by Aly Stiles
“Julian? Good to see you again.” Viv, who wore the least hostile expression of the group, is also the first to move forward. She takes one of my cases, and I don’t miss how my annoying neighbor glowers at Viv’s assistance. Why the hell is she even here? She wasn’t at our initial meeting when I sat down with Sam and Viv to discuss our potential future as a band. I tear my gaze away and force my attention back to my bandmate.
“Hey, Viv. Great to see you. Sorry I’m late. Technical difficulties.”
“No problem. Just glad you’re here. We were still getting acquainted anyway.”
I force a quick smile and approach the group with a wave. Max is at his kit. Travis, our rhythm guitarist, nods from his spot nearby. He’s rocking one of the new multi-effect floor processors instead of a traditional pedal board. Interesting. Beck, our new bass player is already plugged in and ready to go. Yep, they’re just missing one person: Me. The freaking bandleader himself. Also, none of this explains the bizarre presence of 23G hovering behind us with a laptop instead of an instrument. Maybe she decided reporting me for noise violations at our apartment building isn’t enough. She has to stalk my place of work and report me here too?
“Oh, and this is my assistant, Hadley,” Viv says, waving toward Miss Holier-Than-Thou.
Hadley. So 23G has a name.
“Hey, everyone,” I say generically, moving toward my spot to avoid a direct snub of the sound police in front of her boss. This is gonna be super fun. I smirk at the look of utter horror on her face at this development. Hilarious. I feel you, sweetheart, believe me.
I yank off my hoodie and toss it on the floor near my empty cases. Damn, it’s hot in here. Wasn’t expecting that, but then maybe the heat searing through me isn’t a thermostat issue. After shedding a layer, I grab my guitar from the case and plug in.
An awkward silence follows as I set up my pedal board and situate my in-ear monitors and monitor pack. They couldn’t at least talk amongst themselves? Nope, everyone watches silently to the soundtrack of clicks and buzzing, as if I’m a forcefield of negative energy. Maybe they’re not wrong. Blackholes have strong gravitational pulls.
After several minutes of setup, I take my place in front of the mic while tuning my guitar. “Okay, so I sent you all those work-tapes with some of my song ideas. I thought maybe we could start there. Let’s just play for a while and see what happens naturally, then we can work on tweaking our sound and figure out where we want to go. Sound good?”
I scan the group before finally resting my eyes on Viv. She’s the one I’m worried about. I know Max gets me. I’ve never played with Travis and Beck but they come from solid rock pedigree. Viv is the wildcard. I still don’t get how a fucking pop princess is going to handle the furious music in my head, but I guess we’re about to find out.
If only I could shake the constant sting of two angry eyes boring into my back…
CHAPTER 2
HADLEY
I hated Julian Campbell before I knew he was Julian Campbell. My job is to support my boss and best friend, Genevieve… er… Viv Hastings. So when Viv decided to pursue the opportunity to front this rock experiment, my job was to support her decision over my personal objections. And boy did I object.
Main problem? Julian Campbell, former guitarist for Eastern Crush.
Yes, Eastern Crush, the band that’s now most famous for betraying its first frontman, stealing his songs, and publicly feuding with him and his new band Burn Card. Well, a year and a half later Burn Card is selling out stadiums, while Eastern Crush has disintegrated into a case study for intellectual property litigation textbooks. Their frontman is in prison, and two of the other members have dropped off the grid since the media frenzy finally died down. And now we get to make our beds with the remnants of that debacle?
No, I was not in favor.
But Viv trusts Sam, her manager, who insisted this was a golden opportunity for her to reinvent herself exactly like she wanted to do, so here we are. Face-to-face with a fresh horizon that’s dimming by the second. Especially since it turns out nightmare bandmate Julian Campbell is also my nightmare neighbor from 33G. How that’s possible, I have no idea, but it doesn’t surprise me one bit that the rude guy from upstairs was also manufactured by a band best known for being assholes.
Most days I love Viv and my job, but today… yeah, it’s going to be a challenge holding onto my typical poise through this nightmare scenario. Even the way he tugs off his hoodie annoys me. Like he purposely hoped it’d catch the edge of his shirt and force it up his torso. So what if the female hormones in me might have enjoyed the peek for a split second. That spike of heat was just basic biology. Only assholes think having a defined six-pack is a character trait worth flaunting.
News flash: working out isn’t a quality point unless you’re a personal trainer or professional athlete.
I grew up in this world and have never been impressed by pretty bodies, pretty hair, and pretty eyes. 33G tried flashing those potent dark brown irises at me the first time I politely asked him to keep it down. Didn’t work then. Sure as heck isn’t going to work now that I know they belong to Julian Campbell. Of course he was late today. It was our first meeting and he couldn’t be bothered to show up on time. The rules clearly don’t apply to him in any facet of his life.
I cross my arms and settle further into my chair, trying my best not to let any of these thoughts trickle from my head to my face. Viv was so nervous and excited for today. The last thing I want is to compound her nerves or dampen her enthusiasm with my reservations. She already knows I think he’s a bad career move. The fact that he’s a bad neighbor is irrelevant. Their pact has been formed, the future set. Contracts have been signed, deals made. Raining on her parade now accomplishes nothing except making me as selfish and petty as I’m accusing him of being. No, my job is to mitigate the coming disaster as much as possible and buffer the effects on my boss and friend.
Still…
“Hey, sweetheart. How about you get a life?”
Yep, that’s what Viv’s new bandmate said to me the first time I politely asked him to remember there was someone living below him trying to sleep at two in the morning. Also, that girl (me) had a job, which clearly he didn’t. He didn’t like that comment. Now, I know why.
But nothing got better after that. If anything it’s gotten worse over the last few weeks with music thumping at all hours, sometimes so loud I can make out the song. Pretty sure it was Genevieve’s hit “Boy Crazy” yesterday, which made me positive he was messing with me. No way that tattooed, cynical ex-rocker is a legit Genevieve Fox fan. I finally reported him to the landlord last week, although nothing must have come of it since the music has been louder than ever over the past few days. Should have known I had a disgraced musician living above me.
I manage to position myself behind him, so we don’t have to make eye-contact during the rehearsal. If those dark eyes aren’t cutting into me all the time, maybe I can ignore him and focus on my work. I bury myself in my laptop, counting the seconds until the rehearsal ends and I can regroup.
How do you handle the fact that two people you hate are in the same body?
The thing is, his songs… are good. Really good. And Viv singing them is amazing. For a brief moment, the shroud of hatred slips when the two of them lock in together. I even pull an earplug out for a better listen. I didn’t know he could sing, but his backing vocal twisting around Viv’s lead is something special. If that’s the sound he’s envisioning, they have some incredible magic coming their way once they iron out the kinks and grow their sapling into a forest.
They’re really starting to find their groove when Julian abruptly rips off his guitar and shoves it onto the stand less than an hour into rehearsal.
“Okay, let’s take five,” he mumbles, everyone staring at him in disbelief. He glares at his phone for a second before pushing it back in his pocket.
“Really? I’m good for more before we break,” Viv says. The others clearly agree an
d look on uncomfortably, not sure which lead they’re supposed to follow: lead singer or lead guitarist and official bandleader.
Julian shakes his head, already moving toward the door. “I know. You sound great, but I need a minute.” He disappears from the room before anyone can object.
Viv’s shoulders drop, and a protective fire burns in my gut at his rudeness. Not that I expected anything different from the guy.
“You’re killin’ it,” Wyatt Maxwell, the drummer, says to Viv as he stands and stretches. He’s also an original Eastern Crush member, but for some reason I don’t hate him as much. Maybe it’s his easy smile and the flop of wavy hair that makes him look like a teenager. Or maybe it’s the fact that it wasn’t his idea to start this band and drag my friend to the dark side.
My boss sips from her water bottle, but I can read the forced nature of her return smile. She already questioned whether she’d be good enough to front a rock band. My stomach drops when she ducks around the mic and starts toward me with a defeated look.
“Does it sound okay?” she asks quietly, searching my eyes.
“You sound amazing, Viv. Please know that,” I respond without hesitation. She does, too. She ruled the world as a pop singer, but she was born to belt out rock angst. Her soul opens up when she lets go in front of a band in a way it never did when she was singing chart toppers to stadium crowds on her own. It’s one of the reasons her manager, her boyfriend Oliver, and I encouraged her to make this drastic jump from the top into oblivion. We just want her to be happy, and even in this short rehearsal, I could see life in her music that was never present in the years I’ve watched her perform.
Until Julian crushed it.
My fist clenches around my laptop.
“Maybe he needed a bathroom break,” she says, casting a look back at the door he just rushed through.
“Maybe,” I mutter. Or maybe he’s just an asshole.
“He seems distracted. I hope everything’s okay. He was so enthusiastic at our initial meeting. I wish you’d been able to attend, Had. If you’d seen the excitement on his face at the prospect of playing again, you’d get why Sam and I knew this was the path for me. I don’t know what’s changed but… maybe it’s me? Maybe he’s not happy with what I’m doing with his songs?”
“Hey,” I say, squeezing her arm. “He’s taking a bathroom break. I’m sure that’s it. You sound fantastic.”
She tugs on her sleeves as she tosses another nervous look at the door. Gosh, I just want to slap some sense into that guy. If he doesn’t understand and appreciate what he’s got in Viv Hastings, he’s as much of an idiot as he is a jerk.
Unfortunately, another fact I’ve learned from growing up in the gilded world of the Hollywood elite is that talent attaches to assholes as much as non-assholes. And like it or not, Julian Campbell is freaking talented. There’s no denying it. Along with his model looks and unflappable ambition, he’d be worth a second glance if he were any other guy, but that’s not the view I got. Especially when he returns a few minutes later with an even more sour expression on his annoyingly symmetrical face. Those brown eyes smolder with an open flame as he scratches at the dark scruff on his chin.
Distracted, Viv called him. Yeah, that’s about right.
“Okay, sorry about that,” he mumbles into the mic. “You good to start—” He flinches and whips his phone from his pocket. Glancing down, he releases another curse. Heard plenty of those in our short acquaintance.
He shoves a hand through his short dark hair, messing it up into jagged points that somehow make him even hotter. For the record, in my experience, asshole-ness and hotness do tend to correlate, unlike talent. So yeah, I knew from the first moment he opened his apartment door with those thick lashes, that haughty smirk, and the tight undershirt barely hiding a chiseled body, he was going to be trouble.
I watch his grip tighten on his phone, the muscles in his forearm constricting in the same way I’ve seen him grip a door frame. There’s no smirk on his face this time, though. No, there’s no amusement at all as he pounds back a response before shoving the phone in his jeans and grabbing his guitar.
“Let’s work on the chorus of ‘Unforgiven,’” he growls out. The other bandmembers exchange looks, and there’s plenty of throat-clearing and instrument fondling in the awkward seconds that follow.
Viv circles her hand around the mic in an unconscious adjustment that adjusts nothing. My eyes laser in on Julian who seems to be doing everything he can to be a crappy bandleader. If this is how he thinks he’s going to build a cohesive group poised to fight their way back from the ashes, he’s in for a rude awakening. He’s what ruins careers, not builds them.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Viv asks, eyeing Julian. He snaps his gaze up from tuning his guitar.
“Sure, what’s up?” he says while resuming his task.
I recognize the irritation on Viv’s face. She’s definitely not used to being dismissed, and Julian is lucky her boyfriend isn’t here. I’d like to see what a professional hockey player does to some punkass rocker who disrespects his girlfriend.
She blows out a breath and presses a fist on her hip. “Privately,” she says with more force, her eyes returning a healthy amount of fire. Heck yeah. That’s my girl.
I’m proud of her as Julian finally looks up and gives her his full attention. He glances at the other bandmembers before sighing and yanking his guitar over his head. After shoving it onto the stand, he starts toward the door. Viv follows and motions to me.
“Hadley, you mind coming with us?” We exchange a look that tells me, despite her strong façade, she needs backup and moral support. On it.
I push my laptop into its case and jump up from my chair.
“Is that really necessary?” Julian quips, nodding in my direction, and I stare at him in disbelief. The nerve. I can tell he knows who I am, that he hates me too, but is he really going to jeopardize the careers of all these people over a petty feud? At least I’d planned to keep my opinions to myself. But so help me if he so much as looks at Viv wrong in the next two seconds.
“Yes. Hadley and I are a package deal,” Viv returns, stalking past Julian to take the lead. I catch his eye-roll as he follows her out and across the hall toward a vacant artist lounge.
“Do you not want to be here? Are you regretting this?” Viv asks, the second we’re inside.
Julian actually looks startled for a second before he manages to cover it up. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just… You seem… different. At our first meeting with Sam you were so invested in this band, but today…” She shrugs. “It’s like we’re inconveniencing you. If we can’t even get through one rehearsal together, this isn’t going to work. So what’s going on?”
Wait, was that a flash of panic on his face? Crap. I swallow the unexpected cramp caused by his hurt look. The stupid lump has no business in my stomach. It’s those eyes. The same force that makes them blister with arrogance, releases a desperate pull just as strong. I blink and tear my gaze away before I completely lose my mind.
“No, of course I want this. It was my idea to form this band,” he says, leaning forward. I hate that I kind of believe him. “Look, I’m sorry about today. It’s… yes, I’ve been distracted, but I swear it has nothing to do with the band or my commitment to it. Believe me, I want this. Need it, just…”
I feel myself slipping under his spell, so I know Viv is. She’s a kind soul, cursed with a naivete that always wants to see the best in people.
That’s why it’s my job to be the devil to her angel.
“Yeah? You think you need this? Do you have any idea what she gave up to be here?” I quip before I can stop myself. Viv snaps a warning look at me, but I’m sorry. Someone has to say it. “If this is how you think bandmates treat each other, then it’s no wonder you had to steal your success from someone else.”
Viv gasps. “Hadley!”
Julian flinches as if struck, the strange hurt seeping through a cr
ack in his hard features again. But he covers it up, cementing his face into the irritated mask I’m more accustomed to.
His eyes narrow on me as he finally addresses my existence for the first time since we showed up in this nightmare together. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or what happened with Eastern Crush. But if you think you do and are going to punish me for it, then maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t going to work.” He turns and storms off, slamming his palm into the doorframe on his way out.
Julian and doorframes.
Julian, devastating dark eyes, and doorframes. There’s the setup for any rock horror movie.
“What was that?” Viv seethes once we’re alone.
I sigh and force myself to face her. “I’m sorry, I just…” Hate him so much! “I can’t stand the way he disrespects you.”
“Disrespects me? That’s what you saw?” She crosses her arms, and somehow I’m now the bad guy. “That’s not why I called him in here, Had. Clearly something’s wrong with him today, and I wanted to help him.”
“Okay. I see that now.” I don’t. “I’m sorry. I just really thought…”
She shakes her head, squinting at me. “It’s not like you to misread a person or situation so badly. What’s up with you and him? Is this really still about the Eastern Crush thing? Sam said he had nothing to do with what happened to Mason. Julian’s also the one who helped his case and stood in Mason’s corner when shit hit the fan. Heck, Mason himself is the reason we’re even standing here right now. If Mason forgave the guy and wanted to help him, shouldn’t we? Julian is our family now. We have to accept that to make this work.”
I shudder at the thought of Julian Campbell as anything related to me. “Right, yeah. Again, I’m sorry.”
Viv sighs and squeezes my arm. “I know you’re just looking out for me, Had, but I need this to work, okay? You’re right, I gave up everything to be here. It has to work. I don’t have a Plan B. You know this.”
