by Julia London
But Lucas stopped her with his hand on her arm—a hand that was surprisingly much smaller than Jack’s—and made her look up.
He frowned and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, wiping the blood away. “What happened to you?” he asked again.
“Nothing,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand from her face. “I just bit my lip. That’s all.”
He nodded, glanced at her lip again, then turned away and pushed a hand through his mouse brown hair. “Are you tired?”
Audrey dragged the back of her hand across her mouth where he’d touched her as she walked into the bathroom. “Yes,” she said. “It’s been a long weekend.”
“Okay. We can talk tomorrow when you’re rested.”
Talk. Audrey sighed and braced herself with both arms against the sink. “Talk about what?” she called from the bathroom.
“About the play list for the next album,” he said. “I don’t know how you feel about this, but I’d like to include the ballad I wrote.”
In the safety of the bathroom walls, Audrey closed her eyes and let her head drop between her arms in frustration. “It’s not really a ballad-y sort of album, do you think, Lucas?”
“No, not really . . . but I was thinking we can change my piece up a little. You know, give it a little juice. It would be a nice tie-in to my album.”
But you don’t have an album! she raged in her head. Yet she said, “Sure,” and picked up a washcloth, wetting it. God, she was so tired. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. But when she did crawl into bed a few minutes later—leaving Lucas to pore over his sheet music—all she could seem to think of was Jack Price, the way his body had felt against hers, the way he’d kissed her with such demanding passion.
Another shiver coursed through her spine, and Audrey rolled over, squeezed her eyes shut. Just get me off this island, she thought.
The boats came for the guests at ten sharp the next morning. Some of them were still dressed in the loud floral print shirts and baggy shorts they’d worn the night before and stumbled barefoot onto the beach, clutching a bottle of booze in one hand.
More than one party animal had to be escorted by staff to the waiting boats and deposited gingerly on the white cushioned seats below.
Marty Weiss, the birthday boy, was one of the last to come out of the compound, and only after several sharp warnings from his wife. He winced at the sight of Carol standing and waiting by the golf cart that would whisk them down to the beach and the boats. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, and her unnaturally blond hair was standing practically on end. From where he stood, it looked like she’d buttoned her Hawaiian shirt wrong, and he wondered only mildly where she’d been all night.
He hated to leave the island—he’d had the time of his life here. He glanced nostalgically around, and spied Audrey LaRue coming out the back door of the cottage where she had stayed. She was wearing linen trousers and a halter top and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The woman was beautiful, he thought with a sigh. Just gorgeous.
He glanced back at Carol, who had shifted her full weight onto one hip, one hand on her waist, glaring at him. He gave her a tentative wave, then instantly started in Audrey’s direction.
Marty scarcely gave Audrey time to register his presence before grabbing her up in a big bear hug and lifting her off her feet. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” she said, pushing against him. “Will you please put me down?”
He put her down, held her at arm’s length, and beamed at her. “You’re really marvelous, Audrey. Do you think that—”
“Marty!”
Carol had snuck up directly behind him, judging by the blast of her voice that rang in his ears and made him jump through his skin. “The boat is leaving,” she said, practically foaming at the mouth. “So unless Miss LaRue is going to fly you in a private plane to Chicago—”
“N-no!” Audrey LaRue quickly interjected. “I, ah . . . I can’t. It’s not my plane.”
“It’s not?” Carol asked, momentarily distracted.
“It belongs to the record label. Not me. I have no control over the plane or who flies in it,” she said, both hands up and waving.
“Damn,” Marty muttered, disappointed.
Carol whirled back to him, her bloodshot eyes narrowed on him. “Good grief, Marty! Your little birthday fantasy is over!”
“And it was the best birthday of my life, Carol,” he said earnestly before turning back to Audrey. He grabbed Audrey’s hand and ignored her squeal of protest as he brought it to his lips. “Thank you, Audrey. You have made this the most memorable birthday—”
“No, Martin, I made this the most memorable birthday!” Carol shouted, slapping at his hand. “Stop pawing her!”
Audrey yanked her hand from his grip and smiled a little. “You take care now, Mr. Weiss,” she said, glancing uneasily at Carol.
“Take care? My whole life has been transformed—”
“Oh for God’s sake, Marty! She could be your granddaughter!” Carol snapped as she began marching toward the golf cart.
“Not my granddaughter!” he shouted back, offended. “My daughter!”
But as it was apparent that Audrey LaRue was not going to save him from traveling with a postmenopausal woman who had not slept or eaten in several hours, Marty consoled himself with the thought that he would always have the video of his birthday bash concert, as well as the pictures of him and Audrey LaRue, to remind him of his one glimpse at heaven.
And that evening, when he arrived home in Chicago, the first thing he did was head for the computer to download those photos to share with the Audrey LaRue cyber-fan club. The next thing he did was dash off a long thank-you to his friend in Hollywood.
A few days afterward, Rich Later, Audrey’s business manager, received that thank-you, forwarded to him by the friend of the friend of Marty Weiss. Rich was dressed in a vampire outfit, checking the location of the Brothers of the Night meeting, when he got the e-mail. It made him furious. Livid. As livid as he’d been when Audrey, through Lucas, had agreed to go to this fat fuck’s birthday party. It appalled him that angelic Audrey had sold out. She’d sold out, sold herself to that fat fuck, just like a whore.
Hell, maybe she was a whore. Maybe he had been fooled by a dirty, cheap whore. Rich was so furious that he decided to write Audrey another anonymous letter and tell her exactly how he felt about her whoring ways.
STILL WORKING THINGS OUT
(Celebrity Insider Magazine) Fresh off their getaway to a private island in Costa Rica where they reportedly flew to patch things up, Audrey LaRue, 28, and Lucas Bonner, 30, were spotted at a New York eatery deep in conversation. A source told CIM that Audrey is committed to Lucas, and has promised to cut back on the party scene. “She’s been under a lot of pressure lately and just wants to have fun,” the source said. “But Lucas is a homebody. He thinks the night scene in Los Angeles could be detrimental to her image and her career.”
That didn’t stop Audrey from stepping out with some gal pals. She was spotted at the popular Dime Bar in Los Angeles while Lucas was sharing a hip new sound in the music-loving capital, Austin, Texas.
In the Studio
(Music Scene Magazine) Audrey LaRue is back in the studio to put the finishing touches on her third album, Frantic, set to be released the end of this month. She is collaborating again with Lucas Bonner, who promises this album will “be a more soulful mix than the previous albums.” Fans of the extremely popular LaRue will have a chance to hear her live when she embarks on an eighteen-city tour of the U.S. in July to coincide with the album’s release.
Four
The third letter Audrey received from the guy who wanted her dead was fairly graphic in the details of how he would kill her if she didn’t stop whoring.
It was the last straw for Lucas, who had found it in the mound of mail Rich, the business manager, had brou
ght in.
“We have to get security,” he said. “No arguments, Audrey. This is serious—this whack job could show up in one of your tour cities.”
The knot in Audrey’s stomach tightened. She’d gotten a lot of mail since she’d hit the major leagues, and some of it had been pretty weird. But nothing was quite as disturbing as the letters she’d gotten from this particular fan.
“I know just who you should get,” Mitzi, her publicist, said as she painted her nails. They were in the artist’s lounge of the recording studio, waiting for a booth to free up, along with a host of label reps and various hangers-on Audrey didn’t even question any longer.
“Who?” Lucas asked, glancing up from the contract he was studying.
Mitzi held up her gloriously red nail tips and blew on them a moment before answering. “Thrillseekers Anonymous. Remember the guys who put the Costa Rica thing together? They could do it. They do that sort of thing all the time.”
The knot in Audrey’s belly was joined by a little fluttering. She hadn’t thought of Jack Price in a while, but every time she did, she couldn’t help but think of those blue eyes and those shoulders, and Jesus, that kiss.
“Perfect. I’ll put in a call,” Lucas said.
“Luke, not so fast,” Audrey said quickly. “I have no idea what the expense is, or how this would work with the promoter’s security while we’re on tour or even if—”
“Leave it to me, sweetie. Remember our motto: You focus on the music, I focus on the business,” he said with a thin smile, and flipped open his cell.
“But I—”
“Just please do as I ask,” he said brusquely.
Everything in the room suddenly stilled—even Mitzi’s nail polish brush froze mid-dip in the bottle. No one breathed, no one moved, but all eyes slid to Audrey. It embarrassed her. She knew Lucas had her best interests at heart—he always had—but she hated the way he spoke to her like she was a child.
She lifted her chin. “I would really like to know more,” she said firmly.
With a snort of surprise, Lucas smiled at her. “Don’t be a drama queen, baby. Let’s just get through today’s session, and then I’ll take you to dinner and we can talk about whatever it is that’s bugging you.”
What was bugging her was that it was her name on the concert tour and the albums and the billboard charts. But years of watching her parents argue loudly in public had made Audrey the exact opposite. She couldn’t muster the courage to talk to Lucas about his tone in front of all these people, especially people who were certain to leak it to some media outlet. So she bit her tongue, nodded curtly, and turned away. Mitzi’s nail polish brush slid the rest of the way into the bottle, and Audrey could almost hear the collective breath being released.
She wished for all the world that she could be alone with Lucas and tell him exactly what she thought, but there was never a damn moment she was alone with him. She was constantly surrounded—she couldn’t even go to the bathroom without everyone knowing it.
So Audrey did what she always did when this happened—she walked out of the artist’s lounge and down the long hallway to the ladies’ room, the only place she could get a moment of peace.
That night, while Audrey was writing music, Lucas let himself into their hotel suite carrying a leather bag. Audrey glanced at him and decided she must be tired, because for a moment, she thought the bag was moving.
It was moving—Lucas had brought her a small, furry, black-and-white-haired dog. “It’s a toy Havanese,” he said. “I named him Bruno.” It was a gift, he explained, for the mix-up about the security this afternoon.
“But . . . but I don’t want a dog, Lucas,” Audrey said, staring at the little thing. “I’m about to go on tour.”
“That’s why I got you this carrying case,” he said, holding up the bag.
“Thanks . . . but I don’t want a dog.”
Lucas looked at the dog, then at Audrey. “Wow. You sure know how to cut a guy off at the knees. I am just trying to make it up to you. I’ll go see if they will take him back.”
He looked so hurt by her refusal that, against her better judgment, Audrey stopped him. “No, don’t. He’s cute,” she said, and smiled when Lucas grinned and handed her the dog.
On the morning of the day Lucas Bonner would meet with TA about security—something they told him they did not do, but had agreed, thanks to Mitzi, to at least hear the guy out—Jack saw a picture of Bonner with Audrey on the front page of the Star, running into the very popular Twist nightclub in L.A. The caption read,
Is Marriage in Audrey’s Future? What the Stars Say!
Jack looked at the line ahead of him—four deep and a woman in front of him with a cart piled high. He glanced surreptitiously behind him—the woman was trying to wrestle her toddler out of the shopping cart.
He sheepishly reached for the magazine and opened it up quickly, folding back the cover so no one would think he was actually reading the Star.
Star asked astrologers if this is the year Audrey LaRue might find true happiness and marry her long-term boyfriend, aspiring artist Lucas Bonner. “Venus is in her seventh house, which makes this year ripe for love and marriage and meaningful partnerships,” the astrologer told Star. “It will be interesting to see if this is the year Audrey and Lucas tie the knot. I think her seventh house is perfectly set up for it.” Only Audrey knows, but one source tells Star that Audrey and Lucas were recently spotted in the diamond district in New York.
Jack quickly closed the rag and put it back on the rack, and only then noticed the woman behind him was reading over his shoulder. “I really like her music,” she offered when Jack looked at her curiously.
“Yep,” Jack said, and quickly turned around, feeling like an idiot.
Later that afternoon, when Lucas Bonner was in the TA offices, Jack discovered the man set his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t figure out why. Granted, he wasn’t crazy about Bonner’s manner—it seemed false to Jack somehow. And it annoyed him that when talking about Audrey’s security needs, he kept saying we.
He wondered how a woman as beautiful and vibrant as Audrey LaRue could have ended up with this guy. They didn’t seem to match. Bonner was too intense for her.
What he wanted was a security detail for Audrey LaRue during her nationwide tour this summer, and Mitzi had led him to believe that TA staged security details just like they staged extreme adventures.
“We’ve had a couple of scary encounters with fans, a few threatening letters, and then there was the break-in at our condo. The police are investigating that, but we’d still like to take an extra precaution,” Bonner said. “Those letters are giving us the creeps.”
“Wait . . . did you both get letters?” Michael asked, confused by Bonner’s liberal use of the word we.
“Well, no . . . Audrey did.”
“Aha,” Michael said, and frowned a little disdainfully. “So . . . what do you need from us?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Bonner said, leaning back in his chair. “All I know is that we can’t walk out our door without flashes going off and people screaming for autographs. Anyone could get to us.”
Us? Did this guy really think anyone was dying to get to him?
“And besides, personal security is pretty standard fare nowadays. Britney has twenty-four/seven security. Lindsey and Mariah, too. It just makes good sense.”
“Security is not really our scene,” Cooper said.
“Right . . . but you know security,” Bonner insisted. “You do all those adventures with people as famous as we are.”
The TA guys all exchanged a look.
“Don’t worry about the cost,” Bonner added confidently. “We’d rather feel safe than worry about a few bucks here and there.”
How nice for Audrey that this guy wasn’t worrying about spending her money.
“We don’t do security, but we’ll talk about it,” Eli reiterated, and stood up, indicating the meeting was over. “We’ll give you a call.”
>
Bonner stood, too, and shook each of their hands. “I look forward to working with you guys. Mitz says you’re the best.” He walked to the door.
Mitzi lingered and whispered to Cooper, “Just think about it. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Right,” Cooper said, moving her to the door.
When they finally went out, and the door shut behind them, Michael turned around and shook his head. “What a waste of time.”
“There are a dozen great security firms in town,” Cooper chimed in. “Why us?”
“Because of you, Jessup,” Eli said to Cooper. “You know Mitzi has a thing for you. This is her ticket into your pants.”
“No way,” Coop said instantly, shaking his head. “I have a girlfriend, and even if I didn’t, I don’t do publicists. You know what happened the time I dated Leslie.”
“Don’t tell it again,” Eli said quickly. “I swear to God I can’t hear it again without laughing my ass off. The last time you told it, I laughed so hard it damn near killed me.”
“Too bad that’s the gig,” Michael said as he crossed to the little fridge they kept stocked with beer. “I was hoping for something really cool. Volcano diving, maybe.”
“Yeah, too bad,” Eli agreed, ignoring Cooper’s glare. He squinted absently at a lamp. “I have to admit, I kind of like that new song Audrey’s got out.”
Jack paused in what he was doing and looked at the man he’d known all his life, since they were kids growing up in West Texas.
A man who, apparently, he really didn’t know at all.
“You like ‘Frantic’?” he asked incredulously. “You like a song that says, ‘I’m frantic cuz I can’t stop loving you, baby, oh oh oh oh’?”
