But it was never enough. Eight months ago, things had come to a head. She’d promised him that if he’d give her one more chance, she’d clean up. Not in rehab. She’d be in every tabloid imaginable if she went to rehab. Couldn’t he go away with her someplace private and get her a personal doctor? She didn’t need a life coach, she just needed Cade and Audrey at her side, encouraging her.
He’d fallen for that—hook, line, and sinker. He’d done his part, all right. He’d hired the best doctors and ensconced them nearby. He’d ensured she had the easiest drugs to wean herself off, and doled out her new prescriptions carefully. He’d supported her every step of the way . . . and then she had a fight with Audrey over him. She’d seduced Cade, stolen his meds, and overdosed while lying in bed next to him.
That had required a lot of therapy to get over.
Things between them were complicated all right. And tangled. Because how was he supposed to feel about his childhood sweetheart that slept with him one day and then reached for pills the next?
“You know Daphne’s my sister-in-law,” Reese said, clapping him on the shoulder as they walked out of the club. “And Audrey would be hurt to hear me say it, but Daphne’s a train wreck. She was clean for what, three whole weeks last time?”
“She says she’s clean now.”
“She says a lot of things,” Reese retorted. “I’ve seen how she hurts Audrey with her promises. If you can disentangle yourself, man, do it.”
Sound advice. He knew it, and yet it was harder to practice. “I need to talk to her, regardless.” To see where “they” were, or if they were anywhere. If her label was sending Daphne out on tour, she had to be clean. If she was clean, maybe they could start again.
If not . . . maybe it was time for Cade to move on. Either way, he needed to know.
THREE
On opening night of Daphne Petty’s North American tour, the star was a raging bitch, and the staff were running in fear. Kylie herself was hiding out with the costumers until she was needed. The next room over, she could hear Daphne screaming at her assistant. “Didn’t I say I wanted boneless buffalo wings? What, you expect me to eat these things with bones in them? For fucking real? Didn’t anyone read my goddamn tour rider?”
Kylie winced in sympathy. She’d been working for Daphne for a week now, and as the Teacher’s Petty tour got underway, she learned that Daphne could either be the sweetest, most fun person in the world . . . or a complete nut job. She’d been warned by everyone in the crew to not take anything Daphne did or said personally, and to just ride out any sort of confrontation. Give Daphne the right of way and the arguments would disappear.
So far, to Kylie, Daphne was decent enough. Some mornings she was snippy, but she liked the job that Kylie did on her makeup, and she liked the skin-care regimen that Kylie had put her on, so she was happy. She still referred to Kylie as “Fat Marilyn,” but Kylie was getting used to that. Apparently Daphne was bad with names and so everyone had a Daphne-anointed nickname. The costume lady was “Ginger Tramp” or just “Ginger” for short, because she was redheaded, freckled all over, and tended to wear tight clothing. One of the lighting crew was called “Hodor,” the sound guy was “Hairy Dave,” and Daphne called her assistant “Snoopy” because she “ran her like a dog.” All in all, “Fat Marilyn” wasn’t so bad of a nickname, really. She’d heard Daphne calling the dancers all kinds of insulting things, depending on if they were getting in her way or not.
“She was nicer before the drugs,” Ginger told her, sewing sequins onto a dance costume for Daphne’s third number. “Used to be the sweetest girl. Funny, too. Now she’s just a cunt.”
Kylie blinked at the harsh language. “She seems okay to me.”
Ginger shrugged. “She’s actually not that bad this week because her new dancer boy toy has the good drugs. Or so I’ve heard.” She mimed snorting a line of blow, then went back to her sewing. “Until he runs out of his stash, he’s her new favorite person.”
Wow. Kylie licked her lips, uncomfortable. “Does, um, the label know?” Should she tell someone that Daphne was getting high before her first performance?
“They don’t care,” Ginger said. “Who do you think started her on the drugs? It’s cheaper to keep them happy when they’re well medicated. And as long as the tour sells out, no one gives a shit.” Ginger stabbed a needle through the shimmery fabric, then tugged at the thread. “I’ve been with her for five years. She goes through this cycle repeatedly. She’s clean, then someone gives her a new drug. She gets hooked, she gets nasty, she falls to pieces, then goes to rehab and she gets clean. Then someone gives her a new kind of nose candy and we start all over again.”
She was so blasé about it. Kylie thought about the track marks on Daphne’s arms. “She doesn’t look so good, though. Doesn’t anyone worry about her health?”
“Not as much as they care about making money.” Ginger bit the thread gently and then shook out the costume. “She’s probably going to need you soon. You might want to surface.”
Kylie grimaced and glanced at the door to Daphne’s greenroom, where the pop star relaxed prior to the concert. Vague crying could be heard from the other side. Her false lashes were going to be hell to stick if Daphne’s eyes were puffy from crying. So with a sigh, Kylie braced herself and headed in to the greenroom to see what was going on.
Sure enough, Daphne was sitting in front of the makeup mirror, crying. She wiped her eyes with one hand and dug through all of Kylie’s neatly sorted makeup with the other. Pinning a smile to her face, Kylie approached. “Hey, Daph, what are you looking for?”
Daphne continued to weep, sniffling loud. “Have you seen Marco?”
“Marco?” Kylie gave her a puzzled look.
“Marco Polo?”
At first, Kylie thought it was a joke. But Daphne kept crying and digging through Kylie’s stack of eye shadows and she realized this must be another nickname for someone. “I haven’t. Can I get you anything?”
This was the wrong thing to say. Daphne’s eyes lit up and she turned to Kylie, a crazed look on her face. “Do you have any stuff?”
“Stuff?”
“Rock? Blow? Pills? Something? I need a pick-me-up.” She rubbed a hand across her eyes again and for a moment she looked incredibly young. “I’m so tired all the time.”
“I don’t have drugs,” she told Daphne softly. Part of her wanted to hug the pop star, and part of her wanted to give her a good shake. She settled for picking a tube of lip gloss up off of the floor and putting it back in its place. “Can I get you a water or something?”
But Daphne began to cry again. “Marco has all the good stuff and I don’t know where he is and I’m so sleepy. I just want to take a nap and I go on stage in an hour and a half.”
“You can’t cry,” Kylie told her, taking a determined tone and offering Daphne a box of Kleenex. “Your face is going to be on all kinds of magazines tomorrow and you want to look your best, don’t you?”
“I don’t care about magazines. I just want a nap. Why is Marco hiding from me?”
Kylie gave her a helpless look. “I suppose I could go look for him—” She stopped that train of thought when Snoopy showed up in the corner of her eye and gave her a silent shake of her head and a throat-cutting motion. Okay. So Marco was “hiding” deliberately. They probably didn’t want Daphne on something when she went on stage. Poor thing. She stroked Daphne’s hair, feeling sorry for her. She should be excited to start a tour, not miserable. “You know what? I think there’s a coffee place up the street. I could go run and get you something to pep you up before it’s time for makeup?”
Daphne’s tearstained face lit up. “Really? You’d do that for me, Fat Marilyn?”
“Yup,” she said. Anything to make Daphne stop crying. “How about an espresso?”
Daphne clapped her hands. “I need an extra-large iced coffee with a quad-shot of espresso. Heavy on the sugar, heavy on the cream.”
“That sounds awful,” Kylie said
with a small laugh. “But it does sound like it’ll wake you up.”
“Short of them grinding the beans into the ice cubes, yup.” Daphne actually looked happy. “Thank you so much. Coffee sounds awesome. I’m thinking about adding it to my goddamn rider, not that anyone reads the fucking thing.” She bellowed the last part and gave Snoopy a glare.
“I’ll just run and get that coffee,” Kylie said, grabbing her wallet and running for the door.
“Flee while you can,” Snoopy told her, and it sounded like good advice to Kylie.
—
Parked in front of the coffee shop was a hot pink Lyons roadster that made Kylie drool with want. She was so busy admiring it and staring that she automatically reached for the door to the cafe . . . and ended up grabbing at someone’s belt buckle and the fabric below.
And possibly some junk. Possibly.
“Oh!” She jerked backward, shocked. Of all the humiliating things to do. She looked up . . . and immediately felt flustered.
Kylie had to admit her instincts had great taste, though. If she had to grab anyone’s junk, at least it was this guy’s. Because good lord, he was gorgeous. Blond tousled hair, a gray business suit, and a pair of smiling blue eyes crinkled with amusement at her.
“Oh, my God, I am so, so sorry,” Kylie told him. “I thought you were the door.”
“I can safely say that’s probably the first time I’ve heard that from a beautiful woman.” He grinned at her and opened the door—the real one—for her. “After you?”
Humiliation burned her cheeks, and she ducked her head and stepped into the coffee shop, hoping that he wouldn’t follow her in.
No such luck—the handsome man was two steps behind her as she went inside. She bit her lip, wondering if she needed to apologize again. Say something clever, funny. Something. Anything. Steeling herself, she turned around to face him. “I don’t normally grab men when I head into a coffee shop,” she told him. “But since I did, I feel like I should buy you a drink.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “What sort of groping do I endure for a bagel?”
“Bagels are cheap,” she found herself teasing back. “No more than a quick squeeze for one of those.”
“Not even if I ask for lox?” His eyes were so blue, surrounded by thick lashes. He looked like an angel. A very naughty, flirty angel.
“Not even,” she told him, a smile tugging at her mouth. Then she offered him her hand. “Kylie.”
“Cade,” he told her, shaking her hand. As he held her fingers, he leaned in. “And I can buy my own bagels, truly. I just wanted to see what was on the menu.”
Was he flirting with her or just being polite? When he gestured that she should step in front of him at the counter, she decided that it was simply politeness. He was just a nice guy having a little fun at the coffee shop. She smiled awkwardly at the man behind the counter. “I need a small black coffee, regular blend, and an extra-large iced coffee with a quad-shot of espresso. Loads of sugar and cream.”
Cade chuckled. “Is all that sugar for you?”
She shook her head and held out a twenty to the cashier. “Mine’s the black. I can’t drink all that sugar.”
“Too sweet?”
She stepped aside so he could order, and wondered briefly how blunt she should be with him. Then, she supposed, it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t see him again. “Too many calories. I’m already fat enough.”
“Small black coffee,” Cade told the man behind the counter. He paid and then turned back to Kylie, waiting at the counter while their drinks were prepared.
An uncomfortable silence fell. Kylie gave him a tight expression as he studied her. Then he said, “You know, I happen to think you’re gorgeous.”
A pleased smile curved her mouth. He was so nice. “Aw, thank you. I bet you say that to all the girls in coffee shops.”
“No, I mean it. You’re really lovely. I’m not just saying that to make conversation.” His grin was sincere. “If I was, I’d comment on how I had a friend that used to order a drink just like the one you did. All the espresso in the world, tons of creamer, tons of sugar. She loved it.”
“It’s for my friend, too.” Skinny, skinny Daphne could probably be considered a friend. Theoretically.
He still wore his smile as the barista set both black coffees on the counter, and then went to work on Daphne’s monstrous caffeine concoction. Cade reached for his drink and then offered Kylie hers. His smile no longer seemed friendly, though. It just seemed . . . sad, almost. And it made her wonder.
“So,” she asked, since he didn’t seem to be leaving, “do you live here? In Chicago?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m in town to see a friend. You?”
Kylie shook her head. “Work. We travel a lot.” She avoided mentioning who she worked for. She knew from past experience that even though Cade looked nice and normal—and okay, divinely handsome—the moment she mentioned what she did, people asked for tickets. It was best to just be vague. She gestured at the street. “I was coming here to do a coffee run, actually, and I noticed that car out front.”
“The Lyons roadster?” Cade’s smile quirked and reappeared.
“That’s it,” she said. “It’s really gorgeous.” And it was. A dainty little sports car, the Lyons out front had a hot pink exterior and purple interior that made Kylie adore it despite its impracticality. She had no need for a car due to her job, but if she got one, it’d be something like that flashy little beauty out front. “Makes me wonder about who drives such a thing.”
“Well, I do for the next few hours,” Cade told her, sipping his coffee. At her look of surprise, he added, “Then it’s going into the care of an old friend of mine.”
An old friend? Judging by the utter femininity of the car, she could guess what kind of friend it was. Figured. The good ones were always taken, weren’t they? Of course Cade had a romantic interest. He was gorgeous, funny, charming, dressed well, and judging from the looks of things, had a fair amount of money if he was buying a Lyons for a lady friend. “Well, your friend is quite lucky to have you in her life.”
The smile he gave her was sad and troubled. He looked back at the car thoughtfully, but was silent.
And that made Kylie’s heart ache. Because whoever this handsome man wanted, it was clear he was miserable over her. He didn’t look like a happy man in love. He looked . . . desperate. As if he were running out of options.
Poor guy. She hated to see that.
Kylie moved in and leaned closer to him, clutching her coffee close. “Whoever your friend is,” she murmured, “if she doesn’t take one look at that car and drag you off to bed for the next week, she’s crazy.”
At that, his smile broadened, and his attention fixed on Kylie once more. “I wish my friend were more like you, then.”
I wish your friend was me, she thought, but only gave him a friendly wink. Then her coffee order was up, and it was time to leave. She gave Cade a small wave as she left, and he returned her gesture with a nod.
As Kylie headed back down the streets toward the music hall, she was filled with longing. Why couldn’t she find a great guy like Cade? Someone that cared enough about her to surprise her with a ridiculous present . . . or heck, just enough to get sad-eyed when he missed her? Why couldn’t she find a guy like that to be with? Why were they always taken?
There was no denying that there’d been a connection between them. It was obvious to her; some people you just clicked with instantly, and she and Cade had clicked. She’d briefly thought about asking him for his number, but she wasn’t a masochist. Work had to come first for now, because she needed the money. Nursing home care was ungodly expensive.
But one thing was clear to Kylie—whoever held Cade’s heart? She didn’t know what she had. And if she did, she wasn’t being very careful with it. Someone like Cade only came around once in a girl’s lifetime.
And someone as plain and dumpy as Kylie didn’t stand a chance of stealing him away.
Music blasted through the walls of the greenroom in the concert hall, and even though the interior walls were protected by layers and layers of padding and drywall, it still thumped loud enough to make Cade’s head hurt. He drummed his fingers on his knee, holding his bourbon in his other hand, and watched another pair of strangers in schoolgirl costumes pass by, giggling as they did. He didn’t know if they were Daphne’s fans or part of her entourage; they all seemed to dress weird.
For the tenth time in the last hour, he wondered why the hell he was here.
Cade was backstage in Daphne’s private lounge area. Except it wasn’t so private. It was filled with people in varying shades of drinking and getting high, press people, and Daphne’s crew. In short, what he assumed would be a private meeting with Daphne wasn’t going to be private at all.
He didn’t know what to make of that. But he’d suggested that he and Daphne get together and talk about things, and she’d offered for him to meet her after her first concert on the new tour. She’d promised him alone time.
And because he could never resist Daphne, he’d agreed.
Except now, looking around, he wasn’t exactly sure what he’d agreed to. Another song wailed through the walls, and his drink shook from the vibrations of the speakers. The posters on the walls of the crowded room were various promotional photos of Daphne in her cutesy costumes, winking at the camera. In each one, she looked healthy and beautiful, and it made him hope that when he saw her, she’d be just as gorgeous as she was in the photos. That it wasn’t just photoshop.
If happy, healthy Daphne was blowing him off, he could live with that, really. He’d just tuck his heart back into its hiding place and go about his life as he always had.
He still felt out of place, though. Here he was in a suit and tie, and everyone else seemed to be in jeans or various states of undress. In the corner, there was a girl in a dress made entirely of what looked like leather buckles, and she was doing lines off of a mirror, which made him frown. Did Daphne know her entourage had drugs? She needed to stay away from that sort of thing if she was going to get better.
One Night With a Billionaire Page 3