[Los Angeles Bad Boys 01.0] Cold Hard Cash

by Frankie Love

  “I know things got complicated, Cash, but I was confused.”

  “Confused?” I say.

  “Give me another chance,” she pleads. “I need you, Cash. I never should have left you for Chad.”

  “I wasn’t good enough for you when I didn’t have a record deal. And then you thought Chad was the one who was gonna go the farthest, so you latched onto him. You didn’t believe in me,” I tell her.

  “You’d rather be alone than be with me?”

  Security is down the hall, watching Gina and me. My assistant, Jared, is too. I’m never alone anymore.

  “What, you think you can have some rich girl now that you’re so fancy?”

  I don’t answer, but my face must say plenty, because Gina comes back with the truth. “What, like that producer’s daughter? Baby, you aren’t good enough for her. You went to prison for nearly killing a man. A girl like her could never understand you.”

  “You need to leave, Gina,” I tell her, having known her long enough to know she doesn’t intend to drop this unless I walk away, shut a door in her face.

  “It’s not over, Cash. Your brother, he’s pissed. He’s gonna come after you.”

  “He can’t hurt me.”

  She smirks, shrugs, then slinks away like the snake she is.

  Show Thirty-Six

  The tour bus is parked behind the venue, I’m in the parking lot, kicking gravel, and kicking around a whole lot more in my head. I filled my security detail in on the situation with my brother, and since then I haven’t seen him or Gina.

  But that isn’t all I’m thinking about.

  I’m in NYC, and if I’m ever gonna get Evangeline out of my head, I need to call her and figure out what the fuck happened.

  “Cassius?” Her voice is a summer breeze, cool and slow, filled with apprehension.

  “Yeah, it’s me, Evangeline.” I blink back what I think are tears. What the fuck?

  “Is everything okay?” she asks, and that question alone tells me a whole fucking lot.

  She doesn’t hate me.

  “Can I see you, while I’m in town? I’m here in New York, just for the night. You can come to the show. Evangeline, I know you told me to go, but I can’t get you out of my head.”

  “Cash, um, I’m sorry, but—”

  My head drops, my eyes meet the sky. It’s so fucking big, and I feel so fucking small.

  I knew a guy like me, a fucking ex-con, had no chance with a girl like her. The fucking heiress to KMG. Who was I kidding?

  Only myself.

  “It’s cool,” I say. “I never should have called.”

  “Cash—” she says, but I don’t wait for an explanation.

  Keeping my fucking cool has never been my strength, and falling for a girl I know I can’t have kills me.

  I throw my phone; it smashes against the pavement.

  I walk to the only thing I have left.

  The only thing I ever really had.

  The stage.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Evangeline

  My eyes are closed; my heart is open. My fingers run over keys furiously, rhythmically.

  I should be pissed, broken, disappointed.

  I’m none of those things. And why would I be? Cassius called days ago and then hung up before I could get a word in edgewise. I deserve more than that.

  I deserve a man who’s willing to listen.

  “Evangeline?” A voice breaks my labored concentration, a voice I don’t recognize.

  Turning toward my door, I see Holden—the Hollywood Holden—leaning against the doorframe with all the swagger and sex appeal he’s known for.

  “Holden?” I stand, greeting him. “Did you just get in from Switzerland?”

  “Just got in. Terrible jet-lag though.”

  “Did the shoot go well? Jude said you were filming.”

  Holden smiles. “You know everything about me?” He walks toward me, not asking to come in.

  “Not everything,” I say, closing my piano and smoothing the skirt of my dress. “But I’m grateful you trusted Jude enough to let me crash here. I was in a real bind.”

  “No old friends in the neighborhood you could stay with?” Holden asks.

  “No. I’m kind of a loner, to be honest. The opposite of you, I’m sure.”

  “Eh,” Holden runs his hand through his hair. “I had one close friend, Bexley, but we don’t talk anymore. My whole life is what I’ve built in LA since I graduated high school.”

  “I didn’t just graduate high school, but I am starting from scratch.”

  “Well, you can make plenty of friends in this city if you can play like that.” He gives me a charming grin, all gleaming white teeth and perfectly proportioned cheekbones and nose. He’s easily the most traditionally handsome man I’ve ever been face-to-face with.

  I laugh. “Uh, I don’t think playing the piano gets many people friends.”

  Holden shrugs. “Maybe you’re hoping to make friends with the wrong crowd. Most people who are really into music, who live here, would be all over you—trying to get you to play for their albums, their shows. People are always looking for other people to play with.”

  I cross my arms, appraising this man. “You know a lot about music, for being an actor.”

  “I used to do musical theater. But keep that on the down low.”

  “Starring in a high school performance of Oklahoma! doesn’t really go with your image?” I ask, smirking.

  “It’s all about the image, baby,” he says, raising his eyebrows. I can’t tell if he’s joking, or flirting, or just so hot he can say whatever the heck he wants. “But, hey, if you don’t have any friends and are a sad loner, go out with me tonight.”

  I must look semi-horrified—and, in all honestly, I am. I don’t want to date … at least not anyone that isn’t Cash. Even though he clearly doesn’t want to date me.

  Which, to be fair, I understand. I was colder than cold in my father’s driveway.

  “Wow, okay. I won’t take that personally.”

  When I bite my bottom lip awkwardly, not answering, he shakes his head in mock-sorrow. “Or maybe I will take it personally. Ouch, woman. That uninterested in me? Must say, considering I was voted Sexiest Man Under Twenty-Five in the world, the fact that you aren’t even acting slightly interested is a shot to my fucking ego.”

  I laugh. “Listen, it isn’t you. It’s me. I’m just … I’m not over someone else yet.”

  Holden presses a hand to his heart in relief. “Thank God. Shit, I was a little concerned that Switzerland did something to fuck with my game.”

  “Your game is just fine. In fact, I expected you to be much more douche-y than you appear.”

  “Wow, not only can you play the ivories, but you’re charming too.”

  I shrug, grateful he’s just teasing.

  “Listen,” he says. “Let’s still go out for dinner tonight. My sleep schedule is all fucked up from the flight and I’m starving. My treat. The least I can do for this poor homeless girl living in my guest house.”

  “I should be treating you,” I say. “Letting me stay here based on Jude’s recommendation. I’m so lucky.”

  “Eh, I owe Jude about a hundred favors. That boy is a motherfucking saint.”

  “Agreed. Now, let me get my purse, and you can show me how the cool kids make friends in LA.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cassius

  I’m sitting in a club. Loud electronica is playing, and hundreds of people are grinding on the dance floor. Sitting in a VIP section with the Los Angeles elite, I wonder when the fuck this became my actual life.

  Elle is here with Sasha; we’re celebrating being home after our tour.

  Home. Whatever the hell that means. I’m living out of a fucking suitcase, at a five-star hotel.

  “Did you meet Jack?” Elle asks, dragging me by my arm over to the musician who brought home three Grammys last year for his solo album, RATPACK. The record paid homage to his best frie
nds.

  Lucky fucking bastard.

  Seeing Jack approach me, with his wife on his arm, I’m reminded how much I really don’t have.

  No family. No house. Not even a woman to call my own.

  “It’s the infamous Cash Flow,” Jack says, clapping me on my back in greeting.

  “Good to meet you, man,” I tell him, a little astounded that this idol knows my name. “I’m Cassius,” I say, offering my hand out to his wife.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she says. “I’m Tess, and Jack is a huge fan. Huge. He literally hasn’t stopped playing your album since we downloaded it.”

  “That means a lot, thanks,” I tell them, looking over at Elle, who is beaming. “Do you know Elle Camino? We just finished a tour together.”

  “We haven’t met officially, but I’m in love with you, too,” Tess gushes. “I mean, mostly because you wear some seriously amazing pieces every time you’re photographed, but also because I’m all about the woman power.”

  Jack laughs. “Tess started kickboxing after our friend JoJo showed her some workouts, and now she’s all about badass women.”

  “I was a feminist before,” she says, smiling, her bubbly personality overflowing in the loud club, which is saying something. “But having one of my best friends become a pro MMA fighter took it to a whole new level.”

  I nod, trying to keep up.

  “Actually, JoJo and McQueen are here,” Jack says. “You guys should totally come over and have a drink.”

  I look at Elle, who’s grinning a wholehearted yes please. She grabs Sasha and we head over to the roped-off table.

  Sitting down on a velvet couch, I’m introduced to Jack’s friends, JoJo and McQueen, and try to absorb the amount of information thrown at me. Best friends. Vegas. Ace Royalle. Strippers. Mafia. Kidnapped. Diamond rings.

  My head spins.

  I reach for a vodka soda, needing help with not feeling completely out of my element. On tour I was face-to-face with more money and status than I’d ever encountered in my life, but we were touring so hard, there wasn’t much time to roll around in my fucking Scrooge McDuck money pit. I was mostly working on my lyrics, writing new songs for my next album, and thinking about Evangeline.

  Always Evangeline.

  “So how’s the limelight treating you?” McQueen asks. He seems like a good guy, all smiles, his arm tight around his woman like he knows how to protect her, even though she’s the one with a championship belt.

  I saw her UFC fight; it was on Showtime last month. This crew is beyond legit.

  “It’s cool, just a lot,” I tell them honestly. “I mean, people see me as this hardened criminal, but honestly that’s just my fucking past.”

  “Seriously,” Sasha groans. “Cash is such a loner. In fact, I blackmailed him to come out tonight.”

  “How’d you do that?” Jack asks.

  “I read some of his latest songs,” she says, punching me, and I know she’s just teasing, “and threatened to share them all LiveJournal-style if he didn’t come out.”

  “What kind of music is it?” Jack asks. “I’m always curious what people’s sophomore projects will be. Personally, I struggle with doing my own thing versus what I know will sell.”

  His words hit home, and I find myself leaning in to listen.

  “Oh, this stuff won’t sell,” Elle laughs. “It’s pretty emo for a rapper. All brokenhearted love songs.”

  I shake my head, warning her with a smirk. “You better play it cool, woman,” I tell her.

  “You know I got your back.”

  “Hey,” McQueen nods behind us. “Is that Holden Harris? We met him at JoJo’s fight. A great guy.”

  I know the name; it would be impossible not to know who this guy is. His face is on half the magazines at the checkout counter.

  “That’s him all right,” Tess says. “Jack, is that your producer’s daughter with him? What’s her name again … Angel or something? I recognize her from his wife’s obituary.”

  My heart stops. I swallow. Blink slowly.

  I don’t even need to turn to know.

  “It’s not Angel,” I say to Tess. “It’s Evangeline.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Evangeline

  Holden took me to dinner. We got fish tacos at a food truck at a marina, which is exactly my speed. But he didn’t want to go home after, and somehow he dragged me out with him, saying I needed to be social.

  I was having too good a time to say no.

  “I’ll text Jude, tell him where we’re at, if he wants to meet up,” Holden says as we drive down the freeway in his convertible. My hair is blowing wildly and I’m trying to gather the ends to keep it from becoming a complete mess.

  “That’s cool. I mean, I never hang out with Jude … socially.”

  “Maybe because you use words like socially?” Holden laughs. “Seriously, though, I don’t doubt it. Evie, you look like you’ve never let go in your entire life. Not once.”

  I press my lips together, let go of my hair. Let it catch in the wind.

  “There was one time,” I tell him. “One time where I let go of all abandon.”

  “How’d that go?” he says, pulling up to a valet outside a swanky club.

  “It was a complete disaster,” I admit.

  But it wasn’t a total disaster. In a lot of ways, it was what pushed me over the edge to move out, to move on.

  My single day with Cash made me brave in ways I never had been before.

  “I look like a legit scrub,” I whisper as we walk through the loud nightclub.

  “You look perfect. Besides, it’s dark in here, no one will be able to see that you have salsa dripping down your shirt.”

  I punch him in the shoulder, and let him take my hand and lead me through the crowded club.

  “Hey, that’s JoJo and McQueen,” Holden says. He pulls me to the VIP area, where we’re quickly whisked past a security detail.

  “Holden, my man,” McQueen says, jumping up from the couch and fist-bumping him, giving him a grin. “Good to see you, dude.”

  I watch this exchange, smile as everyone is introduced—but then they sit back down, and I see the people they’re with.

  More important: the person they’re with.

  “Cassius?” I say, shocked. I knew the tour was over, but I didn’t know he was back in LA.

  Looking around, I see Elle Camino, Jack Harris, Jack’s wife Tess. I try to breathe. Try to remain calm.

  Try to shield my heart.

  It’s too late.

  One look at him, and I feel my knees go weak and my resolve soften, and every warning inside me whooshes by.

  I just want him.

  Even though I’ve spent his entire tour trying to tell myself I don’t, I do.

  “Evangeline.” He stands, looks me in the eye. I’m unable to look away.

  “You guys know one another?” Holden asks, reaching out to shake hands. “Didn’t know you were so connected, Evie,” he says.

  “I’m not. I just. Cash and I are—”

  “Old friends,” Cash says. “Long time no see.” He looks at me, his eyes reaching my heart. Then he looks away, his eyes landing on where Holden’s hand is still holding mine.

  I pull my hand away, awkwardly. Awkward because Holden wasn’t being awkward in the least; he was being nice and sweet and sort of flirty, but not in an aggressive way. In a way a guy can be, when he’s the freaking sexiest man alive.

  Cassius doesn’t say any more to me, and I take a seat on the couch, next to Elle Camino and her girlfriend Sasha. Everyone is loud, chatting with drinks in their hands. And I look around with wide eyes, out of my element and really, really needing a drink.

  Next thing I know I have tequila in my hand, and a lime wedge.

  It’s Cassius who hands it to me, silently. He remembered my drink.

  “So,” Elle says dramatically, “you’re Evangeline Kendrick. We’ve heard so much about you.”

  I see Sasha swat Elle’s knee, as
if warning her, but Elle just smiles at me.

  “You heard about me from where? My dad?” I ask, confused.

  The girls roll their eyes.

  “Um. No. From our boy,” Elle says, gesturing toward Cassius, who’s talking to Jack Harris two feet away.

  He’s so close. I just want to reach out and grab his hand.

  Never let go.

  “Cash told you about me?”

  Elle flicks her thick, dark hair over her shoulder. Her old school, hip-hop, high-rise jeans and crop top are so completely on point, I have a hard time believing Cash could think about me when he had such a gorgeous girl in his line of sight.

  “You just about killed him back in New York. We didn’t think he’d be able to perform,” Sasha says.

  I pull away. I thought these two were being nice, but I can see they’re in fighting mode. And I’m the one they plan to attack.

  Holden has come up and taken a seat beside me, and Jude is with him. I feel calmer, having them with me. Even though I just met Holden, knowing Jude vouches for him makes him feel like an old friend. A real friend.

  “Uh, he hung up on me,” I tell the girls, slightly annoyed.

  “Because you didn’t want to see him,” Elle says quickly. “What are you even doing here, now?”

  I watch Cassius turn toward the group and I know he’s hearing every word I say. Good. I want him to understand me.

  Finally.

  “First of all,” I say, feeling bold, “I don’t owe anyone an explanation of anything. But the reason I didn’t meet Cash in New York is because I moved to LA.”

  “You moved back to LA?” Cash asks, looking into his glass of ice.

  The DJ chooses this moment to stop spinning, and the lull in noise makes everyone at the table turn toward him and me.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “I actually never went back to school. I quit.”

  “Where are you living?” he asks. “Still at your dad’s?”

  I shake my head. “I moved into Holden’s.”