Rockstar vs Heiress

by Adalind White

  "Yes. I gave them to Kate yesterday. I really don't want to be around him."

  "Give him a chance. You might be surprised."

  Alice shook her head. She loved Andrew King with the loyalty and ferocity of a pitbull, but she saw his flaws all too clearly. For a guy with perfect pitch, the man was painfully out of tune to human emotions.

  "If anything happens to me, I trust you will point the police to the main suspect," she said.

  Andrew laughed and slapped her shoulder companionably. He needed to focus on training his contestants, not to worry about her. She was used to protecting the adults in life. She'd done it for her parents for years, and she'd appointed herself as King's personal lightning rod when it came to all things Sing-related.

  #

  At lunch, she knocked on the door to Carter's music room. He opened the door for her and invited her in.

  "Where are your papers?" he asked.

  She threw him a quick sharp glance before she could control the reaction. He looked so damn innocent. Sometimes she forgot how good of an actor he was. She would love to see him on the stage again.

  "I'm here to help you."

  "You're always so generous with your time."

  He said it a flat tone, keeping most malice and sarcasm out of his voice, but suddenly she fought back tears of shame.

  Until she met this man, she had never before screwed up so much when she helped her friends get what they wanted. As far as she knew at least, she never hurt anyone like she had hurt him. Whatever he would do to her, she was going to take it. She owed him to take all the retribution he thought he needed.

  She took the papers from his hand, careful, as always, not to touch him, and she sat down at the table and took out her pen.

  "Do you know so much about me that you don't even have to ask me anything?" he said, watching her fill in the documents.

  She didn't say anything. She expected him to lace his comments with sarcasm a lot more than he had so far.

  "They're common questions in this section," she explained patiently. "I'll ask you when it comes to your contestants."

  Her writing was stilted, her hand sometimes forgot the shape of the letters. His gaze burned in the back of her head, and when she thought it couldn't get worse, he sat down across from her. The table was narrow, and their knees touched. She dropped the pen, and she pulled back her chair instinctively. She didn't look at him as she rearranged it in such a way as to avoid any other accidental touches. She picked up her pen and took a deep breath before starting to write again.

  "Why did you write this date?" he said, tapping the paper.

  His long elegant fingers invaded her private space. She heard herself swallow loudly. Why was it so damn quiet in that room?

  "B-because it had to be a working day."

  "Are you afraid of me?"

  "Shouldn't I?"

  "What do you expect me to do to you?" he asked.

  His voice was deceptively calm. It made her skin crawl. She couldn't avoid looking at him anymore. She raised her head to meet his eyes. She knew that he would see the fear, but she was true to her decision. Whatever he needed to work through his pain and to restore his pride, she was going to give him.

  She opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say. Before she could speak, he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Instead of coherent words, a gasp escaped from her lips.

  He stood up abruptly and let her work, giving clipped answers to her questions about his team until they finished.

  #

  She didn't hold much hope that she'd be free of Carter's company at dinner. As an evil spirit summoned by a malicious sorcerer, he entered the dining room as soon as they sat down. He joined them, without as much as bothering to get any food as a pretense for being there.

  "I just realized why your hairstyle is so familiar," Carter said, looking at her. "I gave a speech at a high-school last year, and every girl there had this exact haircut."

  A week earlier, she might have made a comment about Carter's own eccentric hair style. She held back the funny reply she would have used to defuse the tension by amusing him. He would not be impressed if she told him that she was going to the fanciest hair salon in Orsino either.

  She had to hold back a smile when she thought that, had Didier heard this comment about his artwork, he would bitch slap Carter silly.

  She ran her fingers through her hair instead, as if trying to mess up the style and erase the supposed outdated haircut.

  "It's worrying that you pay attention to high school girls' hairstyles," Andrew said.

  "It was a traumatic experience for me," Carter said. "They looked like a clone army."

  Alice looked down at her half-empty plate. She stood up and went to refill it, allowing him to believe she was embarrassed on the subject. She smiled back at Tyler who waved at her, and focused on what really bothered her about Carter's words.

  She wasn't offended about being compared with a teenager without personality, and it didn't bother her that he thought she followed last year's trend. She was too self-assured about her personal style to be bothered by his transparent attempts to hurt her.

  The problem was that he was obviously trying to hurt her. She knew him all too well to have any hope that if he really wanted to get a result, he would stop before getting it. He might miss at first, but if he kept at it, he'd find ways to truly hurt her.

  She picked random fruits from the bowl and put them on her plate. She could ask Andrew again to let her go. She would have to make him believe that the matter with Carter was settled, and that she needed time for her exams. She hated leaving King alone here, but it would be better for him if TC didn't break through her defenses in the House.

  By the time she got back to the table, she already had the first draft of a plan. Step one - make Andrew believe she and Carter were back to their previous frenmity. Step two - start planting suggestions that she needed more time to study. Step three - wait for Andrew to ask her if she wanted to leave Sing or, if she felt that Carter got too close, she had to ask Andrew to let her go. Step four... prepare for the aftermath of Carter's victory.

  When she sat back in her seat, she noticed that she was closer to Carter than before she left. The son of a bitch had pulled her chair closer to his own. Her skin tingled at his proximity. She tried to move the chair away, but she couldn't budge it. She looked down, trying to see why the chair was stuck. His right foot was behind the leg of her chair, holding it in place. She could play it off as a joke, but that would alert Andrew that something was off.

  "Anything wrong?" Andrew asked.

  "No," she lied.

  Everything was absolutely peachy. She looked at Tim from the corner of her eyes. He was a halo and a harp away from looking like an angel.

  End of book 3

  Book 4 - Heiress vs Rockstar

  Tim

  He straightened his tie, fighting the urge to loosen it. Last time he'd been at a black-tie event, he had Alba Richmond-Orsay on his arm. When he confirmed his participation for this year, he thought he'd be there with Isabella. He slammed closed the car door and walked to entrance. He slowed down for the photographers. He stood in front of the Small Miracles banner until they got all the publicity shots they needed.

  When he entered the ballroom, he was greeted by a tall woman with serious eyes who led him to his table.

  He recognized Adeline St. Croix a few tables away, and he scanned the room for her husband. Paul Cesara was far from one of his favorite people in the world, but he worked with his law firm for many years, and their relationship had improved greatly once Vy started her first year at Salona.

  He was beginning to find the evening bearable when he caught a familiar shape out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, he didn't see anyone he knew. His first instinct was that it was Alba. If Alba was there, she'd outshine everyone else.

  He almost forgot about it, when, a few minutes later, he heard a very familiar vo
ice.

  "The University has a long tradition of offering scholarships to underprivileged children."

  Alice.

  His hand tightened around the champagne flute, and he set it down to avoid breaking it. Adrenaline flooded his system. He wished he could wrap his hand around her throat instead of the glass. Instead of crawling under a rock and dying, that little monster was attending parties. He circled around so that he could observe her from a distance.

  The little snake had shed her skin. He'd always seen her in jeans and with minimal makeup. The tight fit dress and the elegant updo made her look older. Any hesitation he still had about hating her was obliterated by her look. She might be Vy's age, but she looked more mature. She was a fully grown woman who had to deal with the consequences of her actions.

  She was talking to a thin woman he didn't know and a man who looked a lot like Alba's husband, Basil Sinclair. He could move on to another conversation and leave her alone for the night. He hadn't expected to meet her and he didn't have a plan for her, but he couldn't stay away. Before he knew he could change his mind, he was already near her group.

  His presence was noted immediately, and the older woman addressed him directly.

  "Mr. Carter, we are honored by your presence. My name is Leonie de Montrachet."

  He didn't know her, but he recognized name. Her demeanor spoke of old money and influence. Alice's reaction was so subtle, he would have missed it if he hadn't been focused on her. She cringed.

  He took Leonie's hand and bowed his head slightly. This sort of old-fashioned politeness worked well on the upper classes. He turned to Alice, giving her the option to pretend they didn't know each other.

  "Good evening, Mr. Carter," she said.

  "Please, call me Tim. We know each other too well."

  "How do you know each other?" the man standing next to Alice asked.

  The young man's voice didn't betray any emotion other than a mild curiosity.

  "Our Music rooms are next door to each other," she said, but the man's curiosity turned into confusion. "On Sing," she added. "Mr. Carter, this is Christian Sinclair."

  He shook the young man's hand looking at Alice.

  "Calling me Mr. Carter only makes me want to bend you over my knee and spank your bottom red all the more."

  She didn't even flinch. And neither did the others. He was surrounded by masks.

  "You seem to know each other very well," Christian Sinclair said nonchalantly.

  Affected nonchalance or real indifference? Tim was impressed that he couldn't tell which was true. So this was the Sinclair who was going into politics.

  "Oh, you could say that she knows very intimate details about me," he said.

  Christian raised an eyebrow and a vaguely amused smile played on his lips. The man was going to be an excellent politician. He offered Alice his hand and bowed slightly.

  "My lady, may I have this dance?"

  She accepted his hand gracefully and they floated to the dance floor.

  Alice

  Christian's warm steady hand on the small of her back calmed down her nerves a fraction.

  "You look lovely tonight," he said when they start to dance.

  "Aren't you even going to ask?"

  "He's an asshole," Christian said.

  The word was harsh but his voice had no particular inflexion. He either didn't care or he was in a league of his own when it came to hiding his emotions. He must have sensed her confusion, because he elaborated.

  "Whatever happened between the two of you, there is no excuse to be rude in public."

  "It really doesn't bother you, does it?"

  "That you had a life before we met? That you made mistakes?"

  "Caesar's wife…" she said.

  "Must be above suspicion," he finished the quote in her embarrassed silence.

  He laughed softly and twirled her around gracefully.

  "Alice, we are Illyrians, not ancient Romans. Our current prime minister had an affair with the previous prime minister, while she was still married. Our politicians have to be mildly competent and not overtly corrupt. Scandals about personal issues that would shake more puritan countries barely register here."

  "You're not like the other politicians," she said.

  "No," he said soberly. "Or more accurately, not yet."

  She looked at him attentively. His classically handsome features reminded her of statues of Greek gods. So did the cool, Olympian calm.

  "You must be one of the most self-aware people I know," she said.

  A warm smile softened his Olympian coldness.

  "That's because you hang around clueless artists too much."

  She smiled back. The tone was kind, conveying the acceptance she needed so badly. It would be nice if she could count on him in the stormy times that were to come.

  #

  Despite her promise to Leonie, the crowded ballroom became too much to bear and she snuck onto the terrace. She pretended she needed to smoke, when all she needed was to be on her own for a few moments.

  She wasn't surprised when Carter showed up on the terrace before she even lit her cigarette. They would have the place to themselves as long as they could stand the cold.

  "Could you have chosen a more boring dress?" he asked, pacing around her like a predator circling its prey.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Who are you trying to sell this wholesome image anyway?"

  "I'm not selling anything," she said.

  "Of course you are. I should get a discount as a frequent customer."

  "Do you want me to apologize again?"

  "You didn't apologize the first time."

  She bit back the comment that he hadn't given her time to apologize.

  "Do you want me to apologize?" she rephrased the question.

  "I would not expect it of you."

  "It's not what I asked."

  "Don't tell me that all of a sudden you lost the skill to know what I want."

  "I am sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

  He looked at her for a long time. She really didn't know what he wanted any more. This situation wasn't on any of her maps.

  "What do you want most in the world?" he asked.

  "I, umm... don't know."

  He shook his head, clearly not believing her.

  "I will find out. And I will give it to you. Then I'll destroy it in front of your eyes."

  She looked down, unwilling to hold his gaze. His hatred for her shone too bright to bear it. She wished there was something she could do to take away the pain she had caused him.

  He stepped closer, and leaned to whisper in her ear. His lips almost brushed her skin when he spoke.

  "And if you really don't want anything," he said, in a low and silky voice that gave her goosebumps. "I will make you want something so badly, you will bleed to get it. And I'll make sure you never, ever do."

  He sounded like his Shakespearean characters on stage. His Macbeth was the most impressive performance Alice had ever seen on the stage, but his words were sounded like the witches' curse not like the king's guilt-ridden soliloquy.

  He left her alone on the terrace. The cigarette had turned to ashes between her fingers.

  They say never meet your heroes, but I don't think they had this in mind.

  Her hero was pretty damn unbalanced to begin with. He had just crossed the border into dangerously insane.

  #

  Carter materialized next to her when she was back in the ballroom.

  "My lady, may I have this dance?" he asked, mocking Christian's tone.

  She barely managed to conceal the surprise. Why was he acting like they were the best of friends? As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he didn't care about her one way or the other, but they both knew the depth of his hatred. Why would he pretend that nothing had ever happened? He couldn't expect her to be taken in by his attitude, could he?

  "I'm a terrible dancer," she said taking half a step back, trying to blend into the
coffee colored curtains.

  "If I didn't know any better," he drawled, "I'd say you're a terrible liar. That was a very careless lie."

  "I was trying to be polite. I don't want to dance with you."

  "Color me surprised."

  She hated it when he used her own words. "Color me surprised! I did not expect you to read the Discworld." Oh, how much she had loved discovering things they had in common!

  "Since you ask so nicely," he said in her silence, taking her hand without waiting for her to offer it, "I didn't need to see you float around the dancefloor like a ballerina with young Christian. I already knew you were an excellent dancer because your best friend told me you tried to teach her to dance. You failed miserably, by the way."

  "I know," she said, and followed him to the dance floor.

  Lately, her life seemed full of battles she could not win.

  "She told me many things about you, Alice. You see, Vy cares about you. She thinks you're a nice person."

  "If you plan to make Vy hate me, you're kind of late," she said. "She already despises me."

  "Good for her," he said cheerfully.

  They danced in silence for a few moments. She was an adequate dancer, but in his arms she felt fluid. He was leading her so effortlessly.

  "I danced with her for hours, you know" he said, breaking the silence. "I'm not going to claim it was graceful, but with a lot of compassionate editing, it made for a good music video."

  She knew the one at which he was referring. It was one of the most romantic songs he had ever written. Not just for Vy. In all his career. The video itself was very tender. Vy had ruined the effect by telling her in detail about how horribly she had danced that day, and how much of a jerk Carter had been to keep her dancing.

  "It's a beautiful song. All the songs you write for her are amazing. She made the right choice last year."

  A muscle twitched in his face. He obviously neither appreciated, nor believed her compliments.

  "The choice you suggested."

  "It's not like that," she said, unwilling to let him believe she had manipulated Vy. "She didn't choose you because I told her."

  "Why then? We both know I was her second choice. Why would she choose the amazing Andrew King?"