by Robin Leaf
“The email was from a dummy account in Cristiana’s name created right before the pictures were sent.”
“So, whoever did this tried to set Cristiana up?”
“Yeah, however, in the email exchange, the idiot sent bank account info. How fucking stupid can a person get, sending banking information through the email? Total rookie mistake, little dumbass. Seriously, how dumb is that? At least have it wired to a separate account than your personal one. I mean, even a newbie should be smarter than –”
“Scotty!” I yell, before he can list more ways this person was an idiot.
“Right. Well, a paltry amount of money was wired to the account, and a quick little hack of the bank allowed me to see the owner.” He turns the computer screen toward me. “Shawn T. Smith. Sound familiar?”
“That’s the owner of the car’s granddaughter.”
“Yeah, so if I can find out more about the girl…”
“Run her through every background checking program we have. See if there’s a picture of her somewhere.”
He starts furiously clicking the keyboard, and I take a minute to sit and try to piece together who this fucking mystery chick could be.
Five minutes later, the computer pings.
“No go on the picture, but I have a hit. Trouble at UCLA with a fellow student – a harassment hearing at the university.” The computer dings again. “She just used her debit card and spent two dollars at Starbucks about two minutes ago.”
“Which Starbucks?” I ask, leaning to look over his shoulder
“Oh shit.” He rubs his chin. “The one in the lobby of Roxy Records.”
Fuck.
Before I can fully react, I’m struck by the full middle name on the card. I know who this bitch is.
I stand, heading for the door, pulling out my phone to call Bryan.
“Boss,” Scotty calls, halting me before I can leave. “Take back up. Anyone who charges less than four dollars on a debit card has not much to lose.”
Thirty Five
Cristiana
All the dancers and musicians from the tour are standing around, making stupid small talk, while we wait for the rep from the record company who called us all here. He’s fifteen minutes late, but it’s par for the course around here. God forbid one of us was late.
I turned down the job this morning. It might bite me in the ass, but the artist wanted a video that would be pretty sexist toward women. I’m not down with that.
“It doesn’t hurt to get representation,” Dennis tells me, stirring his coffee, “especially from an agency that offers the full package: an agent and a publicist.”
“If I decide to get an agent, I know who I’ll choose who won’t do me wrong.”
“Seriously think about it, Crissy. They can open up the world for you. The dancing world is a tough one. It’s nice to have someone fighting on your side.”
I smile. “Thanks, Dennis. I’ll think about calling my friend.”
Actually, since all this drama following me around is out on that tabloid talk show’s website, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have someone who can control the potential damage. I make a mental note to get Charlene’s number from Noah. She should be able to help me, or at least she could hook me up with someone else who can.
Jay Frisco, the record company’s publicity guard dog, struts in with his usual fanfare, and makes it a point to sit at the front of the room without making eye contact with anyone. Pinche puto.
“Good morning everyone. Congratulations on a successful tour. The company would like me to thank you for your hard work and dedication to making it a success.”
The way he says it, void of any pride or actual emotion in his voice, makes him sound like a robot. I know there’s more to this meeting. It’s like he’s practicing the lesson he learned in asshole school: before chewing out a group of people, complement them first. Build them up before you knock them down. Hopefully, the people gathered in this room know to prepare for the inevitable “but” that will level us all.
“However,” he begins, and I have to hide my smile. I knew it was coming. However is just a slightly less threatening “but.”
“We called you here not only to congratulate you, but to remind you of the contract you signed with the company and how it is still in effect, even though you are no longer in the company’s employ. Within the contract, you initialed and signed a section which states that you are not to leak any personal information about the people on tour to the press. I’d also like to remind you that you are not to discuss anything that may or may not have happened with anyone, including your friends or acquaintances. You are not to post pictures online, especially in a way that would in any way damage a person’s reputation.” He glances at me, and he narrows his eyes. “And you are not to send anything in an effort to try to receive publicity or further your own career.” He studies the paper in front of him. “Anyone found doing so will be sued for breach of contract, where you will be expected to repay any earnings from the tour plus restitution for damages.”
Wait, does he think I sent those pictures to the press?
“Thank you for your time. Jocelyn is at the back of the room with your final paychecks from the tour, each with a little added bonus.”
I stand with everyone else, but instead of following the herd, I move to where Frisco’s sitting, staring down at el estúpido trying to give him the ojo.
“You don’t seriously think I destroyed my own apartment and then sent those pictures, do you?”
He’s good. His neutral face is flawless.
“I never said you did.”
“No, but the implication was clear,” I say through clenched teeth.
He looks behind me to see if anyone noticed, then fixes his expressionless black eyes, the ones that match his soul, on me before looking down.
“Please keep your voice down,” he says calmly, arranging the papers in front of him.
“Fine, but you need to know I did not do anything.” I lean over the table, getting into his personal space, and lower my voice. “I was too busy running away from the crime scene, since the vandal was still in my apartment when I got home, a home I can’t go to for fear that the person will come back and kill me. So I’ve been a bit busy being terrified away from my home to take pictures and sell them to anyone, and now I have to have a bodyguard around me at all times. However, it’s nice to know you care so little about me that you had to point out the possibility of my calculated attempt to further my career in a meeting full of people rather than ask me if I was okay privately.”
He looks up and blinks. “No one put it together but you, Miss Calvillo.”
“They easily could have. You had no right to implicate me when I’m the target of the crime.”
His nostrils flaring are the only indication he heard what I said. I stand there in a stare down with a man who has no heart. It’s obvious I’m wasting my time.
I turn on my heels to storm out of the room when his voice stops me.
“By the way, Miss Calvillo, I am aware of your little… arrangement with Ignacio. Since he is currently… incapacitated, I would appreciate it if you would conduct yourself in accordance with that arrangement.”
I turn to face him, stunned silent for about five seconds. “How do you know about our arrangement?”
He smiles, and it actually looks evil. “Who do you think suggested it?”
I roll that around in my head for a minute. So much is becoming clear now.
“You expect me to –”
He stands, leaning his hands on the table. “Let me put it this way. If you don’t agree, it will put you in a very bad light, making you look like the one who pushed him over the edge, so to speak. The hit to your career would be devastating.” He almost hides his smirk. “Are we clear, Miss Calvillo?”
Fuck. For a split second, I contemplate exactly how important my career is to me while I choke down the words that want so badly to fly up and kick this weasly guy’s ass. My fists,
who want in on the ass-kicking, ball at my sides, because if my words don’t take him down, they definitely could.
Unfortunately, I did make that deal with Ignacio, and since I care about him, I can’t go back on my word or kick anyone’s ass today. Mierda.
I answer, with all the stink eye I can muster, “Crystal clear, Mr. Frisco.”
His eyes dance, as if he can check off making me concede to his will from his evil agenda for the day, and he stands to his full height, which is only three inches taller than I am, nods, and walks away.
When I turn, the room has mostly cleared, so I make my way to Jocelyn. She smiles and hands me my final paycheck.
“Did Tabitha deliver your clothes to you?”
“No,” I say skeptically. “What clothes?”
“She said you left some clothes in the dressing room in Houston, and she asked for your address to deliver them. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Why the fuck would Tabitha care about my clothes, of all things?
“When was this?”
“Tuesday, I think. I told her I didn’t think you were coming home until Friday, so –”
Bryan bursts into the room, relief visible in his posture, with his phone at his ear.
“Yeah, I have eyes on her.”
He walks to me and wraps his hand around my upper arm.
“Got it, Boss. I won’t let her out of my sight.” After hanging up, he pockets his phone. “C’mon, gorgeous, we have to get you back to the lair.”
I nod and allow him to lead me out of the room. After stepping out of eyesight of the others, I shake my arm out of his hold.
“You know, you don’t need to manhandle me.”
He smirks. “Need to?” When I raise my eyebrow, he blushes and loosens his grip. “Sorry, Crissy. I was told to escort you. I might be in trouble for having my phone on silent. Noah freaked a little when he couldn’t get ahold of me, so expect the cavalry when we get to the front of the building.” He glances at me. “Noah might be a wee bit pissed.”
“Awesome,” I say, trying to throw a little sarcasm in there, but I’m really excited to reap the benefits of sex with pissed-off Noah. Me likey.
We round the corner and see Tabitha walking our direction holding a Starbucks cup in one hand, and she has a death grip on her purse with the other. Her eyes dart to the left, seemingly contemplating escaping down the hallway she just exited. Instead, she shakes herself and forces a smile, which sets off alarm bells for me. She’s never smiled at me, like ever.
“Did you see our bonus?” she asks me sweetly, flicking her eyes to Bryan before returning them to me.
Okay, this is weird. Why is she being so… not bitchy?
When she lets go of the strap of her purse and lifts her hand to move her hair out of her eyes, I see the bandage wrapped around the side of her hand.
“There was blood on the steering wheel. Whoever broke the window cut their hand and probably didn’t realize it, which is why they didn’t wipe the steering wheel when they got out of the car.”
My eyes shoot to hers. The familiarity I thought I saw in the picture Fionn showed me the other night is now obvious. She knew my address. She told Ignacio I was cheating on him.
She broke into my apartment and destroyed it.
“You!” I blurt before I can stop it.
Bryan tries to pull me away, but I stand my ground and watch her mask the flash of panic on her face. I really want to beat her ass, but I stop myself from stepping into her space. Taking a deep breath, I realize that she just might be a touch crazy. I turn to Bryan.
“Let’s go,” I say through clenched teeth.
His eyes widen and he lunges toward me right before I’m blinded by a pain in the back of my skull. There’s shouting and spinning, but my vision is blurred by the pain. I actually see stars. I never knew that was for real, but it absolutely is. I hear a lot of commotion, and when my fuzzy brain catches up to the melee, I realize I’m held with an arm around my waist with something that looks like a straw at my neck.
“Is that a pen, Tabitha? What are you gonna do, draw on me to death?”
She jerks me tighter against her, and the pen jabs into my throat.
“Drop the knife, Shawn,” Noah’s voice commands.
I squint, searching for my hero, the one who’s always been my hero.
Wait, did he say knife? What the hell?
I blink the scene into focus, and I see Noah now, weapon drawn, his eyes narrowed at the idiota loca behind me.
“He’s mine,” she snarls in my ear. “You can’t have him.”
I can’t quite process what she’s saying.
“Noah?” I ask, trying to wade through the quicksand trying to pull me down, making it hard to formulate words.
“No, you stupid bitch,” she barks, and I feel the knife slip from my throat. “Ignacio.”
Somehow my brain fog clears momentarily, so I take advantage of her full-strength crazy and throw my elbow as hard as I can into her side. When I feel her collapse on my back, I flip her over me, holding her arm at an awkward angle, step on her chest, and strip the knife out of her hand.
I look up at bit too quickly and get woozy, but it’s enough to see all these big strong men unmoving, gawking at me with open mouths.
“Um, guys?” I sway and catch myself. “You may want to take over…” I take a deep breath, trying not to give in to the need to close my eyes, “… because I’m gonna…”
Big arms catch me before I hit the floor. I blink quickly, catching a glimpse of worried blue eyes.
“Gracias, güero,” I croak, right before I’m pulled into blackness.
Thirty Six
Noah
“Do you need anything else?” I ask, setting down the TV remote and the tacos we picked up on the way home from the hospital.
Cristiana adjusts herself on my couch, pulling the plate onto her lap.
“Yeah, you need to tell me what you found out from the detective,” she demands, right before taking a huge bite of her first taco.
“Are you really going to eat all five of those?”
“Are you really gonna judge me if I do?”
I shake my head, smiling.
“Spill, güero.”
Sitting down next to her the couch, I scoot closer and pull her legs across my lap.
“Tabitha, a.k.a. Shawn Smith, resorted to going by her middle name after college. She apparently became fixated on Deanna Michaels, her teammate on the beach volleyball team at UCLA, which got her removed from the team.”
“I bet she went all ‘Single White Female’ on that poor girl.”
“I’m inclined to believe that, except there isn’t a restraining order on file. That is probably why there were no pings when the police ran her name after talking to her grandfather.”
Cristiana picks up some meat that fell out of her taco with her fingers and plops it into her mouth. “So, why’d she fixate on this Deanna girl?”
I don’t answer right away. I can’t help but stare at her, trying to figure out how this girl can be so nonchalant with all that has transpired in the last thirty-six hours? The woman could have died.
“What?” she says around a bite.
“You amaze me, that’s all.”
“Because of my killer taco-eating ability?”
“No, because you’re amazing.” I smile, and I’m greeted with the most beautiful one in return. “To answer your first question, Shawn believed Deanna was getting special treatment because she was sleeping with the coach.”
She raises her eyebrow. “Was she?”
“Both Deanna and the coach denied the accusation and claimed Shawn was delusional.”
She nods. “That’s believable.”
“Yes. And in searching Shawn’s apartment, they found baggies containing the same medication you said you found in Ignacio’s house.”
She covers her mouth, chewing rapidly and swallowing. “So the bitch was withholding his medication?”
; “Most likely, she switched out the pills. Joe says Ignacio swears he was taking his meds every day, but we never found his prescription bottles.”
She picks up her last taco. “They’re probably packed in his bag that I dropped off at his house.”
“We’ll check that out tomorrow.” I rub her knee. “How’s your head feel?”
She puts down the taco and lifts her hand to feel the back of her head. “It’s sore, but the pills they gave me are really helping.” Pushing her plate away, she sighs. “I’d like to know what she had in her purse. It felt like she hit me with a brick.”
“Since you brought it up,” I turn toward her, not hiding my emotion. “Do you know how hard it was to watch that crazy bitch hold a knife to your throat? What the fuck were you thinking her taking on like that? My God, Nana, do you know how many ways that could have gone wrong?”
She shrugs. “I certainly wasn’t going to wait for you to shoot her. What if you missed? Then I’d have been shish kebabed in the neck for sure.”
Crossing my arms, I bite back my smile. “I’m a trained marksman. I don’t miss.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, güero. I saw an opening and I took it. Forgive me for saving myself… again.”
“See,” I whisper, running my fingers down her face, “you’re amazing.” My hand slides around the back of her neck as my thumb caresses the spot where the knife nicked her delicate skin. “I’m very disappointed we missed our date tonight.”
She sinks away from my touch, so I let go of her neck.
“About that,” she says, looking down. When her eyes look up at me, they’re filled with tears. “It’s going to have to wait.”
“I’ll wait until you’re healed, Cristiana.” Sliding my hand into hers, I squeeze gently. “I’m patient.”
“There are some things you need to know. First, and this is totally unrelated to the dating thing, but you need to know. In a chance meeting, I met this guy, Sam, in a bar last year, the night before the first concert. He told me a tale about how his former boss propositioned him, and when Sam turned him down, the boss set him up and ruined his marriage. Sam told me he was collecting evidence against his former boss to tell his boss’s wife. He mentioned his boss was a public official.” She swallows and clears her throat. “I was the one who encouraged him to get the press involved. I swear I didn’t know his former boss was the senator.” She blinks the tears out of her eyes. “Because of me, your case was ruined.”
