by Quinn, Cari
“Just put your pride and your dick aside and think, man.”
I crossed my arms. He was right. I was so fucked up about the entire situation, I was simply reacting, and not in any way that was helpful.
I headed the band—yes, the singer, but I’d always been the one who they looked to. I’d put it together in the first place, I’d helped Wyatt through the accident that took his racing away, and I’d dragged Bats out of his self-destructive partying phase. Owen and Zach had their share of headaches, and Keys had family issues that we’d talked through over the years—everyone was used to me running the show most of the time.
And now I was making everyone look bad, including Kenny.
“The gears are finally moving under all that hair.”
“Shut up.”
Noah grinned. “Someday you’ll be a real boy.”
“I almost married her, brother.”
“I know. And believe me, I had to bite my tongue every single time you brought her around.”
“You never liked her? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you’re you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Am I lying?” Noah reached up into the cupboard above the fridge and pulled down a bottle of Stranahan. He pulled down two juice glasses with a side-eye.
“The bar is downstairs, you know.”
“And yet, here’s a bottle.”
I shrugged. I knew what my brother liked and kept a bottle in the house. Unfortunately, I also had three guys in my band who would drink any whiskey or bourbon in the house. So far they hadn’t found my backup.
He took the bottle and the glasses to the table and poured a healthy three fingers for both of us. “Let me give you a little advice.”
“Here we go.”
Noah dropped into a chair. “And you wonder why we don’t have these discussions.”
I tossed back the glass and poured another, picking at the crooked label that Stranahan was known for. Listening to the Eagles was scrawled in their distinctive script in the comments portion. The reason I’d bought this particular bottle.
“I’m not here to bust your balls.”
I looked over the rim of my glass.
“Okay, so that’s a side benefit, but not the purpose of my visit.”
“Get to the point, will ya?”
Noah twirled his glass. “I usually let you come around to the right way of thinking. It took longer with Victoria the terror than I’d like, but you came around to it.”
“Only when another dude stuck his dick in her.”
“Yeah, well I’m not crazy about that part, but we’ll let it go.”
I took care of people. It was what I did. And I liked having a woman who needed me in my life. Vic was very good at making a man feel like he was the center of her universe, but I don’t think it had been actual love.
“What you are is a white knight.”
I put my glass down without taking a drink. “Excuse me?”
“White knight. You like to save people. Which is weird since you chose to be a wannabe rockstar, not a fireman or some shit, but there you go.”
“And what would you be?”
Noah knocked back his glass. “I’m a good lieutenant. Always have been. I don’t want to lead, because that’s too much work, but I’m good at keeping order.”
“Accurate,” I said with a nod. Noah had always been the one to keep things in order, but he’d never been the guy to ride herd. We’d knocked heads as kids a lot, but mostly because we were only two years apart. He didn’t mind reminding me he was older, and I’d tried a little too hard to show I was just as good as he was at sports.
We’d both played lacrosse, but Noah had been a guard where I’d longed for captain. I was always reaching whereas Noah had always been happy where he was.
“So, here comes a blonde with her eyes set on the next step toward her particular evolution—and there you are. The perfect mark.”
My fingers tightened on my glass.
“It’s true, brother. She told you exactly what you wanted to hear, was just helpless enough to hook you, and knew not too be too needy or you’d be gone. Acting is definitely her God-given talent.”
I sipped from my glass. I couldn’t really dispute anything he was saying. After the fact, I’d figured that out, but I’d definitely been blind to it for way too long.
“So, you feel dumb, you let it twist you up, write an album about it or some shit, and then you think it’s over.”
“It is.”
“Nope.” Noah refilled both our glasses, and I dragged the bottle back over to me. “Not even close.”
“Oh, and why’s that?”
“Because she hit you in the worst place.”
“I don’t love her, Noah. I don’t know that I ever did.”
“I didn’t say your heart. Do I look like the guy who’s going to pick around in the hearts and flowers shit?”
I laughed. “No.”
“Where she hit you is the pride. And pride is where anger mixes with stupid decisions. Like today, like earlier in the week, like right now when you’re peeling a perfectly good label off a superb bottle of bourbon.”
I pulled my hands away from the bottle and returned them to my glass.
“So, you get your shit together and make nice with Reed.” I opened my mouth and he stared me down until I shut up. “You talk to Reed. Bros before hos is something jackass punks say. Sure, you give the guy a beat-down, but then it’s over. This? This is you projecting how mad you are at her and yourself onto Reed.”
“What was that about hearts and feelings?”
“Hey, I have to have a psych degree to guard all these idiots.”
I lifted a brow.
“Not a real one. But I pay attention. And you and that PR princess have something going. I don’t know if it’s the real deal because I’ve only seen her across the room.”
“You aren’t allowed to talk to her.”
Noah downed his glass. “Because you know she’d pick me.”
“No, because you’d tell her too much.”
“That too. Wait until Mom gets a hold of her.”
I groaned.
“But she seems smart, and she knows how to handle you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Hot girls come and go, but it’s pretty rare to have brains with an added bonus of a career.”
“Filled with the people I hate. Just like you,” I muttered.
“Yeah, well, you don’t fall in love with her clients. You fall for the woman—what she does is incidental. You think she wants to fall for a rockstar? Talk about a bad bet.”
“Hey.”
“What? Look at it from her point of view. You’re on the road, you’re constantly surrounded by beautiful women, and as far as she knows, you’re probably writing about her.”
“Points—many of them.”
“I’m a goddamn scoreboard, son. A winning one, and you’re still sitting at zero.”
“So, what do I do?”
“You fight for your girl. In a big way. And you let the other bullshit go. It’s not your concern.”
“Bats is my friend.”
“And you have to trust him.”
“Easier said than done,” I muttered.
“No, it shouldn’t be. Not if he’s your friend.” And for the first time, that started to sink in. Reed wouldn’t let her do anything to hurt me or the band. Himself maybe, but not the band.
Noah pulled out his phone, opened something, set it down on the table between us, then pushed it my way. “Something like this.”
I glanced down, and my eyebrows shot up before I laughed. “Perfect.”
Twenty-Eight
Kennedy
“You have an appointment with Babbles at three, a consult at five, and a dinner with Lila Shawcross and Indiana West at seven.”
I scanned through my calendar and verified all the appointments with Carter. “Got it.”
“I’ve fielded three dozen m
essages and flagged four that look interesting. The rest are crackpots or former crazies we cut loose.”
“Vetted how?” I lifted my fifth latte of the day and it was only noon. My heart was going to explode if I put any more espresso in my system, but I took another sip with a grateful groan.
“Usual,” Carter said and popped a piece of licorice in his mouth. “Most didn’t even make it through our first level review process.”
“Damn.”
Carter lined up his iPad and phone beside his sack of candy. “You got noticed by the bottom feeders. I knew it was going to happen eventually.”
Ever since the Amoeba debacle was on Entertainment Tonight, I’d been handing off my texts and messages to Carter. I had to make up for lost time with my regular clients and still had to do a final check-in with Ripper Records.
Oh, and I hadn’t slept in two weeks.
No word from Hunter in fifteen days.
I pushed that back. No. No, thinking about him. Especially if I had a full day.
“Did Bethany’s agent call us back?”
Carter nodded. “Yeah, he got her into Teen Vogue for a spread with two of the ladies from Teen Wolf.”
“Perfect.”
Carter tilted his head. “You know, you look like that Holland girl.”
“She wishes she had my hair colorist,” I said.
“Damn right she does. Love the wine-colored chunks by the way. The subtle ones were nice, but the new do…hot.”
I rolled my eyes. A spa day and a treatment by my hairdresser covered up the obvious fatigue, but there was only so much spackle a girl could use. I knew what I looked like in the mirror. And if I didn’t get some sleep soon, I was going to have to resort to a sleeping pill and a bottle of wine.
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“Felicity loved her spa day, too. Forgot to tell you.”
“Yes, well, your girlfriend is on the ball. She sent me flowers and a box of truffles from Mignon.”
“That suck-up.”
I snickered. “So, tell me about the consult.”
“Boy-band reject. Trying to go out on his own. More tattoos than sense, but he has a ridiculous following on Twitter and Instagram. He’s lazy though. Pushes the same crap through all his social media places. A few personal appearances and an assistant would go a long way toward bumping up his footprint.”
I nodded and made quick notes with my stylus. “How about Courtney?”
Carter nodded. “Yeah, she’d work. I’ll contact her.”
“No, that’s okay, I’ll email her.”
“Cool. That gives me time to take care of your email. It blew up again. Seriously, can we go get Hunter back—”
“No.”
“But he was so good for business.”
“No.”
“And Felicity didn’t get a chance to meet him. Just one charity dinner or something?”
I didn’t bother looking up from my iPad. I knew not to give Carter any sort of attention on this subject. Then came the inquisition.
All I wanted to do was forget it ever happened. It was bad enough that I had to go talk to Lila and Indie today. I’d been able to dodge most of the requests for a meeting, but I didn’t want to look unprofessional.
Especially since Ripper Records had given me a good leg-up with my business. Donovan Lewis wasn’t a man you wanted to go up against. He wasn’t the type to blacklist, but he did the next best thing—not mention your name anywhere.
Oh, he gave a polite response when asked directly. I’d seen it happen with agents and executives from smaller businesses looking for help from Donovan Lewis Global. Burning a bridge with Donovan wasn’t a good business practice. At all. He didn’t need to badmouth anyone. His silence said so much more.
So, I was going to that dinner meeting. No matter how much I didn’t want to.
I stood up from my dining room table. Carter and I used it for meetings more often than not. It just wasn’t worth keeping an office for what we did. Everything was mobile.
“All right, you can work remotely tonight. Meet up at ten tomorrow?”
“Slave driver.” Carter smoothed down his blue tie with a faint plaid design. It should have clashed with his chartreuse dress shirt, but it didn’t. Because he was Carter.
“Yeah, that’s me. You get to sleep and everything.”
“Unlike you.”
“Carter.”
“Look, I appreciate the whole tough upper lip thing, but maybe if you just—”
“Not open for discussion.”
“You’re miserable.”
“Have I made your life hell?”
“No, but you don’t want to go drink at the wine bar anymore, you turn down every invitation to our house, you haven’t even made fun of my ties this week.”
“Your ties are glorious.”
“I know they are, but you hate plaid. I’ve worn plaid three days in a row.”
“I do not hate plaid. I lust after Jensen Ackles like any other red-blooded woman, and Dean Winchester lives in it.”
“That’s different. Even I’d fuck Dean Winchester.”
“Nice.”
“That dude is an alpha’s alpha with a side of testosterone.”
“Truth.”
“But I wore pink plaid and you said nothing.”
“You did?”
Carter swiped a hand down his face. “You wound me. Like on a soul-deep level.”
I knew what he was doing. And I even appreciated it. But I really didn’t want to talk about Hunter. I wanted to get over him. “I’m going to be fine.”
“I know you will be, but you don’t have to be. You’re being stubborn.”
“No, I’m being smart.”
Carter pulled me up out of my chair and into his arms. “Scared.”
The familiar tang of licorice and the spicy Dior cologne he always wore seeped into my brain. My eyes burned. “Smart,” I whispered. I laid my cheek against his shoulder.
Just for a second. That’s all I needed. Then I could go and work like I was supposed to.
Because that’s what strong, independent women did. They didn’t cry over rockstars. They got their shit taken care of.
I sniffed. “Where do I have to meet Bethany?”
“At her new digs in West Hollywood.”
“What the hell? Why West Hollywood?”
“She likes to think she’s trendy?”
I hid a smile. “Text—”
“Already in your phone.”
“Bless you.”
Carter packed up his electronics in his messenger bag and slung it over his neck and across his body. “Want me here tomorrow?”
“Yes, probably.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then. Have fun with Babbles.”
“Goodbye, Carter.”
He walked to the door, pausing at the threshold. “What? You know you call her that in your head.”
“No, I do not.” Only because I was terribly afraid I’d actually slip and call her that to her face. I played with my shirttail. “Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He grinned so wide his eyes were mere slits, but they gleamed with happiness. “Ciao, crazy girl.” The door shut behind him.
I hurried to my bedroom and gave Sammy a quick scratch. He was sleeping contentedly on my bed. I swapped out my yoga pants and shirt for a magenta wraparound dress, black heels, and matching blazer. I’d be covered for all of my meetings and dinner.
I moved back out to the kitchen and transferred my latte to a go-cup so I wouldn’t be tempted to stop for yet another coffee. The trip into West Hollywood was full of winding roads and hills.
I followed my GPS directions to a cute little house with a kickass view. Bethany’s Mini Cooper was already parked in the driveway. It was a testament to how excited she was about the house that she was actually on time for something.
The Sunset Strip wasn’t too far away, which was still the mecca of all things music and fame-wor
thy. All in all, this was the perfect spot for her. Probably a little too perfect. She could also get into a lot of trouble out here.
I climbed the stairs to the fifties bungalow-style house. A current Selena Gomez remix pumped from the windows, reaching my ears even before I got to the door. I rang the bell, but when no one answered, I switched to loud knocking.
Excited voices and the telltale clicking of animal feet suddenly stopped. The door opened. “Hi, Kennedy.” Bethany giggled and pushed someone behind the door. “Is it three o’clock already?”
“It certainly is.”
“Right. Um, well, I have someone with me. I’ve been telling him all about you. I hope that’s okay.”
I swallowed a sigh. I couldn’t count the number of times people ambushed me for a consult through one of my clients. In fact, that was the reason I had a fair number of ex-clients. “Sure.” I gave her an expectant look, but she still didn’t back up. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, right.” Bethany laughed and stepped back, her fingers linked tightly with the man behind the door.
Well, man was a stretch. He looked about fourteen years old, though the sleeve of tattoos and open shirt tried to prove otherwise. Justin Belmont—teen sensation, troublemaker, and PR nightmare.
Oh hell no.
And Bethany had hearts in her eyes.
Wonderful.
I stepped into the white and baby blue-themed house. There were hardwood floors from wall to wall, and a view to kill for—or pay a little over a million for. It was the perfect starter house for Bethany.
“Isn’t it just divine? Justin helped me find it. His friend Kendra is selling it. I just signed the papers.”
Right. I bet she was his friend.
“Did you have the house inspected?”
“No. Should I have?” Bethany tilted her head. “What do they do?”
Wow. Thank God, I’m not her manager. I just keep her messes out of the papers, which is a full-time job, and make sure she doesn’t make too much of an ass out of herself at Hollywood functions.
I didn’t handhold a lot of clients, but Bethany was one of my oldest, so I made a few concessions.
“I’ll check in with Rhonda, okay?”
“Oh, thanks. You’re the best. That’s why I was totally talking you up to Jus. He saw the articles on you and had to meet you.”
