by Marie Powell
The soft footsteps of the camerawoman assigned to Lucy for the evening reminded her that she hadn’t had an actual moment alone since June. If she wasn’t home, where she was inevitably on camera, she was being filmed at a rehearsal, gig or out with the girls.
Lucy pushed open the door to the nearest of the bedrooms. Everyone else would be downstairs. It didn’t matter which bed she collapsed on, just so long as she found a soft place to land.
One glance through the open door, however, had her yanking it closed again. Holy Jesus. She couldn’t let her camerawoman catch a glimpse of that. Or anyone else, for that matter.
But how was she going to get rid of the camerawoman without looking suspicious? She could insist the lady stayed in the hallway, but the camera crews had a tendency to summon producers when things like that happened. If any of the producers saw this, Crush would be royally screwed.
“Um, I, ah …” Lucy stammered. “I need to use the bathroom. Just a sec …”
She shot the camerawoman a smile she hoped was convincing and ducked into the big double bathroom that she and Robyn shared. She slid across the bolt on the door into the hall, and then the one on the door that led to her room, just for safety.
Then she turned and walked into Robyn’s bedroom, where Robyn’s creepy friend Tomas sat on the bed surrounded by drugs and cash.
“Tomas,” Lucy breathed. “What the hell?”
“Nothing to worry about,” the pale Swedish boy oozed up at her with a casual smile. “I’ll be done in a few. Just taking inventory.”
“You’re done right now,” Lucy snapped and then tried to lower her voice. “Tell me you haven’t been selling that stuff in our house.”
“Why else would I be here?” Tomas said calmly.
“To support your friend Robyn?” Lucy said.
“Robyn doesn’t mind,” Tomas said.
“Right, well,” Lucy said, grabbing a handful of pills and stuffing them back into the red canvas bag that lay empty on the bed beside them. “We mind and the producers of Project Next are bloody well going to mind, believe you me. That means you’re going to gather up your gear and get out.”
“That’s unlikely,” Tomas said, a dangerously mild look on his face as he finished counting bills and stuck the roll of cash back in the pocket of his white jeans. “I’ve still got product to move, shorty, and you wouldn’t want any of the reporters here finding out that your dear sweet Robyn was one of my best customers, would you?”
On cue, a soft snore drifted up from somewhere beyond the edge of the bed. Lucy peered around it to see Robyn curled up between the bed and the wall. Totally plastered. Or was it not alcohol that had her in this state?
“No,” Lucy said, keeping her voice quiet. “I don’t believe you. Robyn wouldn’t —”
“Oh, yes she would,” Tomas said. He reached for the red bag still clutched in Lucy’s hand. “Now, if you don’t mind.”
But before he could take the bag from her, the bedroom door swung open and Alexander stepped into the room.
“Lucille,” he said. “Your camera team were worried, said you’d been in the —”
Then he saw Lucy. And the open bag of pills clutched in her hand.
“Lucille?” he said, so quiet she could barely hear him. “Oh, Lucille. I thought you were better than this.”
The disappointment in his voice was more than she could bear.
“It’s not what it looks like, Alexander,” she said in a rush. “I was just —”
“I’ve heard all the excuses,” he said. “I don’t want to hear more.”
He turned and walked away.
Before Lucy could run after him, the high whine of sirens cut through the room.
“You called the police?” Tomas demanded, enraged.
“No, but I’m glad someone did,” Lucy snapped. “That’s what happens when you run around at a party selling drugs. Someone is bound to notice you. I hope they throw you in jail for life.”
“Not going to happen,” Tomas spat back at her. He reached behind him, fumbling in the waist of his jeans for something.
When he pulled his gun free, Lucy thought her heart might stop. She was on the verge of dashing for the bathroom when Harper burst through the door to the bedroom, Rafe on her heels.
Harper pulled up short at the sight of the gun.
“What the f—” Rafe blurted, barreling into the back of her.
“Shut up, Rafe,” Harper snapped, gathering herself instantly. “He’s got a gun.”
“Smart girl,” Tomas oozed, brandishing the gun far too casually for Lucy’s comfort. “Kind of a brat, but undeniably bright.”
Harper’s hands were shaking as she reached behind her, clutching for Rafe. “We don’t want any trouble, Tomas.”
“Oh, honey.” Tomas shot her a predatory grin and leveled the gun directly at her. “You’ve already got plenty of trouble. It’s really just up to you whether the press downstairs knows about it or not.”
For a long beat, no one said a word. Lucy was so terrified, she was having trouble remembering to breathe. She’d never seen an actual gun up close, much less seen one pointed at her best friend.
“That dress really is delicious,” Tomas said, eyeing Harper with casual cruelty. “I’m going to enjoy it when you snuggle up to me while we walk out of this place. But don’t worry, all you’ll have to do is get me past the police. What we do when we get to the car is quite up to you.”
Lucy felt sick at the very idea. She couldn’t let him take Harper hostage, but what was she meant to do to stop him?
To her surprise, Harper suddenly smiled at Tomas.
“You’re right,” Harper said. She took a step toward Tomas, smoothing her long, wet, blonde hair back from her face and tilting her head into what Lucy recognized as her give-me-what-I-want flirting pose. “It is up to me, isn’t it?”
“You were a real bitch to me at Darkroom, you know that, Harper?” Tomas said. His voice was still coldly aggressive, but his shoulders had relaxed in response to Harper’s soothing tone. “You’re going to have to make that up to me if we’re going to be friends.”
“I can do that,” Harper said, taking another step closer. “We’ll be good friends, won’t we, Tomas?”
“Harper!” Rafe said. “You can’t be serious about this.”
“I can,” she said, running a finger down Tomas’s chest lazily. “And I will.”
Then, before anyone including Tomas had time to react, Harper threw her shoulder into his solar plexus, knocking him backward. The icy-blond drug dealer went sprawling over the corner of the bed and the gun skittered out of his hands and straight into Lucy’s purple Converse.
“Luce!” Harper called as Tomas scrambled toward his weapon.
That snapped Lucy out of her freeze enough to lean down and scoop up the gun before Tomas could reach it. Guns are bloody heavy, she thought. Far, far heavier than they seem in films.
Harper blew out a big breath, like she’d been holding it in from the moment she burst into the room. Then she crossed to Lucy and took the gun.
“Tomas Angerman, I told you to stay away from my friends,” Harper said, aiming his own gun at him.
She was quite calm, Lucy thought, for someone holding a drug dealer’s gun with the sound of the police echoing up the stairs behind her.
“Lucy, zip up that bag please. Our friend’s lift has just arrived,” Harper said.
“Wait,” Rafe said. “You don’t want him getting arrested carrying enough gear to sell here. Having a drug dealer get caught working the party isn’t going to look good for Crush.”
Harper nodded, still pointing the gun at Tomas. “You’re right, baby. We’ll have to find a place to toss this crap so the police don’t find it. We can’t have Crush looking like a bunch of drug addicts.”
“It gets worse, Harp,
” Lucy said. “Robyn’s over there, passed out. I think she might have taken something.”
“Give it here,” Rafe said to Lucy, reaching eagerly for the bag. “I’ll take care of it. You girls see to Robyn.”
“No,” Harper said, taking the bag herself. She fished out a smaller bag containing three tiny white pills from inside and stuffed it into Tomas’s pocket. Then she reached into his other pocket and pulled out the roll of cash.
Tomas snarled, but Harper just waggled the gun at him.
“None of that, Tomas,” she said brightly. “I told you not to mess with Robyn again and you didn’t listen. Now you have to learn your lesson. Really, you should thank me for taking these off your hands. I’m sure your daddy can make a simple possession charge go away, but possession of all of this? With the obvious … what do they call it? Oh yes, intent to sell. I think that’s hard to get out of, isn’t it?”
Harper stuffed the cash and the gun into the red bag and zipped it closed.
“Rafe, you see to it the police find Tomas. Lucy and I will find a place to stash this junk.”
“Harp, I really think you should let me handle the drugs,” Rafe objected sourly.
He was sulking, Lucy thought, amazed. Just like a toddler who’d had his toy taken away. He wanted to be the one carrying a bloody gun and a drug stash past the police — and he wanted it badly. He was actually excited by the idea. Maybe he even thought he’d be able to keep the drugs. She wouldn’t put it past him.
He’d get his way as well, Lucy was sure of it. Harper couldn’t resist him, and her weakness for Rafe Jackson was going to get them all arrested someday.
But instead, Harper shook her head.
“Lucy and I know the house well enough to hide the stash and you don’t, Rafe,” Harper said, firmly. “I need you to handle Tomas. Now.”
“Fine,” Rafe snapped unhappily. “Come on, you,” he snarled, grabbing Tomas’s arm and yanking him into the hallway.
“Harper,” Lucy said, once the boys were gone. “I think we should call Jason and Alexander. We can’t —”
“We can’t risk throwing things off track again. Not now. We’ll have to handle this ourselves.”
Four hours later, dawn was quietly slipping into day.
Lucy was floating in the warm embrace of the infinity pool. There’d been no hope of sleep, not after the night they’d had. So instead of going to bed, she’d grabbed her suit and come out here to watch the sunrise.
Robyn was still passed out in her bedroom, in a deep sleep and breathing heavily. She had managed to stay hidden, curled behind her bed, through the entire hubbub with the police. She’d be livid when she found out what they’d done to Tomas, but that didn’t matter. Harper was right. Tomas Angerman needed to be kicked out of their lives for good.
Thankfully, Jason had managed to convince everyone, the press included, that this was just a sad example of a wholesome young people’s celebration destroyed by the drug trade. Crush, miraculously, had come off as the innocent victims in the whole business.
Harper padded out of the house in her hot-pink bikini.
“Sunrise?” she asked, yawning.
“Yep,” Lucy replied. “No way I was sleeping, not after all of that.”
“Seriously,” Harper said, slipping into the steaming pool. “What a night.”
“Jason is going to murder us all,” Lucy said. “You know that, right? We finally get him back on our side and then this.” And Alexander is going to be so disappointed, she thought.
“Nah,” Harper said, paddling out to lounge beside Lucy in the warm water. “Have you checked the blogs? We were a huge hit. And the business with Tomas just made us front-page entertainment news all over town.”
“I’m not sure Project Next wants to be news for having a party busted for drugs.”
“The party wasn’t busted,” Harper pointed out, yawning. “Tomas was. The cops had been watching him for a while, I guess. Predatory behavior in selling drugs to minors, or something like that. And Jason isn’t in any position to judge us, believe me. Stop fussing and just enjoy it. We had almost four hundred people here, and another three hundred that wanted to be. At a house party. We rocked that show and we’re going to kill in Vegas. Everything is just … perfect.”
“Perfect?” Lucy asked, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Harper said, stretching out to float on her back in the water. “I am. I think … I think that Rafe told me he still loves me last night.”
Just when Lucy had thought it couldn’t get more complicated.
But when Lucy looked down at her best friend, blonde hair spilling around her in the water and the first rays of dawn tumbling across her face, she realized that Harper looked genuinely happy. Happy in a way she wasn’t sure Harper had ever been before. However ridiculous Rafe was, obviously Harper loved him more than even Lucy could have guessed.
“I know you don’t like him, Lucy,” Harper continued, her voice a little more anxious now, “and I get that. But I love him … and I always will. After all of this, it turns out he loves me back, and that is just … that is perfect. The rest of it — Robyn, Toni’s stupid thing with Jason — you and I can handle that.”
She twisted in the water to smile at Lucy. “Just like we did Tomas. We can handle anything, as long as we do it together.”
Lucy wasn’t sure that was true, but she found she couldn’t argue. Not now. Besides, right at that moment, with the two of them alone in the quiet of early dawn in their beautiful pool beside their rock star mansion, Lucy couldn’t help believing her.
“Right. Whatever happens, we’ll manage it. Together.”
12. The Best Bad Luck
No lines, no waiting around for hours … Airport security was brilliant when you were flying privately. Lucy still couldn’t believe Project Next was flying each band to Las Vegas on its own private jet, but there Crush was, walking across the runway toward its very own Catch-22 G8.
As Lucy started climbing the staircase that was pulled up to the jet’s door, she caught sight of a Jeep with the Project Next logo parked alongside. Ash was leaning against it, chatting to a young woman in neon blue flats, skinny jeans, a long-sleeved black T-shirt and one of the familiar earpieces that the Project Next crew wore on duty.
Lucy couldn’t help herself. She had to ask.
“Er, excuse me,” she called, jogging over to the pair. “Are you dealing with our comp tickets?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it, Luce,” Ash said. “Don’t worry that curly head about it.”
The girl in the neon shoes rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed with Ash’s attempt to take credit for her job. “Actually, I’m handling the VIP guests,” she said. “What can I help you with, Lucy?”
“I just wanted to know if two of the tickets requested by, er, Mr. Holister … for Mark and Nina Gosling … Well, is there any word on whether they are being used?” Lucy asked.
The girl skimmed a tablet computer, zipping through a long list.
This was taking too long. If Mum and Dad were coming, the girl in the neon shoes would have known straight off. She’d be the person arranging things for them. In fact, they’d already be in Las Vegas.
Lucy wished she hadn’t asked. Then she wouldn’t know that her parents weren’t coming. And as long as she didn’t know, she could at least pretend that they were out there, that they’d read her letter and she’d been forgiven.
The girl in the neon shoes said, “I’m sorry, it doesn’t look like any arrangements have been made. Actually, I think Jason told me to give those tickets to someone else because they weren’t being used.”
Ash put an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Besides, we’re going to be having way too much fun for parental supervision.”
“Yeah.” Lucy tried to smile up at him. “I gue
ss.”
She walked up the stairs and into the plane, feeling a little bit heavier with every step.
“Thanks for gracing us with your presence, Lucy,” Jason snapped as she stepped into the cabin. The other girls were already sitting in a clump of plush captain’s chairs and Jason and Alexander were standing by the door to the cockpit, glowering.
Oh great, Lucy thought. I’m about to burst into tears and now I get to sit through a lecture.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” Jason said. “Before we take off, we need to have a little conversation.”
“Jason —” Harper began, but he cut her off.
“Let me rephrase that. Before we take off, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. You’re going to listen like you have never listened to anyone or anything before in your lives, you get me?”
The girls nodded as one.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now, I know we’ve had a rough time of it this summer, but I killed myself dragging you girls back up on top. I made you the face of an international charitable organization run by one of the most powerful women in the world and I built you the best headlining debut that any band could ask for — an event at which you rocked so much harder than my greatest expectations and made everything we’ve been through worthwhile. And then, for some reason that I cannot fathom, one of you decided to invite a DRUG DEALER TO A CHARITY EVENT IN YOUR OWN HOME!”
Oh God, Lucy thought. He knows about Robyn and Tomas.
“You are the luckiest little brats in the history of rock-and-roll brain malfunctions, you know that? If that Swedish kid didn’t have his daddy’s lawyers swarming all over the LAPD right now claiming diplomatic immunity, he’d already have told them which of you invited him, and the press would be having a field day with Project Next playing host to a drug dealer at one of its events. But it’s going to come out, eventually. He was on your personal comp list, which means that I need to know, right now, which one of you invited that kid to come and sell drugs at a party with Crush’s name on it. With Project Next’s name on it. With MY name on it.”
