by Bowie, Emily
“Excuse me? You can wash your own damn cup.” I push it into his hard stomach, and he doesn’t even flinch.
His hand wraps around my waist and pulls me into him before turning into the empty room he just came from. His foot kicks the door shut, leaving the two of us alone. He cages me between the wall and his body as he looks down at me.
“We need to get something straight here.” His rough voice hits me, causing me to lose my breath. I should be scared; he looks intimidating right now, yet I’m more curious about how he’s going to handle himself. It’s obvious he knows I’m here because of the song.
“No one makes demands of me, especially little girls who haven’t even been around the whole block yet.” He looks me up and down with a predatory gaze that makes me feel naked.
He’s already biting into my own insecurities of only being around for a few short years. I’m used to people putting down my accomplishments because I’m only a reality TV star who won a competition in its millionth season. But I worked damn hard to be here.
“Is that why you’re manhandling me? You like to scare little girls?” I play into his own words. Rhett may be older than me, but after the age of twenty, age gaps aren’t that big of a thing. Especially when it’s only eight years. Twenty-seven to thirty-five isn’t that far apart.
“That’s your problem. You allow people to push you around. That’s how I got a new number one song. You’re too scared to ask for what you want.” He dips his head down. I can feel our energy vibrating from him to me in the little space left between us.
It’s intimidating, and I hate the first thing I think about is how sexy he is.
“Confidence is sexy, Camilla. If you want to be manhandled, next time, ask for it in the bedroom.” His breath washes over my skin, leaving me breathless and confused on why I let him talk to me this way.
He gives me no chance to reply before he storms out of the room, leaving the door wide open. My heart is pounding, and I hate that I’m turned on.
Walking out on now shaky legs, I head toward the door, seeing my friend with a massive grin. She fans herself as we step out into the heat. “Girl, I’d give Rhett all my songs if I could get him that flustered with me. What the hell did you do in there?”
I can feel the tingling of my blush work its way up my neck, and her eyes widen, assuming who knows what.
“Oh no, nothing like that happened. He pretty much just told me to take what I want.”
“So you got your song back?” she asks, looking confused.
My heart sinks. Motherfucker. “He came at me so brashly I forgot to say anything about it.”
His words play out in my head. If I want something, just ask for it. That’s all I needed to do in there and I blew it. He was playing me.
CHAPTER 5
“You are my idol,” my best friend, partner in crime, and touring buddy tells me as she runs up to me after the awards. She does a curtsy in front of me, making me laugh. I hope the majority agree with her after what I’ve done. I’m sure I’ll be reprimanded somehow.
“Kellie, we both know that move was stupid.” But I enjoyed it so much!
“Yet, that twinkle in your eye tells me you don’t regret it.” She laughs, wrapping her arm in mine.
I tilt my head as we meet eyes, and I can’t hide my satisfied grin. The image of Rhett’s back arching as his strong chest pushed forward from me dumping my hidden drink on him will make me smile for days. I’ll probably get some fine, but it was well worth the risk.
“Now, how do we plan on getting your ass out of the newspaper tomorrow?” she asks as we walk into the awards after-party.
Kellie is the opposite of me. Where my features are darker, she is fair. Her hair is a natural white, which she dyes blonde to make it darker. It’s cut into a cute pixie that suits her round facial shape. Her skin is fair even in the summer months; if anything, she just turns pink. And she has the brightest blue eyes. Kellie took me under her wing the moment I stepped into Nashville.
I was lost and out of my element after never leaving Alberta before then. She invited me on tour with her, instantly making me feel like family. Without her, I don’t think I would have made it out here. I was too homesick.
She taught me how to live in the spotlight and not worry about everything that is printed or said about me. Because, in the end, it doesn’t matter what they all think. What matters is what I think.
“I can think of several things you could do.” I let my words hang in the air. Both sets of our feet stop as we take in the extravagant party ahead of us. This never gets old to me. I still always feel like the new kid on the block, even with me being here for over four years.
“Oh no, girl, this one is on you. I don’t need any extra attention. Being your best friend should be enough.” Her tone isn’t malicious but teasing. There is always a new story about me being told, and she can get dragged into it by simple means of proximity. Things like that don’t matter to her. She knows as much as I do it’s all part of the job.
“Stop pouting. You love me.” I pull her in closer to me, squeezing her arm as a silent thank you for being here for me.
“Yeah, I do.” She squeezes me back. I can’t help but feel lucky that my best friend gets to experience all this with me too.
Placing one foot in front of the other, we walk in, owning the room. It doesn’t take long for us to find a place to sit. It’s in the corner, with silver fabric hanging above and beside us, sectioning it off and giving the illusion of seclusion. There is a glittery bench that is softer than it looks, allowing us to rest our feet in the four-inch heels we wore.
Waiters are walking around with drinks and small appetizers that look anything but appetizing. Honestly, I could go for a good chunk of meat right now. Steak or hamburger, a girl can’t be too choosy. My stomach has loosened from the stress of the evening, reminding me I haven’t had a proper meal in three days. When I’m anxious, my stomach twists, making eating close to impossible, and now I’m famished.
My head follows the tray of… raw fish on crackers maybe? If it’s not, they resemble each other too closely for my comfort.
“I’m starving. What’s wrong with a pepperoni roll or sliders?” I ask with my eyes still on the tray of lacking food options.
“You and me both.” Kellie lets out a sigh. “I haven’t eaten in a week, needing to fit into this dress.”
Glancing over at her, I take a good look at her dress. “I love food too much to sacrifice it willingly.”
“If I looked like you, I would too.”
Hitting her on the shoulder, I silently disagree. No point in arguing—it never goes anywhere.
“I’m going to find some real food, even if I have to skip the dishes.”
“I can already see the article about it now.”
I shrug it off; I’ve never been afraid of confrontation. My mother tells me I thrive on it. Standing up, I head away just as I see Kellie’s on again/off again boyfriend strolling toward us. Giving him a quick wave, I turn in search of food.
“I would offer to get you a drink, but I’m afraid you might dump it on me.” Rhett’s deep rich voice comes from behind me, and I’m engulfed in his manly cologne.
Turning, I take him in, noticing he’s changed his whole outfit. I wonder if that was preplanned or because of me. “I liked your other shirt better.” I don’t bother to hide my smile, still feeling proud of myself.
“So did I. Don’t be getting any ideas.”
My heart begins to stutter as his timbre washes over me. I feign innocence by moving my hand on top of my heart. “Me? I would never do that on purpose. I tripped. I’m sure you saw it.”
He chuckles, taking a sip from his amber-colored drink. “One day, I would love to see the world through your whisky glasses.” As he brings the glass to his mouth, I watch in fascination how he downs the whole drink. His lips are full, and I wonder if they are soft, or rough around the edges like he is.
“Thanks for taking the heat off m
e though.” He looks down at me, and I think he sincerely means it. It makes me wonder what is happening in his life right now to cause the media to turn on him.
“You better knock on wood. I’m sure you’ll fuck up somehow. There’s still time.” I give him a wink, brushing his body as I walk past him in search of food.
*
I watch Rhett throughout the night as he begins to relax, his shoulders dropping, his body less stiff. I never noticed before that he held himself back. With each drink, he gets more relaxed until he slowly begins to get sloppy. A spilled drink here, a slight stumble there. Interesting. He’s been charming as ever. I was hoping maybe he got mean when drunk, but it seems to have the opposite effect on him.
“You could just go up and tell him you’re sorry.” Kellie’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and for one of the first times tonight, I let Rhett out of my gaze.
“I just want to witness when he messes up.” I uncross my legs, recrossing them on this uncomfortable bench. But it’s still better than standing in my heels as my toes scream for release.
She lifts her eyebrow, clearly not believing me. “I don’t get you two. You can’t stand each other, but both seem to keep tabs on one another.”
Now it’s my turn to mimic her facial expression, as she continues, “He has stayed within a thirty-foot radius of us all night. Doesn’t matter where we stand. He’s clearly watching you.”
“You’re thinking way too much into this. And I know that look in your eye.” I point at her. Kellie is a matchmaker at heart. She prides herself on getting people together, and they stay together.
“Don’t forget they call me the Black Widow for a reason,” I point out. I all of a sudden feel emotionally drained. Losing with a happy face was harder than I anticipated—hence the spilly drink event. Dealing with the paparazzi and their name-calling has been bugging me more than I would like to admit.
She clears her throat before I feel a tap on my shoulder. Looking up, I see there stands a tall Rhett.
“Care to dance?” His hand comes down as if asking for mine. Kellie is already trying to shove me off the bench, forcing me to stand, but I don’t take his hand.
“She would,” Kellie answers for me, running away before I get a chance to kill her.
That’s all Rhett needs as he takes my hand in his. His skin is soft, but I can feel the roughness of the tips of his fingers that seem to zap my body to life. He has this incredible pull on me that I don’t understand. Reluctantly, I follow his lead onto the dance floor. A picture of us being friendly might do me some good when morning comes.
“Where’s your date?” I ask not noticing her around.
He shrugs, “She does her own thing, while I do mine.”
I nod, before the fast beat of the song begins to move our bodies. He lets go of my hand, and I instantly feel the loss of the connection. We stay close enough it’s obvious we’re dancing together, yet far enough away that it screams not interested. The music is loud, allowing me to hope the two of us won’t have to talk. What is there to say to each other?
With each verse of the song, my movements become freer, less stiff as I relax about dancing with Rhett. No eyes are on us; there is no hostility oozing out of him.
Before I know it, the song has ended, with a two-stepping song taking its place right afterward. Giving Rhett my best polite smile, I nod to walk off the floor. His fingers clasp onto my wrist, bringing my body snug to his chiseled chest, his other hand firm on my back before he effortlessly guides me across the floor.
He dips between my shoulder and ear, low enough I can’t see his face but can feel him right next to me, with his smooth cheek pressed against mine. “I think we should call this our truce dance.”
Moving back, he keeps us moving perfectly to the beat as he looks down at me. There is a playful smirk on his lips that cautions me.
Bringing myself closer, only for him to hear, I answer, “I’m not sure if our actions cancel each other out. You did the far worse thing, yet I’ll be the one getting blamed.”
His lips dip downward as he thinks about what I’m saying. “Name your price.”
I don’t believe a word he says. He had a chance to rectify this when I went to see him, and he chose to intimidate me. His hold is strong in what seems to be effortless on his part, and it’s distracting as I try to make ultimatums. “Give me my song back,” I challenge.
Tilting his head, his lips move back and forth as if he’s thinking about it. “We both know you’d find that useless, since I’m the one who won an award for it. Everyone would only see you as playing a cover song now. I’m sure you can think of something worth more.”
Honestly, it’s the principle of it, but I hate that he has a point. I don’t want the song back.
“You have time. You don’t need to tell me now.” His voice brushes down me as we dance. His gaze is always so intense and borderline brooding. His hand slowly presses me closer into him, his fingers sprawled downward low on my back; it almost feels seductive. But he never crosses the boundary of the metaphorical line. I hate that I’m attracted to him. For the last minute of the song, I allow Rhett Steele to sweep me off my feet, even if it’s only in my head. After this song, I’ll go back to hating him.
The song ends, and this time Rhett doesn’t fight to keep dancing with me, so I find my way back to my best friend. Heading to where we were sitting, I see she’s nowhere in sight. Going toward the bar, I find her and her boyfriend Van looking to be in a heated argument.
I pause, not wanting to interrupt, but she sees me at the same time. Without a word, she leaves Van, heading toward me with a big Cheshire cat of a smile.
“How was the dance?”
I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes, ignoring the fact that I just had to dance with the man I’ve vowed to hate.
Disregarding her question, I respond, “Let’s take a round.” We begin walking the perimeter, making sure to say hello to everyone we know, allowing us to be swept up in the party. I try to keep my eyes off Rhett, but every time I slip, he’s looking at me.
An hour turns into two before I start to make my exit strategy.
“I need to be at the hospital tomorrow for my consultation,” I confide to my best friend, knowing this will make her drop the Rhett topic that seems to still linger around us. I would trust Kellie with my life. She is a vault when it comes to keeping secrets, and this is one of mine.
“Want me to come with you?” She places her head down on my shoulder as we both look out into the crowd, people-watching.
“No, I need to do this by myself.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
I nod before placing a kiss on my friend’s forehead. “Thank you.”
Standing up, my eyes immediately find Rhett. It seems to be a habit of mine now. “I’m going to head home for the night.”
She nods, already anticipating me leaving early because of my morning appointment.
Following Rhett out, I wonder if he has a safe ride home. I’m a hundred percent sober; I could drive if I had to. I hold off on calling my car service, needing to make sure he’s okay.
I watch him talk to himself in jumbled words that I can’t fully hear or understand. He must have had a ton to drink. I watch his whole body brush against the wall at a force harder than any sober person would.
Quickening my pace, I go to steady him. Without thinking, I place his large arm around my shoulders as I try to guide him on a straight path.
“Well, well, Black Widow,” he slurs. “You trying to give me the kiss of death now?” He laughs at his own bad joke.
I should have known me being nice would kick me in my own ass. It always seems to do that. “You have a ride I should call?” I tell myself I’ll call it then be gone.
“You’re too pretty to be a widow,” he tells me, ignoring my question. We keep walking, his strides causing me to take two for each of his one. “I can get home myself,” he tries to convince me.
“No, you ca
n’t. You can hardly walk.”
His strides stop. My body would have kept going if his strong hands didn’t keep me right by his side.
“Do you have any spare change or food for an old man?”
I look over to see Henry, a homeless man I typically see near the hospital. Tonight, he’s farther than he normally is, but he’s told me he goes where the change is.
“Hi, Henry.” I smile at him. He’s harmless, just dealt a shitty hand in life. He didn’t used to live on the streets; he had a home and a family once.
Rhett’s large hand attempts to move me behind him. “Don’t harass the lady,” he tries to tell Henry as he stumbles closer to him. In the rough shape Rhett’s in, anyone could easily overpower him.
“It’s fine, Rhett.” Grabbing his hand, I try to pull him up, but his body slides down right beside my friend. “Sorry about him.”
Henry just shrugs, being used to it. It breaks my heart that this is his reality. I have tried to help him out more than once, but he won’t accept anything he feels he’s unworthy of.
“Mind if I borrow your sign?” I ask, and he hands it to me. Taking the dirty large cardboard sign that is asking for help, I prop it in front of Rhett. His eyes are now fully closed, with his lips still mumbling to himself. Bringing out my phone, I take a picture.
“You sure you want to do that, Camilla?” Henry asks me.
“I’ll give him a chance to change my mind. Don’t worry. I’ll only use it if he deserves it.”
Looking back at Rhett, I pull at both of his arms. “Come on, Rhett.” His eyes open fully, and he tries to stand up. It takes a few attempts, but he manages to get on his feet again.
“I’m going to write a song about you,” Rhett goes on. He’s pretty charming right now, making me rethink my whole setting him up idea. It would get me out of the papers, but is it worth it?
“I’ll name it ‘Black Widow.’”
I roll my eyes. “Where are you staying?” I ask him, wondering if we’re headed in the right direction. There is no way I want to take him home with me.