by Amy Marie
I stop beside them and paste on a megawatt smile. “Excuse me,” I say, addressing the producer, “could I borrow him for just a moment? Promise, I’ll bring him right back.”
As soon as we are out of earshot, I snap, “Where is he?”
“Who?” I narrow my eyes in a glare. “Ezra?” he asks.
“He hasn’t returned my phone calls or any of my texts. I’m worried, Cole. He went to see Hannah yesterday, and it isn’t like him not to respond.”
Cole smiles and pulls me into a darkened corner of the studio. “Look, I talked to him this morning. He’s fine. Just...Busy.”
“Busy?” I ask incredulously.
“Look, let’s just get through this performance, and I’m sure he’ll explain it all in due time.”
“Something happened, didn’t it? With Hannah?”
Cole gives me a look laced with sympathy. “It’s better if it comes from him, Orelia.”
He excuses himself and disappears down the hallway just as my name is called. I head toward the set, and a PA hands me a guitar. Jamie gives me a shy smile as I pass and pause, waiting to be introduced.
Turning back, I march over to where Jamie stands. “That little place you know,” I ask, “do they serve lunch?”
His smile widens as he nods.
I grin back at him as Robin Roberts begins my introduction.
The performance went really well. I sang my heart out, just me and my guitar, despite the worry churning in my stomach. The applause inside the studio was deafening, and when they cut to commercial, I got a big hug from Michael Strahan.
I go to change while Jamie films his segment, watching from the monitor in the dressing room.
“So, Jamie,” Robin prompts, “your song “Feeling You” is a smash hit on iTunes. I think one of the things people like about it is that it feels deeply personal. Did you maybe write it for a special someone?”
Jamie laughs. “No, it’s a fantasy. It’s about unrequited love. The pain of wanting someone you can’t have. I think a lot of people can relate to that.”
“Is this something you’ve experienced yourself?”
“Not really love, per se,” Jamie replies, “but I know what it’s like to have it bad for someone who wants someone else. It’s not fun.”
“It most certainly is not. We’ll be back with more from American Icon winner and recording artist, Jamie Durant right after this break.”
I bite my lip and shake my head as the screen cuts to commercial.
Thirty minutes later, Jamie and I sit across from each other in a small café on Forty-Eighth Street. The waiter hands us our menus then scurries away, leaving us in a cloud of awkward. I have no reason to feel uneasy around Jamie. He’s been a good friend to me, but I can’t shake this feeling that he wants more from me than I can give.
“So,” I say, reading over the menu, “I saw your segment. You were good. Very charming.”
He smiles. “Charming, huh?”
I nod. “I’m sure you were melting hearts around the world.”
He leans forward and takes my hand. “What if I’m only interested in melting one heart?”
My eyes widen as he traces his thumb over my knuckles. I giggle nervously as the waiter returns with our drinks, thankful for the interruption. Refusing to meet his eyes, I smooth my napkin in my lap and take a deep breath.
“Jamie, I think you’re amazing.”
“But?” he prompts.
“But I’m seeing someone.” He nods. “It’s new, and we are still trying to figure things out.”
“I see,” he says.
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I think you’re a great guy, but all I can really offer you is friendship.”
“Short and brutally to the point.” His lips curl up in a sad smile. I bite down on my lip. “I get it.” He raises his glass. “A toast to my first time in the friend zone.”
I blanch, thinking I’ve hurt him and wishing for something I can say to make him feel better. Then he gives me a flirty wink, and I breathe a sigh of relief, clinking my water glass to his, knowing we are okay.
My phone vibrates on the table. I snatch it up, my shoulders slumping when I realize it’s just a game notification. My lives have been restored in candy crush, but still no word from Ezra.
“Not him?” Jamie asks.
“No,” I answer. “I’m being kind of pathetic, aren’t I?”
Jamie chuckles, holding his hands up in front of him. “You said it, not me.”
I groan and drop my head in my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, Ezra is a lucky man.”
My eyes go wide.
“Relax,” he says, resting his hand over mine. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Your secret is safe with me,” he lifts his water glass and an eyebrow, “assuming it is a secret.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Rumor has it that he and Hannah are still a thing.”
“And you think I’m what? His side piece?” I ask.
He nearly chokes on his drink. “Of course not. I just assumed their relationship was strictly for publicity.”
“They were really together, but it’s been over for a long time.”
“Has it? I figured it had to be pretty recent what with the pictures of them together splashed all over the tabloids.”
“That’s all Hannah and her publicist.”
“Right, I heard she was working with Phoebe Kirkland. That woman is a shark. You better watch your back because to Phoebe, you are chum in the water.”
I frown, pursing my lips. “What do you mean?”
“She is a spin doctor. Stars hire her to spin their lives of boozing and bad decisions to the press so that they come out smelling like a rose and always in the spotlight. It wouldn’t surprise me if it turns out that Hannah’s recent suicide attempt was orchestrated by Phoebe herself.”
“That’s insane. Why would she risk her life like that for a few articles that paint her as an addict?”
Jamie shakes his head. “The press has her marked as the victim, her innocence stolen, just another casualty of the fame monster. It’s brilliant. The fans will lift her up, starting Twitter campaigns about how brave she is and how she will persevere and come out stronger than before. I bet they are already planning a post-rehab album, filled with girl power anthems about not letting anyone hold you back.”
My jaw is nearly on the table. Why have I never considered this?
“Who would do something like that?”
He smiles. “Some people in this business would sell their soul to prolong their fifteen minutes of fame.”
My phone vibrates on the table, startling me. I glance down at the device, biting my lip.
“Go ahead,” he chuckles.
I smile my appreciation and reach for the phone, but it’s not Ezra’s name that flashes on the screen, it’s Gwen.
Gwen: Holy shit, girl! What is going on out there?
I frown, clicking on the link she sent. My eyes widen as I take in the headline.
The King takes a Mistress while Girlfriend is hospitalized.
Singer Hannah Miles was admitted to the hospital after an apparent suicide attempt earlier this week. Sources say her long-time love, Ezra King, was spotted leaving a rehab center in Palm Desert, looking tired and visibly upset. He couldn’t have been too worried about his lady’s wellbeing as pictures have surfaced of King in the arms of Orelia Carlisle, whose album he is currently producing.
Fans are outraged on Miles’s behalf. Taking to Twitter with the hashtag #DownwiththeKing and #Whorelia. This scandal comes on the heels of a recent video of Ms. Carlisle, insinuating her soulful voice may have been manufactured.
I stare at the picture from the airport when Ezra dropped me off. We’re wrapped around each other, clinging as if we never wanted to let go. I can still feel his lips on mine, still taste him on my tongue, and now that beautiful memory is
nothing but tabloid trash.
A tear slides down my cheek, and concern fills Jamie’s face as he plucks the phone from my fingers. I stare at the table, my hands gripping the edge until my knuckles go white.
Jamie’s brow nearly disappears into his hairline. “So, it’s not a secret then.”
I frantically look around the restaurant. I feel the eyes of the world staring at me, judging me. My heart beats wildly in my chest, my breathing becoming labored. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I have to go.”
“Okay,” he says, “you want me to walk you back to your hotel?”
I shake my head. “No.” I sling my bag over my arm. “I’m going home.”
He frowns. “To L.A.? I thought your flight didn’t leave until six?’
“To Boston,” I correct.
His face falls, and he nods in understanding then stands, drops some cash on the table, and walks me out onto the street. He hails a cab and holds the door as I step off the curb and turn to face him. “You’re amazing, Jamie. You’ll realize soon enough that you dodged a bullet with me. You don’t need to be wrapped up in all this drama.”
His smile is sad as he brushes a tear from my cheek. “Something tells me you’re worth it.” I lean in and kiss his cheek before sliding into the back seat.
On the way to the hotel, I dial Gwen, but Liam answers. “Hey, kid,” he says. “Everything okay?”
The sound of his voice nearly breaks me.
“No. I’m coming home.”
“You need me to kick his ass?” Liam asks.
I let out a half sob, half-laugh that jumpstarts the tears I’d been fighting back. “No,” I choke out, “but I could use a ride from the airport.”
“Send me the details. I’ll be there.”
After ending the call with Liam, I stare out the window at the blur of shops and pedestrians and corner markets. Just as the cab pulls up in front of the hotel, my phone vibrates in my hand. Ezra’s name lights the screen. I tap the screen and send him to voicemail.
Chapter 23
Ezra
“What do you mean she’s checked out?”
“I’m sorry, sir, you just missed her.” The hotel clerk’s voice is shaky, and clearly, she is not equipped to deal with me in panic mode.
“Thank you,” I grumble and hang up the phone.
I pull up her name in my contacts and hit the call button again. It rings once then goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I roar, dropping the phone to the coffee table. I grip my hair and exhale loudly as the phone begins to vibrate against the wood. I dive for it and nearly crush it in my hand when I see the text.
Hannah: Just the tip of the iceberg. You know what you have to do.
This is all my fault. All of it. I should’ve seen this coming, should’ve protected her from that psycho. How the fuck did I let this happen?
It vibrates again, and I can’t fight the urge to check it on the slim chance it’s Orelia, but it’s not.
I swipe a finger across the screen to answer. “Yeah?”
“You’re a right foul git, aren’t you?” Cole quips, his accent thick with irritation.
“I’m not in the mood. What do you want?”
“I take it you’ve seen it then,” he says.
“Yeah. I’ve seen it. #Whorelia is trending.” I sigh. “What am I supposed to do here? Hannah’s lost her fucking mind, and Orelia won’t take my calls. She’s checked out of her hotel. I’m seconds away from jumping on the next goddamn flight, but terrified we’ll pass each other because she’s supposed to be on a flight home right now.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What?” I snap.
“Jeanne called. Apparently, the car dropped her off at the airport, but she never got on the plane.”
I shoot to my feet. “Where the hell is she?”
“That remains unclear. I spoke with her this morning. She was upset she hadn’t heard for you, mate.”
My heart sinks. I’d been in a meeting all morning, my phone turned off. When I turned it back on, it nearly exploded with notifications from Hannah’s latest Twitter fiasco. By then, it had been too late.
“Did you tell her where I was?”
“I thought it better if it came from you.”
I nodded, “Good. Has she reached out to you?”
“Unfortunately, no. I haven’t seen her since she left the studio with Durant.”
“Wait, she left with who?”
“Jamie Durant.”
“Fuck, you let her leave with him?”
“I didn’t let her do anything. He’s a decent bloke. I don’t see the problem.”
I ran a hand down my face. “The problem is she’s not answering my calls, and I just found out she took off with the asshole who’s trying to fuck her.”
Cole scoffs. “Do you really think she would do something like that?”
“No,” I groan. “Fuck, I have to find her. I can’t—” I exhale a shaky breath. “I can’t lose her, Cole.”
“You know as well as I that Orelia is nothing like Hannah. She’s not going to go off and fuck Durant or anyone else, but have you seen some of these tweets? They are threatening her life. This is serious.”
“How did they even get that picture?”
“Phoebe probably has someone tailing you.”
Goddamn it, I should’ve known. “What do I do?”
“First, you leave Hannah to me. It’s time the world knows what kind of a snake she really is. In the meantime, you go get your girl.”
I take a deep breath and smooth my hands down my thighs. “Okay,”
“I’ll be in touch, and, Ezra?”
“Yeah?”
“Try not to fuck it up this time, yeah?”
“Fucker,” I grumble, hanging up the phone.
I pace the studio, nearly wearing a hole in the carpet as I try to figure out where she could be. I mean, she could be anywhere by now. I stare down at my phone, tapping out another text.
Me: Please, baby. I need to know you’re okay.
I watch as the message changes from sent to delivered. I close my eyes as my next step becomes painfully obvious, but it’s going to suck.
Tapping out a text to Jeanne, she responds moments later with the number I need. I take a deep breath and drop my head as I dial. It rings once, twice, then picks up.
“Hello?”
“Jamie?” I ask.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Ezra King.”
“Ezra,” he says, his voice smug as he practically sings my name.
“Do you know where she is?”
“Who?” he asks. “Your girlfriend? I thought I heard she was in rehab.”
“Orelia,” I growl through my teeth. “Where is Orelia?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Cut the shit, Durant. Just tell me where she is?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “And why would I do that?”
I take a breath, trying to reign in my anger. “Please,” I beg. “Please, just tell me. I need to know she’s okay.”
“Would you be?”
His words are like a bullet to the chest. “No,” I whisper.
“She’s one of the good ones, Ezra. She doesn’t deserve this shit.”
“I know,” my voice cracks.
“She would be better off if you just let her go.”
“You don’t think I know that?” I ask. “I tried to keep my distance. This was the last thing I wanted for her. Now, everything she’s worked for is tainted, and it’s my goddamn fault. Trust me, I am painfully aware that she’d be better off with someone like you. And maybe you could even make her happy, give her the life she deserves, but if you think I’m giving her up without one hell of a fight, then you’re a goddamn fool.”
Jamie’s quiet on the other line. I wait, praying that he will get how desperate I really am and throw me a bone.
Finally, he says, “She went home. To Boston.”
I let out a relieved sigh
and grab my keys. “Thank you.”
“Cherish her, Ezra, because I’ll be waiting in the wings, ready to step in if you fuck up again.”
“I promise you’ll never have the chance.”
The seven-hour flight dragged. I thought I would jump out of my skin. The woman beside me glared at me as I squirmed in my seat. If I thought it would get me there faster, I would’ve run all the way to Boston.
The second the door opens at Logan, I dart from my seat and book toward the exit, earning me more than a few concerning looks from TSA, but I don’t give a fuck.
Outside, I find a cab. Checking my watch, I see it’s a little after eleven. I don’t know where she lives, so my only option is The Den. I hand the driver a hundred-dollar bill and promise him another if he can get me there in under thirty minutes.
We break nearly every traffic law, but as promised, the cab screeches to a halt on Madison Square at eleven twenty-five. I toss three more hundred-dollar bills at the cabbie and sprint up the sidewalk.
Music pours out of the door as I open it. The place is packed with people. Every table is taken, and people mill about in the small space, clinging to guitars or drinks as a blues guitarist wails a Chris Stapleton song.
I push my way toward the bar, finding an empty stool. Glancing down, I smile when I see the brass plaque declaring the space reserved for Floyd. That night, when I first laid eyes on the gorgeous brunette seems like a lifetime away. I started falling for her the moment she opened her mouth to chastise Cole for taking a dead man’s seat. Then I heard her voice. That smoky, sultry sound that nearly brought me to my knees.
Giving Floyd some space, I lean over the edge of the bar to get the bartender’s attention. A dark-haired guy, probably in his mid-thirties, is pulling beers from the tap. “Be right there,” he says without looking up. He hands over the pints to a couple of college guys and turns toward me.
He stops in his tracks, his face turning to stone. “No,” he says. “No way. Get the fuck out of my bar before I pound your ass into the pavement.”
