The Glamorous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance
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“He doesn’t mind?”
“No. He’s doing his job,” she replied.
“Has he ever had to step in?” Dalton asked curiously. Despite Sebastian’s warnings, the only thing Kynley’s security guards seemed to do was stand around looking tough. Which was good, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Sebastian was being overly cautious.
“They sometimes have to keep the fans at the stage door in line,” Kynley said. “But not very often. I’ve been lucky, I guess. Or maybe I just have really well-behaved fans.”
He nodded and wiped his hands on a napkin, his fingers itching to get back to the L-5. Reaching down, he pulled the case onto his lap and opened it, pausing for a minute to admire the way the wood gleamed against the black velvet of the case. He owned a Gibson L-5. It was unreal.
His parents were well off and his job at his father’s marketing firm had paid well enough. But buying a vintage guitar wasn’t something he’d ever considered. Maybe because his family was never supportive of his music, and by the time he had the money to afford one on his own, it had seemed a bit silly. Almost like he didn’t deserve it because he’d failed at his dream.
“Are you going to play it or stare at it all day?” Kynley teased, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Dalton chuckled and pulled out the guitar to balance on his knee. The L-5 was like a glimpse back in time, a fragile reminder of other musicians, other moments. The wood on the neck felt smooth and worn under his fingertips. Who else’s hands had rested here? Who else had played it?
He took a minute to tune it, then began playing “Light Me Up” again. The saleslady at the booth had been right: it was in perfect working order. People along the sidewalk turned to look and a few stopped to listen as he played the melody. The breeze snatched the notes and spiraled them away, carrying them out to sea.
There was a small smattering of applause when he’d finished, and the people who had stopped to listen continued on.
“I can’t believe you remember that song,” Kynley said quietly.
Dalton smiled. “It’s one of my favorites.”
She’d kept her sunglasses on most of the day, but now she pulled them off, her dark eyes meeting his with intensity and unmistakable longing. He felt an answer in his own gaze and leaned to gently return the guitar to its case so he could hold her properly.
Chapter Fifteen
Jilted Storm’s rehearsal space in Los Angeles was not fancy—black painted walls, rugs on the floor, and lots of wires running everywhere. But to Dalton, it was everything.
“So impressed by a studio?” Kynley teased, reading the elation on his face. They were holding hands and she tugged him farther into the room.
“Considering my last rehearsal space was sitting on the end of my bed, this is a big improvement.”
“I’ll give you that.” Kynley’s eyes danced as she leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
He pulled her into his arms. “Thank you,” he whispered gruffly in her ear.
“For what?” Their mouths were centimeters apart, he could smell the minty toothpaste on her breath, feel the heat of her skin against his lips.
“For giving me a chance,” he said simply.
Then his lips found hers, and his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair as the kiss became deeper, hungrier.
“Knock it off, you two.”
They broke apart as Mick and Trevor came into the room. Trevor sent them a broad grin and a wink, but Mick frowned. “Better not let Sebastian see you,” he said.
“Why not?” Dalton asked. “He’s the band manager, not the life manager.”
“To Sebastian, it’s the same thing,” Mick said darkly. He pulled a set of drumsticks from his waistband and dropped onto one of the leather sofas at the back of the room, then began beating out a rhythm on his thighs.
Dalton laced his fingers through Kynley’s and drew her down to sit beside him on the arrangement of couches. Mick was right: Sebastian did act like he could run their lives, especially Kynley’s. He knew she was the biggest part of the band’s draw, but it didn’t mean Sebastian could control her every move.
He watched Sebastian closely when he arrived a few minutes later, a laptop under his arm. His eyes swept the room, taking in the sight of Kynley snuggled into the crook of Dalton’s arm, but his face remained impassive.
When Corey arrived a few minutes later, Sebastian opened the computer. “We have the final cut of the video back,” he announced.
In the circle of Dalton’s arm, Kynley stiffened slightly.
“What?” He bent to whisper in her ear.
She gave him a brief shake of her head, her eyes glued to the laptop screen.
“When does it upload?” Corey asked.
“At midnight during the party,” Sebastian said. “You’ll perform the song live, then we’ll have a countdown and launch the video on YouTube. The viewer numbers will climb in real time and when they see how popular you are, the company execs will be begging you to sign.” He said the last part smugly, taking full credit for the anticipated success.
“But why midnight? What if no one stays up to watch it?” Kynley asked.
Sebastian threw her a tolerant smile. “That’s what robots are for, sweetheart.”
“Isn’t that against the YouTube policies?” Corey grumbled.
“We’ll have enough real views before the week is over to counter it,” Sebastian shrugged. “They’ll never notice.”
The band members exchanged uneasy looks and Dalton’s shoulders tightened. Something about this felt … off.
Sebastian set the laptop on a stool and turned it to face them. He hit a button and the screen went dark for a moment, then cut to a shot of a busy freeway.
Jilted Storm was hard rock. The band members were good people, but as a group they definitely had an edge. They had tattoos and body piercings and their language wasn’t always Sunday School clean. But still, there was a kind of purity about them, and Kynley in particular. Somehow, in spite of it all, she seemed almost untouchable.
But this video … unease boiled in his gut as he watched Kynley rolling around in the water, sending bedroom eyes at the camera. Her shirt became transparent as it got wet, and though she obviously had something on underneath, it was meant to give the suggestion of nudity. The fact there was even a question, and people would be looking at her like that, sent a deep ache squirming through him. It wasn’t just because he wanted to be her boyfriend, and maybe someday so much more. It was a question of her being who she was and rising to fame on her talent instead of cheap tricks.
There was total silence while the video played, but the atmosphere was charged, like a firework about to explode. Dalton glanced around the room. Did they all see what he saw? The music, generic and forgettable; the costumes, regrettable; the other band members, forgotten. It wasn’t Jilted Storm anymore. It was just another of a thousand similar acts cluttering up the airwaves.
The video finished and Sebastian spoke up. “Needs some sound edits, but overall it looks good.” He punched a button and the computer went dark.
A heavy silence greeted him, and Kynley pulled away from Dalton’s arm and sat up straight. Her gaze darted around the room, sharp and wary. “You guys, what’s the deal? This is what we were going for, right?”
“I guess,” Mick said with a sigh. He stood up, his drumsticks hanging limp in his hand, and sent Trevor and Corey a pointed look. “I need some air.”
They all left the room quickly, leaving no question they were going outside to talk out of earshot.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sebastian told Kynley. “They’ll come around, especially when they realize how much money they’re making.”
She slumped back into the sofa, twirling a strand of her hair. Dalton felt all but forgotten as she stared at the black computer screen, her jaw set. “It’s … sexier than I thought,” she finally said, her eyes darting to Sebastian’s.
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He glanced at Dalton. “I think we should have this conversation in private,” he said tightly.
Kynley’s face was composed, but Dalton saw her jaw clench.
“Will you give us a minute?” he asked Sebastian.
“No, I won’t,” Sebastian snapped. “Who’s the manager here?”
They both looked at Kynley, who wound the strand of hair around her finger tighter and tighter. Finally, she turned to Sebastian. “Please? Give us a minute?”
Sebastian cursed under his breath and slammed the laptop shut. “I’ll be in the hall.” He stomped from the room.
“They hate it,” Kynley blurted after a few moments of silence. “We worked so hard and they’re just … they’re going to blow it.”
There was no arguing the guys had liked the video, so Dalton stayed quiet, not sure what she wanted him to say.
“What did you think of it?” Kynley finally demanded.
He leaned forward and rubbed his thumb over the calluses on the tips of his fingers. Calluses that had grown noticeably tougher in the past week. “Where did you get the new song?”
“Sebastian bought it from a songwriting company. Why?”
He lifted his shoulders. “It doesn’t sound like you.”
She leapt up and began pacing in restless circles. “I’ve been a little bit busy. I don’t have time to write every song.”
“I’m not trying to upset you; I’m just saying I like the older ones better.”
“The older stuff is old. We’re supposed to be making a new album so we need new stuff now.”
“I know. But, this isn’t really your sound. It’s not rock, it’s … generic pop.”
She flinched. “That’s the point. To reach the next level, we need to evolve.”
“The next level of what? Stardom?”
Kynley nodded.
“According to Sebastian,” Dalton stated.
She rounded on him, her dark eyes flashing. “Yes. And he’s right. We need to pull in a wider audience if we’re going to make it.”
He returned to studying the calluses. “You’re playing to sold-out venues, your music sells well, and your videos have millions of views. That seems like making it to me.”
“Yeah, but we don’t play stadiums. Sebastian thinks we can, if we have a recording contract.”
“And for a contract, you have to be … that.” His eyes shot to the empty stool where the laptop had sat.
Her cheeks turned pink and she bit her lip.
He shifted in his seat, trying to tamp down the waves of unease building inside. Not only for her, but for him as well. This wasn’t what he’d signed on for.
Kynley reached for his hand, grasping it tightly. “You helped us come together as a team in Denver,” she whispered. “Will you help me now?”
She didn’t look like a famous rock star. She looked uncertain and alone, doubt flooding her gray eyes. His heart ached for this girl who was at once both fragile and fierce.
He sighed. “I’ll try.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kynley winced as Sebastian slammed his phone onto the makeup counter. “He’s an accountant!” he snapped.
“Dalton is marketing vice president,” Kynley corrected. “Or he was.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Who cares? He’s not in music and he has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“He’s in music now,” she said stubbornly, sitting back in the makeup chair and folding her arms.
They were in a dressing room of a dance studio in downtown LA. The choreographer and the backup dancers would arrive at any minute to start the rehearsal for the performance of “Heart Is Breaking.” The rest of the band was not coming; they’d use prerecorded music for the rehearsal.
Was it for convenience only, or had Sebastian excluded the band because he also wanted to exclude Dalton? She hadn’t missed his sharp, calculating gaze when he watched the two of them together.
But maybe it was a good thing the band wouldn’t be here. The dancers would learn the music much better without them. The rehearsals they’d had so far had been worrisome. Technically, the guys played “Heart Is Breaking” perfectly, but dully. Like all the energy had been sucked from the room.
With all their other music, Kynley had given it to the guys as a work in progress and they’d go through it together, the sound growing organically as they learned the piece. And usually, Trevor would have an idea for a bridge, or Mick would set a slightly different tempo, and the song would move from being just an idea to being actually something. From being hers to being theirs.
But this song wasn’t theirs, not even close. They couldn’t even make changes to help make it theirs, because, as Sebastian had pointed out when she’d expressed her worry, they had to play it exactly as written or risk a lawsuit.
Sebastian took a sip of bottled water. “You’re worried over nothing,” he said after a moment. “We have a plan and it’s a good one. Just because accountant-boy doesn’t approve is no reason to worry. By this time next year, you could be booked at Madison Square Garden.”
She jerked her head up and met his eyes in the makeup mirror. “I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”
“No, it’s not. I got Eden Devay there, I can get you there too. But you need to trust me,” he urged.
She’d studied the ego wall at his mansion many times. Huge framed pictures, featuring Sebastian arm in arm with some of the industry’s leading artists—Eden Devay, Garret Blythe, Stephanie Sutter. And she could be among them. The excitement rose in her chest like champagne bubbles.
“I’ll try,” she said, her resolve hardening. Sebastian was doing exactly what they’d hired him to do; she shouldn’t be sabotaging it with her doubts.
“Good.” He nodded shortly. There was a knock on the door of the dressing room, and his face broke into a smile. “They’re here.”
The choreographer was a tall black woman named Tyana, whose thick dreads were tied back with a colorful scarf. She wore yoga pants and a loose black tank top over a red leotard, and her toenails were painted baby blue. Kynley liked her immediately.
After they’d been through the routine several times, she turned to Kynley. “You can sit this one out, baby girl. We’ll bring you in when we’re ready.”
Gratefully, Kynley joined Sebastian in the row of folding chairs at the front of the studio.
“Let’s do it,” Tyana called, and a few moments later, “Heart Is Breaking” boomed through the speakers. The four dancers began moving, already perfectly in sync with the music. It was amazing how fast they’d learned the choreography.
The girls were wearing practice clothes, but Kynley imagined them in their costumes—black sequined leotards with thigh-high leather boots. Her own costume was a variation of theirs, only her leotard and boots were red instead of black and she’d have a short leather jacket. The jacket was Gabbi’s idea. She had not entirely approved of the costumes and had gone along begrudgingly.
“They’re looking good,” Sebastian said, eyeing the dancers.
Kynley watched as they strutted and gyrated, leaving an empty space in the middle for her. She’d never had backup dancers before and it added another level of worry to the performance. Normally, she knew the guys would be in their spaces and she’d have the rest of the stage to herself. Despite Tyana’s assurances the girls would work around her, the possibility she’d trip over one of them and fall flat on her behind ran vividly through her mind.
Kynley leaned her throbbing head against the cool glass of the car window as Carl drove through the winding streets of Beverly Hills, taking her home from the rehearsal. Dancing while singing was a whole new level of stress. It would probably bring on a whole new level of soreness tomorrow, too.
Sebastian’s text alert dinged and he whipped out his phone. Kynley jumped when he gave a crow of triumph.
“What?” She jerked her head up.
“That was Christian Conner’s publicist. He’s a go,” Sebastian said smugly.
“Your first date with him is on Friday at Savo,” Sebastian continued. “They always have a fair number of paparazzi lurking, but we’ll get a few leaks out too, so you should have a big crowd.”
Kynley sat up straighter. “Wait a minute. I thought this was just for the BMAs, not a dinner date.”
“Dinner dates,” Sebastian said, stressing the plural. “You have to be seen together before the BMAs to fuel interest. Oh, and Christian’s publicist said he’s fine with kissing and cuddling … or anything else. Makes it seem less like a publicity stunt.”
“But it is a publicity stunt,” Kynley said, a touch of desperation in her voice. Walking the red carpet on the arm of a movie star seemed like another part of the job, like taking selfies at rehearsal and posting them to social media. But going to dinner—or dinners, plural—felt like real dating.
Dread pressed on her chest. What would she tell Dalton? Even if they weren’t officially in a relationship, she didn’t share kisses with anyone lightly, and especially not with him. There was something there, a sprout that could grow to real love.
But now Sebastian wanted to kill it before it even had a chance.
Once at home, she paced restlessly around her condo while her mind churned through a dozen different scenarios. Dalton was coming over tonight; should arrive at any time. What would she tell him, and what would he say?
Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal. He understood the marketing game; he’d know her dates with Christian Conner weren’t serious. But then she tried to imagine how she’d feel if the situation were reversed, if she were watching him going out with someone else and pretending to be falling in love.
She opened her laptop and Googled “Christian Conner and Serena Merenez.” Seconds later, her screen filled with stories about their nasty breakup as well as pictures of the two of them together—walking the red carpet at last year’s Oscars, having lunch at a sidewalk café in Paris, locked in a passionate embrace on a sunny beach. She didn’t follow many celebrities outside the music business, but she’d heard about their relationship and had assumed it was genuine. But was it only for publicity, as Sebastian said? Just another step in the quest for fame?