is coming after you for breach of contract.” I found this laughable.
“Fuck them, they can’t do shit to me.”
“He says they have proof.” This made me pause.
“Did he say what the proof was?”
“The guy wasn’t sure, bu
t said it had something to do with Wynne.” Shit. I was almost afraid to ask.
“Okay, say they do have proof, what can they do to me now?”
“It depends on what they have and whether or not we can counteract whatever it is. Worst case, they can sue you for breach of contract in the amount that you were paid while under contract with them.” We both knew that a chunk of that money was tied up in a contract waiting to be signed by Wynne. XtBS couldn’t bankrupt me, but they could cut deep into my reserves. Deep enough to do some major damage.
“Got any suggestions on how to stop them?” I asked.
“If it was me, I’d go on the offensive. Do something that would draw their focus from suing you to saving their asses. I would file Ferris’s suit today and do something to bring negative publicity on the network. You could make a formal statement highlighting their refusal to look into the attempted blackmail, or if you’re ready to name names, go after the exec who sold Wynne out.” I had yet to tell him about the recording. I guess now was as good a time as ever.
“Remember me telling you about my conversation with Jayne? The one where she came clean about the whole thing being a stunt to increase ratings? What I didn’t tell you, was that I recorded it.” The line fell silent.
“Jesus, Sander, why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged, then realizing that he couldn’t see me, said, “Because it was a fucked-up thing to do, I don’t know.”
“Well, that fucked up thing is exactly what’s going to save your ass. We need a plan of attack. What time will you be home?” The gaping hole in my chest expanded as I accepted the fact that I had to go. If I didn’t, they would win, and as much as I wanted Wynne—and God knows I wanted her—I couldn’t let that happen.
***
I dreaded the flight home. Tired of all the secrecy and disguises, I opted for a simple Yankees cap and the hope that if I stood with my head down and my back against the wall until it was time to board the plane, I wouldn’t be recognized. All I could think about was Wynne and what she must be feeling. I kept picturing her face as she begged for me to talk to her. I’d sent several texts trying to explain that I didn’t want to involve her and how I was only trying to protect her, but she refused to answer. At least she hadn’t blocked me . . . yet. For the first time in my life I could admit that I was afraid. I was scared shitless that by not going after her, I’d killed all chances of a future with her.
It was about halfway through the flight that the woman sitting next to me got up enough nerve to ask if I was Sander James. This caught the attention of the woman sitting across the aisle, which then snowballed to the couple sitting next to her. Suddenly the gig was up. It was a damn good thing we were sitting in first class and not economy or I would have been in trouble. As it was, the fifteen or so people in the front of the plane were almost more than I could handle. They—and I’m not just talking women—were extremely vocal about their opinions on what happened with Wynne and the show. Pretty soon it switched from a debate to an interrogation. At first, I was hesitant to answer, but then thought what the hell? The more people who knew what happened, the better, so I turned it into a kind of mini press conference. Other than Wynne and Ferris, I didn’t name names, but by the time we landed in Denver, they knew about the blackmail, that Wynne was the rightful winner, and that XtBS cared more about selling advertising space on the show than the contestants.
As soon as the plane hit the tarmac, I powered up my phone and saw that I had a text from Olivia. She let me know that she and Chaz had sealed the deal with Wynne over breakfast. She had signed the contract with Happenstance. I must have read the last sentence fifty times while the plane taxied to the gate.
We’ve asked Wynne to open for Meltdown at a charity function in Austin next Friday. She’ll be staying after in order to start recording. As her manager, we expect you to be there. I like her, Sander, so don’t screw this up.
My plan was back on track. First, I was going to take down Ferris, then Jayne, and last XtBS. Then I was going after Wynne.
By the time I made it to Alex’s place, the airplane videos were out. I knew this by the rate in which my phone was pinging. It reminded me of when the ball gets stuck between two bumpers on a pinball machine. Annoyed, I flipped it to silent. Alex greeted me at the door. I didn’t have to ask what he was pissed about. The scowl on his face said it all. He began by chiding me for not having legal representation with me and ended with commending me on my ingenuity. After discussing the possible backlash, we got down to business.
First up, was the filing of the lawsuit against Ferris. We agreed that we needed to get the details of the complaint into the public eye as quickly as possible. My connections with the press would come in handy. Back when I was with the band, I had two reporters I trusted: Sam from the Denver Chat and Nick from the Colorado Chronicle. I wouldn’t exactly call them friends, but I knew that I could trust them to deliver. There was also Tina from one of the local news stations in town. We had a thing for a short while, but then she caught on that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and backed off. Three phone calls later, and we had all three of them chomping at the bit. We knew that Ferris was scheduled to perform a few songs at a local venue this evening. Alex was more than happy to be the one to drop the hammer.
Next up was Jayne, and I knew just where to go. I had a friend who was high up at Rolling Stone magazine. Andy owed me a favor. Forty minutes after receiving my text, he called me. After asking a million questions, most of which I couldn’t answer, and wheedling an exclusive interview from me, he agreed to work his magic spinning the story for us.
He told me to give him a few days to see what he could do and said he would be in touch.
The call disconnected, and I relaxed back in the chair with a smile on my face. Now for the fireworks . . . .
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
“I WILL SURVIVE”
Wynne
How was it possible to feel so full, yet so empty at the same time? Happenstance wanted me. They wanted me bad enough to pay me six hundred thousand dollars. I was getting to record my music. I should be jumping for joy. I should feel beyond happy. I was beyond happy, but I was also . . . not. The fight with Sander weighed heavily on me. Both Carrie and my mother had tried to talk to me about it, but what was there to say? I went to his hotel room to talk but instead had sex with him multiple times, after which I told him I loved him, got mad because he wouldn’t talk to me, had a complete breakdown, told him it was over, stormed out, and now I was heartbroken over it? Somehow, I didn’t think they would understand. How could they, when I didn’t understand it myself? We were over. Accepting this was going to take some time. A lot of time. Possibly a lifetime. There was no off switch when it came to love. At least for me there wasn’t.
The Monday after the Sander incident, I was in the kitchen helping Mom make spaghetti when Carrie called. Her curt tone as she directed me to turn to channel five made the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. I immediately thought of Sander. Shit. With the phone at my ear, I raced across the kitchen to the living room and flipped on the television. Neither of us spoke as we waited for the commercial to end. I put her on speaker right as the news reporter appeared on the screen.
“Million Dollar Musician’s Ferris Leon is back in the news tonight. Let’s go to our very own Pamela Vickers for the story.” I held my breath as the picture switched to a woman standing in front of an empty stage.
“Thanks, Denise. Not even an hour ago, Million Dollar Musician winner, Ferris Leon, was due to perform in downtown Denver.” She paused and pointed to the stage. “Mere moments before stepping onto this stage, our cameraman caught footage of what appears to be Mr. Leon being publicly served with notice of a lawsuit.” The screen flipped to a clip of a man dressed in a suit. Cameras flashed like crazy as he strolled onto the stage, called Ferris over, and handed him a manila envelope.
“The contents of that envelope apparently rattled Mr. Leon en
ough to cancel tonight’s performance,” Pamela reported.
“Shiiiiiit,” I breathed. Did this mean what I think it meant? Was Sander suing Ferris?
“What are you watching?” Mom called from the kitchen. I quickly waved her over.
“Can you believe this?” Carrie asked as my mother flip-flopped her way across the kitchen and settled in beside me. Pamela came back on and I shushed them both.
“We’ve since learned that the bearer of the envelope was one Alex Harper, longtime friend and attorney of rock legend and ex-Million Dollar Musician judge, Sander James,” Pamela continued. “This comes on the heels of the airplane video in which Mr. James candidly spoke out about why he left the show.”
Sander’s smiling face appeared on the screen, and I blinked back the tears. He looked good. Then again, he always looked good. As I listened to him slam Ferris, praise me, and criticize the network, I was filled with an achingly deep sense of regret. I seriously needed to pull myself together. I also needed to get back on social media, because I had no clue that this had happened.
The camera panned back to Denise who said that neither Ferris nor Sander were available for comment at this time.
“It’s apparent the man cares about you,” Mom declared. He cared about me, but caring wasn’t the same as loving someone.
“I agree,” Carrie chimed in. “Did you see his face? It got all gooey when he mentioned you.”
“Carrie, did you know about the video?” I asked.
“No, but I haven’t exactly been online lately.” No, she’d been spending every waking moment with Kazen. “I think you should text Sander and ask about the lawsuit.”
“I think you should mind your own business,” I shot back at her.
“I will, just as soon as you get your head out of your ass.”
“Language,” my mother chastised, and we both laughed. Carrie gave up, but only because she had to get ready for her date with Kazen.
Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1 Page 81
