How To Have Surprise Quadruplets (How To... Book 2)

by Layla Valentine

  “Of course. I’ve got Julie working on that already.”

  “Then I guess I don’t really have to have it right now, huh?”

  I knew he’d hear the sarcasm in my voice. I knew he’d take it personally. And I knew, on some level, that what he was doing was necessary. The guy was just doing his job—and he was really freaking good at it. But man, was I tired.

  The problem was, if I told him that, he wouldn’t care. He’d tell me to man up and stop complaining. I was lucky to be where I was, and millions of people would have paid to be in my position. He was completely right, of course.

  I just wasn’t sure I wanted to be in this position anymore.

  Take the gig I was going to right then, for instance. It was the strangest possible venue for our band. Punk rock at something that was essentially a high-society gig with beautiful people. I was sure they’d heard of us, but it was a…

  Well, a straight-up wrong pairing, if you asked my opinion. Which no one had. Of course. Why would they? I was nothing more than the singer in the band. The talent, not the brain. Just the man who got tickets sold, and certainly not a business mind. No genius with numbers, oh no. Not responsible enough to be trusted with anything so important as choosing which gigs to play.

  I shook myself firmly. I needed to get out of this rut. Had to find something to pick myself up off the floor, at least a little bit. I knew what the problem was. I’d been miserable since I got home from China. Back to my real life and my fake girlfriend, the life the label insisted I live while the world passed by too quickly around me.

  I glanced out the window at the big, fat raindrops, and a memory flashed over me. Getting caught in the rain in the middle of a picnic and running through the jungle, laughing hysterically as we tried not to drown in the raindrops streaming from the sky above. The feel of her hand in mine. The feel of her body under me. The scratch of her nails down my back as I entered her, and her face—already so gorgeous, otherworldly almost—taking on that angelic glow the minute she reached the edge and tumbled over.

  The way she had mouthed my name again and again as I’d ducked my forehead to hers and let myself follow her.

  Damn. Why was I even doing this to myself?

  “She left you the next morning without so much as a goodbye, boy-o, do you remember that?” I asked out loud.

  I had woken to a vacant spot where she’d been, and I didn’t think I’d ever felt more terrible or empty about anything than I did about that. So, I lectured myself for the five-hundredth time to get over it, to remember how her eyes had met mine when I finally got to one of her shows…and how they’d then looked away from me and back toward the rest of the crowd, without so much as a wink.

  She didn’t want anything to do with me. I had to get that through my thick skull and move on with my life. I had a career, and as far as the world was concerned, I had a girlfriend. True, she was really just a publicity stunt, but that didn’t matter to our fans. Probably didn’t matter much to Alexis, either, who had inevitably heard about Haley by now—and come to her own conclusions about my behavior in China. I wasn’t fooling myself about what those conclusions might be.

  All because of Haley. A girl who’d never even really been my friend, much less anyone I wanted to have a relationship with. Honestly, we could hardly stand each other these days.

  Another stupid publicity thing I had to do because of my reputation. Because of my label.

  Like playing this stupid gig.

  I tried to get my attitude in order, lest I actually become one of those nihilistic, self-destructive punkers, and lurched out of my apartment, on my way to Fashion Week and the most bizarre show I thought we’d ever booked.

  Alexis

  The day was like a montage for me, starting with that first hair and makeup session. I was so glad I’d found Jerome, who had given me all the advice I knew he would.

  “This what you really want to do?” he asked gruffly, his Southern accent coming through more strongly that early in the morning.

  I ate it right up—it made me feel like we should be drinking bourbon next to a big, roaring fire. Unfortunately, we were in a freezing cold tent getting ready for Fashion Week, instead. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to take advantage of his quick mind.

  “It is,” I replied, my tone firm.

  “And you’ll be happy to be out of the limelight and standin’ behind it? You’re sure? You gotta to be positive about that part, Lex, or you’re gon’ end up one of those put-out has-beens who mourns letting her career go so early.”

  I met his eyes in the mirror. “Jerome, I’ve known I wanted to do more with my life ever since I started walking the runway. This isn’t news to me. It’s not a new plan. I’ve been working on this one for years.”

  He stopped and stared at me for several moments before going back to work on the outrageous smoky eye the first show called for. All magentas and blacks and either super sexy or super morbid. I hadn’t decided which category it fell into, yet.

  He hit me with the next question while I had my eyes closed, letting him work.

  “And what about settlin’ down and having a family?” he asked. “You ever thought of that? Ever thought about what changing careers right now might do to your chances for kids?”

  I opened my eyes but didn’t answer for a moment. The truth was, I hadn’t thought about a family. Not really. It had never truly been on my radar. I was only twenty-six. There was plenty of time for that. But the question alone brought with it a flood of additional questions.

  Would I ever want to settle down with anyone? Would I ever find a place and a time when it felt safe to let go and be with one person, take that slow pace with someone’s hand in mine?

  Never mind the kids. Would I ever want a relationship like that? To trust someone enough to promise them the rest of my life…

  I might not have known the answer to that question a month ago. But right then, I suddenly did, and the reality was stark and biting.

  Yes, I’d settle down with someone like that. Someone who took me for picnics in the rain and had whipped cream fights with me and pretended not to see me hiding behind a room service cart and told me how beautiful I was and listened when I spoke. Someone who made love to me like I was the last woman on earth and made my body and heart come alive. If I found a guy who did all that, I’d settle down with him in an instant, and count myself incredibly lucky for it.

  So what happened if I’d found him, and then lost him again?

  Jerome watched as the thoughts and realization flew across my face, and then nodded once.

  “I see you’ve got an answer for that one already. So, tell me, who is he?”

  I looked up and met his eyes again, this time without the benefit of a mirror in between us, and for once, I let my own eyes tell the truth. Let the pain and loneliness come out.

  “Someone I think I’ve already lost,” I said. “Are we finished with this conversation? I don’t want to ruin the makeup before I go onstage.”

  Jerome reached out and ran one finger down my cheek, then tipped his head a bit.

  “We’re finished if you’ll take one last bit of advice. If you found someone who can make you feel all the things I just saw in your face, don’t let him go. Grab him with both hands and hold on as tight as you can. You say you might have already lost him, but I don’t believe you. The mark he left on you, I’m thinkin’ he’ll still be there if you go looking. Find a way to get him back. Find a way to grab hold of him. Find a way to keep him. You’re too damn lovely to end up alone.”

  “I’ll try,” I whispered.

  Then, I fled from his chair before he could make me cry.

  That first show, for my favorite label, was all color and flowers. Red and pink roses littered a platform that floated above the audience, who all wore masks in celebration of the line’s new theme. The spotlights were hot pink and white, and all the girls were wearing black, pink, and white. It was cotton candy on steroids, with sex injected into it.
And the show took forever, as some shows did. We walked again and again, flying into the backstage area and finding our personal keepers to do costume changes as quickly as we could.

  It was absolute chaos. And I loved every minute of it.

  The next show was more of the same, except that it was all black, and I was wearing a wig to make my hair darker. I was just glad they hadn’t asked me to actually dye my hair—which had happened on more than one occasion—because for the next show, I was wearing it down and natural, hippie style, for a line that featured boho-style clothing. One minute, I was wearing thigh-high stiletto boots in black leather, and the next, I was wearing hippie sandals.

  It was a whirl of motion and color, and by the end of the third show, I was dying for a break. We had one scheduled, thank God, and I spent it mixing with the people backstage, making contacts with photographers who said they’d let me sit in on some of their sessions and one who even said she’d take me into her personal black room and let me play around with developing pictures by hand, the old-fashioned way.

  “It smells terrible, and you’ll have to be careful not to get it on you,” she told me, grinning. “We don’t want to contaminate that valuable skin of yours. But you’ll be amazed at how many different ways you can affect the photograph, just in how you develop it. A lost skill,” she finished, her voice taking on that hazy, nostalgic sort of tone that told me she was about to branch off into a long-winded story about the good old days.

  I got out of there before she could do so. I wanted to hear it, every bit of it, but I also had hair and makeup for another show to get to.

  At the end of the night, I finally got back into my own clothes, thanking the experience that had made me pick sweats and tennis shoes. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, my feet hurt from walking too much, and my throat hurt from cheering during the shows. It had been an extremely successful day, though, and my phone was full of new contacts and notes I’d taken from other photographers and agents who represented photographers. Some of the biggest names had been there, and I’d spent every spare minute milking their brains for advice.

  There had been some things I wasn’t sure about before. Now, I was convinced. This was going to be the right move for me. I could feel it in my bones.

  As I leaned toward the mirror in that last dressing room and wiped the makeup remover over my face, though, my mind turned quite suddenly to something entirely different. That conversation with Jerome this morning, when he’d asked whether I’d ever thought of settling down, and then asked specifically who the man was.

  Rian. I wondered where he was right now. I wondered what he was doing…and whether he was happy with what life was currently handing him. My mind went back to how I’d felt since China. I wondered if he’d even thought about those days in the jungle—or if he’d come home and gone right back into the life he was leading before, leaving that bubble behind as if it had never happened. He hadn’t reached out to me, that was for sure, and surely if he’d wanted to, he would have found a way.

  Then again, I’d wanted to. I’d even tried. And so far, I’d failed—partially because after Sophie shut me down, I hadn’t attempted any of the alternative routes I’d thought of. What if the same thing had happened to him?

  What if he’d tried and failed, and now we were two ships passing in the night, both of us desperate for contact, both of us lost as to how to get it done? What if that appearance at my show had been his attempt to start something, and I’d totally screwed it up by ignoring him?

  Oh sure, I was being all melodramatic about it. Totally emo. But something in my heart hoped, against all hope, that I wasn’t being unrealistic.

  When I stood up and walked out into the night, I knew I needed to find a way to contact him. I just had to get it done, stop making excuses. But first, I needed to find a place where I could breathe—and the remnants of Fashion Week, with the nighttime activities they always put on, weren’t going to give me that.

  I got out of the building, turned right by Central Park, and started walking for the destination I knew I needed.

  Rian

  I leaned up against the wall of the hall where we’d just performed—or rather, I leaned against the pole that was attached to the tent where we’d just performed—and wondered if I should take up smoking. It would have been so rock star of me. Standing there, all broody-like, in the light of a streetlamp, smoking my cigarette and contemplating all the deepest aspects of life: love, philosophy, how to be fulfilled…

  Ha. Love, philosophy, how to be fulfilled. Things I didn’t know a damn thing about. What a joke. The last month had proved, without a doubt, that when it came to love and fulfillment, I was a Grade A loser.

  I was exhausted, and unmotivated, and losing my will to do all of it. I just wanted some quiet, for once. Strike that, I just wanted some quiet with the right person. And not just any right person. One specific right person.

  Get over it, Rian, I told myself for the millionth time. She doesn’t want anything to do with you. If she did, she would have found a way to get in touch with you. And last time I checked, she didn’t even make any attempt.

  Did you? a nasty voice answered.

  “Yes!” I hissed into the darkness.

  Of course I had! I’d gone out of my way to find her schedule of appearances just so I could go to one. And then I’d paid a ton extra so we could sit at the front, just so she’d see me. Granted, it hadn’t been ideal that my publicist had found out that I was going and forced me to take Haley with me. Just what I’d wanted: I go to try to reconnect with the girl I think I might have fallen in love with in China, and I’m forced to take my fake girlfriend along as arm candy.

  “Hey, Alexis, you remember the way we connected in China? Oh, sorry, don’t mind this girl. I promise it’s not a real relationship.”

  “Idiot,” I said with a snort.

  Of course, it hadn’t worked. Of course she’d taken one look at me, there with Haley, and immediately found something else to look at. And I would have done the same thing. I gave that thought about three seconds, imagining her showing up to one of my gigs with another guy on her arm, and immediately stopped myself.

  It hurt too much to even think about it.

  I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her. And she’d been up on stage, for Christ’s sake, on heels that had looked like they might have been a full six inches tall. God, I was lucky she hadn’t fallen right off them at the sight.

  She could have gotten hurt. And it would have been my fault.

  I closed my eyes at that one and groaned to myself. Fuck, I was an idiot. I’d let that be the last time I tried to contact her, too—decided that she’d written me off, and not even made any further attempt. Could I really judge her for not getting in contact with me when I hadn’t tried all that hard, either?

  Once my eyes were closed, I realized how much noise surrounded me. We’d been one of five bands playing, and the next band was onstage already, so I could hear the music from inside the tent and feel the bass and drums coming up through my feet, and the place was absolutely crawling with people. People going in and out of the music venue, people clearing out from the shows they’d been watching from the different labels, models leaving the makeup tents in sweats and baggy T-shirts, on their way home, roadies and publicists and assistants for the bands who were playing, all of them on phones or screaming at each other in their excitement or stress…

  It was all too much. Too much noise, too many people, too much movement. I needed to be by myself, in some place where I could breathe and let the quiet into my head, at least for a little while.

  I pushed off the pole I’d been leaning against and started shoving my way through the crowd around me, doing very little to maintain appearances or practice common manners. I was in a panic, suddenly, and that was no joke. Suddenly I had to get out of there, had to find room, and it felt like I was going to drown if I didn’t do it soon. The world was a whirl, the noise was a roar in my ears.r />
  I was drowning. And I didn’t know where to find air.

  When I got about fifty feet from the tent, the crowd suddenly disappeared, and the air I’d been so desperately seeking was there, flowing into my lungs. I drew to a stop and took a deep, heaving breath, trying to calm my pounding heart. I hadn’t grown up in a big city, and I sure as hell still wasn’t used to being in one.

  When I started walking again, I was on a sidewalk and heading into the area adjacent to Central Park. There, shops, cafés, and bodegas ruled the world. A couple of street vendors still had their carts out, and I paused for long enough to buy a hot dog and smother it in cheese before pressing on.

  I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw it. One of those bookstores that somehow exists in the space that probably should have been an alley—or was an alley that had been converted into a bookstore by some enterprising bookseller. New York was full of those little alleyway stores, and though I’d never been in one before, I’d seen a good number of them during my time there.

  Books. Books and the quiet of a bookstore. A place where nothing mattered more than the written word and the smell of ink and paper. It was exactly what I needed. And it looked like it was still open, thank the stars. I shoved the rest of my hotdog into my mouth, wiped my hands on my jeans, and headed for the doorway of something that promised to be a haven from the world outside.

  Rian

  I saw her the moment I entered the shop. She was in the middle row, about halfway down, reaching up to get a book off the shelf above her head. And she looked like a freaking goddess. A goddess dressed in sweats and tennis shoes, with her hair tumbled down her back and no makeup on her face.

  I ducked quickly into the next aisle and came up against the books, my heart pounding in my ears, my breath suddenly short.