As You Were (Rising Star Book 2)

by Lee Piper

  But Shiloh laughs. “Relax, Wil. I’ll get you there in one piece.”

  True to her word, we pull up outside the exclusive beachside hotel unscathed and in record time. I take a calming breath, waiting for the blood pounding in my ears to subside so I can hear again. When it’s under control, I scan the road. Apart from the occasional commuter and delivery van, there’s hardly anyone around. Perfect.

  “Do you mind if I take your phone with me?”

  “Um, okay. Want me to come with? I can be the bad cop to your good cop or whatever.”

  For the first time today, I smile. “Thanks anyway.”

  “You sure?” The hesitancy in Shiloh’s voice tells me she’s genuinely worried. But there’s no need; I’ve got this.

  “I’m sure.” I nod.

  Relieved, Shiloh grins. “Good. Now go and be badass. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  Leaning forward, I wrap her in a big hug. “Thank you.”

  “Love you, girl.” She shoos me from the car.

  With a deep breath, I make my way to the hotel. However, as soon as I take a step inside, I pause. “Whoa.”

  Above me is a ten-foot ceiling with not one but three crystal chandeliers beaming reflective flecks of light in every direction. Lush Persian carpets in deep reds and glistening golds soften the cream marble flooring while heavy silk curtains flank each of the enormous windows. Beyond them is an uninterrupted panoramic view of the ocean.

  I’m gaping. It’s impossible not to. I’ve never seen such opulent luxury in my life. With a concerted effort, I close my mouth and refocus. “Right, where’s the restaurant?”

  After a quick scan of the building, I notice a discreet sign in the corner heralding patrons toward the renowned ultra-modern restaurant, Q. Ignoring the squeak of my Converse high tops on the marble, I make my way to the oaken double doors.

  If the maître d’ is shocked by my ratty appearance, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gives a polished welcome, nods once when I mention Selena’s name, and leads me to where she’s sitting by the window. Alone. What a happy coincidence.

  Dressed entirely in black, Selena lounges in what looks like one hell of an uncomfortable chair. It’s made out of rubber and brass, for Thalia’s sake. No amount of minimalist upcycling can change the fact she’s parked her ass in a deconstructed car tire. What’s even more hilarious is the table it’s paired with is made entirely from glass. The sunlight reflecting off the mirrored surface is blinding, and the result is going to be an epic tan line beneath Selena’s oversized sunglasses.

  She raises a flute of champagne to her surgically enhanced lips, taking the daintiest of sips. I’d like to think it isn’t a celebratory drink, partly because it’s not even nine in the morning, and partly because it’s a bitch move, but the realist in me knows it’s not true.

  The glass clatters a little too loudly on the smooth surface to be considered accidental; she’s noticed me, then.

  After giving a tight nod to the maître d’ and watching him scuttle over to his station by the entrance, I turn to the woman in front of me and swallow. Not from nerves, more from the sad realization that as much as I want to, I’m finding it hard to empathize with someone who’s conniving and self-centered.

  “Can I help you?” she drawls, disdain rolling from her tongue.

  I decide for a diplomatic approach, be the better person and all that. “Selena.”

  “How sweet, you remembered, Winnifred.”

  “It’s Willow.”

  “Whatever. What do you want?”

  Determined not to let her intimidate me, I cross my arms. “We need to talk.”

  “No, I need to talk with a journalist from Bayside Today.” She glances at her gold watch. “In fifteen minutes.”

  “I know. You checked in on social media. The caption, Heartbroken, but I need to tell my story was almost believable if it wasn’t for the selfie. You know, the one of you sipping champagne in a beachside restaurant at crazy o’clock.”

  She narrows her gaze. I sit down. It’s one of the most uncomfortable seats I’ve ever had the misfortune to park my backside on, but I dismiss the way it digs into my thighs and give Selena a condescending smile. “This won’t take long.”

  She raises the crystal flute, almost blinding both herself and me when the sunlight catches it, and takes another drink. It’s longer this time. After pressing a napkin to her mouth and leaving a perfect imprint of red puckered lips on linen, she places the glass on the table again. The practiced movements take what feels like forever, and even though it’s only been a minute, she’s already annoying the crap out of me.

  I glance out the window and watch as wave after wave roll in to shore. The gentle movement is comforting and exactly what I need to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret. Or throat punching her.

  Turning away from the picturesque view, I fix my eyes on Selena. “What you did last night was cruel.”

  She snorts, the gesture so far removed from the cultivated air she’s manufactured, it’s comical.

  “And the worst part,” I continue, refusing to be distracted, “is you’ve hurt more people than Zeke. You’ve hurt me, my band, my—”

  Leaning forward, Selena slides Versace sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and glares. “Do you think I give a shit about you and your pathetic excuse of a band?” Her expression is hard. “You’re nothing. You’ve come from nothing, you’ll stay nothing, and you’ll die nothing.” With an index finger, she pushes her sunglasses back in place. “Save your breath and leave. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  Well, then.

  The weight of her exclamation is a physical blow, so I sit back and take a moment to recover. Her words churn in my stomach, a crucible of negative emotions. Part of me wants to run away, never see her again. However, the ballsier side considers the people I care about and how their lives will be impacted if I don’t woman the hell up.

  Tipping my chin, I narrow my gaze. “That’s where you’re wrong, Selena. I think you’ve got a lot to say. It’s just a shame what comes out of your mouth are lies.”

  “Stop being so naïve, Winnie.” The incorrect use of my name pisses me off, but I refuse to react. I won’t give her the satisfaction. “This isn’t question time on a late-night TV show. You’re not going to get a confession out of me, so stop wasting my time.” After taking off her sunglasses, she flicks dark hair over one shoulder. “I’ve got an interview to prepare for, scat.”

  Um, no.

  “Do you have a conscience?” I ask. “Is there a part of you that recognizes that what you’ve done is wrong?”

  “What I’ve done?” She spits the words, all traces of poise forgotten. “Don’t traipse in here with your homeless chic wardrobe and godawful hair to lecture me on morality.” Manicured fingers grip the stem of the champagne glass. “Zeke came on to me. He took advantage of my innocence and threw me away once he had his fill. How dare you accuse me of being in the wrong?”

  What. The. Actual. Heck.

  “Are you insane?” I search the nearly empty restaurant, almost wishing there were more people interested in eating deconstructed breakfast dishes so they could witness the ridiculousness of this woman. “I don’t even know where to start with you.” After taking a deep breath, I decide to spell it out for the crazy chick because she obviously needs the reminder.

  I count off each reason on my fingers. “One, you filed for divorce, which, correct me if I’m wrong, implies you’re the one throwing Zeke away. Two, you’re trying to sabotage his business, which implies you’re definitely not innocent. And three, you flaunt the fact you’re hooking up with influential men all the damn time, which, you guessed it, indicates you’re blindsided by fame.”

  “I’m not blindsided.”

  My high-pitched squeal is epic. Thankfully, the table and glasswear don’t shatter into trillions of pieces intent on impaling me. Though I wouldn’t be upset if one lodged itself in Selena’s jugular.

  �
�Do you remember Heathen’s concert?” I ask, incredulous. “At the afterparty you were all over their band manager.”

  Selena shrugs. “So?” She takes another sip of wine, but her hand trembles slightly. I take it as a sign the evil witch is shaking in her veneers.

  I focus on inhaling positive energy and exhaling my need to deck the woman. It’s not easy, and when she checks her watch again, murmuring, “Tick tock,” around the rim of her glass, I’ve had enough.

  It’s time to bring out the big guns.

  “What are you trying to prove by sabotaging my relationship with Zeke, huh?” Shifting forward in my seat, I level her with a direct stare. “That you’re vindictive? Jealous? Terrified of being replaced?”

  She stills. Bingo.

  My elbows rest on the table and I clasp my hands in front of me like a judge about to deliver the death penalty. “That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t bear the thought of being irrelevant so you make it really freaking clear you’re not someone to be messed with.”

  “Then you’d better take the warning and walk away, Wendy.” But Selena’s voice is brittle, a mere echo of the assuredness it was a moment ago.

  Her insult is painless. It has no impact because she’s shown her hand and, in doing so, revealed her weakness. She knows it, I know it, and you can bet your ass I’ll exploit it.

  “What a way to stay relevant, huh? By crying victim when it’s you who’s the manipulator.” I shake my head, disgusted. “The only problem is, the louder you scream, the more you’re heard.” Leaning in close, I whisper, “I can hear you, Selena, and do you know what?” Her gaze darts to mine, fear flitting across carefully made up features for the first time. “You can’t sing for shit.”

  Her gasp is sweet.

  Do I hate resorting to insults? To thrusting and parrying like a six-year-old in the schoolyard? Yes. I’m better than this, I know I am. But this woman has my friends, my family, and the love of my life by the balls. It ends now. Besides, bitch had it coming when she couldn’t get my name right.

  “You can’t sing,” I state. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

  “How dare you!”

  I ignore her. “That’s why Zeke never finished producing your album.” My grimace is all kinds of condescending. “And he’s not the type of guy to sugarcoat it either. I bet he told you straight up it sucked.”

  Selena’s fingernail taps out a triple beat.

  “That it wouldn’t sell.”

  She pauses.

  “That you’d be a laughingstock.”

  Her hand clenches into a fist.

  “I mean, when your own husband, the person who’s supposed to idolize and support you, refused to put his name to your art….” I shake my head in mock disappointment. “Ouch.”

  Selena’s fist slams against the table. “You don’t know anything!” The crystal champagne flute teeters over the edge and crashes to the floor. Wine and glass spray in every direction, but she doesn’t notice. Her eyes are fixed on mine, shooting fire.

  Bring it.

  “Zeke promised, promised to make me a star,” she grits out, her ample chest heaving beneath the lace of her black wrap dress. “He said I’d be famous, he’d snap his fingers and my record would be in the hands of music’s elite. I was going to have a platinum album, fame, fortune, everything.” She grips the edge of the table, her fingers tight against the glass. “He. Lied. That man went back on his word and refused to record my work. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your dreams ripped from you? To have everything you wanted snatched away in an instant?”

  Assuming she wouldn’t understand Mom’s illness, I remain silent.

  “Since I was a girl,” Selena continues, “I was destined for fame. With my looks and talent, I’m the complete package.”

  I roll my eyes, not bothering to hide the fact that she’s freaking ridiculous.

  She stares down her nose at me. “I can sing. You’re too deaf to realize it, that’s all.” After admiring her talon-like fingernails, she continues. “And I knew Zeke was the person to turn my dreams into a reality. It was so easy. I bumped into him at music events, worked my charm, and soon enough he was head over heels in love with me.” She shrugs. “We were married within a year.”

  “You never loved him.”

  “I didn’t have to.” Turning from me, she gazes out at the ocean. “He loved enough for both of us.”

  “But it didn’t all go to plan, did it?”

  Selena faces me, and there’s a desperation, a raw anguish in her expression that almost makes me feel sorry for her.

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “So, you wanted revenge.”

  She smacks the table with the flat of her palm. “I want what’s owed. The record, the fame, the money—Zeke owes me.”

  “So you filed for divorce and decided to sabotage Zeke’s reputation as compensation for what? Emotional damage?”

  “Of course.” Her smile is cruel. “But not before having a little fun first.”

  Anger simmers beneath my skin. “With other men?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  I want to punch her in the face.

  “And it was all going great until you came along.” The woman actually bares her teeth. “I knew he was interested in you from the start. It makes me sick thinking about it.”

  As amazing it is to hear about Zeke’s feelings for me, now isn’t the time to daydream about a happily ever after. There are still so many obstacles blocking our happiness; the she-devil in front of me being one of them.

  I give a slow shake of my head, trying to process the depths of her depravity. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You thought Zeke was going to give you the life you always wanted, he didn’t, you were butt hurt, slept around, filed for divorce, and, when he found someone else, cried victim to ruin his good name.”

  “Yes.” No hesitation, no uncertainty. This woman is something else.

  “Wow.”

  “Oh, please, like you wouldn’t do the same.”

  Auburn hair flies about me as I shake my head. “See, that’s where we’re different. I would never do what you did. Zeke’s a good man. He promised to love you for the rest of your life but you ruined it through greed and spite.” Standing, I glower at her. “If what you say is true and Zeke wants me, then I’m the luckiest girl around.” Straightening my shoulders, I put as much emotional distance between me and this toxic human. “Unlike you, I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to earn his heart, not use it against him.”

  She laughs. The bitch actually laughs. “Good luck with that. By the time I’m finished with him, he’ll be out of work, you’ll be labeled a slut, and the music world won’t want anything to do with either of you.”

  A knowing grin forms on my face.

  “What?”

  It grows bigger the longer I stare at Selena. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

  Her eyes dart across my face, trying to find the truth I’ve kept hidden these past ten minutes.

  “It’s never going to happen, Selena. Your perfect plan has a flaw.”

  “No, it doesn’t. The media are lapping up my story, and I’m going to keep feeding it to them as long as you and Zeke stay together. You’ll be chased out of town by tomorrow, no one will take your music seriously, and you’ll never get a job in this industry again. In fact, Bayside Today will be here any minute, so a word of advice? Leave.”

  I smirk. “You might want to change the angle of your story.”

  She rolls her eyes. “And why would I do that?”

  After reaching into my pocket, I pull out Shiloh’s phone and show it to her. “I’ve been recording this entire conversation.” My index finger taps against my chin as I muse, “Or is it a confession?” Selena’s glare is epic. “Semantics. Either way, I think Bayside Today is going to love listening to what you have to say. Don’t you?”

  “You whore!” she splutters. “What have you done?” Standing, she scrambles for the ph
one, but I step away, easily dodging her grasping hands. Realizing it’s useless, her palms drop to the table, shoulders slump, and her head lowers. She takes a shuddering breath as though trying not to cry… or scream. It’s hard to tell.

  Moments later Selena’s eyes meet mine. They’re so cold they’re arctic. “What do you want?”

  I cross my arms and level her with a flat stare. “I want you to stop playing the victim. I want you to stop tarnishing our names and disappear forever.”

  “And if I don’t?” Defiant to the last. Stupid woman.

  “Then I sell the audio to the highest bidder.” I wouldn’t. I’d never stoop to her level, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again,” I warn. “If I so much as glimpse your shadow or hear whispers of your name, this audio,” I hold up the phone, “is going live. Every tabloid, every music site, every gossip blog is going to hear about what a manipulative bitch you really are. They’ll tear you apart, Selena. It’ll be professional suicide.” I let my threat sink in, relishing the way her gaze widens. “Do we have a deal?”

  Soft murmurs come from the entrance of the restaurant. I glance over my shoulder and see a guy with closely cropped blond hair, leather jacket, fitted T-shirt, and dark jeans speaking to the maître d’. I’m guessing he’s the journalist from Bayside Today. The maître d’ nods in response and gestures to where we’re standing.

  “Tick tock,” I murmur, watching the men approach.

  Selena’s gaze flicks between them and me. “I hate you,” she hisses.

  “You’re wasting time. Do we have a deal?”

  The footsteps become louder.

  She scrunches her brow in panic, and I’m fairly certain droplets of sweat appear on her top lip. “Fine. Whatever.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “All of it.”

  “Yes, I’ll do all of it. I’ll stop the interviews, stay away from Zeke, the studio, and get the hell out of town.” She sneers. “I’d rather die than see your ugly face again anyway.”

  Music to my ears.