by Karina Bliss
Travis stared at Elizabeth. “Biographer,” he repeated, his hooded eyes gleaming with such malice she glanced around for her discarded chicken skewer. “Has Zee got to the part where he shafted his former bandmates yet? I’d love to hear his justification for that.”
“Then you should have returned my calls,” Zander bit back. “Now you’ll have to wait until the book comes out, along with everyone else. And you and Mick were the ones who walked. It didn’t follow that I had to roll over and accept the end of a band I’d devoted my life to building.”
“Yeah, Zee, because as usual it’s all about you. You know why we left, sweetheart?” Travis asked Elizabeth. “Because we couldn’t work with this asshole anymore. You know why we didn’t come back? Because this asshole wouldn’t compromise. Mick and I were prepared to negotiate and don’t let Zee tell you different.”
Zander’s expression darkened. “You were happy to let me drive the juggernaut for twenty years while you got famous, got rich and got laid.” His tone dripped contempt. “Only an idiot would agree to taking the backseat because the kids suddenly think it would be cool to get behind the wheel.”
As the two men traded verbal blows, Elizabeth saw the same simmering, almost orgiastic anticipation on bystanders’ faces as she’d seen during the boxing match.
Zander’s forearm under her fingers was rock-hard. She squeezed to bring him back to an awareness of his surroundings but he remained focused on the man in front of him. Stormy disentangled from Travis and stepped away, looking frightened.
Elizabeth tightened her grip, figuring at least she could stop Zander throwing a punch.
“If you make us out to be the bad guys in this, Zee,” Travis snarled, “I’ll sue you for slander.”
“It’s libel when it’s in print,” he retorted. “Slander is verbal defamation—what you and Mick did when you claimed the band’s breakup and my brother’s collapse were all on me.”
“You told Dev the show must go on when any fool could see he was sick as a dog.”
“Then any fool should have spoken up. I had my hands full running Rage remember?”
“Running a fucking dictatorship you mean. Like you’d have listened.”
Elizabeth intervened. “Clearly you’re both still suffering a lot of guilt,” she said calmly. “It’s understandable, but Devin’s alive, healthy and happy now, isn’t he?”
The two men shot her an incredulous look.
“What the fuck is she on?” said Travis.
“Doc,” Zander murmured. “All due respect. Go to your room.”
“Once an oppressor, always an oppressor,” Travis jeered.
Ignoring him, Zander looked at her. “You don’t need this kind of publicity.”
Holding his gaze, she squeezed his forearm again. “Do you?”
For a moment they stared at each other, then the muscles under her fingers relaxed. “No,” he said and steered her away. “Nice seeing you both,” he threw over his shoulder.
“What the fuck,” said Travis behind them.
“Strolling away,” muttered Zander slowing Elizabeth’s stride, “not running away.” In a louder voice, he said, “Nothing to see here, folks, just another custody dispute.” Everyone laughed.
His smile vanished when the elevator door closed. “You okay?”
“Front-row seats at two fights. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” She added gently, “Are you okay?”
Zander jabbed the button for her floor. “I’m the first to admit I’m hard work, but if I want to insult people I do it to their face. I don’t sneak to the press behind their back.” Though the elevator was already moving, he hit the button again. “And I’m not going to badmouth them in this memoir either.”
“Of course not. Whining isn’t your style.”
“Damn right. Which is why Travis’s holier-than-thou shit drives me crazy!” He was shaken or he wouldn’t be talking so freely. “The bastard’s in a win-win situation. The tour publicity is pumping up sales of our old albums, but if the tour crashes and burns, he gets to crow, ‘I told you the son of a bitch would fail.’” He slammed his palm against the door and the elevator shuddered. “Travis gets rich and I carry all the risk, same as always.”
“The breakup still hurts,” she ventured.
“For years I had those guys at my back and now it’s done, all gone. But once they started laying down ridiculous terms for their return I had to say no. Rage’s future was at stake.”
Elizabeth was silent. Sometimes pain simply needed a witness.
Zander glanced over half-suspiciously, then sighed. “There’s too much bitterness, it’s like a divorce. You want to be grown-up about it, but whenever you get together the same arguments come up. Do I wish we’d found a compromise that worked? Yeah. I loved those guys. Do I regret what I’m doing with Rage now? No. Do I believe I have equally talented musicians to reinvent the band? Hell, fucking yeah, I do.”
He brooded a few seconds. “In the end, our fans will decide if the band succeeds. Not me and not Travis.” The elevator stopped at her floor. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
She didn’t argue with gentlemanly impulses. “Thank you.” As Elizabeth unlocked her door she said quietly, “Stormy didn’t break off your relationship, did she?” She understood now the resistance he had to revealing himself—and the magnitude of her task in convincing him to do so.
“As far as the memoir’s concerned, she did.” A tacit confirmation of her suspicions. Now, when he was upset and angry wasn’t the time to cry foul, much as she wanted to. Softly, softly catch the rock star. Elizabeth took a deep breath. She had to believe she was up to the challenge.
“You’re worried about her.”
“She always had shit taste in men.” Zander frowned. “But it seems every time I see her lately she’s either drunk or high and that’s not Stormy. Travis plays mind games with women and—” He recollected himself. “Not my business.”
“If you still care about her?”
Zander opened her door. “Not your business either.”
Elizabeth didn’t move. “Your business is my business.”
“Clean breaks,” he said. “Don’t look back, no regrets.”
“Remind me to put all those clichés in the book.”
His full mouth tightened at her sarcastic tone. “We’re done with this subject.” Turning on his heel, he walked toward the elevator, then returned.
“I forgot to thank you,” he said.
“For what?” she said exasperated.
“Reminding me I had a choice with Travis. And for not overreacting to Stormy’s bitchy comment.”
She tried not to soften. “I figured it was meant to hurt you, not me.”
“You’re a kind person,” he said.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks redden. “Anyone would have—”
“Just accept the damn compliment, Doc.”
She sank into a grateful curtsy, but Zander caught her chin.
“You’re kind,” he said, “not humble. So don’t pretend with me.” Lightly, he brushed his thumb over her jaw and smiled into her startled eyes.
“Good night, m’lady.”
Chapter Eleven
Stormy sat next to her fake Louis Vuitton luggage in the hotel lobby, flicking through her cell’s address book looking for an LA friend who might care enough to drive eight hours round trip to pick her up.
Her finger hovered over Jill’s number briefly, but her roommate was the last person to tell she’d been left ditched and destitute in Vegas. She was two months overdue with rent and had maxed out her credit cards to meet utility bills. And she had twelve bucks left in her purse.
There had been fifteen, but she’d spent three dollars on a bottle of Advil to try and clear her hangover so she could think.
Unfortunately, the fog in her brain had only lifted enough for her mother’s voice to tell her she was a dumbass.
Of all the times to stand up for yourself.
Stormy re
ached the Zs in her contact list, stared at Zander’s name, then switched off her cell and dropped it into her handbag. Who was she kidding? There were no friends left in this state.
A male passerby gave her an appreciative smile and she returned it perfunctorily.
If worst came to worst, one of her family would lend her bus fare to Kansas, where she could beg for her old job at the Rib House. She’d been a waitress, modeling occasionally for catalogs, when she’d hooked up with a photographer, moved to LA and found herself…waitressing. On the advice of the boyfriend, Stormy got boobs as big as her smile. With curves had come more opportunities—swimsuit and lingerie modeling, product launches at gun and car fairs. Music videos for rock stars.
She sighed.
Meeting Zander had been like hitting the biggest ladder on the snakes and ladders board. Only she’d gotten too secure and made the mistake of sharing her dreams—marriage and kids. He’d looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Probably he was.
A couple of tears escaped to roll down her cheeks and under her large sunglasses. She waited until they hit her collarbone before wiping them away, determined not to let anyone see her crying.
Within two minutes, she could sweet-talk any passing guy into helping her but right now the thought of asking a man for anything made her queasy stomach churn.
Across the lobby, Stormy caught sight of Zander’s redheaded date busy on her laptop and her nausea increased. Intelligent, classy women always hit a nerve—the way they sneered at their sisters who only had looks to get ahead on. As though making the best of what God gave you was something to be ashamed of.
In Stormy’s neighborhood, school was a place you left soon as you were legal. Focusing on hair and makeup and being pretty—now that was an investment in your future.
She was going to throw up. The urge hit fast and she lurched up from the couch, clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced around wildly for the ladies’ room.
Halfway across the foyer, her stomach revolted and her mouth filled with liquid, sour and acrid, making her heave again. A splatter of vomit oozed through her manicured fingers. Eyes watering behind her sunglasses, cheeks flaming, she stumbled blindly in the direction of the restrooms, while people around her exclaimed in horror.
A Starbucks paper sack was thrust under her nose. She grabbed it gratefully and spat out the acrid contents of her mouth. A hand grabbed her elbow, a calm female voice said, “Tell the front desk that housekeeping’s needed, will you? I told her not to eat the shrimp.”
The surrounding exclamations became more sympathetic.
Stormy allowed herself to be led to the restroom and into a stall where the paper sack was removed gently from her hands.
“I’ll get your bag.”
She couldn’t answer, too busy retching up yesterday’s cocktails, wearily rising to her feet between bouts to activate the self-flush. Like a parrot bobbing on a goddamn perch.
When it was over, she sank onto her heels and wiped her mouth with toilet tissue. A tap on the stall door roused her. “I have your bag if you need something in it.”
Oh sweet Jesus, this just gets better and better. She’d noticed that accent last night. Her rescuer was Zander’s classy girlfriend.
“Are you okay in there, should I call the hotel doctor?”
“No!” She didn’t have money for medical attention. “I’ll be out directly.”
Muffling a groan, Stormy hauled herself upright, only catching sight of the splatters on her crimson dress as she opened the door.
And better.
Too ashamed to meet the eyes of her rescuer, she staggered to the sink and soaped up her hands, then removed her sunglasses to splash cool water on her face. In the mirror, her skin was the same color as her lank platinum hair and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Behind her, the redhead looked cool and collected in a forest-green shift dress. But her brown eyes were warm with concern as she passed Stormy a hand towel.
“What’s your room number? I’ll call Travis.”
And better. “We had a fight checking out.” She shrugged, but couldn’t stop the quiver on her next words. “He left me to find my own way home to LA.”
“Then of course you must come to my room to clean up.”
Somehow she managed a laugh. “I don’t think Zander would like that.”
“We’re not sharing. My name’s Elizabeth, by the way.”
Two women came into the restroom and recoiled as they caught the smell.
“The stalls on the other side are free,” said Elizabeth firmly.
Stormy wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She buried her face in the hand towel. “You must think I’m a complete loser.”
“No, but I think your boyfriend is.”
She removed the towel. “Travis isn’t my boyfriend. We were only together a week.”
“Isn’t it great then, that you haven’t wasted a lot of time on him?”
Maybe she had a point. Stormy watched as the redhead picked up her sunglasses and rinsed them clean under the faucet.
“Travis got jealous…thought I sided with Zander or something.” She added awkwardly, “I was horrible to you, I’m sorry.”
“Seeing your ex with another woman would be difficult.”
“I’ve seen Zee plenty with other females, it was more that he was so—” she shrugged, “—comfortable with someone the exact opposite to me.”
“Precisely why I’m his biographer, not his girlfriend.” Elizabeth turned off the faucet. “As you correctly implied last night, we’re not each other’s type. I don’t even find him attractive.”
Stormy looked at her.
“Maybe a little attractive,” she admitted.
“He’s a Scorpio,” Stormy said sadly. “Where are you from, England?”
“New Zealand.”
“Aragorn or Legolas?”
“Aragorn.”
“We do have different tastes in guys.” For no reason she could fathom, she burst into tears.
Elizabeth put an arm around her shaking shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”
“My dress stinks,” she sobbed. “My breath stinks.”
“A shower and mouthwash will fix that.”
She sobbed harder. “My life stinks.”
“You’ll feel better when you’re cleaned up. And we’ll give you a ride home.”
“Zander—”
“Would be the first to offer.” Elizabeth gave her a fresh hand towel.
This woman wasn’t just from another country, she was from another planet. “You know we ended badly, right?”
“You dumped him. Yes, he told me.” Picking up another hand towel, she dried Stormy’s sunglasses. “But he says nothing but positive things about you.”
Stormy stopped drying her tears. “He said I dumped him?”
Holding the lenses up to the light, Elizabeth gave them a final polish. “High maintenance, am I right?”
Stormy gave an involuntary gurgle.
“That’s what I figured.” Elizabeth handed over the cleaned glasses. “The elevators are next door, so we won’t have to cross the lobby again. Ready?”
Taking a deep breath, Stormy jammed on her shades and then grabbed the handle of her suitcase. “Ready.”
A mother and her young son joined them as they waited for an elevator. The mom was kind enough not to stare after her first startled assessment. But her kid, around five, in a baseball cap that proclaimed him a Yankees fan, stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. “Pooh, something smells real bad.”
His mother yanked on his hand. “Gavin, shush.”
“He doesn’t mean any harm.” Weakly, Stormy smiled at him. “I was sick, honey, sorry about that. You and your mom might want to take the next elevator.”
They did.
Elizabeth’s room was simple by Zander’s standards. She glanced around wonderingly. “I was a last-minute tagalong,” the biographer said, reading her surprise correctly. “Why don’t you take a shower
and I’ll go tell Zander he has an extra passenger.”
Stormy’s heart sank. Elizabeth could have called Zee. She obviously expected him to kick up as much of a stink as her unexpected guest.
And Dorothy was still a long way from Kansas.
* * *
Zander removed his expensive boots from the penthouse deck’s railings and stood. “You did what?”
“I offered Stormy a ride to LA,” his biographer repeated. “She and Travis had a fight. Can you believe it? He left her in Vegas without any money to get home.”
“Of course Stormy’s got money,” he said impatiently. “She’s one of this country’s top models.”
“Temporarily out of funds then,” Elizabeth said, “and needing a ride.” She looked at him expectantly.
There were so many assumptions—presumptions—in that look Zander nearly found himself at a loss for words. Nearly. “You do remember we drove here in a two-seater?”
“Oh. I forgot.”
Unbelievable. “How could anyone forget a single detail of a Dodge Viper?” He was tempted to leave her behind with Stormy.
“So what shall we do?”
“We do nothing. You retract your offer.”
Her brown eyes widened. “You said you were worried about her.” Like he was falling for ingenuous from that razor-sharp brain. To think that last night, he’d expressed gratitude to her. “Your concern clearly outweighs mine,” he replied bitingly. “Hire her a rental and she can drive herself.”
“I doubt she’s well enough.” Elizabeth launched into graphic detail of how she and Stormy had crossed paths.
Zander cut her off, mid-projectile. “Fine, you hire a car and drive her. I’ll see you in LA.” Someone needed to care for Stormy, as long as it wasn’t him.
“I’d love to hang out with your ex-girlfriend for four hours. I’m sure she’s got some great stories.”
“Hell, you’re right. You shouldn’t be anywhere near her. Book a driver with a rental.”
Her brows knit. “Stormy’s very upset; someone she knows would be better.”
“Too bad,” Zander said more ruthlessly than he felt. “What if the press sees us together?”
“They’ll think she dumped Travis’s sorry ass for yours,” she said innocently, but Zander noted the dig. “After your public spat with him last night, isn’t that a good thing?”
