by Skye Jordan
“I really think you'll regret it later if you don't.”
Troy nodded, because Z was right. He would spend the rest of his life hating himself for doing what he'd done at the club without telling her it had been him. Because if he knew Giselle like he thought he knew her-and based on what he'd learned of her from that night, he believed he still knew enough-he was pretty sure she'd be at least a little wigged over the way she'd gotten caught up in the night and what she'd allowed herself to do with someone she'd considered a complete stranger.
“Thanks, Z. I'll think about it.”
But as Zahara stood and started gathering gear before they took their lunchtime break, Troy continued to waffle over whether or not he should poke the sleeping bear or simply let it lie.
Giselle's hand whipped a signature across the photograph. She capped the pen as she grinned up at the director of the film, Jeff Michel. “Tell your daughter I said hello.”
He chuckled and slipped the image into an envelope. “I'll have to put in earplugs first. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger and pulled it forward, laying it purposely over the mark on her neck, a bite from the devil she'd been struggling to hide for two days.
Her mind instantly drifted back to the moment he'd created it, and desire flared through her body. In some ways, it still seemed like a fantasy. Like it hadn't really happened. Like she'd only imagined it. Then she'd see some mark the interlude had left on her body, like a line on her wrist from the cuffs or this welt from his teeth, and the reality that she'd been so taken with a stranger she'd met him and had sex with him in public all within an hour would come rushing back at her with frightening speed.
She pressed a hand to her stomach as acid rushed in. Not for the first time, she considered going back to therapy. A one-time thing was bad enough, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. A man whose name she didn't even know. A man who'd probably already forgotten he'd even touched her. Really, how could she have done that? She'd never even had a one-night stand before. Talk about radical behavior. And when she thought about it too long, it truly scared her. What had spurred it? How did she keep it from happening again? What if she couldn't control it?
Brook came up beside Giselle with a fresh drink. She was wearing a beautiful midnight-blue cocktail dress that made her eyes pop even more than they normally did. Her black hair was wrapped into a fun little spring of curls on the back of her head, and her makeup was sexy, yet natural.
“So sorry to interrupt,” Brook said, then to Giselle, “Gloria would like to have a few minutes with you.”
“Not a problem.” Jeff nodded at both women. “Thanks again.”
As the director wandered back to chat with other guests, Giselle turned to Brook and took the drink. She'd been Giselle's first assistant on the road. They'd become instant friends, bonding over Giselle's heartbreak over Troy. And while her agents, managers, tour coordinators, and sponsors had wielded the power to hire and fire her band members and backup singers for bigger and better as Giselle had grown, she'd always kept Brook as her personal assistant.
“Thank you.” She drained half the tonic water and lime, sighing at the feel of the bubbles on her throat. “God, that's heavenly.”
She paused a moment to glance around the small banquet room Chad had booked for the mixer, wishing she could grab a drink from the bar. Wishing she'd picked up a Xanax on her way out of her room.
The setting was nice. A quaint space the perfect size for a gathering of a hundred or so. The lighting intimate, the room decorated in rich navy and gold. A bar sat against one wall, tables and booths dotted another area, a small dance floor filled one corner. Everyone seemed comfortable and engaged. Everyone except her band and her backup singers.
“I don't understand them,” Giselle said. “It pisses me off that they're so worried about what they might not get that they can't enjoy what they have. They've all made minimal effort tonight when it would only benefit them in every way to use this opportunity to both show that they're team players and to put out feelers for other work.
“They're all so damn talented, but every time one of these big mixers comes up, everyone gets tense, and all the gloves go on. The guys start bickering among themselves; they start asking me a million questions there's no way I could answer. Helen and Simone get quiet, start lurking and eavesdropping. God, I hate that. I swear someday one of them will stab me in my sleep.”
She hooked a thumb toward herself. “I'm the singer. I'm the one who's supposed to be temperamental.”
Brook burst out laughing. “I guess you didn't get the memo.”
Giselle sighed, and Brook's laugh made her smile.
“I think they're making up for your even-tempered good nature,” Brook said.
Giselle made a growling sound, turned her back on her band, and drank her bubbly water. “Whatever.” She glanced around the room. “Is this a friendlier group than normal, or,” she was going to say is that my imagination, but smirked and said, “am I just comparing them to my band?”
More laughter bubbled from Brook. “They're definitely a friendly group. They say it's just the ambience of a film crew. Everyone's casual and fun, sort of like a family.”
Giselle sighed. “Wouldn't that be nice?”
“No kidding.”
“Think they'll adopt us?”
“Bet we could persuade them. You could be their entertainment, and I could keep them organized.”
“We're a pretty good team.”
Brook lifted her brows. “I've also got my eye on one of the stunt guys. Man, talk about hot…”
“Show me.”
“Last stool at the bar,” Brook said, “Black hair. Looks like he's got a little Asian in him, or maybe Spanish or something. His bone structure makes my mouth water, and the way he fills out his clothes… Mmm. I bet he's modeled.”
“Oh yeah,” Giselle said. “Wow, what a smile.”
“Lights up the freaking room.”
“Have you made contact yet?”
Brook sighed. “No. What's the point? I mean, sure I could do a one-nighter with him but…” She shrugged and turned away. “I'm kinda getting tired of saying good-bye, you know?”
“I do know.” Giselle's heart grew heavy. “And I'm sorry.”
“Hey, not your fault. I have a choice. I keep following you, don't I?” Brook squeezed her arm. “I think we're almost done here. You've hit all the major players. But Gloria really does want to talk to you. She's not happy.”
Giselle took another sip of her drink, glancing around the crowd for her agent. “I can't remember the last time I saw Gloria happy.”
“Can't say I blame her. Chad's a diligent gatekeeper. If I were her, I'd be frustrated too. I know Chad's trying to take care of you, but sometimes he's extremely selective about what gets through to you.”
That news made her shoulders drop two inches. “To be honest, their little battles are getting on my nerves.”
If she were really honest, everyone around her was testing her patience except Brook, and all the tension only added to her sense of isolation. From the outside, it looked to all the world as if she had a tight-knit band who loved each other like a family, and support staff who came together to collectively lift Giselle to the peak of success.
She'd never imagined success could bring such loneliness.
“Let's just get through this last big push,” Brook said. “Then you can reevaluate. If they can't get along, maybe one of them has to go. Or maybe both. Not a bad thing, just a change. You need people who will grow with you.” Brook circled her shoulders with one arm and squeezed. “Hang in there. Something's going to pop soon.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “Me.”
Brook had just joined her in the laugh when a strong male voice interrupted. “You've been avoiding me.”
Tyrone Gleason approached, and their laughter died. He was a handsome thirty-five-year-old music executive who'd company-h
opped like crazy to advance his career. He also woman-hopped and thrived on the drama of his lovers fighting over him. Giselle had told him more than once he belonged on a reality television show.
“Oh, Tyrone,” Giselle said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “It's not all about you, I promise.”
His arm snaked around her waist, holding her close, and Giselle rolled her eyes in Brook's direction.
Her friend plucked Giselle's empty glass from her hand and gave Tyrone a stern look. “You can have her for five minutes. I'll be back to move her on to greener pastures in five minutes.”
“Ten,” he countered with a grin. “We have something important to talk about.”
Giselle leaned against a high-backed chair at one of the tables in the bar area and lazily twirled her finger into a curl, pulling it forward again. “You look good, as always.”
“You look better, as always.”
She grinned. “What's this important thing?”
He darted a look around the room, a hot grin edging his full mouth. “I assume you've heard the rumor they're adding a Grammy category this year.”
Tyrone had been on the Grammy's Producer's and Engineer's Wing Steering Committee until he took an executive position with Bose six months before.
“I've heard that rumor, but I haven't seen any official word.”
“It's happening. And there's more than just one.” His dark eyes caressed her cleavage. “They'll be announcing it at the same time they announce nominees in a few months.”
When he didn't go on, she reached out and lifted his chin with one finger until his gaze met hers. “Are you going to tell me what the categories are?”
He grinned, a charming, lopsided grin. “I was thinking we could talk about it in your room.”
“Then I guess I'll find out in December with everyone else.”
He exhaled and gave her one of those heavy-lidded, I'm-losing-my-patience looks. “You'd have broken out a lot faster if you slept around.”
A bitter laugh scraped her throat. “Tell me something I don't know.”
“The categories are Best Voice of the Year and Best Songwriter of the Year.”
A twinkle of excitement sparked deep inside her, but Giselle knew better than to get her hopes up. “Nice.”
He lifted his brows and slid his finger along the strap of her dress, then over her shoulder. “Your name has been bouncing around the membership like a ping-pong ball.”
She continued to smother that spark. Oh, what a Grammy nomination would do for her career. Not to mention a win. “Oh yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm.” His finger traveled down her arm. “And Bose is looking to put money behind someone just like you.”
“I heard Bose was turning away from sponsoring musicians and focusing on sports figures.”
When he reached her hand, he threaded their fingers and met her eyes with a sultry, seductive look that did nothing for her. Absolutely nothing. Her mind only drifted to the devil, and just the thought of his smoldering gaze created pressure between her legs.
“That was based on a butt-load of money given out to newbies who wasted it on partying. We're always looking for hardworking, multifaceted artists who've shown they can handle themselves and their money. Bose is taking fewer gambles and investing in winners like you-artists who invest in their craft, continue to grow, improve, reinvest in themselves. You've got multiple talents, you're a darling in the press, an angel to your fans, and you just keep getting better every year.”
“And this…” He gestured to one of the screens where a clip from the video trial she'd filmed the day before ran along with various other clips from music videos and concerts. “Girl, this puts the icing on the cake. Sexy sells, sweetheart.”
He eased closer, invading her space and pressing his hand to her shoulder, then sliding it to her neck. He was really pushing his limits, and Giselle was going to have to put on the brakes very soon. Something that would inevitably rub him wrong. The man had a huge ego. And she was giving him a lot of leeway because he was also highly influential in the industry.
“And you are extremely sexy,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” She smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Tyrone, you know-”
“Here's that drink,” Brook said, cutting into Giselle's gentle letdown and pulling the plug on the stress that had knotted in the pit of her stomach. Relationships in this industry were so fragile. Maneuvering them often exhausted her. “Your ten minutes are up, Ty. I've got half a dozen other people waiting to talk to her.”
Giselle took the drink from Brook and smiled at Tyrone, pretending not to notice his scowl of irritation. “I'm very interested in talking more about opportunities with Bose. We'd make great business partners.”
Giselle let Brook walk her through the space.
“Oh man,” Giselle said on an exhale. “I owe you big-time for that.”
“He makes my skin crawl.”
“Okay, who's next?”
“No one,” Brook said. “I just couldn't stand the way he kept touching you.” She stopped and faced Giselle, fussing with a curl, then the strap Tyrone had touched as if she was trying to rid her of him. “I just wanted to give you a break. Gloria's tied up with Dennis from American Express. What did Tyrone want?”
Giselle was about to tell her the news about the Grammy's new categories, when a dark-haired woman who'd been seated with the film crew approached.
She held her hand out to Giselle. “Hi, I'm Zahara.” She shook both Giselle's and Brook's hands. “I just wanted to come by and say hello. I've seen you in concert and, wow, I was absolutely blown away.”
The woman was warm and authentic and well-spoken. Giselle immediately connected with her and could easily have seen herself wanting to get to know her under different circumstances. Circumstances that allowed her to have a life.
“Thank you so much. Are you part of the crew?”
“Stunt crew.” She laughed. “Running with all the tough guys.”
“Speaking of tough guys,” Brook said with a sly little grin. “Is the one with the black hair and the killer smile…you know, married or taken or anything?”
Zahara grinned. “He's not. And he's an absolutely fantastic guy. Okay, sort of a big goofball most of the time, but aren't they all?”
“Good point.”
Zahara tilted her head toward the bar. “Go chat him up, but be prepared, he's a talker. Yap, yap, yap, let me tell you. And whatever you do, do not mention fantasy football or you'll be up with him all night.”
“Really,” she said with a sly smile.
“Really.” Zahara matched her smile. “Just sayin'. You know, a woman-to-woman warning.”
Brook's face split in a grin, and she held up a fist. “I owe you, girl.”
Zahara tapped her fist to Brook's. “We gotta take care of each other.”
Giselle and Zahara watched Brook make her way over to the bar.
“Does she like football?” Zahara asked.
“She hated it up until thirty seconds ago.”
Zahara's laugh made Giselle smile. “Good. That boy needs to get laid.”
It was Giselle's turn to laugh. “So does that girl.”
They looked at each other and grinned.
Zahara said, “Our lifestyle sucks.”
Giselle burst out laughing. “Seriously. Brook and I were just saying the same thing when you walked up.”
Zahara rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I wanted to tell you we have a friend in common.”
“Oh really? Who?”
“Nathan Ryker.”
Giselle's smile turned to surprise. “Really?” Then excitement. “How do you know Nathan?”
“It's so weird to hear you call him Nathan. Everyone calls him Ryker except Rachel, which is how I know him.”
“Oh…Oh…” All the dots were clicking in Giselle's mind. “Right. She works for the stunt company…”
“Same one I'm working for.”
“Wow, small world
.” Her mind immediately veered from Nathan and Rachel to Troy. Surely this woman wouldn't also know Troy.
“Six degrees of separation and all that,” Zahara said.
“Have you seen Nathan and Rachel lately?” Giselle asked, edging toward the questions she knew she shouldn't ask for the same reason she didn't ask Nathan.
What if she found out Troy was married? What if she found out Troy had kids? What if Troy had ended up with a perfect little family, like the perfect little family Giselle had always dreamed of? Like the perfect little family she and Troy had planned out together? What if Troy had used the names he and Giselle had picked out for their future children to name his children with another woman? What if he'd put Giselle completely behind him and never even thought about her anymore?
What if… What if… What if… There were a million of them.
And the answer was always the same. Troy had every right to have all those things. Giselle loved him. She wanted him to be happy.
“Yes, actually,” Zahara said. “I saw Rachel just a few weeks ago when she came here to check on this filming site. Ryker was working, so he didn't come. But we see them pretty often, maybe every other month.”
“That's great. I've only spoken with Rachel on the phone. I haven't gotten a chance to meet her yet with this darn schedule. But, God, I've never heard Nathan so happy. He's such a good man. He's been through so much. He desperately needed a good woman in his life.”
Zahara's smile was warm and real as she nodded. “He definitely got one. They are fantastic together. Really complete each other.”
Giselle chewed her lip as she nodded. She had to ask. She couldn't let it go. She just had to know. Not knowing was fine when the information was out of reach, but it would kill her not to know when the answer was potentially so close. “Do you happen to know a friend of-”
“Excuse me.” A female voice drew Giselle out of the conversation. Gloria stood beside them with an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm going to be leaving soon, and I really just need five minutes with you.”
