We run through the rest of our confirmed playlist in the afternoon. I watch Ravi through the mirror as he adjusts and levels, one set of headphones on his ears, another around his neck, and a freakishly large collection of empty Red Bull cans collecting on a ledge next to him.
It looks like Sunday’s going to be light duty. When we wrap, Ravi shakes each of our hands in turn and ushers us out.
“Jayce, can you hang around for a little longer?”
Maybe he’s just a really flipping good hypnotist, but I hear myself agreeing to Ravi’s request even though my brain is begging for Violet. I need to be with her. I need to apologize. I need to beg her to come with me tonight, to help me. Or at least, I need her to understand if Chief forces me to take someone else.
In a choice between hanging out to see whatever Ravi’s got back in his sound booth for me, or going back to the hotel to face the music with Violet, I choose the easy route.
Shit. Why is it I can run at danger, I’m ready to kick a stalker’s ass, but the fear of disappointing her absolutely freaks me out?
Ravi flips a few switches and inserts a disc. A mournful woman’s a cappella voice fills the booth, midrange and rough enough in the lower register that it doesn’t take on that over-trained operatic tone I hate. Her pitch is spot on, and when a guitar and some percussion joins the woman’s vocal, it’s a magical build. I can almost feel my chest expanding.
“What do you think?” Ravi watches for my reaction as much as he listens for it.
“It’s good. Damn good. Who is she?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not about who she is. It’s about who she could be. For you. Darren Bishop reached out to me, asked me to show you what’s possible at Viper.”
My jaw goes slack. “What? Who?”
“You don’t have to play that game. I’m a free agent, but I know what’s going on, both here and back at Viper. Darren thought you needed a little convincing.”
“You can’t tell anyone—”
Ravi rolls his eyes. “Give me some credit, Jayce. I’ve been testing stuff for you for a week, and you’ve only just met me. I played the part today, and we’ll wrap this album for Tattoo Thief successfully. It’ll be a great transition into your solo career.”
I step back, reevaluating him for the third or maybe fourth time today. “I’m sorry. I misjudged you.”
“Yeah, whatever. Don’t judge a book by its cover, or reputation, and all that. I get that a lot, but it’s not really a problem for me. I’m not the public face. Thing is, Jayce, you are. And we’re going to have a bit of a packaging issue on our hands if you make the jump.”
I raise my brows and Ravi clarifies.
“The women. The playboy life. You’re going to have to decide pretty quick whether that’s the image you’re gonna stick with. Unless you’re Madonna, artists have very few opportunities to reinvent themselves. This is one of your moments. Better grab it.”
CHAPTER 34: VIOLET
“I’m not going away.” Stella bangs on the door of my suite again. “Violet, let me in before security gets pissed!”
I mute Say Yes to the Dress and reluctantly pull open the door.
“Finally. What are you doing in here?” Stella strides inside, a couple of shopping bags dangling from her arms. She sees my guilty pleasure on the TV and rolls her eyes. “Oh. Perfect time for an intervention.”
“None needed.”
“Says the girl who dragged me to the land of pancakes when I needed an intervention.”
“Seriously, Stella. This isn’t your problem to fix.”
She narrows her eyes. “Look, Violet. I helped you with the story on Willa. You’re not going to bag out on me for this party and leave me and Beryl with the Wicked Witch.”
I can’t help it. The thought of Kristina, her face painted green and her nose hooked and warty, makes me giggle.
It’s contagious. Stella’s giggle becomes a laugh, my laugh turns into a cackle and suddenly we’re cracking each other up with each new snort and peal of laughter.
“I seriously can’t go to that party,” I say when I catch my breath. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to—I can’t be in the media. Look at what you got dragged into.”
Stella sobers for a moment. “Yeah. It sucks. But I wouldn’t change it. It’s worth it, being with Tyler.”
“I’m still not going.”
“That’s why I brought something to change your mind.” Stella fishes in her bag and pulls out a black ball of hair. It looks like some furry critter died.
I wrinkle my nose. “It’s a wig.”
“It’s a disguise. It’s perfect! You don’t tell anyone your name, you wear a wig, and you’ll be fine. Nobody’s going to recognize you. Problem solved.”
“But what if I just don’t want to go?” I wrestle with telling Stella the real reason, the thing that could blow up my world, but bite my tongue.
“Then do it for Jayce. Because if you don’t go, he’s going to have to take someone else. And you can’t throw a rock around here without hitting some girl with bigger boobs and bleached-out hair and a burning ambition to screw a rock star.”
The threat stops me cold. I have nothing to say about that; I’m not his girlfriend. If the band has to go to this party and every guy is expected to bring a date, Jayce is going—with or without me.
“Let’s try this thing on.”
***
Stella’s right. The wig’s heavy bangs and soft layers around my face channel Zooey Deschanel, making my green eyes and pale skin even more dramatic. Stella layers thick liquid liner on my eyes, very retro glamour, and foundation that practically erases my freckles.
I look like a totally different person.
And that, coupled with the fear that Jayce might pick someone else, gives me just enough courage to let Kristina, Beryl and a mad genius stylist called Cole into the suite a couple hours later. We go through the dresses he’s brought and the three girls eventually settle on theirs—flirtier and more colorful than New York, but just the right tone for summer in LA.
“I already picked your dress,” Kristina says, daring me to challenge her. Cole hands me a slinky green thing that tries to shimmy off the hanger. I take it to my room to try it on.
No. Way.
No way in hell. The neckline plunges halfway to my navel, revealing more cleavage than most of my bras. Which, by the way, are not going to work under this dress. Nothing can.
“I’m not coming out,” I say through the door. “This dress is too much.”
Stella opens the door to my room without knocking. “Oh, no, honey. It’s perfect. You need a totally different look.”
“What, slut circa nineteen-sixty-one?”
“No. You’re going for bombshell. And trust me. In that dress, nobody’s going to be looking at your face.” Stella gives me a naughty wink.
“That’s because they’re going to be watching to see when my nipples pop out!”
“And would that be such a bad thing?”
“Open up, girls!” Cole, flanked by Kristina and Beryl, enter my room too. So much for privacy. “Oh. That’s magnificent. Be sure to tell them you’re wearing a Giustiniano.”
“Justine-a-who?” The polysyllabic name sails straight over my head.
“I’ll write it down for you. He’s going to be so in love with this look,” Cole gushes.
I’m swept away in a sea of shoes, clutches and jewelry. Stella presses a handful of pewter lace into my hands. “Trust me. When Jayce gets a load of that dress, he’s going to be dying to know what’s underneath it.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, like I’m nearing the top of a roller coaster. I know what’s coming. The plunge is unavoidable. The question is whether I go down screaming or thrilled.
I take another glance at the new girl in the mirror, black locks and expressive cat eyes. It’s so exotic and so unlike my everyday vanilla look that I shove every ounce of sense out of my head and nod.
I’ll go. I want to be t
hrilled.
***
Beryl and I are working on a little champagne buzz by the time the limo pulls up to the party with the four of us inside. We’re somewhere in a hilly, rich neighborhood, maybe Hollywood, and the guys are supposed to meet us here.
I’ve been in New York long enough not to be impressed much by celebrity, but this is insane. The mansion has landscaped terraces, a pool with a waterfall, and paper lanterns strung up everywhere. I count four full bars set up for maybe two hundred guests.
“Is this Kiki Kennedy’s place?” I whisper to Beryl.
“No, stupid,” Kristina scowls, shooting me a try-to-keep-up look of disdain. “It’s Abraham Swift’s.”
I’m drawing a blank but I don’t want to look stupid. Beryl rescues me. “Who?”
“Kiki’s boyfriend. The director. Didn’t you see Bent on Annihilation?” Kristina looks annoyed so I nod, at least recognizing last summer’s big action movie. “God, do you even watch television?”
“Shut up, Kristina,” Stella hisses. “We can’t all be as shallow as you.”
“What the fuck did you just call me?” Kristina takes a step toward Stella and I swear there’s going to be a girl fight, right here in some director’s backyard.
“I said you were shallow,” Stella says, slower and clearer this time. “And throw in stupid, because you have no right to call Violet that. And basically a Grade-A bitch, if you want to know the truth.”
“I know the truth,” Kristina hisses. “I know where all the bodies are buried. Gavin’s, Tyler’s, even perfect little Violet’s.”
I gasp just as Beryl’s champagne flute twitches and Kristina shrieks, the arc of wine forming a stain right down the front of her blue raw silk dress.
Beryl apologizes immediately but there’s mischief in her eyes, Stella mutters something like “see you next Tuesday,” and Kristina shouts at a passing waiter to bring her a towel.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Beryl,” Kristina snarls. “I’ve got so much dirt on Gavin, there’s plenty to drag you down, too.”
CHAPTER 35: JAYCE
Walking through crowds is always tough when the band does an appearance, and tonight is no different. Just moving from our limo to the terraced garden where most of the party is happening means dozens of hands to shake, cheeks to kiss, and people to pretend I remember.
I don’t, but Gavin and Dave are in their element, subtly reminding me of who’s who. I don’t know how they remember that shit. I can barely remember groupies’ names.
I’m edgy and tense, anxious to get this party over with and go back to the hotel to see Violet. Chief said he’d get me another date, no problem, but I don’t want another date.
I want Violet.
God, I want her. But this party is the last place she should be, and I get that. I was stupid to even ask her to come.
I spot Kristina and Stella on a lower level garden terrace, hissing and spitting like territorial cats. Beryl flicks her champagne glass toward Kristina and Kristina shrieks, liquid spilling down her front.
Bullseye. Beryl might look harmless, but she’s got good aim. I jog down a flight of steps to reach the girls before things really get out of hand, disappointment churning in my gut that Violet isn’t here with them.
Serves me right. From day one, she’s made it clear that she’s not a groupie. Not easy. Not interested in the rock-star lifestyle. I promised to protect her and the very first thing I did was undermine that.
I’m a selfish bastard, or at least a spineless one, letting Gavin and Dave and Chief bully me into being here with some random girl I’ve never even met.
I paint on a wolfish grin and butt in right as Stella looks like she’s winding up for a punch. “So where’s my hot date?” I say, immediately locking my eyes on some magnificent tits, barely packaged in a green dress with a plunging V-neck that points straight to her crotch.
It takes me a moment to peel my eyes off the boobs on display. When I do, I can barely see a pale face fringed in thick, black bangs. The girl’s staring at her shoes, but then her eyes flick up to me. Sparkling green. Alive. And fucking angry.
“No new groupie for you. You have to put up with me.” Violet’s voice trembles with rage.
“Violet! I didn’t recognize—”
“Obviously. You were too busy looking at my breasts.”
Shame floods me. She’s right, but hell if I’m going to let her bitch me out in front of the rest of the girls. Kristina’s busy with a towel supplied by an overly attentive waiter and Beryl’s whispering to Stella.
I take Violet’s arm to lead her away but she wrenches it out of my grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
“You’re making a scene,” I growl. “Follow me.”
I stride away from her and glance back when she doesn’t follow.
“Do it, Violet.” The command in my voice sets her feet in motion. When we’re safely away from the crowd in a quiet corner of the garden, I stop and square my shoulders to face her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Being an asshole. Failing to protect you. “For forcing you to be here.”
“You didn’t force me. I chose, Jayce. I came because I didn’t want you to be here with some groupie. But obviously I chose wrong, because you don’t want me here after all.”
“That’s a lie,” I grab Violet’s shoulder and this time she doesn’t pull away, just stares at me with green eyes full of hurt and fury. “I wanted you here. Hell, I just want you. But I never want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“You want to control me.” Her voice is softer, more timid.
“Maybe I do, but that’s different. Force is taken. Control is given. I’ll never have control of you unless you give it to me freely.”
“And if I do?”
I see her pulse flutter in her neck, a delicate flush rising between her breasts and coloring her skin. “If you give me control, I won’t take it until you’re sure. You have to be sure of what you want, and sure of me. You have to trust me.”
“I do.”
I drop my hand from her shoulder, studying her face as her eyes burn with intensity. “You what?”
“I do trust you. I want you. But I don’t want to give you control unless I know you’re not going to treat me like some groupie. Like the way you just did.” Her breath hitches. “I’m not disposable, Justin.”
The hurt in her voice is worse than a sucker punch, worse than a scald from hot steam. She thinks she’s one of them, and I have to find a way to prove that she’s not, and never will be.
I do the first thing my brain supplies—I haul her against me and kiss the breath out of her. I crush her body against mine, as if that connection could somehow show her I want her for so much more than a one-night stand.
When I finally release her, she’s panting.
I frame her face with my hands, the fury gone, gentleness in my touch. “You are precious to me, Violet. Don’t you get that? I don’t want a groupie. I want you, for every minute you’ll have me and more. You’re exactly who I’ve been waiting for.”
Violet blinks, her lips swollen from my kiss, and I see desire replace fury. “Then what are you waiting for?”
***
We can’t get away. I’ve only just arrived and a few sharp words from Chief remind me that I need to circulate, see and be seen, and fulfill my obligation before I’m allowed to leave the party.
Dave’s managed to calm down Kristina and he and Tyler do a good job of steering their girls away from each other. I escort Violet to the bar and struggle to focus on getting through the next hour or two, now that the promise of what’s possible is out there.
She’s willing. It crackles in the air like a lightning storm.
I hear a trill behind us and Kiki Kennedy’s bubbly laughter floats above the crowd. She’s in a silver dress that’s so short and tight, I swear that either her boobs or her ass cheeks are going to pop out of it at any moment. Silver platform sandals make her
taller than Abraham Swift.
Not that he’s complaining. He’s short, a little paunchy, and could easily pass for her father. I decide now’s the moment for introductions.
“Mr. Swift, thanks for inviting us.” I extend a hand and he grabs it for a two-handed politician’s shake. “Jayce McKittrick. From Tattoo Thief.”
“No introduction necessary for you, Jayce. Your music speaks for itself. I’m a bit of a guitar man myself. But I do need an introduction to this lovely creature.”
He reaches for Violet’s hand and his hooded eyes scan her not once but twice. Right the fuck in front of me. Instead of a handshake, he twists her wrist and plants his thin lips on the back of her hand.
“Do you have a name?”
I clear my throat, fighting my urge to shove him back and scrub the filth off Violet’s hand. “Uh, Alyssa,” I offer, supplying the first name I can think of that starts with an uh sound. “This is my girlfriend, Alyssa, and this is Abraham Swift.”
“Call me Abe, babe.” He winks, apparently amused by a line that’s so tired it should be put to sleep. Forever.
“Jayce! I just saw Gavin and Beryl!” Kiki trips over to me and throws her arms around my neck in greeting. It could be the sandals, it could be the booze, it could be her general ditziness, but suddenly I’m chest-to-chest with some perky silicone that Abraham probably paid for.
I gently extract the birthday girl and introduce her to—shit. What did I call Violet?
“Alyssa.” Violet makes the save, introducing herself to Kiki.
“Are you an actress or a musician?” Kiki’s blunt, but her question carries no malice.
“Neither,” Violet says. “I’m a photographer.”
“Oh! I just got some new head shots and my photographer was ah-mazing. Who have you shot?”
“I just shot Tattoo Thief,” Violet says. “And I’m working on some other projects right now.”
Revenge Bound Page 17
