He didn’t move, but said, “Good.”
Hopefully the meeting with Mark would happen soon. But my shoulders slumped as I said, “But I don’t want to be the butt of the show’s attempts to mock you.”
His face tilted as he asked, “What?”
The ex-girlfriend, his estranged parents and the set-up of lunch with my parents had been all about showing his life again, not mine. I wasn’t stupid.
I lowered my lids as I said, “I think a lot of the focus is on you, because you’re already a star who brings ratings.”
He kissed my cheeks and caressed me as he said, “I’ve been at a loss for what to do with you.”
My skin was dewy with desire and my eyes widened as I asked, “What?”
He showed some of those dimples of his and said, “If I show I’m interested in you, it could be seen as selfishly wanting to reform my public image.”
I’d had that thought. My heart beat differently as I asked, “It’s not?”
He had that twinkle in his eyes that made me ache when he said, “And if I push you away and don’t show my interest, then I’m either a jerk to the viewers or a liar to myself.”
I wanted to believe that. His kisses sent me off course, but I said, “We need to wait until I know for sure you and I … that you are who you say you are.”
“I texted Mark, but he can’t come over right now. He was in a middle of a meeting,” he said. He stared at the wall like he was thinking back on a memory he didn’t share. Then he said, “I will prove it to you, but you need to promise to always answer your phone when I call.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss the chance, even when I win.”
Phoenix still didn’t look at me as he thought about our words. But he said, “Or when I win, and get that show and record deal. You’ll still answer then?”
Take control. We had to be back on set soon. I pressed my forehead to his and said, “I’ll be calling you, or whatever lawyers I hire will, for lying to me.”
His red cheeks was so slight I almost missed it. He said, “Good. I like that fighting spirit in you.”
Here he was. He helped everyone and didn’t ask anything in exchange. If I was paid fairly for the Christmas songs, we could have so much more. My pulse raced when I was near him.
“Either way, I’m moving to L.A.,” I told him. “You won’t get rid of me easily. But I will also say, I was jealous of the waitress.”
He let out a small breath and his lips came closer to mine as he said, “Don’t be. You’re the one I want, even though I shouldn’t.”
I scooted closer so we might kiss and said, “And I’m in danger, because I want you too.”
His lips were so close to mine. I closed my eyes and waited but then he hugged me instead and said, “We only have a few hours.”
Heat rose off my skin as I curled my arms around his neck, and said, “That’s more time than I thought.”
He met my gaze and said, “It’s better to just be close right now, and see what happens for us once the show ends.”
Right. I was a virgin. Good girls wait. But part of me wanted to toss that idea. I’d been good forever.
But I couldn’t lose focus, either.
He added, “We have time. I mean, there is the tour we all go on until spring, even if we lose, so it’s not like we won’t see each other.”
True. I should cool down. My insides were all trembling, but I was sure. He was right. We should wait. And I did want my first time to be special. I said, “You’d be the person I’d look for, every day.”
And then he laughed and said, “Just kiss me already.”
His kisses had already set me on fire. And despite not wanting to admit it, my heart was involved. He had to know I was absolutely falling in love with him.
He was perfect—if what he said was all true.
11
Phoenix
Those few hours with Maggie made everything clear.
I needed to get Mark and her together as soon as possible so we could hammer out a fair deal for her demo that was now being used without compensating her.
The music had been magical that night.
As we pulled into the lot, and I realized the crew was searching for us, I let her hand go.
I’d take the blame for staying out past curfew, if that was what the search was about.
I’d not hurt her more, even if it meant losing an easy concert deal to play to large crowds. I puffed my chest out as we walked into the building. Finnigan spotted us and said, “Phoenix, Maggie, the judges are waiting for you, in conference room C.”
“Great.” Maggie let out a sigh and met my gaze. “This is my second time getting called in.”
Right. This was on me. I nodded and said, “We had time off. That was the point of today.”
Finnigan waved us off at the door and headed toward the studio. He must have received his songs already. The judges had the manila envelopes with our assignments. They were all seated on one side of the table and the English judge said, “Phoenix. Maggie. Please take a seat.”
I held her seat for her and then scooted in beside her, folded my hands on the table and asked, “What’s going on?”
Maggie gulped her water. Her face was white.
The British guy said, “The producers are going through the contract.”
My ears buzzed. The higher-ups wanted part of the Christmas album sales. I had lawyers and an agent, but this could destroy Maggie. I understood immediately, but Maggie asked, “About what?”
The pop star tapped her pencil on the table and said, “Your Christmas songs that you happened to sing together without revealing you were making an album.”
“Maggie is not being paid for it, so she’s broken no rules,” I said quickly. Maggie’s leg began to shake and I placed my hand on it under the table. She pulled away as I said, “Your producers can speak to my agent, Mark Powers. Maggie had nothing to do with the song being released.”
The British guy nodded and said, “They are. So we’re clear, you’re using your girlfriend.”
“We’re not together,” Maggie said quickly.
No, we weren’t.
Mark always took care of details and read every loophole. I knew I was fine legally, but I wasn’t sure inviting their anger was a good idea. It was better if I took the brunt of the heat. So I said, “Then the producers will see everything was done according to the contract. We’re not filming any music video, and all recordings were done before we were sequestered on the show.”
“Going through our finalists to find the next girl you could use is horrible.” The pop star rolled her eyes beneath her fake eyelashes and added, “Why did you think it was okay?”
Maggie’s face was white and her feet tapped against the floor as she said, “It was supposed to be a demo, and only that, to use for showing off our vocals.”
The British guy read the papers in front of him and said, “This should be against policy.”
And if it turned out to be, I should probably quit the show. I lifted my chin and said, “It’s not though. No rules were broken … sir.”
The British judge shook his head and met my stare. I instantly understood I’d lost his support as he said again, “It should be. And next time we’ll have better contract language.”
Playing concerts and living on TV was the only life I’d ever known, and contracts were the rules I lived by. But I held my tongue and asked, “Are we free to go?”
“Yes. Be ready,” the middle-aged pop star clinging to her past said. “We need to hear the best from you.”
I blocked their view of Maggie who stood and walked out first.
I’d not steal Maggie’s star to make my own glimmer again.
At the door, the host handed us our new songs. We went into the next studio that was empty and I inhaled her sweet floral scent and said quickly, “They’re gunning for us.”
Us? No, me. She pressed her hand on my chest and I asked, “What are you even doing here? You should h
ate me right now.”
“I still want to believe you,” she said.
I took her hands in mine and I hoped she understood the stakes now as I said, “Any profits from the album, you and I will work out equally, after I win.”
“The optimist inside me is rooting for that to be true, and to hope you and I have a future, together. That’s probably crazy, though.”
“You’re sweet, Maggie.”
It was the truth.
But she sucked in her lips and then said, “I’m sick of being sweet, if I’m being honest.”
I said, “But your strength for winning is your powerhouse of a voice and how everyday Americans in the heartland can relate to you.”
She pressed her palms on my sides like we were a team as she said, “I meant with you. I don’t want to be just some sweet and innocent girl you met. And I’m not someone you can lie to either. I don’t want to believe what they said.”
Reality TV wasn’t scripted, but everyone played a part. My mind rushed back to every childhood birthday party in my life being captured on film. I understood TV—the lens always focused where I didn’t want it.
“They’ll say worse,” I said. “They want us to turn on each other. But I promise once we’re both free of this studio, the truth will come out.”
“That’s true.”
She nodded and relaxed as she added, “It was good you gave your mom your phone number today. I hope you make peace.”
I was happy Maggie was in my life now. That was worth everything. Inspiration was what I had needed, far more than a reward. I said, “I hope you can see how wonderful you are.”
The studio music director called Maggie’s name through the loudspeaker. She cupped my face and said, “I have to go. I’m due in practice.”
“See you soon,” I said and kissed her.
Tomorrow might be the last time I would ever see her. I needed to get that contract straightened out. Hurting another singer wasn’t going to happen. Not after Fiona. And I’d never use Maggie. She deserved her chance to shine and I’d win the concert without taking a shortcut to do it.
I already had a good life writing music. But I needed arenas full of fans to feel alive.
I read the ’80s glam rock song I’d been assigned and retooled the composition for the next hour, until my name was called.
Then I stood and headed to where I’d practice. For the show tonight, the producers wanted to the singers to have minimal rehearsal time so the judges could catch us off guard.
At least I knew the words to my song already, and the band and I practiced my rendition.
As I left to head to wardrobe and stage makeup, one of the camera crew came over to me with his clipboard.
He asked casually, “So Maggie doesn’t mind that you almost killed Fiona?”
They knew. I glanced around and wondered where the camera was as my heart sped up. I asked, “How do you know that name?”
“Her father is friends with a camera man.”
My stomach twisted. Hearing him talk about the reason I had failed was a colder slap than the ice bucket challenge. I lowered my head and asked, “Do the producers know?”
He patted me on the back like we were friends and said, “Yes. I overheard them talking and thought you should know first. The crew enjoys working with you, including me.”
So there was no camera hidden in a wall? I massaged the back of my neck and said, “Thanks. I have to tell Maggie.”
He tapped his board and said, “Better get going. She’s in studio already as she’s one of the early performers.”
“Maggie!” I called out as I saw her being escorted to the side wings with security.
But hair and makeup pulled me in before I could reach her.
They could hit her with the truth about Fiona on camera, and tell her why I’d been kicked out of Indigo 5 before I had a chance to explain.
They’d destroy my life entirely, then. I changed quickly. At least glam rock meant I could get by with an unbuttoned shirt, tight black jeans and messy hair.
The show’s music started, which meant they’d be starting the performances soon.
I had little time, but as I ran toward the stage, I bumped into a man coming the other way—a man who used to be so much bigger than me. I slowed down as my mother and father entirely blocked my way. My mother said, “Phoenix, hi.”
At least she didn’t sound high. I skidded to a stop and asked, “Mom? Dad? Why aren’t you on your way back to Vegas?”
She kissed me like she actually cared and said, “The show flew us out here and offered us tickets for tonight. Your father and I have been using it as a little vacation.”
Of course. They never paid their own way… That wasn’t a good thought and I stopped it quickly and placed my hands on their backs and directed them out. “I’ll buy you both tickets to go home right now.”
My father stopped and asked, “Why? We haven’t tried to bother you.”
Big Bad Brett Steel didn’t seem so big or bad now. He seemed … upset. I stepped back and said, “I appreciate that, really. But if you’re serious about reconnecting, I need you on the next flight to Vegas. And I swear I’ll call.”
“That’s all we want.” My mother curled her hand into my father’s and said, “We need to go to the hotel to get our bags first.”
Good. I tugged my phone out of my back pocket and said, “Done. My limo driver, Hank, will take good care of you. He’ll be waiting outside that door. Goodbye.”
I texted Hank and my mother kissed my cheek again as she said, “Good luck, son. We have missed you, and I’m sorry.”
In time, maybe we could reconnect. Anything was possible. But only if I saved my butt right now. So I waved them off and said sincerely, “Thanks.”
I waited until they turned the corner and then I continued toward the stage just as they called out Finnigan, the first contestant. I rushed toward the lineup to find Maggie, but right outside the door to the studio I needed to be in, Samantha appeared. She curled her arms around me like she wanted to hug.
I refused to hug her back, and she pouted and said, “Phoenix.”
My mind raced. Was there more? Nothing of any importance had happened with this woman, but that didn’t mean the show couldn’t misconstrue and manipulate something. Samantha was an actress.
TV had taught me to never trust producers. I ignored how my hair stood on its end and asked, “Samantha, why are you back again?”
Her painted lips pouted some more and she said, “I just met with your Maggie. I need to ask, why her?”
Samantha was a typical Hollywood starlet. She was skin and bones, and everything about her looks was phony and unnatural, compared to Maggie.
I’d been starved to meet someone like Maggie, and I needed to prove myself worthy of her. I held my tongue to be polite and said simply, “She’s wonderful and I need you to leave us alone.”
She rolled her blue eyes with vibrant yellow lids and said, “She doesn’t believe in you.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“The show provided me with tickets.”
“Just leave me alone,” I said and reached for the door behind her.
I walked in as entrance music played. I rushed past Jane and grabbed Maggie’s wrist to warn her. I was covered in goosebumps when I said, “Wait.”
The host called her name. She tugged on my grip and said, “Phoenix, I’m due on stage.”
My heart beat wildly as the music grew louder. Her blue eyes widened as I said, “Whatever they say to you out there, promise you’ll talk to me after.”
She unhooked herself from my grip and nodded as she said, “We already said that. They’re calling my name now.”
“They set a trap,” I called out after her. I wished she’d listen, and that I had the words to explain everything.
She waved behind her and said, “I’ll see you after the performance. I promise.”
Jane closed her eyes to prepare as she was next. Adrenaline cour
sed in my veins as Maggie sang a Madonna song designed for an alto in her natural soprano tones.
The band even played for an alto, like they hadn’t rehearsed at all.
She had been set up to fail and I hadn’t stopped it.
This was my fault. I understood how TV worked, unlike Maggie, Jane, or any of the other contestants.
But that didn’t stop me from cringing when I heard the British judge say, “Maggie, your rendition of that song was haunting, but flat.”
If they wanted her to succeed, something by Pat Benatar or multiple other songs written for a soprano would have worked better.
The pop star popped her gum and said, “I’m unsure what quality there is in your voice that makes you a break-out star. It might have been your relationship that kept you out of the bottom three last week.”
The third judge, who normally just phoned in his opinion, said, “I agree with the rest of the panel.”
The host then threw the microphone in her face and said, “So the judges were hard on you tonight.”
Maggie’s eyes were glassy on camera, like she was crying, when she said, “I just hope the audience judges me based on their own opinions.”
The host then held her elbow and asked, “I have one more question for you before you go off stage.”
I froze as she asked, “What?”
If I stormed on stage, she’d hate me. If she heard about Fiona this way, she’d hate me. Either way, I lost.
I held my breath as the host asked, “How do you date someone who almost killed a woman?”
Her gaze lost the pool of unshed tears. The cameras caught her confusion as she tilted her head and asked, “What are you talking about?”
The host moved in closer, like they were friends. He lowered his voice as he said, “Phoenix was kicked out of Indigo 5 years ago after he almost killed Fiona Desiree, an up and coming singer who was their opening act for a while.”
Her face turned red.
She knew the truth now. I should have told her not to idolize me, or date me. I’d been a fool. She struggled to look indifferent, but her words were like razors on my skin as she said, “I’d hate to think what the producers of this show have in their pasts to dig up that old story.”
Legendary Rock Star: Enemies to Lovers Romance (Steel Series Book 1) Page 9