“You already know he owns the tabloid. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know that.”
“I know his conglomerate of an entertainment enterprise owns the paper. And I recently found out that he’s not just our manager but also the CEO of Tradespar West. What I don’t know is how you became the tabloid’s head editor.”
She smiled sweetly. “I was the most qualified for the job.”
“Because you have years of experience as a reporter or because you know a lot of dirt on me and on my band?”
She shrugged, clicking her pen again, her eyes trained on her thumb.
Steve didn’t let her collect her fabricated story this time. “But not enough dirt, so you sent your sister to dig for more.”
She snorted. “That didn’t go as planned. Never expected someone as business conscious as Eloise Nichols to hire her own daughter over my highly qualified sister.”
“You got Toni into a lot of trouble. Stealing her notes and publishing them.”
Bianca’s gaze lifted. “No one stole her notes. Her boss, her own mother, gave them to us.”
“For money.”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes, as if he were a few brain cells short of a functioning cerebrum. “That’s generally how a tabloid operates.”
“Sam didn’t put you up to this, any of this? It was all your idea.” He wasn’t buying it. The coincidence was too outrageous to have been produced by chance, and in Steve’s mind, Sam was responsible for every negative thing that happened to the band. So much so that he refused to give the man credit for any of their countless successes.
“He provided a list of struggling entertainers he wanted us to cover in the first few issues.”
Struggling entertainers? Her words were a slap to the face. “And we were at the top of that list.”
“A priority. Yes.”
“And you don’t feel the least bit guilty about making my life hell?”
She grinned. “You know I get off on it, Stevie.”
And apparently Sam had known she would. “So if I tell you to knock it off . . .”
“I won’t.”
“And if Sam tells you to knock it off?”
“He’s the boss, but . . .” She leaned forward, a snake ready to strike. “. . . he won’t. This little stunt gave him the exact results he wanted.”
“To make me hate him even more?”
“To help his struggling entertainers sell some albums.”
Steve’s stomach clenched with a mixture of rage and revulsion. “We don’t need stupid publicity stunts to sell records. We don’t need him. Or you.” He’d lost the lid on his temper. Damn. He’d promised himself—and Zach—that he wouldn’t let her get to him, but she knew exactly how to rile him.
“It’s time for you to leave,” she said.
He agreed with her on that point and shifted out of his chair and to his feet. He paused at the door as he remembered another question he wanted to ask her. “Are you dating Sam’s nephew, Pyre something-or-other, the guitarist of that lame opening band we ditched at the start of the tour?”
Bianca’s eyebrows rose, and for a second he thought he’d caught her, but she smiled. “Do you think I’d settle for that when I’ve had you?”
He couldn’t tell if she’d complimented him or insulted him.
“Besides,” she added, reaching for a stack of files on her desk to relay the point that he’d taken up more than enough of her valuable time. “Tamara’s more the type to do whatever her man wants in order to keep him, don’t you think?”
Tamara and Pyre? Steve cringed—whether it was on Tamara’s behalf or Pyre’s, he wasn’t sure—but decided they made a perfect couple. He hoped they didn’t procreate.
“I’m glad Reagan beat the pants off that dude in our contest,” Steve said. The lame comment was the only ammunition he had against Pyre Vamp.
“You and me both. I don’t think I could stomach watching Tamara throw herself at you while her current boyfriend looked on.” She smiled smugly, as if she knew something he didn’t.
“Wait . . .” So Bianca knew her sister had the hots for him? Steve had kept that bit of information to himself. He’d even left Bianca off the paperwork when he’d had the restraining order drawn against Tamara. But maybe Tamara wasn’t quite that smart.
“Yes, I know she’s always wanted you. You could have turned her down.”
“I did turn her down.”
“Sure.” Bianca’s face was hard and cold, and she wheeled her chair toward the computer to her right. “Close the door behind you when you leave.”
“I did turn her down.” He wasn’t sure why he cared that Bianca believed him.
“Then how does she know about the freckle on your dick, Steve? Huh? Explain that.”
It wasn’t exactly a secret, but . . . “Because she’s managed to get her hands on it more than once.” She especially liked to employ a sneak attack when he was sleeping.
“Exactly. Go away now. I’m finished with you in every way imaginable.”
He opened his mouth to defend himself further, but decided it wasn’t worth the energy. Bianca had left him on a lie—a string of lies—but the hurtful truth was, she had found another man to warm her bed, and he could not forgive or bring himself to care about someone who wrongfully distrusted him with every molecule in her tight little body.
“This will all come back to bite you in the ass eventually, Bianca,” he said before he let himself out of her office and quietly closed the door behind him, serving his pathological need to have the last word.
He found Zach leaning over the reception desk flirting with an overwhelmed-looking Asian American woman. Zach was an incurable flirt with either gender, but he especially liked to fluster women. Steve didn’t get it, but hey, at least he’d kept himself out of trouble for the most part.
“If he’s sexually harassing you, you should press charges,” Steve said as he came up behind Zach and gave him a hearty slap on the back.
“Oh,” the young woman said. “He wasn’t. He was just saying—”
“That she has the most beautiful skin I’ve ever seen. It’s like the petals of a perfect lotus blossom.”
The woman flushed and lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”
“What kind of moisturizer do you use?” Zach asked. “I need to get some for my boyfriend’s ass so it’s all nice and smooth—”
Steve clamped a hand over Zach’s mouth. “We talked about this. No oversharing about the gay stuff.”
The woman groaned and glared up at Zach, who yanked Steve’s hand from his mouth.
“I meant what I said. You do have gorgeous skin. And you can trust a compliment from a queer because you know I’m not saying that to get you into bed.”
The woman laughed. “I guess that’s true. Unfortunate, but true.”
Zach offered his flirtee a friendly wave as he followed Steve out of American Inquirer’s deceptively bright office. Steve had honestly expected to enter some dark, blood-stained torture dungeon when he’d barged through the front door an hour ago. And now he couldn’t get out of the place fast enough.
“So were all your questions answered?” Zach asked. “You were in there forever.”
“Not really, but I did get a phone call while Bianca was busting my balls. Couldn’t take it right there in front of my ex, but she finally called.”
Zach brightened. “Roux?”
“I think so. Unless it was a wrong number. But it had a New York area code.” And Steve refused to believe that it wasn’t her finally breaking her agonizing silence.
“Are you going to call her back?”
“Eventually.” Steve shrugged. “Let’s see how she likes to be kept wanting.”
“We’re still going to New York to surprise her, aren’t we?”
“Yep. The jet is waiting on the airstrip.”
Zach punched Steve in the shoulder. “I like having friends in high places.”
~*~*~
The car Steve had hi
red to take him and Zach from MacArthur Airport to New York’s East Side pulled to a stop in front of a rather dilapidated building in the East Village near dark. Steve cringed at the dingy brick structure, wondering why the entire block hadn’t been condemned.
“Are you sure this is this place?” Steve asked the driver.
“That’s the address you gave me.”
Steve was rather proud of the sleuthing that had secured Roux’s address, but if they hadn’t known Lily was married to Jack Tanner, they might never have found a link to the place. Zach found the only public mention of Lily’s full legal name in her marriage license. Apparently an insanely secretive bunch, the women of Baroquen didn’t used their full names in any public venues.
Steve climbed from the cab, wondering if Lily had used a fake address and if he was wasting his time. Only one way to find out.
He didn’t want to leave Zach standing around on the street by himself in this neighborhood. Didn’t want Roux to live in this neighborhood. “Stay here,” he said to Zach. “Wait for me,” he told the driver. “I’ll be back soon.” Maybe with a woman he planned to whisk away on his band’s private jet. He wasn’t sure she’d be impressed, but it was worth a go. He hoped she liked surprises, because he had yet to call her.
He climbed from the cab, distinctly aware of the very expensive watch he wore and his gold mugger-bait necklace, and counted the floors of the building. Roux’s apartment was on the eleventh floor if her apartment number could be trusted, and the building only had ten floors. Maybe she lived in the attic. There were no lights on in those windows.
He approached a set of buzzers and saw the names Clark, Moore, Tanner, Williams, et al. next to the topmost buzzer. So they did live there. Maybe they were out. Or maybe they couldn’t afford to pay their electric bill. He pressed the button and waited for a response. When none came, he glanced back at the car and shrugged at Zach, who was peering out the car window. Guess he’d better try calling her. Perhaps arriving on her doorstep hadn’t been his best idea.
He called the number from the call he’d missed earlier that day when he’d been in Seattle failing to get any real answers from Bianca. After a few rings, a breathless voice answered.
“Hello?”
It was Roux. Her voice haunted his wet dreams; he’d recognize it anywhere. And he couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face.
“Sorry I missed your call earlier. I was on a plane.” A little fib to make his surprise easier to spring.
“Oh,” she said. “I thought you were off tour for a couple of weeks.”
“I am. That’s why I’m standing on your doorstep. I couldn’t wait another second to see you. Can you let me in?”
“You’re outside?” He heard hasty footsteps and the creak of a heavy-sounding door opening. “I don’t see anyone. Wait. Do you mean you’re in New York?”
“That’s where you live, right?”
“I’m not going to ask you how you got my address,” she said.
He chuckled. “That’s good.”
“But I’m in Boston, visiting my family.”
“Oh,” he said, turning toward the car and taking long strides in that direction. The Boston address had been much easier to dig up. Mama Ramona didn’t guard her identity as diligently as her girls did. “Pretend I didn’t call.”
“What ar—”
He cut her off by disconnecting the call, opened the car door, and slid into the still-warm seat next to Zach.
“Well?”
“She’s in Boston.”
“Shit,” Zach said.
“How far is it to Boston?” Steve asked the driver.
“Over two hundred miles.”
Nope. Not taking the scenic route. “Take us back to the airstrip,” he said. He’d asked the pilot to stay on call. He’d hoped they’d be heading to Los Angeles next, but it would have to be Boston.
His phone rang, and he grinned when he saw it was Roux. “I said, pretend I didn’t call.”
“But—”
He hung up again and could imagine he heard a frustrated growl coming from the general direction of Massachusetts.
“I’m not sure you’re going about this the right way,” Zach said.
“She’s hooked,” Steve replied, gripping his thighs as their driver attempted an Indy 500 maneuver around a slow truck. “Besides, when she recognizes how much trouble I went through just to see her, she’ll—”
“Get a restraining order?”
“Naw. She won’t be able to say no.”
“I would get a restraining order.”
“Not if you like me, and trust me, she likes me.”
Zach chuckled. “You never were short on self-confidence. It borders on cockiness.”
“When you’ve got the goods to back it up, it’s not hard to be cocksure.” Steve grabbed his crotch to drive his point home. Yep, still had it.
“Guess we’ll see who’s right on this one. I’d put money on you leaving Boston with a shiny new restraining order.”
His phone dinged with the arrival of a text message. From Roux. Will you tell me what’s going on?
He grinned and put his phone away without answering her question. “I’d put money on me leaving Boston with a shiny new woman.”
“Kidnapping is a felony,” Zach reminded him.
“I don’t think it will come to that, but I will make her mine.”
Zach settled back in the seat and watched the city pass. After several minutes, he said, “I wish some guy wanted me as much as you want her.”
“And let it show by jetting all over the country for a moment alone with you?”
Zach sighed. “Yeah.”
Steve was glad they were finally on the same page. “Want to change your bet now?”
“Maybe. What’s so special about this girl anyway? I haven’t seen you like this since you fell for Bianca.” Zach slapped his thigh. “Wait. She isn’t some megabitch cheating ball-buster, is she?”
“That’s why I brought you along. You knew what Bianca was long before I figured it out.”
“You’re using me as a bitch detector?”
“And you’re somewhat decent company, but don’t let it go to your head.”
“You know you’re going to miss me while you’re living it up on tour in Europe.”
Truth. But Steve was sure Roux would be a worthy distraction. “I told you I’d hook you up with a plane ticket. You can still tag along.”
“I wouldn’t give Sam the satisfaction of knowing how much I wanted to be a part of this tour.” It was dark inside the cab, but Steve could hear the hurt edge in Zach’s tone. “Fuck him.”
“Fuck him up the ass with a rusty-nail bat.”
Zach snorted and then laughed. “Ouch.”
“Anything for you, bro.”
They were sitting on the airstrip waiting for clearance for their unscheduled flight when Steve’s phone rang again. He bit his tongue and nodded, giving Zach a knowing look, but was surprised to find the caller wasn’t Roux. It was Max. Max so rarely contacted him when they weren’t touring or in the studio that a shiver of dread snaked through Steve’s belly before he answered.
“What’s up?”
“Did you get your fucking royalty check?” Max asked without pause.
“Not sure. I haven’t been home yet.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“New York, on my way to Boston.”
“On our jet?”
“Duh.”
“You can’t use the band’s jet for your private entertainment.”
“Why not? We all do.”
Max huffed out a breath. “I guess I’ll call Dare, then. See if he got his.”
“Did they not arrive or—”
“Oh, it was sitting in my mailbox as expected.” Max paused for a second. “The problem is its size.”
“That huge, huh?” Steve didn’t really need more money, but he didn’t turn it down.
“Small. Shockingly small. Lik
e they left off half a dozen zeros small.”
“We just put out a record. Our checks should be huge this quarter. Is the new release not on there, or—”
“It’s on there, but there are more reserves against returns than sales—so bad, it’s cut into our residuals.”
“That can’t be right.”
“It’s right here in black and white. We need to figure out what to do about this,” Max said.
“About our shitty sales, or—”
“Our sales cannot be this shitty, Steve. Someone must be cooking the books.”
“Sam?” Steve said slowly. Max usually blew up whenever Steve tried to lay any deserved blame at the feet of their manager, who they just found out also headed their record label and the tabloid that Bianca fucking worked for. The man was more crooked than a mountain stream.
“Of course Sam, or someone he pays. Who else could it be? When you get back to LA, the band needs to get together and have a meeting. Assuming we can get Logan away from Mexico or the Bahamas or wherever the hell he took off to with his woman.”
“It will be fine,” Steve said, finding it odd that he was saying those words to Max. “It’s in our contract that we can audit our sales at any time, and if Tradespar West is stiffing us, we’ll get it all back in a settlement.”
“I’m going to get that ball rolling, if it’s okay with you and the others.”
Steve pulled his phone from his ear and checked it over to make sure it was real. Did Max just agree to investigate his best buddy—and the ass he kissed—for fraudulent royalty reporting? No, he hadn’t agreed to it. He’d fucking suggested the idea.
“Steve?” Max said. “You still there?”
Steve brought the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, man. Uh, that sounds like a perfect plan to me. I’m sure Logan will go along with it and Dare too, but you should call them both and make sure.”
“Will do. I hope I’m wrong about this.”
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