Bad for You (Fallen Star Book 4)

by Candy J. Starr

  “I’ve finalised things, put the last payment in your account, including a bonus. You’ll be fine for money for a while.”

  I didn’t care. It’d never been about the money. I’d have rather done it for free, then I wouldn’t feel so shady about the whole thing now.

  “Can I come in?” he asked. “I’ve got something to talk to you about and I can’t really say it out here in the hallway.”

  I let him in. He sat down on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. His gaze flitted around the room. I guess the place looked strange to him. The walls had big empty spaces. Squares of a lighter colour. The places where my Devon posters had been.

  I’d taken them down. The last thing I needed was to look up and see Devon’s face everywhere. Those posters were a lie anyway. I’d packed them away in a box in the wardrobe. I’d put all my other Devon things in there too. The scrapbooks. The tickets from every concert I’d been to. The Devon socks. The band t-shirts. Even the t-shirts that Meadow and I had made ourselves. The CDs. The Devon figurine that Meadow had made me when she’d done pottery class. It looked nothing like him except for the black hair but I’d really loved that she’d put the effort in to making it for me. The photo of Devon and I together that had been in the paper. All the copies of the paper.

  I’d cried when I’d packed it all away. Years of my life, packed into a box and taped up. I’d thought about throwing it straight into the garbage but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Not yet.

  Maybe one day.

  Anyway, Pete stared at the walls, I think he knew what had been there.

  “So, what do you have to say?” I didn’t sit down.

  “We have a bit of a situation. The fake girlfriend rumours, along with the new charges, they aren’t helping Devon’s popularity.”

  “There is no way in hell I’m going back to being his fake girlfriend,” I said.

  But did I mean it? Being apart from Devon was hell. The things I really missed weren’t the parts of him I’d dreamed about. I didn’t want the rock star; I didn’t want the tortured poet. I wanted the man who thought my omelettes were the best thing ever. The one who’d curled up in bed with me, wanting nothing but comfort. The man who’d told me to chase my dreams. I missed all that like crazy. Even the little annoying things about him, like the way he grumped at me, I missed that too.

  “No, that’s not what I wanted.”

  He couldn’t keep his hands still. One minute scratching his chin, the next twisting them together. For a man who always acted like he owned the world, that was really strange. It worried me that he was that nervous.

  “What is it?”

  “People blame Devon. He had a fake girlfriend. He purposely tricked his fans and they hate him for it. They hate you too but enough of the fallout is hitting Devon. It’s not good for him at all.”

  Yeah, I noticed that Pete didn’t give any fucks how it hurt me.

  “The thing is Daisy, I know this is a big ask, but if you could go public and take on all the blame, then we’d really appreciate it.”

  A chill went through me. The guy had a lot of nerve asking that. He’d said “we”. So, Devon was behind this?

  “What do you want me to do exactly?”

  “Maybe, make it look like you’d planned this whole thing. You faked some of the photos, tricked your way into his apartment. Well, you did trick your way into his apartment the first time. Tell people it wasn’t real. It wasn’t like Devon ever said you were his girlfriend. The press just said it and he never denied it. Then, you posted all the photos, so that it looked like you two were a couple.”

  I sat down then. I sat down, before I fell down. That was a huge ask.

  “You said yourself, the fans were like jackals and they’d tear me apart. What would they do if I did this?”

  “We’ll pay you money. A lot of money. You could move somewhere else. Maybe use a different name and lay low. It’ll only take a little while before it all blows over and is forgotten. Isn’t that better than having Devon’s career destroyed.”

  My chest tightened. Then I laughed. I laughed a lot. Laughter with no joy in it.

  “What about you, Pete?”

  “Huh?”

  “You could do it. It was your idea. You could go public and tell the truth. That would clear Devon. And it would clear me. Then you could go live in the back of nowhere for a year or two until you’re forgotten.”

  He crossed then uncrossed his legs. His lips pressed together.

  “That wouldn’t work at all,” he said. “No one knows who I am. There’s no story in it. It has to be you.”

  Pete was the biggest prick alive and I’d have said no in an instant, if it was just about him. But there was so much more to consider. Firstly, Devon. He’d not gone into this willingly and I didn’t want to see him destroyed. I’d never be able to listen to him play again, not without it destroying me, but that didn’t mean I wanted him finished.

  There were also the fans. Sure, some of them were obviously a pack of bitches but they weren’t the only ones. There were girls like me. Girls who loved Devon with all their hearts. The ones that needed him in their lives.

  If Devon lost everything, so would they. I’d be killing their dreams if they thought Devon had betrayed him. They’d be better off living in the kind of blissful ignorance that I wish I had.

  “I’ll think about it,” I told Pete.

  Chapter 34.Devon

  That old dude had been crazy but he talked some sense in with his crazy. I was wasting my words, spilling them out on the ground. I needed to get those feelings down. I couldn’t go to Daisy. Not like this. Not empty-handed.

  I had something to do first. So much stirred up inside of me. Words and melodies. Bits of things. Maybe nothing much but more than I’d had in a long time.

  There was no one around. No wonder. It was nearly midnight by the time I got back to town. Everyone had packed up and gone home. Good thing, too. I didn’t want anyone to talk to me and dilute the thoughts in my head. We had some of the album done but there was still a lot missing. The songs we had slated to add were ones I hated. They were bland, generic rock. I’d never enjoy playing them.

  Pete never understood. “Just put whatever on. It’s better to meet your deadline than trying to be all arty.”

  I wasn’t trying to be arty though. I just wanted something of good quality. Something that the fans would enjoy listening to. What was the point otherwise?

  I’d left my old guitar at the studio last time I’d been there. I got it out and started playing around.

  After about fifteen minutes, I had something I was vaguely happy with. It was about a zillion times better than the stuff we’d been working on; I knew that straight away. I kept messing around with it.

  Something magical happened in the studio. It was like someone had taken a plunger to the blockage in my head. Words flowed out. The music poured out of me faster than I could get it down. I recorded it all, scared that I’d forget something. Even more scared that I’d listen back to it and it’d all be crap. Maybe I was deluding myself but it didn’t seem that way to me.

  There was one song that was harder to write than the others. I had the tune, I had the words but I had to find it in my heart to put it all together. It cut to the bone more than any other song I’d ever written. I wasn’t sure if it was good or if it sucked balls, all I knew is that it said things I’d rather keep in my heart.

  The song, of course, was about Daisy. About her sunshine smile and her warmth. How she’d thawed me. I’d written Marshmallow Girl about her but that was a fun song, playing around. This song though, was like opening myself up. Opening up all the bits of me, good and bad, and offering them to her. I didn’t know if she wanted them or if she’d ever accept them after what we’d been through but I had to offer them, all the same.

  I worked through the night in a frenzy. I only realised time had passed when Brett turned up.

  “You look like shit. What’ve you been doing?”
>
  He grabbed a Coke out of the fridge and offered me one. God knows, I needed it. I needed a good feed too. I’d not eaten for hours, nearly a whole day, but there were more important things than food in this world.

  “Listen to this, I have no idea if it’s shit or if it’s good. All I know is that they are songs. They might be inspired but I’ve lost all perspective.”

  I played the songs to Brett. His expression didn’t change as he listened. Damn his expressionless face. Would facial expressions kill a man? I didn’t even have that much faith in his opinion but he was someone who could listen objectively.

  I’d start off with the Marshmallow Girl song. I’d played around with it quite a bit.

  I’d worked on about five other songs. They were all over the place, one song triggered something with the other. You couldn’t control that shit, you could just let it out and hope to capture it. I had it all recorded but it ended up an erratic mess in my rush to get things down. It was easier just to play the songs to Brett myself.

  I’d not been this excited about music in years. This was something new, something fun. I wanted to play these songs live. I wanted to share them with people. These weren’t songs of angst and sorrow. They were songs of hope. They were happy rainbow songs. Not too happy and not too sparkly. They were still rock. It wasn’t like I’d turned into a happy unicorn of joy or anything.

  I ended with the love song. I felt like a bit of a dick singing it to Brett. He’d hang so much shit on me for writing something so sappy.

  Finally, I finished playing.

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “It’s nothing much.”

  He still didn’t say anything. I knew it. I’d been fooling myself. It was shit. All the magic had gone. I put my guitar back on the rack. I’d just play the stuff that Pete wanted. Who cared? I’d done my best and failed. Hell, I cared. I’d put more of myself into those songs than I’d ever done in my entire career. I showed a side of myself I’d kept hidden. Normally, I laughed off any criticism but with these songs, I wanted people to love them like I did. Otherwise, it was a rejection of me, as a person.

  “You ripper,” he finally said. “I knew you had it in you. You just had to get all the shit out of the way first.”

  “It’s good?”

  “Fuck yeah. We need to scrap what we’ve done and get this happening. Maybe put together another live show to test the material.”

  I flopped back into a chair. With that out of the way, my body lost all structure. All I could do was loll. Completely spent.

  “You don’t think the last song is too sappy?”

  Brett grinned. “The chicks will love it. Damn it all, I almost wanted to make sweet love to you while you were singing it.”

  “Really?”

  “In the most heterosexual kind of way.”

  I felt like I hadn’t exhaled in a long time. I’d been hunched over my guitar in the studio wanting to get this done. Not even noticing how much my body ached. It ached, oh man, it ached. I was getting too old for this all night stuff. Even my fingers pained like they had when I first started learning to play.

  “Go home and get to bed,” Brett said.

  “Nah, I’ll stick around. I’m fine really.”

  “You think? You should see yourself. Get someone to pick you up because you’re a mess.

  I left the studio, feeling on top of the world, the whole thing with Daisy forgotten until I got to the door of the apartment. Still, I’d be able to smooth that over. Well, I would after I got some sleep. There had to be a way to save things. I just had to figure that out.

  Chapter 35.Daisy

  I called Pete. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. No one wants to be hated or despised but I had to put Devon’s career first. I couldn’t let my own selfishness get in the way.

  “I knew you’d see it our way,” Pete said. “Devon will be so happy when I tell him.”

  I bet he would. He’d smell like roses and I’d smell like shit.

  “When do we have to do it?” I hoped it wouldn’t be for ages, but then, I hoped it was soon. Less time to freak out.

  “I can call it for this afternoon,” he said. “Even if some of the big players can’t make it, the word will be out.”

  Shit, did it have to be so soon? I needed time to get my head around this. You couldn’t rush into being a fall guy.

  “Today?”

  “The longer we drag this out, the worst it’ll be for everyone. Get it out of the way and save yourself the stress.”

  I agreed. It would be best to get it out of the way.

  “It’s for the best,” he said. “Are you planning on getting out of town afterwards? Pack a bag and bring it with you and I’ll have a car waiting to whisk you away as soon as you’re done.”

  I got off the phone and pulled my old suitcase off the top of the wardrobe. I knew he was right. This was a small city, easy enough to find someone if you really wanted to, and I’d posted enough clues that people could narrow down where I lived to a tiny radius. I had no idea where I’d go.

  Not home to my parents. They didn’t need the risk of crazed fans turning up. Maybe I’d just go and keep going until I could go no further. Then sleep for a long time. What did it matter anyway? I had nothing here and nothing anywhere else.

  The packing got difficult when I pulled out the box of Devon things. I’d planned to throw them away but not yet. I wasn’t quite ready. I could get a storage space, I guessed. Everything else, the furniture and household stuff, I couldn’t take with me either. But I could walk out and leave it.

  Pete had said a huge sum of money. I thought about Iceland. I doubted Devon had much of a fan base there and I’d heard it was really pretty. Or maybe somewhere in Asia. I could dye my hair black and blend into the crowd. Iceland seemed like the best option though. It seemed like a place where people could hunker down and hibernate.

  Then someone knocked on the door.

  The lynch mob? They’d found me already? I shivered. If I climbed out the window, I could escape that way. It wasn’t that much of a drop to the ground and I’d be fine so long as I didn’t sprain my ankle or anything. Much better than risking pitchforks and angry mobs.

  They knocked again. It was a rather polite knock for a lynch mob. Surely they’d tear my door off the hinges instead. I tiptoed out to the living room, hoping I could peer out without being seen.

  If it wasn’t a lynch mob, it might be a reporter. I’d had a few of those guys snooping around. One had come to the door, pretending to be a salesman, then had whipped out his camera for a shot of me. Another had just hovered around the mailboxes, until Mrs Steinberg from downstairs chased him away with her broom.

  “Daisy, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

  It was Meadow. I’d been meaning to call her since this happened but what would I say? I couldn’t tell her the whole pitiful story. Well, I guess I could now, since the whole world would know soon.

  I let her in.

  “What’s going on?” she said. “I’ve been trying to call you for days, then I found out you’d moved back here. Are all those stories true?”

  I nodded.

  I needed to tell her the truth. I should’ve all along, regardless of what Pete had said.

  “The fake girlfriend thing?”

  I nodded.

  “The whole thing being called off?”

  I nodded.

  “You being pregnant and aborting Devon’s baby?”

  I nodded. Then I stopped. “No. Hell, no. That is total lies. I never even screwed him. Not once.”

  Boy, did I regret that. I should’ve gone for the hot Devon sex at least once. I’d never get it now. The closest I’d come to his cock the whole time was when we caught him pissing. There was something wrong with me. I’d aimed for the grand prize and ended up with nothing. Like those people on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” who really should’ve walked away with the $10,000 cash in hand.

  Meanwhile, Meadow walked through my
apartment and saw my suitcase.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  I broke down and told her the whole story from the meeting in the cafe. Every gory detail. Every weird thing.

  She stared at me, wide-eyed in shock but she didn’t interrupt. I needed to get the whole story out. Then it got too much and she needed to say something.

  “Wait, you didn’t have sex, even when he was all over you?”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t want me. He just wanted someone, anyone. A hole to stick it in.”

  I got up and kept packing. I needed to sort out my underwear.

  “Still. He’s Devon. You’ve loved him for a long time.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  I went on with my story. If she interrupted me with talk about sexing Devon, I’d never get my stuff ready. I folded a bunch of t-shirts. Then unfolded them and rolled them.

  “God, he’s a jerk. But he’s a hot jerk. If he’d been in my bed, I’d have molested him. He’d have never been safe. I’d have at least snuck a look at his cock. You did, didn’t you? Did you take photos?”

  I punched her lightly on the arm. As if I’d take non-consensual dick pics. That was gross.

  Then I told her the rest, up to the night at the restaurant. By the time I’d finished, I’d packed my suitcase. Anything that didn’t fit in wouldn’t be going with me.

  “So, it was a set-up?” she asked. “I mean, obviously it was.”

  “Huh?”

  “Reporter dude vows to get revenge on Devon at the courtroom. He knows somehow that Devon hates the sleazeball druggie guy. I mean, it’s a tight industry. It’s not that strange that they would know each other. Then, word is leaked that you’re going somewhere for dinner. How did that happen by the way?”

  I’d forgotten to pack my shoes. I grabbed the two pairs that I actually wore and stuffed them in the case.

  “I suspect Pete, the manager. He was so full-on about the social media and he’d set the date up for us. He knew everything and it was easy for him to leak it. Devon would never have done it. He hates stuff like that. And he never goes online.”