Blue Shoes #3: New Adult Erotic Romance

by Knight, JJ

  “How’s Dylan?” Nick asks.

  “Back in the studio, which is good. We took some time off together to reconnect.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “It was.” I let out a light laugh. “But I’m glad he’s back at work again. When he’s around the house all day, he gets on my case about me getting coffee grounds all over the kitchen.”

  I smile at the memory of what happened this morning with Dylan in the kitchen, before we both left for work. The truth is, I’ve been making a mess on purpose, because it’s a new game we’re playing. Nick doesn’t need to know about that.

  “The reporters are still saying he’s abusive,” Nick says.

  “He’s not. He’s moody sometimes, but…” I trail off, because I am feeling more friendly toward Nick, but I’m not going to tell anyone about Dylan and his sessions with his therapist. It’s normal for everyone in L.A. to be seeing someone, but this is still our private life.

  Nick finishes for me, “But we all have our issues. For example, I’m about to take over the business I co-own with my mother, and she’s going to scream at me for a week. I’ve got a plan, though. I’ve booked a ticket for a cruise, and if she doesn’t take the ticket, I will.”

  “A cruise?” I laugh. “Oh, Nick. Your revenge plans are so devious.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’s a singles cruise for seniors. I hope she takes it, because I do not want to go on a singles cruise for seniors.”

  “Then again, it would be a nice change of pace from L.A.”

  “True.”

  We talk about the cruise for a few minutes, joking around about the on-board entertainment.

  We’re interrupted by Chet arriving with a stack of papers for Nick. He sets the papers on the desk between me and Nick, but doesn’t take a seat in the other visitor chair.

  He stays standing, which is a classic Chet Morris power move. Nick gets to his feet to shake his hand. They’ve spoken by phone, and have probably seen each other around Morris Music over the years, but they’re very formal now.

  Nick starts babbling apologies for his mother’s behavior.

  “Say no more,” Chet commands. “What’s done is done. From this day, we move forward. We are not responsible for our family, only for ourselves.”

  “Yes,” Nick says. “You’re right.”

  Chet turns and gives me a friendly wink. “That’s why I’m the boss. Right, Jess?”

  “That’s right, boss,” I say.

  Chet pats the stack of papers. “Everything’s here, Nick. After the fundraiser goes down, Maggie will see the light. She’ll sign the papers, and we’ll move forward.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “And I’m happy with how things have turned out. The music industry is changing so rapidly. It makes sense to partner with venues this way, even small ones.”

  “We won’t be small for long,” Nick says.

  Chet gives him a winning grin. “First things first. Let’s drop the bombshell on Maggie and close this deal. I’m sorry I can’t be there for the fundraiser, but I’m sure it will be quite the show.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Nick says.

  Chet nods as though dismissing us, and heads back out the door again.

  After he’s gone, Nick says, “He reminds me of someone.”

  “He’s got the same eyes as Carter Morris.”

  “That must be it.” Nick shakes his head in wonder. “Family gatherings with the Morrises must be intense.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  “For a while when I was younger, I did hope Carter would marry my mother, so I could be one of them. But I would have never been one of them, not really.”

  “Oh, Nick. Just be yourself.”

  “I’m trying.” He returns to his chair, still glancing around at the other executives walking around on the other side of the glass. “Did Ryanna tell you we have a date?”

  I frown. “I thought you were gay. Did she kiss you? Nick, you can tell me if she did.”

  He gives me a confused look. “No, she didn’t kiss me. I guess I shouldn’t have called it a date. We’re going to have lunch and talk in person. She wants to move out of that apartment so her former boss doesn’t have her address. I was thinking she could crash with me for a while. My loft has plenty of space for two people, I think.”

  “The firehall.” I sigh as the memories rush back. Dylan and I spent our first intimate moments there when he was renting it from Nick. “You two can throw the best parties there.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, we have to get through the fundraiser. Are you nervous, Jess? You don’t have to go on stage. Personally, I think it will be perfect to give you a front-row view of my mother’s face, but we could get anyone to play the backup girls.”

  I hold up one finger for Nick to hold his thoughts. I reach for the shopping bag next to my desk and pull out a pair of the most gorgeous, flashy, sexy blue stilettos ever made. They’re vivid blue and covered in swirls of bright sparkles that remind me of that Van Gogh painting, Starry Night.

  “Nick, I need somewhere to wear these shoes.”

  His eyes widen. “Those are some great shoes.”

  “Plus I think it will be good for me. Dylan and I are trying to share our lives more. I’ve been showing him a bit more about my work, and I think the best way for me to understand what it’s like for him to be on stage is for me to actually get up there. Does that sound cray cray?”

  “Very cray cray,” he says. “You should do it.”

  “In six days, I will.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Six days after my meeting with Nick Clark, I drive up to the music-themed restaurant he owns with his mother. Tonight, she’s going to find out they’re going into partnership with Morris Music. If she tries to wiggle out of the deal, Nick is going to show her all the criminal evidence we have on her. She’ll have no choice but to play nice.

  Best of all, she’ll stop trying to hurt Morris Music and the people who work there, because it will backfire on her.

  This whole move reminds me of those times in history when people would marry off their children to the children of other kings and queens. It’s smart to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  I’m happy I have real friends around me.

  I’m driving my car, and I’ve got my girls, Amanda and Riley, with me. They’re both dressed to kill, and so am I. In fact, we’re wearing identical outfits—blue dresses and the sexy blue high heels I showed Nick at my office.

  Dylan’s always wanted me to wear something this sexy, and he’s going to freak out when he sees me.

  I slow down the car and look for a spot to park, out of sight of the restaurant’s front doors and the crowd of paparazzi.

  Amanda grabs the rear view mirror to make sure her swept-up hair and makeup are perfect. She squeals, “We look like a trio of badass bridesmaids!”

  Riley, in the back seat, tries to tug down the short hem of her dress. “Bridesmaids? I think we look like hookers.”

  “You love it,” Amanda teases. “Get in touch with your inner hooker.”

  Riley snorts. “You are so gross. Why are we friends with you?”

  “I bring the party.” Amanda snaps her fingers and bobs her head from side to side.

  The two of them keep teasing each other while we get parked and step out of the car. I’m glad they’re in high spirits and being goofy, because I’m nervous as hell.

  The plan seemed like such a great idea that night in the diner, but now I don’t know. I’m dressed like a hooker-bridesmaid in gleaming blue, and things are about to go down. Our plan seems weak.

  But I’m here now, and I can’t let Dylan down.

  Our future is riding on this.

  My legs are shaking, and I’m wobbly. I tell myself it’s just the crazy high heels, not my nerves.

  The girls help me get the trunk open, and we pull out the guitar case. Dylan’s beloved old guitar is in here—the one he wrote his first songs
on. He was playing this guitar on the street when we first met. He collected coins and dollar bills in the velvet-lined case.

  I feel like I’m about to lose an old friend. But that’s silly. My dearest friends are at my side, posing in their tight blue dresses and laughing over who looks like more of a skank.

  I hold the guitar case tight to me and tell the girls I’m ready.

  “For your revenge?” Amanda asks.

  “For anything,” I answer, then nod for us to get going.

  As we cross the street, I spot the model, Ryanna, walking through the horde of paparazzi in front of the restaurant.

  She looks like a professional model today, her golden hair perfect, her back straight, and her head tilted just right for the best photos. Maybe she isn’t as naive as I was when I first came to L.A.

  Plus… and I haven’t told anyone but Dylan about this, but the memory makes me giggle now… Ryanna does pack quite the kiss. The fact that I kissed her back just a little bit was what allowed me to forgive Dylan for a few seconds of his hesitation. Ryanna is quite the girl. If we all survive tonight, I think she’ll do just fine in Hollywood.

  We approach the crowd of photographers, who seem uninterested in pictures of us. The three of us have our dark sunglasses on. With the matching dresses and upswept hairdos, plus our bright red lipstick, we look like a trio of backup singers. We pause near the entrance and pose for pictures, waving for attention. A couple guys snap shots, but it feels like they’re just doing it to be polite.

  I’m glad I borrowed Clay Verity’s trick. Act like you want attention, and people turn away, worried you’ll try to sell them something.

  I overhear some of the press asking each other who tonight’s surprise celebrities will be. A few of them make guesses, naming different reality TV stars. One guy says, “I know who won’t be showing up tonight. Dylan Wolf.” They all guffaw.

  I smile and roll my eyes behind my dark glasses. They couldn’t be more wrong.

  I glance up at the fundraising banner as the three of us march in the front door on our spiked heels. Everything’s perfect. Considering this was a last-minute event, everyone’s done an incredible job.

  Inside the restaurant, the bouncers at the door whistle at the three of us.

  Amanda says, “How do we look, boys?”

  The tough-looking bouncers can’t stop smiling. “I think I like charity stuff,” one of them says.

  The other one gets on his knees before Amanda and Riley. “Ladies, it’s crowded inside. Would either of you like a shoulder ride?” He stares at their bare legs and shoes. “You can’t walk in those heels.”

  They laugh and tell him they can handle it.

  I’d laugh, but I’m too nervous.

  Tonight will not just clear Dylan’s name with the media. It’s also a huge fundraiser for a local women’s shelter.

  This charity was actually Ryanna’s suggestion. After our lunch together, she called them to get some personal help. She’s currently working with investigators and other models to get the shady modeling agency shut down.

  When I was looking around for a good charity for tonight’s fundraiser, she suggested the agency. It was perfect.

  More flashes go off in my face, but I just keep smiling. These photos don’t bother me like they used to.

  Once I decided to use my notoriety for something good, everything changed. I stopped hating the paparazzi so much. I still find them annoying, but at least something good will come of it.

  Riley leans in to shout near my ear, “There’s not an empty table in the place. You’d think you were inside the Hard Rock Cafe, except for those bare walls!”

  There’s only a smattering of sparse music memorabilia hanging on the walls.

  “They won’t be bare for long,” I answer over the noise of the crowd.

  I’m not surprised Maggie Clark had so much time on her hands to get into my business. Until tonight, she hasn’t exactly been busy running the restaurant.

  We stop near the bar, and I ask the bartender to tell Nick we’re here and ready.

  The bartender uses his phone to send a message, even though he can barely take his eyes off Riley and Amanda. The girls act cool and pretend not to notice. I swear every guy in the place is looking at the three of us, and some of the women, too.

  Ryanna has disappeared, to the curtain behind the small stage. She’s probably doing last-minute preparations with the representatives from the charity. The stage is empty, waiting for us.

  My former co-worker, Nick Clark, walks up to us, looking like Casper the Unfriendly Goth, as usual. His face is pale and dotted with piercings above his black clothes.

  “My mother’s suspicious,” Nick says.

  “She should be,” Riley and Amanda say in unison.

  I introduce Nick to my friends. They’ve all heard so much about each other, but this is the first time they’ve actually met.

  There’s an awkwardness in the air, and the three of them keep looking at me, waiting for me to say everything’s okay.

  We’ve joked about tonight being for revenge, but it really isn’t. Revenge doesn’t get you anywhere. You hit someone, they keep hitting you back.

  Back at the house I share with Dylan, we have a new postcard framed on our personal wall of memorabilia: holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Every time I read it, I believe it more.

  The crowd in the restaurant begins to cheer.

  It’s happening.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The crowd cheers wildly. Someone is out on the stage now, tapping the microphone. It’s Ryanna, ready to start the introduction. She looks stunning, her golden hair radiant under the lights.

  Nick comes to stand beside me. There’s nowhere to sit, so we’re still huddled near the edge of the bar, but that’s fine. I don’t have time to sit down, because I’ll be on that stage soon. The butterflies in my stomach go into a frenzy.

  Ryanna starts her speech by thanking Maggie Clark for letting the charity use the restaurant tonight. I spot the top of Maggie’s gray-blonde head. She’s at a table near the stage, and stands up to wave one elegant hand at everyone.

  I duck down to make sure Maggie doesn’t see me yet. She doesn’t know about the announcement Nick will be making later, and I don’t want to tip her off.

  Amanda hands me a shot glass. “Liquid courage.”

  I toss it back without question. I can understand why musicians enjoy a drink or two before the show. I’m glad I’m not singing tonight, because my throat is so tight, I couldn’t squeak out two words.

  The crowd quiets down, listening to Ryanna.

  She walks back and forth across the small stage like a professional, making eye contact and speaking with confidence.

  “You’ve probably never heard a story as original as mine,” she says. “I came to L.A. from a small town, with dreams of stardom in my eyes.”

  The crowd laughs at her joke, and I relax just a little. Ryanna keeps talking, telling the crowd about how she got mixed up with the wrong people. Soon she was doing things she didn’t want to do, working for a man who was a monster.

  As she talks, I find myself leaning forward, along with everyone in the place. At times, she speaks softly, forcing people to pay attention.

  If modeling doesn’t work out, she could do publicity or media training for the music label.

  She finishes her story, everyone applauds, and then she brings out the head of the charity. That woman speaks for a few minutes, about the good work they do, and then they ask the audience for questions.

  The first question is about Dylan Wolf. I’m not at all surprised. The people packing this place from wall to wall came to hear about him, about how he abuses young women.

  Ryanna sniffs and wipes at her face. “I’m so sorry about that,” she whispers into the microphone. “When the photographs surfaced, with the bruises on my arm, I didn’t know what to do. I blamed poor Dylan, when the truth is, he’s actually a swe
etheart.”

  The person in the audience asks more questions. I can’t hear them because they don’t have a microphone.

  “That’s right,” Ryanna says. “The bruises were from someone else, not Dylan Wolf, and I deeply regret that I lied to the press. I hope you can forgive me.”

  The woman from the foundation adds, “Sadly, sometimes abused women will lie to protect their abuser. This only makes the situation more complicated, and only makes the need for help greater.”

  The crowd goes quiet, and the women goes on to quote some statistics. I can hear the discomfort in the audience. This isn’t what they came for, but they’re getting the message. I can feel it in my gut: these people are going to write some checks tonight.

  Some good will come of this whole mess.

  There are more questions, still about Dylan.

  Ryanna takes over the microphone again. “Let me tell you something about Dylan Wolf.”

  The crowd cheers with excitement.

  “He is so sweet. I was at some music events with him, and I have to admit, I was overcome with emotion.” She looks directly into the crowd at someone specific—Maggie Clark. This is where she lies to save Maggie’s bacon, and she’s letting her know.

  Laughing, Ryanna says, “I threw myself at the poor guy. And before he could fight me off, I planted a kiss on his sweet, gorgeous lips.”

  The crowd roars to hear more, and someone shouts out a question.

  This guy is so loud, yelling, “How was Dylan in the sack?”

  “In the sack?” She giggles. “Do you mean sex? Honey, I wouldn’t know. I only sleep with girls.”

  Everyone in the crowd inhales at once, the restaurant going surprisingly quiet.

  Behind me at the bar, I hear the bartender grumble about how life isn’t fair.

  “Dylan never wanted to kiss me,” she says. “Unfortunately for him, his music and his voice have a powerful effect on people. I don’t even like guys, and I ambushed him with my lips. Say, do you guys think he’ll ever forgive me?”

  There’s a din of confused muttering in the crowd.

  Nick pats me on the shoulder. “Show time.” He leads the way, pushing through the crowded restaurant.