by Cora Kenborn
“Huh?”
“I could shoot a gun before I could ride a bike.” I moved next to him and whispered softly in his ear. “Gotcha.”
***
“Say it again.”
If he didn’t shut the hell up, I swear I’d go back to the range and make good on my threat to blow his balls off.
I gritted my teeth and kept walking. “Shut up, Julian.”
“Just say it one more time, please?”
He wouldn’t stop talking the entire way back to the car. After handing his ass to him on the range, he looked like I’d kicked his puppy and torched his bike. I did exactly what I planned to do to try to cover my ass for the impending Vinyl feature, but he’d made me feel guilty about it. Now I was screwed either way.
“I’m not hearing anything, Phoebe,” he insisted.
My face tight, I turned my gaze as far away from him as possible and growled through my teeth. “I. Cheated. Julian.”
“Yes, you did,” he announced triumphantly.
“Fuck off,” I huffed, stomping across the parking lot. Julian walked next to me, his pace slightly faster, and my short legs moved double time to keep up.
A shot blasted as if it were right next to us the moment we approached the Corvette. I stood at the passenger’s side door with my back to him, frozen. He moved in close and I tensed when he reached out to touch me.
“It was just a shot from the range, Phoebe. Relax.” His words did nothing to calm my nerves. The catch in his voice made me question his own confidence in them.
“Isn’t the range closed now?” I shifted a side-eyed glare toward him.
Julian placed both hands on top of the car, sandwiching me in between his arms. Immediately, the familiar buzz of electricity hummed to life. The attraction between us was turning into a force of nature. From my position in front of him, I could see his reflection in the car window as he reached out to steady himself on the hood of the car.
“What are you doing, Julian?” I asked, not amused at his distraction attempts.
The low laugh vibrated in his chest. “Imagining you washing my car in a bikini.”
“Why would I wash your stupid car?” I whipped around, glaring at him. “I sure as hell wouldn’t do it in a bikini like one of your stupid video tramps.”
“Oh yes, you will, princess. Do you want to know why?” He leaned forward.
“Not particularly. But I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”
“It’s simple—you scammed me and you have to pay up. You said whatever I want…remember?” He didn’t try to mask the smugness on his face.
I stomped my foot on the asphalt. I couldn’t help it. He activated my inner child. “You’re not playing fair,” I whined, leaning against the car in exasperation.
“Cheaters never win, princess. Besides, you hosed me.”
“Says who?”
“Says you. Now, are you going to be a sore loser, or are you going to let me take you to dinner?”
I watched him carefully, his breathing pattern picking up an erratic pace as I stepped closer. “You want to take me to dinner?” I asked incredulously.
“Well, you do eat dinner, don’t you?” He laughed. “Isn’t that what people do at this time of the evening?” Julian hooked a finger under my chin and lifted it, forcing my eyes on his.
Thoughts of eating food made me want to hit myself over the head with a clay pigeon.
“Won’t people stare?”
“Princess, it comes with the territory. You’ve got to mentally block it out or it’ll drive you insane.” He watched for reaction. “Phoebe, people know who I am and rarely let me have a moment to myself. If it’s not autographs, I have cell phones shoved in my face for selfies. I’d be an uber dick if I shit all over every other struggling artist’s dreams by complaining about it.”
My eyes dropped to his feet, making an obvious perusal up his body. “Thanks, but I was actually referring to the fact that you look like you’re headed to a hunting fashion show and I look like—wait, how did you put it? Oh yes, a nearsighted stripper.” I smirked and gestured at our attire. “Do you really want this ensemble immortalized on CBB?”
He was poised for a rebuttal, when his cell phone beeped. Furrowing his brow in annoyance, he stared down at it, the grin fading from his face. Within seconds his jaw tightened, and he frantically scanned the parking lot from corner to corner as if looking for someone.
“Point taken, Miss Ryan.”
I raised a suspicious eyebrow. “That’s it? No retort?”
“Not my style.” He shrugged.
“Bullshit.” I crossed my arms.
He darted his eyes impatiently and grabbed my arm. “New plan. Get in the car, Phoebe.”
I jerked my arm away. “No! What just happened to you?”
Almost in a panic, he physically moved me, and reached for the door. “I said get in.”
“And I said no! You’re really freaking me out.” Then realization hit. “The range is closed, isn’t it?”
We knew next to nothing about each other, except he could bring me to my knees with that cocky grin of his, and I could shoot his balls off from seventy-five feet away. It seemed that when we were together, sexual chemistry always clouded our judgement. But I’d be damned if I’d let him push me around when we were in danger.
“I’ll explain later. I promise,” he said, softening his tone. “Just please, get in the car.”
“Fine.” Ignoring my gut, I turned around for the door handle. Pulling it from my grasp, he opened it himself and motioned me inside. I muttered to myself as I sank into the bucket seat.
The past week had drained my emotions. I was a raw, irritable bundle of nerves, and I wanted to know what the hell was in that text.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Julian
You pointed your gun in the wrong direction. I didn’t. Lose the bitch. Last warning.
Making Phoebe vulnerable had been a mistake.
She’d followed us to the range and used another burner phone to text me, again. This could no longer remain hidden behind a mailbox, or in my pocket as my dirty little secret. She’d kicked the threat level up so many notches my anxiety imploded. Screwing with me was one thing, but she’d directly threatened Phoebe twice in one day.
It’d taken me a year to pull myself out of the black hole of losing Lam, and one woman helped me do it. Losing her would finish me.
“Wanna tell me what’s going on now, Julian?”
Phoebe sat in Helena’s office with her arms crossed. She was pissed. I couldn’t blame her. I’d pretty much told her to get in the car and shut the fuck up. It was hardly the hearts and flowers I’d planned.
“I would if I knew,” I said, staring at the text again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means.”
“You’re not making any sense!” she shouted, slamming her hands on the armrests.
“I know!” I shouted back. She recoiled at the bite in my tone, and regret shot through me. Leaning back, I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m just on edge. Helena didn’t say what this was about when she called.”
“You didn’t say what any of this was about.”
“Did you hear what I just said, Phoebe? I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t get pissy with me, Julian. I’m the one in the dark over here. We get shot at, you guard your phone like you’re the fucking FBI, then you—oh god.” She gurgled low in her throat and slapped a hand over her mouth. Bolting out of the chair, she almost tripped over it as she ran out of the room.
“Phoebe? Where the hell are you going?”
She didn’t answer, only threw her other arm up in a dismissive wave as she turned the corner.
“Shit!” The chair flew out behind me as I took off after her.
Fucking women.
I’d barely gotten to the door when I saw red. Literally. Red hair filled my vision, and Helena shoved me backward into the
room. “Sit down, Julian,” she said, her mouth turned down in a frown.
“I need to check on Phoebe,” I half explained, trying to move around her.
She easily countered my steps and blocked the door. “You need to sit down and listen to me. It’s better that she’s not in the room for what I have to say. I might stab her with my letter opener.”
“Have you been drinking?” I said, cocking an eyebrow.
Shutting the door behind her, her fingers tightened around a rolled-up magazine. She pointed to the chair I’d just vacated. “Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes, Julian?”
Reluctantly, I sat back down. “What’s your beef with Phoebe?” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and bounced my legs up and down with nervous energy. She made me crazy with her cryptic shit.
Her grip tightened on the magazine. “Beef? Oh no, this has gone way beyond beef, Julian.” She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “I knew when you made me do this that it was a bad idea. But, as usual, I let you talk me into going against my better judgment.”
“Helena, I don’t have time for bullshit.”
“You’re going to make time. Your world is about to blow the hell up, Julian.”
“It already has!” I yelled in her face.
“What?” She jerked the glasses off the top of her head and threw them on her desk.
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I pulled up the text and tossed it beside her discarded glasses. “There’s my petty bullshit, boss. You wanna tell me how bad your fucking day is going?”
Still gripping the magazine, she picked up my phone with the other hand and scanned the text. Her eyes widened with understanding. “Jesus, Julian. How long have you been getting texts?”
“Since the gala,” I grumbled.
She shot off the desk. “What? Julian, that was over three weeks ago.”
“Your point?”
“Boy, do you have a death wish you’d care to share with me? I’m not understanding why you feel the need to keep this quiet.” Helena ran a hand over the top of her hair, smoothing it down as she paced. “Celebrity stalking is a crime. It’s punishable by law in New York and New Jersey. With some footwork from the police, we can catch this girl and put an end to this before she fucking blows your head off!”
“I’m not worried about my head.”
Helena closed her eyes and sighed. “Julian, if this is about that girl again…”
“The bitch took a goddamn shot at her at the range.” I disclosed what happened at the shooting range and with the car as Helena’s eyes widened. “Thank god she missed.” I scrolled back through the texts to show her the first one from the Ralston gala all the way up until now. “Phoebe’s life has already been turned upside down because of me. I’m not going to put it in jeopardy anymore because some chick has a delusional fantasy about me.”
She snorted and motioned to the magazine in her hand with hostility. “Your Phoebe did that all by herself.” The corners of her mouth turned down as she looked at me. “She didn’t need any help putting her life in jeopardy…or yours, for that matter.”
I stared at her and then dropped my gaze. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh? Don’t I?” she asked, throwing the rolled-up magazine in my lap. “Page forty-two. And spare me the protective crap about how she wasn’t aware of what she was doing.”
It was the newest issue of Vinyl. From the date on the label, it’d just been delivered to the office. Unease settled over me as I flipped to page forty-two and read the headline. It didn’t matter if Helena spoke at that moment. I wouldn’t have been able to hear her over the pounding in my head.
Mother of fuck.
It was a full two-page spread, pictures of me splashed all over it from early band days to me and Phoebe at the gala.
Dirty Little Lyre
What happens when the hunter becomes the hunted?
By Phoebe Ryan, staff writer
For over twelve months, Julian Bale, front man for metal group Lords of Lyre, has kept a dirty little secret. Unlike most rock stars, whose secrets are found at the end of a needle or show up eighteen years later, Bale’s secret has a darker tone. Ever since the death of friend and bandmate Billy Lamee a year ago, Bale has been stalked by a fan who has sent him disturbing and psychologically unbalanced letters. Bale hid his stalker from the world, his friends, and manager in hopes it would ensure their safety and remove incentive for the stalker to react.
Having been in the trenches with Julian Bale as his autobiography ghostwriter, I can attest to the fact that this stalker needs no incentive to react. She needs no incentive to do anything. Julian Bale promised himself he wouldn’t burden anyone with “fixing” his life again.
It’s a good thing this reporter never made such a promise. I, Phoebe Ryan, am calling this person out, in print. Stop hiding in the shadows like a coward. You’re a bully and a deranged sociopath in need of therapy.
Phoebe went on for a two-page rant, calling out the stalker, basically daring her to make a move to retaliate. I sat stunned into silence. Reading the article felt like being slapped over and over again by the same hand. The hand of the girl I’d fallen for, hard.
“I can’t believe she called her a demented sociopath,” I breathed.
“Actually, I called her a deranged sociopath.”
Helena and I turned toward the office door where Phoebe stood wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
“Why?” It was all I could manage to say.
She hugged herself. “I told you at the hotel, Julian, you do what you have to do and I’ll do what I have to do.” She took a couple timid steps in the office, and I noticed how pale she looked. Any other time I’d be concerned. At the moment, I was too fucking mad.
“And what you had to do was sell me out?”
“I didn’t sell you out, I helped you.”
Helena laughed humorlessly. “How in god’s name is this piece of trash helping him, Felicia?”
“It’s Phoebe.”
“Like it matters now.” Helena nodded in my direction.
Phoebe turned her chin toward me. “What does she mean by that?”
Helena jumped off the desk again and shoved a finger in Phoebe’s face. “She means that you’re no longer of consequence. You can’t write articles like that and expect him to forgive you. Have you lost your mind?”
Phoebe wore a look of confusion as she approached us, her eyes darting back and forth. “I don’t understand. I was trying to help. Now everything is out in the open and she can be investigated.”
“Oh, Phoebe…” I said, blowing air out of my lungs in defeat. I wished I could rewind time and somehow stop this moment from happening. Everything suddenly seemed dark and heavy.
“Investigated?” Helena gaped, the blood rushing to her face. “Do you even know what you’ve done? She’s going to come out with more guns blazing, and you’re the first one she’s going to aim them at, lady. Congratulations on that prize. You earned it.”
A thought crossed my mind as Phoebe stood there wringing her hands. “How did you get this story published? I can’t see James Castellano going along with a knee-jerk reaction like this.”
“I told him I had your written consent.” At least she had the decency to look ashamed.
Helena slapped her hand on her desk. “That’s it! We’ll call a meeting, refute the claim of a written consent, and demand a special edition retraction. If they refuse, then we sue for slander.” She turned to me and clasped my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Julian, we’ve got this.”
“But I’ll get fired.” Apprehension laced Phoebe’s voice as her fingers traced her lips.
“Don’t forget sued,” Helena said, raising an eyebrow.
I spoke after an awkward silence between all three of us. “Nobody is suing anybody. There won’t be any meeting or retraction.”
“Julian…” Helena began, rubbing a hand over her forehead.
“I make the decisions here,
not you,” I commanded. Fuck. Things were going so well.
“Julian, if you’ll just let me explain—” Phoebe said, reaching for me.
God, I wanted to take that hand, jerk her to me, and shake the ever living shit out of her for what she’d done. After that, I wanted to fuck her until she begged for my forgiveness. I’d probably give it to her if it were any other situation. But she’d annihilated my trust. I didn’t know how I’d come back from this—personally or professionally.
I stood up before she could touch me and walked to the far end of the room. “That’s just it, Phoebe, you’ve had so many chances to explain. We’ve been back together for over two weeks. There’s been plenty of time for you to tell me what you did. Jesus, you could’ve at least warned me of what was coming.” My throat constricted. “But I had to hear it from my manager? It should’ve been you.” My eyes drifted to the floor.
“I was afraid,” she said, her voice shaking. “Things have been so normal between us. I was scared to rock the boat.”
“Because this is so much better,” I spat out sarcastically.
“I really thought I was helping. Julian, you have to know that.”
“Helping who, Phoebe? Me? Or yourself?”
“I don’t…Julian can you please look at me for Christ’s sake?” Her voice cracked as she took a tentative step forward.
Lifting my eyes just enough to look at her, I glared as she froze mid-step. Her huge blue eyes filled with tears, and I almost broke. I almost took it all back and promised her everything would be all right. But it wouldn’t. Not now.
“What do you mean, helping myself?” she begged.
“You mentioned at the gala helping me would be like getting even with a ghost,” I reminded her. “Is that what this is about, Phoebe? Was this article about helping me fight my monster or about absolving yourself of your own?”
Her voice broke as tears poured down her cheeks. “That was cruel, Julian.”
