Lie to Me (Rising Star Book 1)

by Lee Piper

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever?” Clutching his face, I force his gaze to me. “Don’t you dare downplay your suicide attempt, got it? Apart from fucktard Jasper, you’re the most important person in my existence. So yeah, I might keep a few incidental details from you. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you, and it sure as fuck doesn’t mean I’m letting anyone else get inside my head.”

  We glare at each other for the longest time.

  Eventually, Tobias’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.” His voice is soft. “I’m sorry I was weak. I’m sorry I put you through hell.” He pulls me into a tight hug, a soothing hand rubbing up and down my spine. “It was a dark time, but I’m getting better. You need to trust me on this. You need to let me in again, please.”

  Thinking back six months, I shut my eyes. “I’m trying.” Sniffing, I pull back slightly. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t do enough, I was so busy drowning in my own drama, I didn’t realize you needed help.” Shaking my head, I mutter, “I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Trust me, there’s nothing to forgive.” He gives a half smile. “Actually, there is. I’ll never forgive you for buying those PJs.”

  My fist connects with his bicep. “Asshole. You said they suited me.”

  He chuckles. “I lied.” Turning from me, he clears his throat. “Come on, hurry up and get dressed.”

  “Fine, but only if you buy me the world’s biggest cheeseburger.”

  “After band practice.”

  “With onion rings.”

  “After band practice.”

  “I heard you the first time.”

  “So?” he draws out the word.

  Crossing my arms, I scowl. “Fine. I’ll get my ass ready for band practice.”

  “And you’ll stay away from Reid.”

  Snorting, I stride toward my closet. “Done.”

  Keeping my distance from Reid is easier than expected. In fact, my ability to avoid all things smoldering lasts an entire two days. So I’m riding a crazy high when the inevitable happens—I have to live out my worst nightmare.

  “A promotional photo shoot?” The car door slams shut behind me.

  Jasper steps out of the passenger’s seat, cringing. “Fucking hell, sis. Lower your voice.” He rubs his forehead. “Damn it, now my head hurts.”

  I storm over to where he’s standing. “Look, I have no issue with marketing. We’re a kickass band, of course I want people to know who we are.” I throw out my arms. “But why do stylized poses, mood lighting, and a goddamn smoke machine need to be involved?”

  “Who says there’s gonna be a smoke machine?”

  “There’s always a fucking smoke machine.” I groan. “Why can’t it be about the music? No one is going to take me seriously if Vivienne’s stylist gets her hands on me. What Stephanie did to my face is bad enough.”

  Jasper considers my makeup then smirks. The boy has a death wish.

  I gesture to the dilapidated warehouse. “If we go in there, they’re gonna turn us into a goddamn cliché.”

  Jasper stares at me. “Do you want a recording contract with Ironbank?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Do you want to make a living playing music?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you want to travel the word selling out stadiums?”

  I gulp. “Uh huh.”

  He steps in close. “Then get inside.”

  Clenching my fists, I stomp toward the entrance. Once inside, my steps falter. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but when they do, I blink. The warehouse is huge. In the very center are the burned-out remains of a muscle car, with rusted forty-four gallon drums and chain-link fences haphazardly placed around it. Oh, and a wrought-iron fire pit strategically positioned where the car engine used to be.

  Jesus Christ.

  My heels echo on the cracked concrete. “Jasper, I can’t stand next to open flames. I’ll combust.” My hands wave wildly about me. “Stephanie used an entire can of lacquer on my hair.”

  Jasper clenches his jaw. “Quit complaining and go get dressed.”

  My eyes dart left then right. “Where?”

  He nods toward a partition in the far corner, which I’m guessing is a temporary fitting room. Tobias emerges from behind it. When he catches his reflection in the full-length mirror leaning against the corrugated iron wall, he grins.

  “Damn.” Turning, Tobias glances over his shoulder. “Check out my ass.”

  A girl I’ve never met before bustles after him.

  Jasper lets out a long whistle, striding toward him. “Looking good, man.”

  The stylist applies the finishing touches to Tobias’s rocker ensemble. She’s gone all out. He’s sporting black jeans, a dark fitted T-shirt, even leather wrist bands. His hair is meticulously unruly, and for some reason, it makes his green eyes appear more soulful than usual. He looks smokin’.

  With a satisfied nod, the stylist turns to face me. “Your turn.”

  I take an instinctive step back.

  “Come on.” She motions for me to follow her. “I’ve got something extra special lined up for you.”

  Jasper’s chuckle follows me to the change room.

  Twenty minutes later, Maddie, the stylist, steps back. Her face is flushed from the effort it took to get the damn outfit on, but dimples appear on each cheek. “What do you think?”

  Silence.

  “It might be out of your comfort zone.”

  Silence.

  “But leather pants and thigh-high boots are on trend. And you’ve got to admit, the lace sewn into that corset adds a touch of whimsy to an otherwise structured ensemble.”

  Silence.

  “Are you okay? I know the corset is tight, but your lips are changing color.”

  After taking a shallow breath, I try to exhale. This is a nightmare.

  “Don’t you like it?” Damn it, the girl is a boss at puppy dog eyes.

  My voice is flat. “I look like Catwoman.”

  She squeals, giddy with excitement. “I know, right? I’ve always wanted to dress a client in this outfit, but no one’s had the figure to pull it off.” She claps her hands together. “Until now.”

  “Fucktastic.”

  “The photos are going to turn out brilliantly, you’ll see.”

  “Sis?” Jasper’s approaching footsteps force me back into the corner of the changing room. “You’ve been taking ages. What’s going on in there?”

  My red shirt does a piss-poor job of hiding my girls. They’re defying gravity so well they could double as earrings.

  “Tobias wanted me to tell you Reid’s band is—” My brother rounds the partition, skidding to a halt when he sees me. “Here.”

  “They’re what?”

  “You look like Catwoman.”

  “Why the fuck is Reid’s band here?”

  “An anime version.”

  “Jasper!”

  It must be the manic look in my eyes or the way I’m about to shred my top into confetti that does it, because he finally stops talking. “What?”

  “Why. The. Fuck. Is. Reid’s. Band. Here?”

  “They’re the only other heavy rock outfit in the competition, so they’re using the warehouse too.”

  “Fucking Vivienne.” I do my best to stalk from one side of the tiny space to the other. “Fucking nine-inch stiletto heels. Give me six inches any day.”

  My brother snorts.

  Maddie slips past me. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

  Hurling my crumpled shirt at his face, I round on Jasper. “I can’t go out there looking like this.”

  He shrugs. “Why not?”

  “I look like the ghost of Halloween victims’ past!”

  Jasper laughs.

  “I’m wearing leather pants, for Christ’s sake!” Groaning, I face the wall. “They’ve won. I’m a walking cliché.” My head thumps against the wrought iron. “All I wanted was for us to be known for our sound. Not our looks, not our equipment,
our music.”

  Jasper spins me around before wrapping his arms around me. He flattens my hair before murmuring in my ear, “It honestly pains me to say this but…” He takes a breath. “You’re a beautiful woman, sis. It doesn’t matter if you wear hooker heels or sweats, you’re a bombshell.”

  I try to disentangle myself, but my brother holds firm. “Well, this is awkward.”

  “Shut up and listen.” He gives me a gentle squeeze. “Yes, you look like an extra from a BDSM porno, but if that’s what it takes to get votes, you need to do it. You need to unleash your inner porn star.”

  “Christ, Jasper, you can’t say shit like that. I’m your sister.”

  But he ignores me. “Besides, the people who matter know you hate this crap and everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

  “I just want it to be about the music.”

  “It will be.” Plucking some of my hair from his mouth, Jasper shrugs. “The photographer demanded a mic and amp be brought in at the last minute. She wants the atmosphere to feel more authentic.”

  My eyebrows almost reach my hairline. “Have they seen the setup out there? I’m pretty sure we passed authentic four hours ago.”

  “Are you two finished already?” Tobias’s voice carries throughout the warehouse. “Let’s get this done. I’m hungry.”

  Jasper releases me, his gaze reassuring. “We’ve got this.”

  Nodding, I turn to leave. “Don’t be long getting ready.”

  He winks. “I won’t. You can’t improve perfection.”

  When I step from behind the partition, Tobias blinks. And blinks. And blinks.

  He opens his mouth, but I hold up one hand, halting him. “Not a word.”

  He goes to speak.

  “Swear to God, Tobias, now is not the time.” Despite my better judgment, my eyes search the warehouse for Reid.

  He’s standing in the corner, his muscular arms crossed. Even though he’s nodding at Drake, whose gestures rival a circus performer, I can tell he’s grinding his teeth. It’s the tic in his jaw that gives it away.

  Before I can overthink the reason for his annoyance, a petite woman with blonde curls and a state-of-the-art camera hanging from her neck claps. “Let’s get started.”

  I groan.

  The afternoon is a disaster.

  “Shiloh, I need you to turn your head to the right.”

  I attempt to follow the photographer’s instructions. It’s not easy. My legs are spread so wide on either side of the mic stand, my ankles are on the verge of exploding.

  “More.”

  I shift.

  “More.”

  I shift again.

  “No, I—” Quinn stops, lowers her camera, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

  I almost feel sorry for her. From the moment I stood within flammable distance of the burnt-out car, I’ve been anything but comfortable. It must show, because the lines between her eyebrows deepen whenever she checks the viewfinder.

  Despite this ridiculous charade, I am trying. I move my face one way, my legs the other. My poor ass is left somewhere in between, confused as hell. I feel like a damn pretzel in a blender. But no matter the position, it’s beyond awkward.

  Quinn takes a deep breath. “Shiloh, I want you staring into the distance. Now, you can’t do that if you’re shooting daggers at your brother.”

  I grit my teeth. “You told me to move my head. I moved it.”

  “I told you to turn to the right, not—” She stops. “You know what? Let’s try something different.” She motions at me with her fingers. “Walk with me.”

  The boys grumble as I unsteadily make my way after her. I can only hope their tight jeans are chaffing in all the worst places.

  Once we’re in the corner of the warehouse, Quinn faces me. “You hate this, don’t you?”

  “Yep.” No use pretending otherwise.

  “Okay.” She nods.

  “Look, I’m sorry for being a whiny bitch. I know you’re just trying to do your job. It’s nothing against you, I swear.”

  “What’s the trouble then?”

  “Where do I start?”

  Quinn cocks her head to one side, seeming genuinely interested.

  Encouraged, I take a deep breath. “This”—I gesture to my outfit—“isn’t me.” Pointing at the flaming vehicle, I continue. “And that isn’t either. It’s what society assumes a rock band is all about, but it’s not the truth. For the sake of the boys, I’ll do this, but it’s not my scene.”

  “What is your scene?”

  I try to collect my thoughts. “It’s not about scenes; it’s about music. It’s about the raw power of hitting a note just right.” Staring over her shoulder, my gaze settles on Reid. “It’s about bringing people together and tearing them apart. It’s about passion, longing.”

  He glances up from yet another conversation with Drake, immobilizing me with his stare.

  I blink.

  He blinks.

  I inhale.

  He inhales.

  “That. Right there.” Scout points at my face, jumping up and down in excitement. “That’s what I want to capture on camera. Look at you.” Her eyes rake my body. I’m not loving being the object of such deliberate scrutiny. “Body soft, yet formidable. Eyes proud, yet remorseful. This is the Shiloh the music world needs to see.”

  Heat rushes to my face.

  “Think of a song.”

  “What?”

  “One of your songs. Which comes to mind first?”

  “‘Confessions.’”

  “Perfect.” Turning, she calls for my bandmates.

  Minutes later, they’re crowded around me. Directions are given, bodies shift, muffled laughter and friendly banter ensues. Quinn picks up her camera, circling us, searching for the perfect angle.

  A mic is shoved in my hands, the amp is turned on, and the order, “Sing,” is given. I shut my eyes, blocking it all out. All of the ridiculousness, all of the stupidity, everything. Instead, I breathe in the opening bars of the song I wrote all those years ago. I let it surround me, envelop me, fill me. My body sways in time with the music in my head. Throwing my head back, I sing.

  Finally.

  I feel good.

  This feels right.

  And the world once again makes sense.

  “So how’d it go?”

  “Willow, you were there. You saw the whole thing.”

  She tries to look innocent. She even bats her eyelashes.

  Only I’m not buying it. “Your acting skills are worse than mine, you know that, right?”

  Sighing, she drops all pretence and nods. “Yeah, I know. Probably why I was always cast as third lobster from the right in our school nativity play each year.”

  “You had lobsters in your school nativity play?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.” I pause. “Sea urchins.”

  “Huh.” Willow blinks. “Anyway, yes, I saw most of the shoot, but I’d rather hear your take on it.”

  Sighing, I reach for my beer and take a sip. “They’re probably one and the same.”

  She snorts. “Doubt it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Willow places her beer back on the bar, ignoring the man on her right trying to make eye contact. “Well…” She traces the circle of condensation left by her frosted bottle. “Does your version of events include a bandmate sprouting the phrases ‘fuckin’ hot’ and ‘maybe I should try a fantasy role play? I could be Batman and—’”

  Beer sprays out my mouth. “What? Who said that?”

  “Relax, it wasn’t Reid.” She hands me a napkin while I wipe my chin.

  It was Jasper’s idea to bring everyone together for a night out. He wanted to celebrate me finally getting my shit together with a few beers. Only after he promised to cut Tobias off at two drinks did I agree. So on Quinn’s advice, we headed to Hoptical Illusion, a microbrewery tucked away in the outskirts of the city.

  The place itself isn’t large. It’s one
of those Old Colonial Regency style buildings, no doubt used for a million different businesses before finally being converted back into the hotel it was originally intended for. A long bar takes up most of the east wall, muted pendant lights hanging above it. Several booths are tucked against the north and south walls, each with its own pendant overhead. In the center is an empty dance space. Clearly, no one is drunk enough to risk it yet.

  “I don’t even know how to respond to that.” My gaze shifts to Jasper.

  He’s sitting in a corner booth with Tobias, Reid, and Drake, though his eyes don’t waver from the man trying to attract Willow’s attention. If it were possible to kill someone on sight, the guy would be nothing more than random body parts scattered across the polished wooden floor. Weird.

  “Clearly, it was worse in your head than it was in reality.”

  I shake my head.

  Willow’s expression is serious. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s how powerful the mind is. Especially when it’s telling you things that aren’t true.”

  Shrugging one shoulder, I try to lighten the mood. “It was fucked. You saw my outfit. I was dressed from tits to toes in leather, my hair was a shrine to glam rock, and if a blind person attacked me with a black Sharpie, they would have done a better job at my makeup.”

  Willow stifles a giggle.

  Shuddering, I take another sip of my amber ale.

  “Well, from where I was standing, the shoot was a success.”

  “Only because I moved away from the goddamn car.” I shake my head. “Can you believe they wanted me next to a flaming vehicle? I was wearing nine-inch stiletto heels, for Christ’s sake.” My voice is shrill. “I once knocked myself out opening a door. I can’t be trusted with flammable shit.”

  Willow throws her head back, laughing.

  “The only way I got through it was by losing myself in music.” Hair falls in my face as I shake my head. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

  Willow covers my hand with hers, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Yes, you are. No one sings like you. No one.” She removes her hand and shrugs. “You just need to find your happy place, that’s all.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “My happy place?”