by Cora Kenborn
“Breach? About what?” I grumbled, wondering if a pillowcase could hold a substantial volume of puke. I didn’t feel so good. I now remembered why I hated champagne.
“You drink from the holy grail and not spill the deets? Shame on you.”
Grunting in frustration, I sat up with my back to him and threw my arms up. “I don’t want to talk about it, all right? I did something really stupid and—wait, what—are you brushing my hair?”
With an exaggerated sigh, Gage hooked his forearm across my chest and hauled me closer to him. “Baby doll, I don’t know what kind of Holiday Inn, Kama Sutra, Twister game you and Long Rock Dong were playing last night, but your hair looks like a flock of carrier pigeons brought every message from the beginning of time back there to nest. Somebody’s gotta fix this fucktastery.”
“Fine, but just watch the—ouch, shit!” My head jerked back and forward like a slingshot as he hit a tangle. “Watch the knots.”
“By the way, I called Castemano this morning. I told him you were puking so you wouldn’t be in today.”
“Castellano.”
“Like it matters,” he scoffed.
In the aftermath of last night’s epic mistake, I’d overslept. “Thanks. I owe you.”
“Of course you do.”
He was quiet for a few moments and I purposely kept my mouth shut, wondering if he’d let his mission die for sordid details of my tryst with Julian. I could barely think of them myself, much less relay them to another person. I thought I was in the clear when he dropped the anvil.
“If you aren’t gonna spill about last night, then I’ll have to read about the pre-show like everyone else.”
Images of paparazzi with telephoto lenses, along with visions of a sordid sex tape of Julian and me, sent me into full panic mode. “What are you talking about?” If a sex video existed, it had to be viral by now.
Gage’s devilish grin widened as he handed me his tablet. He tapped the screen, illuminating an already conjured webpage. “Now, I’m not one to gossip, Pheebs…”
“Of course not,” I taunted him.
“But being the distinguished actor that I am, I do like to keep up with said gossip. Especially if said gossip pertains to me,” he said in a melodic voice, pointing to the screen in my hands. “However, it seems as if said gossip pertains to one raven-haired, compulsive kitchen cleaner who likes to suck face in front of photogs.”
I felt all the color drain from my face.
Lordess of the Lyre—CONFIRMED!
For Never Was a Story of More Woe Than That of Julian At a Hotel In SoHo
Lady Lyre disciples, it’s time to don the mourning black. BD received confirmation and pictorial evidence last night: Julian Bale is officially off the market. According to a red carpet interview, the lucky lady is the girl from our earlier blog post outside the Ralston Media building. Her name is Phoebe Ryan, a writer for Vinyl magazine. BD is still digging up the goods on this beauty, but don’t fret, fans. We shall deliver.
From the bird’s-eye view BD had at the Ralston Media Anniversary Gala last night, these two were hot and heavy in the twinkle bushes of the Jameson Hotel. I mean that literally and figuratively, people. Check out the pic we snapped of Phulian tangled up in the tinsel of the palm trees. We here at BD don’t like to speculate, but these two lovebirds hit the elevators pretty quickly after that—and they weren’t using their lips for talking.
What say you about our newly crowned king and queen of the Lyre? Yay or nay for Phulian? Comment below and watch for updates. These two have to come up for air sometime.
You’d better believe we’re watching. Everything.
Gage leaned over my shoulder and peered at the screen, shaking his head. The added weight of his stare just added to the millions around the world who were judging me.
“You have your own celebrity couple name! Phuuuulian,” he drawled with a grin.
“Gage, this picture is scandalous,” I insisted. “I fell and my dress tore. Julian caught me, and I knocked him into the palm tree. It was totally innocent.”
“All’s fair in love and gossip, baby doll. Cyberspace knows no sheriff.”
My eyes remained transfixed on the screen. “Think I could deputize you?”
His soft chuckle did nothing to bolster my hope of this blowing over. In fact, a deep sense of foreboding took root into my gut like a festering ulcer. “Gage, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“From the picture, the drive of shame, or the article?”
“Let’s just call it a hat trick,” I whispered, holding my stomach.
“What do you know? I didn’t lie to your boss after all,” he said, and patted my head like a child.
***
I’d spent the past eight days avoiding Julian.
At last count, I’d tallied eighteen voice mails on my cell phone, twelve on my work phone, twenty-four text messages, and one ballsy email to Vinyl. I deleted it due to a choice four-letter word used in various contextual verb tenses.
I’d sent him a text after seeing the BD exposé on us and explained I couldn’t deal with the unwanted attention his fame brought. It was a chickenshit way to end things, and I admitted as much to him. I’d also told him sleeping together was a mistake.
My real name had been mentioned on countless entertainment news show reels thanks to him. It was only a matter of time before I’d be forced to pack up my shit and run away again. That in itself justified my actions. No strings meant no broken hearts.
It’d been easy to tell myself in the beginning that Julian was wrong for me. He was pompous and untamed—qualities I’d run from my whole life. I’d thrown every wall known to man up against him and he systematically knocked them all down. I repeatedly told myself I needed to avoid him and just write the damn autobiography like a professional.
But every time I got a text or call from him, it tore through me not to answer it. He was relentless and didn’t move on like I thought he would. I assumed I couldn’t be anything more to him than sex. He could have any girl he wanted, yet he blew up my phone like he’d been pussy glamoured.
Julian wasn’t used to being told no, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to being ignored. His insistent contact wore me down, and all the cracks in my walls showed. Confusion seemed to be the only emotion I could latch on to. We’d evolved into this weird thing I couldn’t label. We were close, physically, and knew intimate things about each other. But on a deeper emotional level, there was nothing.
So why did it hurt so much not to see him?
I thought I knew the answer. He was the first man since leaving Dreighton whose touch didn’t send me running for my anxiety pills. He’d seen my scars and accepted them. He’d called them beautiful. No one had ever called my scars anything but repulsive. Julian made me feel human again. Nothing like the freak of nature I saw in the mirror.
That was the exact reason I never picked up the phone. He had all the power to ruin me. Especially when he delivered half a dozen buckets of fresh strawberries to the Vinyl offices and also to my apartment. He’d remembered the story about my mom.
I weakened daily, and I couldn’t risk that happening. I’d worked too hard to fight my way back to the somewhat repaired shell I was today. Letting him in meant taking too many risks of being found. Why the hell couldn’t he accept my decision?
The internal battle raging within me made me volatile. Picking up my stapler, I hurled it across my desk, only slightly satisfied when it landed harshly against the flimsy back wall of the cubicle.
“Friends don’t let friends abuse staplers, Pheebs.” Shifting my frustration over my shoulder, I collided with Nate’s amused stare. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at my scowl. “Phoebe, shut that thing down. I’m taking you to lunch. You’ve got to get out.”
“Nate, I don’t—”
“Don’t give me that. Get your jacket. I’ll drag you out of here if I have to.”
He’d been a good friend the past few days, and he’d even run interference when
Julian tried to coerce another meeting with Ellison. Without giving too many details of our tryst, I’d told Nate that Julian and I didn’t work out and that he wasn’t taking it well. I felt a twinge of guilt. But it was fleeting as I got text number twenty-three from Julian.
Since the “news” had broken about the infamous “Phulian” sighting, the paparazzi had been hounding the building, trying to match up the girl in the picture with anyone who walked inside. Nate helped by steering me away from probing cameras and inquisitive reporters, but we had an unwritten agreement never to discuss it.
“No dragging needed,” I conceded, pushing my chair from my desk. “I need to get out before I throw my phone through this screen.” As we walked outside, a blast of cold air penetrated my thin jacket and I shivered. I couldn’t get past the feeling I was being watched.
Being with Julian, and this whole Blogosphere thing, had me so wary of my surroundings I was imagining things. I smiled at Nate as he opened the door to the small deli. I sighed loudly and glanced at my lap as my phone started vibrating again. I didn’t have to look, I already knew it was Julian.
“Do you need to get that?” Nate asked, his voice flat.
I shook my head and frowned. “Is it too early for wine?”
Nate chuckled, his eyes surprisingly sympathetic. He placed a hand over mine as we sat down in the crowded deli. They were smooth, not rough and sexy from guitar playing like Julian’s. Those hands could light me on fire with one touch. I wondered what he was doing. I purposely avoided all media when I wasn’t at work so I didn’t have to hear about him.
“Pheebs?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” I looked down at my plate and aimlessly dragged my fork through my salad. An amused chuckle coming from across the table broke my trance. Looking up, Nate’s eyes crinkled in laughter. “What the hell are you laughing at?” I demanded.
Nate patted my hand and snickered. “Pheebs, did you hear a word I just said?”
“Of course I did,” I insisted.
“Okay, Ms. Reporter, what is your answer to what I said?” He leaned in with a gleam in his eye.
I wasn’t in the mood for guessing games. I couldn’t stop wondering why my phone had suddenly stopped ringing. I was the worst type of person. I wouldn’t answer his calls, but I panicked when they stopped. How was that fair?
I glanced at his smug face and held up my hands in defeat. “Damn it, okay, you win. I wasn’t listening. I’m sorry, I’m a really shitty friend right now.”
Nate gave my hand a warm squeeze. “I can’t say I understand, but it’s got to be hard. You could always get a restraining order.”
He made it sound simple. I wanted to answer Julian’s calls. There hadn’t been a day I didn’t almost pick up. But I’d been the one to end things, and after the new issue of Vinyl came out in two weeks, he’d probably never speak to me again anyway.
When I’d left him at the hotel, I told him I had to do what I had to do—and I did. I did it unapologetically and with a stubborn streak that was bound to get me fired. I could kiss anything with MetroGroup goodbye after this issue came out. I’d totally fucked myself professionally for him, but he’d never see it that way. Julian would go batshit when he found out what I did.
I was miserable, but what kind of bitch did all that and then answered his calls?
“I can’t, Nate, not to him.” I quickly averted my eyes. “Besides, I’m sure he’s already moved on.” The thought made me nauseous, the smell of the deli turning my stomach.
He stared in disbelief. “I don’t know him, Pheebs, but I promise he’s not over you. Do you realize how hard you are to get over? You’re beautiful, smart, funny…” He stopped as his cheeks flushed. “Any man lucky enough to have you wouldn’t be able to give you up that easily.”
“He’s not,” a rough voice behind me answered.
I closed my eyes as all five senses hit me at once. “What do you want, Julian?”
A hand closed on my shoulder and I flinched at the contact. He dropped a bouquet of chocolate-dipped strawberries on the table in front of me.
“It seems you’ve lost your phone, princess…all of them.”
“I’m working.”
“I can see how hard your day’s been.” Sarcasm dripped off him as his hand tightened on my shoulder.
Nate locked a hardened gaze with him over my head. Cursing, he threw a few bills on the table and shook his head. “Man, stop stalking her.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, Pheebs, we’ll go back to the office.”
Julian’s lips curled into a snarl. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Shrugging his arm off my shoulder, I grabbed the bouquet and slipped out of the chair. With one step, Julian blocked my path and grabbed my wrist. Meeting his stare, I cut my tone to a whisper. “Get out of my way.”
“No.” A simple answer filled with determination.
Nate pulled me forward and out of the deli. He continued down the street, and with my head over my shoulder, Julian and I never broke our mutual stare.
“I’m not finished, asshole,” Julian swore as he stomped after us.
He closed his fingers around my elbow and swung me around. Jade eyes penetrated me with one glance. Exhaling, I crossed freed arms in front of me.
“I’m sorry, I forgot who I was talking to…what Julian wants, Julian gets. Here’s your platform, big shot.” I gestured around to the streets of Manhattan. “Open mic night.”
Glancing around him, he shrugged and smirked. “Fine. You want public, have it your way.”
Panic seized me. “Wait, what the hell are you—”
Clearing his throat, he yelled, commanding the attention of anyone within earshot. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?”
“Julian, what the fuck? Shut up!” I smacked his arm and it only encouraged his volume.
“My name is Julian Bale, I’m with the band Lords of Lyre.” Incessant buzzing around us spread and cameras began flashing as if a freak thunderstorm had descended. “This is Phoebe Ryan, and she works for Ralston Media. Most of you know her from the Access Live coverage and Blogosphere Daily.”
I was going to puke and die, and he ate the attention up like candy.
“Phoebe seems to think I’m going to let her ignore me. So let me be clear to all you good people of the media…” He hooked his fingers around my waist and pulled me to him. “This is the woman I want.” He tightened his hold as his eyes challenged me to contradict him in front of the cameras. “Do you hear me, Phoebe? I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but you’re not getting rid of me.” Bending his lips against my ear, he whispered so only I could hear him. “Gonna ignore me now?”
As cameras flashed with lightning speed around us, I shook my head.
His smirk widened and the ghost dimple appeared deep within his cheek as he lowered his voice. “Now I’m going to bend you over and kiss the hell out of you until I say we’re done.”
The kiss lasted longer than the paparazzi. Only one flash remained, and Julian had me too wrapped up in his assault to call his attention to the fact it belonged to a simple camera phone. By the time I mentioned it, the figure had bolted behind a building and disappeared. Still, a shiver traveled up my spine as I stared after the darkened figure in a black hoodie fading into the distance.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Julian
It took two days for Phoebe to stop beating the shit out of me for the paparazzi stunt I pulled outside the deli. I couldn’t blame her. It was over the top. I had no intention of doing it until I saw that fucker using our separation to make a play for her.
I’d been stalking her just like she’d accused me of doing since the day we met. I couldn’t help it. If she believed one text from her ended what started in that hotel room, she was fucking crazy. The woman lived under my skin, and it drove me insane to see her with another guy.
If I thought she consumed me before, since we’d given in to the violent attraction between us, I’d become a m
an obsessed. Multiple shades of red blinded me when he touched her. It didn’t matter how innocent she thought his intentions were.
Phoebe Ryan had absolutely mind fucked me.
Things had been surprisingly calm between us the last few days. Phoebe and I did everything to extremes. We fought hard and fucked harder. She challenged me when I deserved to be challenged, yelled at me when I refused to listen, and gave herself body and soul when I needed her.
After a morning in bed, she’d remained uncharacteristically quiet. Lifting her head, she bit into one of the few remaining strawberries as she lay draped over me, blue eyes worried at the corners. “Still no leads on who took that picture?”
I lowered my eyes, knowing what she wanted to hear but having nothing of value to offer her. “It was probably just an overzealous fan, Phoebe. It happens a lot.”
She heaved a sigh and dropped her cheek back against my chest. “You’re placating me and purposely keeping me in the dark again. That’s not fair.”
The truth was I had no idea who had photographed us, or why. I had my suspicions and had no other course of action but to wait for another burner text warning me to stay away from the woman in my arms. But the warning never came. The whole situation made me wonder if we both were slightly paranoid.
“Princess, you’ve got to start trusting me a little.”
She sat quietly, deep in thought. “But do you trust me? Do you even know me? What’s my full name? What’s my favorite color? What was my first job? Don’t you think people in real relationships should know these things?” Her voice shook as she rolled slightly off of me. Even in the haze of doubt, I could see a glimmer of hope dance in her eyes.
I pushed a piece of dark hair away from her face. “Phoebe Nicole Ryan, yellow, and you worked the concession stand at a ballpark.”
“Stalker,” she joked with a half smile.
“I trust you, princess,” I assured her. “I need you to trust that I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re mine, Phoebe, every yellow-loving, hot-dog-stand-working inch of you.”
