Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3)

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  With my heart hurting, I nodded. “Fine. Are you free tomorrow to go to the studio and work on the set list for the gala? You are still playing with us, right?” I just needed her near me.

  She straightened her hair and clothes. “But first, we’re going to walk out of here like we didn’t just nearly have sex on a box of Bud Light.”

  “In the end I’m here to tell you that I love comets and fairy dust too much to let life pass me by.”

  —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

  THE NEXT WEEK, I spent time in the studio with Sebastian and Spider working on the song I was going to play with them at the gala. He’d chosen his breakout hit “Superman”, only he’d slowed it down so I could open the number before Spider’s guitar riff kicked in. It made me jittery and queasy to sit there and work with two seasoned musicians critiquing me, but it wasn’t enough to send me into a blind panic.

  The air was charged between us, though, with stolen glances and brushes of our skin. I did my best to give him plenty of leeway and not be alone with him. Like a rubberband that’s about to snap, the tension threatened to drive me insane.

  Just yesterday in the studio, I’d been leaning over the music stand to find my notes and when I raised back up, he’d been hovering over me, the strangest expression on his face.

  I’d tugged down my short skirt—thanks to Mila. “Are you trying to look up my skirt?”

  “No,” he’d said and straightened back up, hands raised. “I swear there was something in your hair and—”

  “Sniffing my hair?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Then back up, please.” And I’d shooed him back a few inches.

  He’d smirked and grumbled something about picky artists needing their space for their big heads. I’d laughed.

  Even though the tension between us was electric, our playing was incredible. His husky singing voice held secrets, and I got lost in the sound we made, my soul clicking with something in his.

  Hadn’t it always been that way with us?

  My head kept going back to the stolen moment in the walk-in cooler at Rio.

  He’d been erratic and crazy and slightly deranged. The truth was I had gotten under his skin and my gut knew it terrified him.

  Now here it was Friday already, and I sat next to the pool, working on the guest list for the gala. Mrs. Smythe and I had met or spoken on the phone frequently, nailing down the details. Counting the kids and attendees, over three hundred people would be in attendance at the black tie affair at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. A formal event, each attendee would pay two thousand dollars a plate. Thank goodness, Wilson had been over a couple of times with his list of Hollywood celebrities to invite. Since our lunch at the Rio, he’d helped me quite a bit.

  I glanced up when Sebastian walked up to the patio from his property, holding a brown wicker basket with a closed lid. Strange sounds came from it.

  “Hey you,” he said, and leaned in to give me a quick peck on my cheek. Nothing serious, and he didn’t linger.

  I cocked my head. “Your basket is freaking me out.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t buy presents for girls much, so I hope I wasn’t too far off the mark with this, but I’d like you to meet fur ball—which isn’t really her name. You can call her whatever you want,” he said as he pulled out a fluffy, slobbering little puppy.

  I blinked at it. I could barely take care of myself. “A puppy?”

  He plopped her in my arms. “Duh. She’s for you, goof.”

  She whimpered and licked my hand. “But why? What do I do with it? Where does it sleep? Does it eat cheese puffs? Oh God. I’d suck at being a parent.”

  He lifted his soft blue eyes to mine. “It’s a stupid gift, isn’t it?”

  I shook my head. She was terribly cute with her big brown eyes and long hair. “No, no, no. Why do you say that? Wait, is this some kind of break-up-dog? Because you feel guilty about what happened?”

  His jaw tightened. “Stop putting words in my mouth. This is because when I saw this dog, I knew she had to be yours. She’s sweet … like you. She’s musical … I heard her howl at the pet store. She’s got the softest fur … just like you.” He chuckled at my expression.

  “Okay, not even touching the fur comment, but why were you even thinking of me?” I pressed.

  He looked deflated. Shit, I was ruining this. “Why what?” he said. “Can’t I just do something spontaneous? Why do you have to put a label on it?”

  I sighed. “So you think about me? A lot. Like when you just randomly walk in a pet store? And not just when you go to bed and have sex dreams about me?”

  “Yeah. I also think about food a lot, too.”

  Ha. Fine. I gazed back down at the gorgeous dog that seemed to be some kind of Yorkie.

  I rubbed her head and she licked me. “Well, thank you. I’m in love with her already. I’m going to call her Tater.” She yipped delicately. “She likes it.”

  His lips quirked. “Tater? After me?”

  “No, because I like French Fries,” I chuckled. “I hope she doesn’t like to jump in the pool like Monster did.”

  “That was a wonderful night,” he said with a wistful expression. “You and me talking until dawn. Until I left, of course.”

  I covered my face. “I can’t believe I ran down here and just—kissed you.”

  He chuckled. “It was the Romeo quote that did it, wasn’t it? Works every time.”

  I punched his arm. “I thought I was the only one you’d quoted that to.”

  He got a serious look on his face. “Only you, V, only you.”

  He sat down next to me in a lounge chair, and I looked at him harder, noticing the disheveled hair and the dark circles.

  “Are you okay? You seem tired.”

  He didn’t meet my eyes. “I’m cool. Besides the studio, Spider and I got signed for another commercial.”

  There was more, though. Something was on his mind.

  I winced. “Any news on the Hing movie?”

  He shook his head, his eyebrows gathering in. “Nah, I didn’t get it. It’s official. Whatever, I was a long shot with him—everyone knows that—obviously.” He rose. “I’ll talk you tomorrow at the studio. Take care of Tater for me.”

  Oh.

  My heart hurt at the disappointment on his face. “I’m so sorry. They’ll be other movies, other directors. Right?”

  “Yeah.” And then he walked away from me, and I wanted to call him back.

  But we were different now. Uneasy and afraid to be alone together for too long.

  It sucked.

  MILA HAD MADE good on her night out with Baxter. She rented us a Mercedes limo that Saturday night and made us reservations at a new club called Krush. We picked up Baxter, who was sexy gorgeous with his linebacker body and big dimples—until you noticed he only had eyes for the dudes. We didn’t care. He was fun, picked up on our vibe to dance, and kept the creeps away.

  We’d just finished dancing and I’d headed to the bar to get us another round when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Quit your whining, Baxter, here’s your Buttery Nipple,” I called out triumphantly as I turned around drink in hand.

  But it wasn’t Baxter. It was Blair.

  “Well, if it isn’t the sweet little violinist named Violet St. Lyons.” Her lips curled up in a snarl.

  My entire body tensed. “Blair. Nice to see you. I’m actually here with some friends—so if you’ll excuse me.” I made to brush by her, but she blocked me.

  “Oh, don’t be in such a rush. I still want to talk, Violet.”

  Going by the slight flush on her face and the smeared makeup, she was trashed. I smiled tightly. Might as well let her get her say in. “Fine.”

  She shooed a girl off the stool next to her and then plopped down, crossing her tanned legs delicately at the ankles. She sipped on a glass of wine and sent me a haughty glare. Something she seemed to have mastered. “I don’t know what you’re doing to keep Sebastian away from me, but you need to
chill out. You’re ruining his career.”

  “He can make it without you, and I think you know that. Find a new boy toy—unless you’re in love with him?” The thought had crossed my mind.

  She laughed. “God, I may have had sex with him which was fantastic—and I may have fallen in love with him for a second or two—but romance is not my ultimate goal. Success and longevity in Hollywood is.” She took a sip, her slitted eyes on my face. “Not that you would know about ambition. Your music career seems to have taken a nosedive rather dramatically.”

  That stung. “You don’t know the first thing about me or my music.”

  She tossed her head back and chuckled. “You’re quite the feisty thing, aren’t you, but I think I prefer the freak from the coffee shop. At least she had the sense to run away.” She ran her finger across the rim of her glass. “Let me put it like this, Violet: You may have skated by without anyone picking up on who you are, but I know. And for some odd reason, it bothers you for people to know. All it would take would be a mention that you were the reason Sebastian Tate left me, and people would hate you.” She fluttered her spidery eyelashes at me. “To prevent me from spilling the beans, I think you should talk to Sebastian, convince him to amp up our relationship—maybe even a fake proposal.” She bit her lip. “God, I’d love to try on wedding dresses and buy a ring and plan a bachelorette party.”

  The room spun. Being in the eye of a paparazzi storm? Terrifying. I licked my lips, feeling cold and then hot. My mouth dried and I started tapping with my free hand. I dropped the shot and the glass shattered, alcohol and glass flying. Someone screamed and people gave me a wide birth as they looked accusingly at the mess and then me, but I was frozen, fighting my panic, fighting Blair.

  “Dearest, maybe you should sit down. You really are a basket case.” She tsked.

  No. Not this time.

  From somewhere deep inside me, some small part of the girl I used to be reared her head. Yet, because of my parents, I wasn’t an evil person either. And when I gazed inward I saw myself clearly. I saw that I was better. I saw that no matter what had happened to me, I at least had a chance for a future happiness. I wasn’t so sure Blair did.

  I stepped in so close to her I could see the pores of her skin.

  She definitely needed a chemical peel.

  “I see who you are,” I said. “You’re a small-town girl with a big talent and it got you far. Look at you … you’re America’s Sweetheart, but now that you’re getting older, you’re mean. Ugly. Maybe I should be angry with you, but when it comes down to it, I’m not. I know what death is, Blair. I fell twenty thousand feet from the sky into a cold ocean. I watched my mother bleed to death in front of me. My father drowned so I could live. So, if you think that I am going to sit by and worry about what some jaded actress from lower Alabama has to say about spilling my secrets to the press, you’re sadly wrong. You are an infinitesimal zit on this universe, and there are plenty of other issues worth my time.” I gathered myself. Smiled. “Oh, and I wanted to personally thank you for your fifty thousand dollar contribution to Lyons Place. Indie Rock Today announced it this morning.” I leaned in and gave her a squeeze. “God loves you.”

  I walked off on shaky legs, but with victory in my bones.

  “My favorite color is cobalt—also cornflower or indigo or azure or steel or lake or sky—hell, I just love blue.”

  —Spider (Clarence)

  “HOW MANY BLUE shirts do you need?” I asked Spider as we left Gucci and headed down Rodeo Drive. He might look like a thug, but he was a well-dressed one, always scouting the men’s stores for the best looks and designers.

  We strolled along wearing Dallas Cowboys caps pulled low and aviators. Not that it helped much. Those hardcore fans always recognized us.

  “I’m in what I’m going to call my blue phase, whether it’s my hair or that sick blue Lamborghini we looked at last week.” He lit a cig and blew out smoke. “I think I’m going to buy it. What do you think?” He slid his eyes at me. “Dude, you look like shit warmed over.”

  “Thanks. That’s just the look I was going for.”

  I’d agreed to come along even though all I really wanted was to go home and crash. Usually I was the Energizer Bunny. Not today. Something clawed at me. Maybe it was because I’d been up until two in the morning drinking and waiting for V to play. Same as the night before. But she never did. The only time I saw her was at the studio. I’d even tried to talk up Mrs. Smythe and find out what days she’d be at the orphanage, but the woman was tight-lipped on all things V.

  She’d said she wouldn’t regret us, but she did. Most of the time, all I wanted was to just pull her in my arms and kiss her, but I couldn’t lead her on.

  I had nothing to offer her. No love. No future. Just friendship and sex. I rubbed my face. Since when did Sebastian Tate wallow in self-pity over a girl?

  Just then I saw Blair across the street, walking with her flashy entourage in tow.

  My mind went back to the day Harry had introduced me to her in his office a few months ago, before we’d moved to LA. She’d been sitting there splayed out on his leather couch like a Playboy centerfold, her shirt unbuttoned down to her waist and tiny boy shorts on. She’d giggled at me, flicked her hair over her shoulder and tackle hugged me, her melons squashed against my chest. Her body was tight, no denying it, but underneath she was a twisted bitch. Only I hadn’t been able to see it at first. I’d just wanted to fuck her, plain and simple. Harry had sucked me in with his idea of making us a couple. Be seen around town, he’d said. Pretend you’re in a committed relationship, he’d encourage. The Hing movie will fall in your lap, he’d promised. And maybe it would have worked if V hadn’t came along, but I wasn’t blaming her. I blamed myself. I’d willingly agreed to the lies just to get ahead. Sure other couples in Hollywood did it all the time, but I was disappointed in myself. Lying wasn’t me. Hadn’t I told V that I valued honesty? I was a fucking joke.

  I grabbed Spider’s arm and muscled him through the door of the next store. “Hide,” I hissed. “I can’t deal with her shit today.”

  “Who? Godzilla? Zombies?” He gazed around at the glittery displays in the store and paled. “Dude, we’re in Tiffany’s. If you’re here to get me to buy a ring for Mila, you can just back the f—”

  In a cloud of cloyingly sweet perfume, Blair waltzed through the door. She rushed up to me just as her entourage surrounded Spider. He grinned and welcomed them with open arms. Fuck. I just wanted to run.

  “Basty, baby! I’m about to pee myself that Tiffany’s is where you wanted to meet me.” She smiled brilliantly and then leaned in to hiss in my ear. “Act like you’re happy to see me.”

  I arched a brow. “I came in here to get away from you.”

  Her big lips tightened as she pulled me to the side. “I have called you a million times, asshole. I heard you went horseback riding—without me. I also heard you practically begged V to talk to you at Rio’s.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Was she following me?

  “So what? I didn’t get the part, anyway.”

  Her strapless dress swelled as she sucked in a sympathetic breath. Her voice was sugary. “Harry told me. Apparently, I’m still in, but if we keep up this nonsense of not being seen—”

  “Stop,” I snapped. “I’ve been doing some soul searching and I don’t care anymore about negative publicity. You can do your best. Paint me as the bad guy. Tell everyone I cheated on you. Make yourself look fucking golden. It doesn’t matter to me. I am ending this charade. I want my life back.”

  Her mouth opened. “This is all about that little twit of a girl, isn’t it?”

  A roaring took up in my head. “So help me God, Blair, don’t bring her name into this. She’s nothing to do with this.”

  A tinkling laugh came out of her. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Some stupid girl named Violet who plays the violin. It’s so incredibly ridiculous and trite that I can’t even fathom what you’d see in—”


  “This fake relationship is done.” I gritted my teeth. “My suggestion is you get your PR girl to meet with Mila and let the two of them work out a statement together. But if you so much as touch V with scandal, I will hunt you—”

  “If you think that I’m going to sit by while you ride off into the sunset with your one true love, then you have me all wrong.” She fluttered her lashes and called to the girls over my shoulder. “Come along, ladies. Apparently Sebastian needs some space to pick out my engagement ring.”

  They flashed their camera phones at us and floated out the door.

  Spider said, “Bollocks, she’s scary as shit. Meaner than my Irish whiskey-drinking Grandma.”

  My adrenaline plummeted. I weaved and clutched the side of the jewelry counter.

  “What the hell, mate?” Spider caught me by the arm. He steered me toward the hovering saleslady who’d already pulled out a rolling chair for me.

  “I’m not a baby, Spider.”

  “You’re pale and weaving like you’re hammered.” He leaned in to check my face. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?”

  Not since last night. I pushed him away. “No. Get out of my face.”

  “Bloody hell, you’re a belligerent one.”

  Dizziness hit and the room twirled. “Fuck,” I muttered, and leaned over to put my head between my knees. “Sorry, man. Give me a minute. I forgot to eat this morning, that’s all.” Truth. In fact, I’d lost a few pounds since the camping trip two weeks before.

  He hovered around me. “Normally I’d avoid talking about your personal life—too touchy feely for me—but you’re in the shitter, my friend. You’re distracted half the time, not eating, staying up late and generally in a pissy mood twenty-four seven. Is it because you didn’t get the movie or is it because you slept with V and now you regret it?”

  “Fuck you,” I muttered, and sat back up in the chair. “I need something to eat, that’s all.”

  He turned back to the saleslady who’d moved to stand behind the jewelry counter. “Excuse me? Do you have some candy here or maybe a power bar?”