by Amber Lin
“What’s wrong?”
Maddy frowned. “What’s your name again? Penny?”
“Paige,” she said calmly, her expression more curious than anything.
“How do you know anything’s wrong?”
Paige glanced at the stage. From where they were positioned, they could see the band and feel the beat, but they were far enough back to stay out of the way of the sound crew. “You seem nervous.”
She scoffed. Even though…is that what this feeling was? This dread in her gut? She didn’t feel nervous when she went onstage anymore. Didn’t feel nervous when she watched other people onstage. It felt like she imagined normal people would sit in their living room and drink a beer. This was her home.
But as soon as she’d seen Half-Life and their dynamic—their lack of dynamic—she’d known something was terribly wrong. She’d watched them play on-screen. She’d heard their live tracks. She’d even snuck into the SNL studio to see them when she had all-day interviews at the same building. They had a fierce energy, a force all their own that was just…missing.
“Do they sound okay to you?” she asked.
Paige considered. “Sure. Kind of raw and loud, but I guess that’s on purpose.”
“Right. Good.” It meant the audience wouldn’t be able to notice anything wrong. Judging by their cheering, they hadn’t.
Nothing but that curious stare.
Maddy sighed. “Seriously, why do you keep looking at me?”
Paige’s eyebrows shot up. “Would it work if I said I was being an attentive assistant?”
“No. I’ve had attentive assistants before. You’d be…I don’t know, filing my nails. Or kissing my ass. Not watching me.” Not seeing things no one else did. It was unnerving. “There’s only two reasons people stare at me. They either want to fuck me or they want to be me.”
“I…I’m sorry,” Paige murmured, turning to the stage again.
Now Maddy felt like the Wicked Witch facing down poor little Dorothy, fresh from the farm. “Well, or because they hate me, but to be fair, one of the other two are usually involved.”
“I don’t hate you,” Paige murmured.
God, she was so reasonable. And calm. It made Maddy itch to stir her up a little. But first she’d have to know what made her tick. “Why are you here?”
“Should I go?”
“No, I mean, why are you here, being my assistant? What are your goals? What do you want to be when you grow up, et cetera, et cetera?”
A roar came from the audience, and booms shook the stage. Pyrotechnics. And they thought she was all flash.
When it quieted, Paige faced her. “I grew up in Iowa. Not a lot happens there. Not music. Not anything. I got out as soon as I could and came to the busiest place I knew about.”
“To become a star?” Most of her assistants had been aspiring singers or actresses. Aspiring somethings. No one aspired to be an assistant, even to a pop princess.
Paige’s cheeks turned pink. “No. I can’t sing. Or dance. But I wanted to be part of it somehow.”
Or maybe some people did aspire to be an assistant.
“Well, Paige, it’s like this. I like you. I like you being my assistant. But the scarily accurate observations? Not so much.”
“I’ll keep them to myself,” she said solemnly. “But…no, nevermind.”
Maddy gritted her teeth. “All right, spill.”
“It’s nothing.”
Goddamn it.
Maddy forced herself to watch the rest of the show, careful not to let her dismay shine through, even when they totally flubbed the second half of “Voodoo Doll.” Right at that moment, Krist looked up and down and sideways. Anywhere but at Lock, which was who he needed to be connecting with. Instead he looked to the eaves, where she was standing, gaze meeting hers.
He let her see the frustration in his eyes. The anger, the guilt, the shame. The last one hit her the hardest, because she knew what he was ashamed of most. It wasn’t the flubbed ending.
It was the fucking tape.
No, not even the tape. He was ashamed of himself. The way he had sex and who he had it with. Ashamed of who he’d loved—the man who couldn’t even play music with him anymore. Not the way they used to. She knew exactly what it was like to feel ashamed of your own sexuality—she lived it every day.
A hand reached for hers. Maddy looked at their hands and then back at Paige.
“You’re doing it again,” Maddy accused softly.
A small wicked smile. “It’s just…I don’t want to be you. That’s all I was going to say before. I don’t want to be you.”
Maddy faced the stage again, a smile tugging her lips. There’s only two reasons people stare at me. They either want to fuck me or they want to be me. Well, well. Seemed her assistant wanted to be part of it in more ways than one. And that look from Krist, both soulful and needy…
Things were about to get interesting.
*
Krist’s gaze landed on Madeline Fox in the wings, and for one long, tortured moment, relief coursed through him. If he agreed to Ward’s plan, she could be his salvation. And even better, she needed his help.
Maybe she’d come to plead her case. She’d certainly dressed the part: skintight denim hugged her legs, and an artfully slashed T-shirt revealed more than it covered. Her hair cascaded in wild waves around her face and shoulders. Without feathers and glitter, she was almost incognito.
If he could order up a spoonful of sugar to help his pride go down, it would look a lot like a rocked-out Madeline Fox.
No. He was thinking with his dick again. This wasn’t good luck; this was manipulation. Ward probably sent her, hoping they’d get caught on film hanging out together after a show. Or…oh God. His stomach soured. Or that he’d bring her onstage. They sometimes did that when another musician came to see them, brought the artist onstage to jam a little. One part mutual admiration, two parts respect. But what the fuck would he do onstage with Madeline Fox? Let her play tambourine?
She stood there until the bitter end, waiting. Whatever she wanted from him, he couldn’t deal with it now. Not with all the fans and crew around to overhear. He tried to walk past her, pretending he hadn’t seen her there at all, but she stepped into his path. “Hey.”
“Didn’t get enough of me on your stage; you had to come to mine too?” Damn it. She brought out the mean in him.
She shrugged and examined her nails. “I had tickets. We thought it’d be a shame to waste them just because you were an ass.”
The calculated faux boredom rattled his already jangled nerves. We? Who the hell was we? Ward? Or her dark-haired companion? It didn’t matter.
“I hope you enjoyed the show.” He sneered.
“It had its moments.” She held his gaze for a long time, echoing the look they’d shared when he was spiraling out in the middle of the encore. The look that had anchored him enough to get through the song. And just like that, she’d gutted him. Stripped him bare. This was why he couldn’t do this right now.
“Good.” He bit out the word fast, like it might hurt him to admit that deep down he really was pleased that she’d enjoyed the show. That he’d appreciated their moment too.
“But I’m really looking forward to the after-party. I hear you guys take debauchery to the next level.” Fuck. She didn’t have an image problem; she had a behavior problem. And it pissed him off all over again. Her antics didn’t endear her to the label, but she could just stop. He couldn’t stop being himself.
“Oh honey, we learned our lesson a long time ago. You must be this tall to ride this ride”—he held his hand just above her head, then tugged on a lock of her hair—“and we check IDs.”
Moe appeared behind him. “What the hell are you talking about? Madeline Fox doesn’t show up at a party. She makes a party. Of course you’re welcome to come.”
“Thanks, Moe.” Madeline gifted him with her megawatt smile, and Krist felt jealousy swell up. “Actually I’ll be hosting a little get together tomorrow night
if you guys want to come by Zoo.”
“If I’m in the city, abso-fucking-lutely. Our PR schedule is a little wonked lately.” And then Moe was gone, as quickly as he’d come, looking like the party animal he was and leaving Krist looking like…the Scrooge.
He scowled. “I’m not coming.”
Madeline stuck out her tongue—actually stuck it out, pink and wet. “Your loss.”
Then she spun around and left with her companion. A few other people detached themselves from the walls to follow her. A fucking entourage. The girl walked around with her own goddamn party.
But he hadn’t missed the flash of hurt in her eyes when he’d specifically un-invited her to the Half-Life after-party. Damn it, he’d been an ass. And the worst part was, he didn’t see it stopping anytime soon. He was going to be trapped in a fake engagement with her for how long—days? Weeks? She brought out the worst in him, a juicy piece of meat to the snarling beast inside him.
He’d have to find her. He’d have to apologize. And no matter what he did, he could not, under any circumstances, take a bite.
Chapter Three
Maddy forced herself to keep breathing. In…out. In…out. Her hip was curled over her body, bending her spine into the one position that eased the strain on her back. It always felt like this when she’d rehearsed all day. Her choreographer had been extra rough since she’d skipped out early yesterday for the Half-Life concert.
Her injury was old and small, made worse by ten-hour days of intense rehearsals and a different stiff hotel bed every night. Neither pedigreed massage therapists nor extreme temperatures nor elaborate equipment could relieve the jagged pain. Only lying on the hard floor, her body twisted like a pretzel, could help.
Her phone vibrated from the side table, but no way could she move. It would take fifteen minutes to unwind from this position, and even then she would be in no mood to chat.
She turned her cheek against the plush carpet and wondered what gross things were pressed into the fibers. Sweat. Sex. And now Madeline Fox’s tears while she wrung out her body like a towel. She couldn’t hold them back. The dampness in her eyes turned the shiny hotel room into a kaleidoscope of silver and gold and pink.
Keep breathing. In out. In out.
Chastity, her old yoga instructor, had told her about a meditative state that would let her breathe through the pain, but Maddy had never mastered it. But then again, Chastity had sold pictures of Maddy in elaborate poses to the tabloids after quitting, so maybe Chastity was just full of shit.
Too bad about the meditative state, though. A little numbness would have been nice.
A knock came at the door. Maddy shut her eyes and grunted softly. Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. It was a good excuse as any to ignore her responsibilities. Her agent, her choreographer, they all knew to leave her alone if she didn’t answer.
It meant she was stretching or crying or fucking someone she’d picked up at a bar. Two out of three tonight. Maybe she’d do both of those at her party tonight. It was her party; she could cry if she wanted to.
“Madeline?”
The voice was hesitant but with a determined lilt that said she wouldn’t go away. It was that damned assistant. Poppy? No, Paige. It was a strange name that matched a strange girl, with her too-knowing eyes and her cute boyish body. I wanted to be part of it somehow. Just how far would she go?
Maybe Maddy wouldn’t need to go to the club to get fucked tonight.
Her lawyer would pitch a fit if he found out she slept with another “contractual subordinate,” but that just encouraged her. What was the point of having money and power if she didn’t use it to get the things she wanted? The men got to fuck whatever groupie or assistant they wanted.
The knock came again, more insistent this time. “Maddy?”
“I can’t…” Her voice cracked on the word. She laughed, even though it hurt. Because it hurt. “Can’t exactly move. You can come in though.”
A moment later, the door opened. The assistant always got the second key card to Maddy’s room at whatever hotel they stayed in. That way they could stock water and granola snacks and for-her-pleasure condoms without Maddy ever seeing them, her own personal house elves. So what the hell was Paige doing here?
Unless she was looking to be part of things right now.
Paper rustled as Paige set something on the table by the entrance. Then she was standing over Maddy, peering down, an inquisitive look on her face. And was that desire?
“What are you doing down there?” Paige asked.
“Tantric masturbation.”
Paige’s gaze dipped over Maddy’s body. And was that appreciation flaring in her eyes? Oh yeah, Maddy knew how to read sexual attraction. She had built an empire out of reading sexual attraction. They could do this, right now. A small orgasm would help alleviate some of the pressure in her spine. A tiny little orgasm to help her forget about the man across the hall, in the other penthouse, the one she couldn’t have. The one she wouldn’t have, even if he begged.
Jesus God, if he begged… She’d go up in smoke if he turned those dark, hungry eyes on her and whispered please.
“You don’t seem okay,” Paige said with the frankness Maddy had come to expect.
Maddy sighed. “That’s because I’m not. This is excruciating. And I’m not enough of a masochist to enjoy it, so here we are.”
“Can I help you get up?”
You can help me get off. That was the obvious direction. For once she wondered what it would be like to have a regular, nonsexual person she could talk to. What was that even called? A friend?
Too late.
Paige was already sexual. She’d made herself sexual, and Maddy wasn’t going to pat her head and send her to bed like a child. Paige was a big girl—around the same age as Maddy. If she wanted to play, Maddy would let her in the sandbox.
“I have a cramp,” Maddy said. “Rub it out for me?”
Paige knelt, very industrious, very eager to grope Maddy’s ass. Massage was probably the more appropriate word. Paige rubbed in soothing circles along her thigh and around the curve of her ass. It soothed her overworked leg and hip muscles and rocked her deeper into the stretch.
Maddy let out a sigh. “That’s good,” she breathed.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” The low tone of Paige’s voice took nothing off the table. Paige wanted to assist with her orgasm, and Maddy wanted to let her. They would make each other feel good; they would relieve each other’s stress.
And then Maddy would feel a little more pathetic than she did right now.
“Help me up,” she said, feeling raw. Feeling exposed.
With Paige’s support, Maddy managed to uncoil herself and land in a panting heap on the white leather couch. Fuck, that hurt. She let her eyes fall shut, breathing through the pain. In out. She heard Paige’s footsteps cross the room and then the rustling sound again.
Then Paige was standing in front of her, holding something out.
A cupcake.
How long had it been since she’d had a real cupcake? There had been a personal chef last year who had attempted some modified red velvet cake. Sugar-free. Dairy-free. Gluten-free. It had tasted like oatmeal and looked like it too.
A real cupcake fit nowhere into her personalized dietary plan, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she would have to do a hundred extra squats and two hundred extra crunches in tomorrow’s workout to make up for this slip. She would eat this cupcake, and it would be delicious.
Then Paige reached into the paper bag and pulled something else out. It was slender and small, almost like a cigarette. But cigarettes didn’t have pink and white swirls and a wick at the top. A candle.
Even though Maddy knew, she asked, “What’s that?”
That earned her a very small smile. “It’s for you. For your birthday.”
“It’s not my birthday. My birthday is on May 19th.”
Paige’s voice was gentle. “Today is May 19th.”
“There’s a party tonight,” Maddy said, a hollow feeling carving out her chest.
On her eighteenth birthday, the paparazzi had hounded her first thing in the morning. Did you have sex yet? They’d hurled the question at her as she stepped out of the hotel. Legally. That was what they meant. And yeah, there had been a threesome with the bartender and the cocktail waitress that had gone all night. Maddy had left an epic tip on her way out the door and spent the entire day feeling wild and powerful and uninhibited.
Now she didn’t even have that. Only an assistant paid to attend to her. Only a party she had thrown for herself in the hottest club with the best liquor so everyone would come. Even her friendships were transactional.
Maddy leaned over and blew. An image flashed through her mind of large, capable hands stroking the strings of a candy-apple-red bass guitar. Of dark eyes lined with stage make-up and a disdainful twist of sexy lips.
She refused to wish for him.
Instead she swiped the beautiful swirled cap of frosting, marring it. She brought her finger to her lips. The frosting was painfully sweet, the kind that hurt your throat again and again until the whole thing was gone. But she wasn’t going to finish the cupcake right now. She wanted something even sweeter. She wanted to forget.
In…out. In…out. Breathe through the pain. But it was too late for new age coping mechanisms. She needed physical relief. If she wasn’t going to shoot a drug into her veins, she’d have to produce them. Adrenaline. Endorphins. A sexual cocktail that would leave her effectively stoned.
Effectively numb.
She smiled. “Maybe I should finish outlining your responsibilities.”
Two graceful eyebrows shot up. That was desire, not reluctance in Paige’s eyes, but Maddy wasn’t sure she even cared.
