by Marie Powell
“Not just involved, Dad,” Rafe grumbled. “I’ve put in a massive amount of work this summer, just like Skye.”
“He really has,” Skye cut in. She’d rather lie than deal with the fight she could see brewing. “Thank you so much for the opportunity, Sir Peter.”
“Of course, dear,” he said. “You two are going to have to learn the business from the ground up if you want to run Catch-22 someday.”
“Our very own future movie moguls,” her mother threw in, not one to be left out of a hyperbole competition. “Aren’t they adorable?”
“Quite,” Sir Peter said, shoving Rafe closer to Skye. “In fact …” He turned and waved a photographer over. “Jack, take a few of this pair, will you? This is young Hollywood royalty. This is a dynasty in the making.”
Rafe draped his arm over Skye’s shoulders and she leaned in, letting the momentum of all the staring eyes push her in the direction they wanted her to go. Toward Rafe.
“My little princess and her prince,” her mother gushed convincingly.
Skye felt the buzz of her phone, where she’d tucked it into the pocket of her skintight jeans. That would be a text from Cesar. She’d told him she’d call when the show was done.
She hadn’t.
After she’d nearly let Rafe tear off all of her clothes backstage at the show, calling Cesar and pretending nothing had happened felt … wrong. It was unsettling. It wasn’t like Cesar didn’t know she was still dating Rafe, but somehow all of the things that hadn’t bothered her before about being with both of them now made her skin crawl. She didn’t want Cesar having to think about Rafe’s hands on her, just like she didn’t want to think about another girl being with him.
Except, of course, Rafe’s hands were all over her right now. And they’d be all over her in every magazine that covered the Project Next finale. On every website. On freaking Entertainment Tonight.
The thought very nearly made her shove Rafe away. She didn’t care how big a scene she made, but then Skye caught the thrilled smile on her mother’s face as she watched her daughter in the limelight. For once, Jennifer Owen was completely happy with her and Skye just couldn’t ruin that.
“This way, kids!” called another photographer. Skye followed their directions, resting her head on Rafe’s shoulder and letting the flashbulbs blind her.
When Toni had caught sight of Jason’s tousle of blond hair moving through the crowd, she had to stop herself turning and running in the other direction. She couldn’t do that. Jason was going to be their manager for a long time. She couldn’t just avoid him forever.
It wasn’t as though he was the only one who’d made a terrible mistake. He might have broken her heart, but she couldn’t blame him for it, not really. She’d been the one who’d thrown it at him, not realizing how breakable it really was, and nearly ruined his life in the process, too.
It was time. Time to get on with her own life and let Jason get on with his.
“Jason,” she called. “Over here.”
He had a strange look on his face when he turned to greet her.
“Toni,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be with the girls?”
“You did a fantastic job tonight,” an unfamiliar woman said, stepping up beside Jason and weaving her arm through his. “Jason is right to be so proud of you girls.”
She was gorgeous, Toni thought. Slim and graceful, with a brilliant shock of red curls that gave her a look of unintentional perfection that made her all the prettier.
She was also immensely pregnant.
“I don’t know how you girls put up with him,” the beautiful woman said with a conspiratorial grin. “Always watching you like a hawk when you’re supposed to be having fun. I’m Leah.” She stuck out a hand. “Jason’s wife. You must be Toni. I recognize you from the publicity shots that Jase showed me when he was picking his band for the show.”
“We wouldn’t be here without him,” Toni said quietly, managing to return Leah’s smile.
Leah Darrow bore no resemblance at all to the picture Toni had constructed in her head during her weeks of obsessing over the subject of Jason’s wife. She couldn’t be further from the polished elegance of her husband, but the chaotic brilliance of her wild hair and simple white maternity dress accessorized with an antique pocket watch on a delicate chain fit with him somehow. Like the last piece of a puzzle whose shape Toni would never have been able to guess without holding it in her hand.
Jason looked positively stricken, staring at the two of them standing together. Any other time, Toni might have enjoyed tormenting him a bit. Not that she’d ever give the game away to his wife. This woman didn’t deserve that.
But right at that moment, there was something else she needed to do.
“I won’t take up your night,” Toni said, rushing the words before she lost her nerve or burst into tears, both of which felt possible. “I know Jason’s been with us constantly the last few weeks, so you must be dying to have him to yourself. I just wanted to thank you,” she said, turning to look Jason in the eye, “for everything. We couldn’t have done this without you. And I … I’ve learned a lot from you this summer. And I know I haven’t always been easy to get along with, but thank you for not giving up on us and making this happen.”
Jason opened his mouth, as though to speak. Then he closed it again. Leah looked up at her husband, amusement blending with concern on her expressive face.
“You’d think you’d never met a gracious musician before, babe,” she said, elbowing her husband gently. Then she turned back to Toni with another of her warm smiles. “Congratulations, Toni, I think you’ve done the impossible. You’ve left Jason Darrow speechless.”
“Quiet, you,” he said, shaking himself from his trance, like a dog shaking water from its fur. “You’re not supposed to mock me in front of the talent.”
Then he smiled at Toni. “Thank you, Toni. I hope you’re excited for everything that’s coming. I know I am.”
“Right,” Toni said. She felt lighter, she realized. Literally lighter, as though she’d been living underwater for the last three weeks and suddenly she’d been lifted up into the air. “Absolutely. Me, too.”
Leah grinned. “Now, enough of all this gushing, you two. I think it’s time Toni enjoyed her party, don’t you?”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Toni said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking around at all the people filling the sleek, all-white interior of The Ends with renewed interest. “High time, actually.”
With that she strode off, head high, just like the rock star she was.
Lucy was tired. She’d been having a blast until Harper had shifted into mad-for-Rafe-Jackson mode, which had happened pretty much the second that Sir Peter and Skye’s parents had left.
Normally, Lucy wouldn’t have been overly bothered. She knew Rafe, in his own way, seemed to be crazy about Harper as well. He was semi-cheating on his girlfriend, of course, but Skye was also completely cheating on him, so did it really count?
But tonight of all nights, shouldn’t Harper have wanted to celebrate their victory with her best friend? Without Harper, Lucy was having a hard time forgetting the fact that when the others went home for a month before they started touring, Lucy would have nowhere to go. Dancing with the other girls had helped distract her for a while, but now they’d gone AWOL as well.
If Harper hadn’t disappeared, Lucy would probably have carried on dancing and had a few more cocktails and stopped worrying about the future. But on her own, Lucy had started feeling tired. And worried. And sad. Now all Lucy wanted was to go home. Not to the hotel room upstairs, but to her bedroom in Greenwich where her annoying older brother would be waking her up at the crack of dawn to play tennis and her brat of a sister would steal her stash of sweets and tell on her for having it at the same time. But she couldn’t go home, so their luxurious hotel suite would have to do. She’d jus
t text the others that she was leaving and go upstairs.
Lucy was fishing her phone out of her green patent clutch when she heard a familiar voice.
“Wait, wait, wait. I want to take the shot of Death Juice, then the shot of vodka to wash it down.”
That was Iza, Lucy thought, craning to see the pianist through the crowd that towered around her. But that wasn’t something Iza would say. Ever. Iza hated vodka, and she most definitely did not drink mystery booze called Death Juice.
But there she was — leaning against the poolside bar, holding court with four or five guys, all of whom seemed eager to put another shot in her hand, and two of whom had cameras. Christ.
“Excuse me,” Lucy said, trying to squeeze between two of Iza’s admirers. She had no luck. She might as well have been talking to a brick wall.
“To Crush!” Iza proclaimed, downing another shot.
“Excuse … me …” Lucy found herself moving backward instead of toward Iza. It was like she wasn’t even there. Maybe she should just give up. Iza seemed to be having a good enough time. Lucy was probably overreacting. In fact, it was probably out of order of her to stop Iza’s party. Iza was a big girl.
“Body shots next!” one of the guys called.
“Ye-ah!” Iza hooted.
Okay, that was it. Iza Mazurczak did not do body shots. She didn’t even like to drink all that much. Not to mention the part where Lucy had no desire to see the look on Jason’s face tomorrow if Crush made the headlines for its underage keyboard player doing body shots with a gang of drunk men in a bar.
Lucy pushed into the group, ducking under the arm of a fat man who smelled terrible, to grab Iza’s hand.
“Lucy! You’re here! You’re my favorite, do you know that?” Iza gushed drunkenly, throwing her arms wide and smacking more than one of her suitors in the face in the process.
“Yeah, hi, boys, give us some room, can you?” Lucy said, throwing an elbow hard into the gut of the one on her right, just to make her point.
He moved, finally, giving Lucy room to duck to Iza’s very wobbly side.
“Try this,” Iza said, handing Lucy a sloshing shot glass. “It’s blinding.”
“I bet it is,” Lucy replied, setting the shot carefully on the counter, “but right now I think we’d better leave it be, yeah? I’m pretty sure we’ve both had enough.”
“But we won! Why would we have had enough?”
“We’ll buy you one too, babe, don’t worry,” said a tall guy who was way too old to be buying underage girls drinks in bars.
“Yeah, don’t be a buzzkill, sweetie,” said another twenty-something guy. A twenty-something guy with a camera in his back pocket that he was clearly trying to keep hidden.
“I’m not a buzzkill,” Lucy said sweetly. “But Ash is.”
She turned and called to Ash, who was sprawled in a pool chair nearby, tapping away at his iPhone. “Hey, Ash, how would Jason feel about me taking this scumbag’s camera and stomping on it?”
“He might not encourage it,” Ash drawled. “What’s giving you the urge?”
“These guys are feeding Iza shots, I expect with the hopes that she’ll do something embarrassing,” Lucy said, eyes narrowed at the guilty photographer.
“Oh, well in that case, don’t worry about it,” Ash said, straightening up. “The Catch-22 lawyers love lawsuits. This will give them something fun to play with.”
And just like that, the whole crowd of guys made themselves scarce.
“Thanks for that, Ash,” Lucy said, reaching out to steady Iza as she wobbled against the bar.
“Thanks for nothing!” Iza pouted. “You’ve made them all leave now.”
“Yes and we’re very thankful for that,” Lucy said, patting her friend’s shoulder. “Come on, Iz. Let’s go upstairs and drunk-text Luke, shall we?”
“Oh! I like Luke!” Iza said, brightening again.
“Yes, yes you do,” Lucy said, half smiling. Trust Iza to be a ray of sunshine, even when completely destroyed with drink. “Come on.”
But Iza wasn’t as good at walking while drunk as she was at being happy while drunk. Ash reached out to steady her other arm.
“Little help, here?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“Thanks,” Lucy said.
Iza might have been small, but she was still bigger than Lucy and quite a lot heavier after she passed out in the elevator. Lucy and Ash were both struggling for breath by the time they deposited Iza in her room in the penthouse suite where Crush had been moved after they’d won.
“Thank goodness you were there,” Lucy breathed, collapsing next to Ash on the oversized leather sofa in the living room. “I don’t think I could have got her out of the lift alone.”
“That’s cute,” Ash said, shifting to smile down at her.
“What is?”
“The way you say that.” He reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear. “Lift,” he repeated in a horrible imitation of Lucy’s accent. “It’s adorable.”
“Lift?” Lucy said, giggling. “That’s what it’s called, that’s all; nothing adorable about it.”
“You’re right,” Ash said, leaning a little closer. “You must be the adorable part then.”
Then he was kissing her.
He wasn’t a bad kisser. In fact, it didn’t feel bad at all. Being here. Letting him kiss her. Letting him trail his lips down her neck.
Trent Eisner might not have wanted to kiss her, but Ash did. Ash always had, she thought. Since the day they’d met. Why shouldn’t she let him now? Why shouldn’t she keep her arms wrapped around his neck as he scooped her up and started walking toward her bedroom at the back of the suite? Why shouldn’t they go inside and do all sorts of things that would let her forget about her humiliating kiss with Trent and her parents and Harper and everything else?
Lucy even surprised herself when her foot came up to wedge between them and the door to her room, stopping Ash in his tracks.
“Ash,” she said, freeing her lips.
He just kissed her again and tried to maneuver her through the door once more. She shifted her weight, making it impossible for him to get past.
“Ash,” she tried again. “Stop!”
“Don’t worry, babe,” he muttered, trying to kiss her once more. “Don’t worry so much. I’m going to take good care of you.”
“Ash, wait. Put me down.”
He didn’t.
Lucy tensed and twisted, breaking his hold and managing to catch herself before she went crashing to the ground. She backed off a few paces, just to give herself a moment to think.
“I need to take a breather. I’m not really ready to —”
But he was already reaching out for her again.
“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” Ash murmured, wrapping his arms around her again. “Don’t let me down.”
“I’m not letting you down,” Lucy said, trying unsuccessfully to shove him away. He was so much bigger than she was. “I just need a moment. ASH!” she half yelled, as he pushed her back against the wall. “Stop that.”
He didn’t.
Lucy shot a hard elbow into his abdomen, then twisted out from under his arm and shoved him backward, over her extended leg. Thank God John had insisted on teaching her a few of his judo moves, even if he’d only done it because he wanted to use her as a practice dummy.
“Way to be a loser, Lucy,” Ash groaned from the floor.
“Way to be a psycho,” Lucy shot back. “Get out, Ash!”
“Oh, come on, Lucy,” he said, gathering himself. “You’re overreacting. We were just having some fun. Don’t be such a drama queen about it.”
“I’m not a drama queen,” Lucy snapped, “but you are a disgusting, wannabe sex pest and a drunk, and you need to leave now — or I’m calling Jason.”
“Fine,” Ash
snapped. “Be a crazy bitch. See if I care.”
Lucy didn’t bother to reply, she just stepped through the door to her bedroom and slammed it in his face.
14. Sucker Punch
“We’ve officially got to do something about Robyn,” Lucy said, dragging the heavy door of the beach-side ladies’ bathroom closed behind her. “And Iza.”
Coming back from Las Vegas, Crush had gone straight from LAX to Skye’s house in Malibu. Harper had suggested it as a way to avoid the cameras at the Crush house, but Lucy was sure she was just looking for excuses to be around Rafe. After a morning of Rafe and Harper flirting with each other while the others moped about, Lucy had wholeheartedly agreed with Skye’s suggestion of a trip to the beach. She didn’t blame Skye for insisting that she and Rafe drive separately either.
They’d arrived to find Skye already setting up a picnic on the expensive beach mats she’d spread by one of the Venice Beach volleyball courts. Judging by the determined look on Harper’s face, Lucy reckoned Skye would have her hands full if she wanted to hang on to Rafe. Why she’d actually want to do that, Lucy hadn’t a clue, but Lucy hoped for Crush’s sake that she would.
“Oh, come on,” Harper said, poking at her lashes again with her mascara wand. “We just won Project Next. Can’t you relax and enjoy that for five seconds?”
“Relax? You want me to relax, with Robyn looking like she’s escaped from an anti-drug ad and Iza somewhere, crying I’d imagine, trying to explain to her lovely boyfriend how she ended up plastered all over the internet under headlines like Crush pianist hooks up with manager’s assistant.”
“If she didn’t want to make headlines, she shouldn’t have got trashed and left with Ash,” Harper snipped.
“She didn’t,” Lucy said. “She left with me and Ash; that gossip site cropped me out of the pictures, then sold them to every magazine who’d buy. And she got trashed because those awful journalists were pouring shots down her throat and she was already too drunk to stop them. We should have been there, Harper. We should have stayed together last night, or at least kept an eye on her. She’d already had more champagne by the time we got out of the limo than she’s had all summer. And we all knew it.”
