—Sebastian Tate
SITTING INSIDE JAVA and Me, I stared down at the photos on my phone. A tingle of foreboding went up my spine.
Out of all the pic ops I’d posed for last night with Blair, the Hollywood Insider had run with three pictures I’d never posed for as the top story on their website. No doubt it would make their television show this evening.
The first was of me carrying V through Masquerade. The second was a fuzzier pic of us kissing in the manager’s office, obviously taken from the window outside the restaurant. Fucking reporters. And finally, the last photo was of me and Blair arguing outside the club when I’d told her I was taking her home.
Mystery Girl and Sebastian Tate was the tagline.
Disaster. All that time invested with Blair, and it had fallen apart in one day.
“I hate to say it, but Blair was right.” I inspected the pic of us in the office. I squinted as I turned the photo in different angles. “That could be anyone. Right?” I looked to Mila for help.
She leaned over my shoulder and patted my arm—not a good sign. “Hmmm, I can tell that’s your hands on V’s butt by your lion ring, and that’s definitely your big old head and blond hair.” She giggled. “What cracks me up is the little black-out line where V’s boob is.”
She pointed at the one of me carrying V after her attack. “What I find interesting is the way you look here. All Neanderthal like, ‘Me caveman. Me protect my woman,’” she joked in a deep voice.
I arched a brow. “Glad you’re amused. You’re not much help.”
Spider smirked at me as he sipped on his tea. “These pics explain why Blair ran out this morning—thank God.” He shuddered.
I nodded. She’d left as soon as her PR girl had gotten a tip from someone who worked at the Hollywood Insider.
Mila patted my hand. “Just read what it says out loud. Maybe we can spin it.” She tried to sound chipper, but I had a feeling that once Hing saw that I wasn’t with Blair anymore—that we were arguing—he’d think twice about hiring me.
“You just want to make fun of me,” I said as I scrolled down on my phone to get to the article.
“No, I want to help.”
“I want to make fun of you,” Spider snarked.
I flipped him off and read the article.
Spider whistled. “Blair’s going to piss herself when she sees this.”
As if on cue, my phone ran. Harry. The article had been online for ten minutes and he was already calling.
“Asshole agent?” Spider asked
Mila shushed him as I answered.
I opened with, “Harry, it’s not a big deal.”
“No, it’s a fucking disaster when you cheat on America’s Sweetheart! Directors don’t want relationship issues on their set, Sebastian!” He breathed heavily into the phone. I pictured him sitting at his desk in Beverly Hills, clutching the phone like a lifeline as he visualized millions in a movie deal flying out the window.
I kept my voice soft, but my own anger was building. “This article is bogus. There’s nothing between me and V. We’re friends.”
Were we even that now?
He cackled. “Yeah, right. You screwed up when you kissed her, Tate. While she was topless. Pictures don’t lie.”
“Fine. How can we fix it?” I snapped.
Silence for a few beats. “Just be seen with Blair, act like nothing’s wrong. At the end of the day, Hing liked your screen test, he digs your look, but he was waffling based on your rep, so I don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets wind of this.”
I sat up straighter. “Harry, to be honest, I’m sick of Blair. She acts like we’re really dating and says mean shit to my friends. I don’t trust her.”
I heard him groan. “Look, I’ve read the script. This movie will make you a star.”
Something V had said came back to me. About how I could make it on my own.
“Maybe I don’t need Blair. Maybe there’s another movie out there for me.”
He sighed. “I’ve got nothing on my plate for you now. This is it. Sure, you can take a break from Blair and see what happens. But fans are fickle and so are movie studios. By the time a new script comes along, you could be old news.”
I fumed. “I still have music, Harry. You’re the one who’s supposed to get the movie deals. Do your fucking job.”
“I’m just saying the truth. Not that I like it.” He paused. “Just stay away from that girl, Sebastian. She’s career suicide.”
I hung up and slammed the phone down. Even though I’d left her house angry, I didn’t want to hear I was supposed to stay away from V.
“Holy Hannah in a hand basket, V just walked in the door,” Mila exclaimed as she looked over my shoulder.
She was here?
“Where?” I said, heart thundering as I craned my neck around to the entrance.
She whistled. “She’s got a sizzling new hair style—and a hottie with her.”
“Who you calling a hottie?” Spider snipped.
I narrowed my eyes. Since when did Spider get jealous over guys Mila checked out? He and I were due another conversation.
When I saw her, my mouth dried. Her long hair had been cut to shoulder-length in a choppy style where the front was longer than the back. The ends had been dipped in an electric purple color. It suited her angular face, the softness of her red mouth.
“She looks like a rocker,” I murmured.
She ducked her head at the stir of attention she and Geoff caused at the door, the locals wondering if someone important had come in, the tourists checking to see if she was somebody. A couple of people whispered, and I got paranoid they’d connect her with the Mystery Girl in the paper.
I let out a sigh of relief when no one rushed her. Maybe the hair saved her. I remembered that her face had been hidden in most of them too.
Mila stood up from our booth and waved them over.
Great. How the hell was I supposed to deal with her and Geoff in my face?
As they made their way over, Mila sent me a pointed look. “While you were sleeping in this morning with Little Miss Sunshine, I did my research on V. The guy she’s with is the Mayor of New York’s son. He’s in law school, plays polo, and dates socialites.”
She patted my hand. Like I was sad or something. Whatever.
“Go on. Finish it. If I know you, you researched the shit out of it.”
She nodded. “Her parents were wealthy philanthropists. Apparently, their name is like gold in New York; everyone loved them and they were a pretty big deal in the social scene. After the crash, she had quite a bit of notoriety going on for a while, lots of papers wanting her story.”
Mila straightened her headband and sent a look over my shoulder. “Here they come. Act nice because I happen to like her a lot.”
Nice wasn’t happening. I could tell by the way my leg was bouncing under the table. I was still angry—or hurt—or something.
V slid in next to me while Geoff pulled up a chair at the end of the table. The waitress brought us refills and they chatted. I sat back with my leg deliberately pressed against V’s, heat firing off in my body at the proximity of her skin.
Mila and Geoff seemed to hit it off right away—birds of a feather—and got into a discussion about mutual society people they knew in Dallas. Spider zoned out by checking his phone, a petulant look on his face as he watched Mila and Geoff’s heads together.
V and I just sat there.
Next to each other.
Neither of us looking at the other.
Both of us on a razor’s edge.
I looked at Geoff. He wore jeans but still managed to look like a Wall Street man with his short hair and a thick sweater across his shoulders. Didn’t he know it was June in LA? Then I saw the smudge of lipstick on his lips, a trace of pink, and my gut clenched. They’d been kissing.
My phone buzzed and I checked it, hoping it was Harry with good news.
It wasn’t.
Violet: About last nig
ht, I’m sorry I lied. Truth is, I was surprised to see you. I didn’t know what to say.
I tapped out my reply: Meet me in the bathroom. I’ll tell you what I really think and then you can make it up to me.
I looked up as I sent it.
She read my text, her fingers over her phone, the pulse in her neck kicking up.
I sent another: Did you like it when we made out at Masquerade? You know, I can do a whole lot better with more space, more time, and less of your pansy boyfriend.
She tapped out: Go fuck yourself.
She was angry too, and part of me got turned on. Here’s the weird part—I’d been an easy going guy most of my life, but with her, I didn’t even recognize who I’d become. Combustible and wired to the teeth, our connection was like a bomb about to explode. She was a grenade, and I wanted to pull her pin so bad I could taste it.
Fucking would be better with you, I sent back.
I waited for a reply but nothing came, so I glanced up to see Geoff playing with V’s hair, his fingers idly twisting the strands. My eyes flared, my chest heaved, and I cracked. It became crystal clear—he’d come here to get her back.
And I didn’t want to let her go.
I tore my eyes off of them and wrote to her: Did you fuck him? My heart pounded as I hit send. Please say no.
She replied: I saw Blair leaving your house this morning. Nice little walk of shame there. Or maybe, I should call it her “I Got Laid Parade.”
Dammit!
I tapped out: Truth: she came over. Truth: nothing happened. It was YOU I wanted.
She wrote: If it was ME you wanted, then why did you leave Masquerade with her?
I replied: What else do you want? Blood? Pictures of us are already splattered all over the internet.
She immediately set down her phone, a worried frown on her face.
Geoff had been talking to Mila, but stopped. “You okay, Violet?”
She looked at me. “How bad is it?”
“What’s going on?” Geoff asked us, eyes darting from me to her.
Every ounce of my anger vanished. It had never been about her specifically anyway. “It’s just some photos. I’ve got it covered. Please, don’t worry, V. I’ll make sure they don’t bother you.”
She gripped the menu. “Okay.”
“Did you want to order something to eat, Violet?” Geoff asked, putting his hand on her arm.
I sucked in a breath. “Why don’t you call her V like everyone else?” I ground out.
“Her name is Violet.” He tapped his spoon on his coffee cup.
I crossed my arms. “I call her V or Violin Girl, but then that was when I was just watching her through my binoculars.”
Even Spider, whom nothing fazed, tensed as he adjusted his muffin in different angles and sent me hard looks. I got his message. Chill out.
But I couldn’t. I wanted to pound on Geoff.
“Her name is Violet St. Lyons, and her family name goes back to the Mayflower, if you care,” he told me, studying his fingernails like I was beneath him. “I don’t think the police will take kindly to you spying on her, either.”
All eyes swiveled to me.
“She could have called the cops. She likes me looking at her.”
He snorted. “Please. I doubt that. She’s classier than that.”
“Me watching her is our thing, but I’ll spare you the details.” I glared at the lipstick on his mouth.
One corner of his lip quirked. “You remind me of a kid who lost his sucker and cries about it, Mr. Tate. I’m sorry you showed up last night and got your eyes opened.”
V let out a gasp. “Geoff, stop. There’s nothing going on—”
“She’s mine,” I growled at him. Mila was right. I was a Neanderthal. And I fucking embraced it.
“She’s been in my bed. Has she been in yours?” He smiled.
I reared back, almost as if he’d slapped me and I’d taken a stumble.
“Geoff! This is ridiculous. You’re both acting like children,” V hissed.
But all I could focus on was Geoff.
I forced my tense shoulders in a nonchalant shrug and smiled tightly, my hands clenched under the table. “She may not have been in my bed, but she’s an incredible musician, Geoff. But the best thing is when she plays nude just for me. Her music is superb, but put it with her hot body and the way she moves—” I groaned and bit my lower lip “—it takes me to heaven, man.”
Dead silence and then, “She plays naked?” Spider hissed and elbowed me.
V jerked up out of her chair and gave me a disbelieving headshake. Her face had flushed a deep scarlet.
I flinched at the betrayal in her eyes. “Wait.” I stood as well, not caring that we had the attention of half the coffee place. “V—shit—that was low. I wanted him to know how things are between us …” I came to an abrupt halt when she turned her face away. I’d sounded needy and insecure anyway. What was she doing to me?
“You’re an asshole,” Geoff murmured, shaking his head at me as he put his arms around V.
Surprising me, Spider jumped up, his chair making a horrible scooting noise on the tile. He pointed at Geoff. “Bugger me, you’re the dodgy one. I’ve been sitting here trying to keep it in, but you’ll not be a dick to my mate. Now, get the fuck out of my coffee shop before I bust your face.”
A hush settled around us as camera phones popped out.
“Fine by me,” Geoff said. He took Violet’s hand and led her away.
“That went well,” I muttered as I sat back down and scrubbed my face. Dazed.
Spider smoothed down his blue shirt and took his seat, looking surprisingly unruffled. He nibbled on a scone. “I don’t know about her, but you’re in trouble for holding out on me. Really? How could you not let me look when she stripped?”
Mila slapped his hand. “Be quiet. Can’t you see he’s upset?”
He pouted. “But it was naughty bits. I love naughty bits.”
She sighed. “Good grief, I’ll show you my tits later.”
It barely registered that Mila had said tits.
Because I wasn’t paying attention, too busy getting a read on Geoff as he followed behind V. I didn’t miss the triumphant smirk he shot me as they’d walked away
Geoff: 2. Sebastian: 0.
“He played me like a symphony.”
—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons
THE CONFRONTATION AT the coffee shop ruined the rest of Geoff’s visit.
I was angry that Geoff had acted like he owned me, even insinuating that we’d slept together recently. He fumed that I’d let Sebastian hear me play, when that had been one of the first things he asked for when he’d arrived at my house. And the whole naked thing drove him insane.
The one thing we did agree on was to allow him to speak with the chancellor at the Manhattan School of Music. Maybe it would spur me on to do something with my career.
The next day, I drove him to the airport and walked him to the security checkpoint. Most of the time I avoided anything that might trigger memories of the crash, so this was the first time I’d been inside an airport since that day. I took it in and didn’t get the cold sweats or want to puke. I felt okay—not great—but I could function.
“You good?” he asked, as we walked past several pilots and flight attendants.
I nodded. “I know it seems small, but standing here is big.”
“I’m glad.” He set his bags down and tugged my hand until our chests were touching. He looked sad, and part of me—the old me—wanted to make him happy again. I reached up and kissed him hungrily. Desperately. Trying to find a spark. He groaned and gathered me close.
But it felt wrong.
He sighed heavily as we pulled apart. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
No. Yes.
I nodded.
He grimaced. “Why him? He’s not anything like what I pictured you with.”
I shook my head. “Sometimes there isn’t an answer—just a feeli
ng.” I pushed a strand of auburn hair off his face and cupped his cheek. “Not that it matters because I can see you’re still jealous, but I’m not with him.”
“I think your heart is,” he said tersely as regret flickered over his face. “I know I’ve dated girls after you, but you were always the goal, and somehow, you’ve already forgotten all about me.” He sighed. “I came here for a reason and my offer still stands. If you come back to New York, I’ll be the best damn man for you. I will make you forget about him.”
I smiled. “You make me breathless with statements like that.”
He smirked. “But is it enough for you to let this place go?”
“I don’t know.” There were things I missed about New York: the zoo, the pizza, the winter weather. But here I’d played my violin at the base of the Santa Monica Mountains. Here I was growing. Changing.
He fumbled around in his pockets and pulled out my promise ring. It glittered under the lights in the airport. “Whatever happens in the next few weeks, just remember that I still love you, and if you still want this ring, it’s burning a hole in my pocket.” He paused. “I’ve carried it with me for a year and a half, Violet. Waiting.”
His poignant words tugged at me. Was there a chance for us? Could he love the new me?
My throat clogged and I couldn’t speak. I nodded and hugged him.
“I’ll call you,” he said, and sent me one last lingering look and joined the security line.
I stood and watched until he disappeared into the crowd.
THAT NIGHT I crawled into bed with some old photo albums. I flipped through the pictures, looking at the moments captured there. I stroked the lines of my mother’s face. I traced my father’s smile. I wept. Yes, grief was its own fucking species, and I was tired of breathing it. Living it.
Meeting Sebastian and seeing Geoff again … it made me realize that I wanted my world back. And for the first time since the crash, something in me shifted—a desire to just be still and listen to my heart. To my parents.
My father had saved me. Was I going to let it all be for nothing? Is this the life my mother would have wanted for me? To wallow in guilt and sorrow? To give up my dreams?
Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) Page 11
