by Lauren Rowe
Liar. “Yeah, I met him earlier. How did you know Josh?”
She sips her drink again. “From the party circuit. I met Reed at one of Josh’s parties.”
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” I say brightly.
“Yep,” she replies.
“Life can be crazy that way. You never know when someone you meet at a party will be in your life for years to come.”
“So true.”
Okay, seriously now. What the fuck is going on here? Kat didn’t seem the least bit confused in the pool when she told me, quite clearly, that Reed had brought Isabel to one of Josh’s parties, as Reed’s guest, and then told Josh she was a “rising star” and “someone to watch.”
My mind is whirling. Clacking. Processing. Isabel just lied to me. There’s no doubt about that. And, based on what I saw in that photo of Justin Timberlake, I’m almost positive Reed’s lied to me, too, about the very same topic. But, why? Why, why, why to all of it?
I take a long sip of my drink to hide my scowl, before saying, “I think CeeCee is a person like that for Reed. You know, someone he happened to meet at a party and then she unexpectedly became a deeply important person in his life. Well, correction. He didn’t ‘happen’ to meet her. Reed actually told me he crashed CeeCee’s fiftieth birthday party to get her to write about Red Card Riot’s debut. But the fact still remains, after that one encounter, they’ve been genuine, great friends ever since.”
“That’s a great story,” Isabel says.
And that’s it again. She doesn’t say another word. She doesn’t say, “Hey! I was at CeeCee’s fiftieth birthday party!” She doesn’t say, “Hey! Wait! I just remembered that’s the party where I met Reed, not a party thrown by Josh!” And she certainly doesn’t say, “You want to hear something crazy? My future husband, Howard, was at that same party!”
Quickly, I decide to press the eject button and get myself out of this crazy-making conversation. Because, holy fuck, I’m not going to be able to keep a poker face for much longer.
“Well, I’ll let you enjoy the party,” I say, smiling. “I can’t wait for our interview, Isabel.”
We talk logistics briefly. She gives me the number of her publicist, and we say a warm and hearty goodbye, sealed with a you’re-my-new-best-friend hug.
“Sincere congratulations on your engagement,” I say, pulling out of our embrace. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks,” she says. But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
With a little wave to me, she takes a few steps into the crowded party, and stops. She scours the crowd, presumably looking for Howard. But when her eyes obviously land on him at one of the bars, where he’s talking to several high-profile people from the entertainment business, she turns and strides purposefully away, in the exact opposite direction of her future husband.
Chapter 30
Reed
After leaving Georgina with Isabel and Howard, I do a quick lap around the party, looking for Henn. But when I spot Aloha, chatting with the other writer from Rock ‘n’ Roll assigned to the special issue, I decide to intervene.
It’s been a bit of a juggling act to gently steer certain artists to Georgie, rather than Zasu, seeing as how I’m not technically supposed to be involved with interview assignments. But, still, I’ve managed to finesse things to my liking. Specifically, I want Georgina to interview my highest profile artists. People like Aloha. Because, of course, I want Georgina to get the lion’s share of the glory and accolades when the special issue comes out.
That said, however, there are a couple high-profile males on my roster I don’t want coming within ten yards of Georgina. Lady-killers with big swinging dicks. Savage from Fugitive Summer is definitely one of them. Also, Endo from Watch Party.
“Hey, ladies,” I say to Aloha and Zasu. “Aloha, Georgina was looking for you. She wants to nail down what you’re going to do for your interview with her.”
“Oh. Zasu and I were actually—”
“Hey, Zasu. I think Georgina’s idea for Aloha’s interview sounds great. Would you mind letting her take that one?”
“Of course not. That’s fine with me.”
“Great. How about you interview Savage and Endo? They’re both around here somewhere. Maybe you could touch base with them now.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure thing.”
“I saw Endo playing corn hole a few minutes ago,” Aloha says.
“I’ll wander over there now,” Zasu says.
“Great idea.” When she leaves, I turn to Aloha. “Nail something down with Georgina. I want her to get the best interviews.”
She bats her eyelashes. “Aw, Reed. Is someone a smitten kitten?”
“Just do it, Aloha.”
I head back to the main room to look for Henn, and spot Georgina talking to Isabel across the room in a corner. Of course, I stop and watch for a moment. It’s something I’ve been doing all night—secretly watching Georgina as she charms my artists and friends. I’ve loved seeing how seamlessly Georgina fits into my world. How she lights up everyone who encounters her, the same way she lights up my house when she walks through the front door.
But, also, I’ve been watching Georgina from afar all night because I’ve been guarding her. Making sure nobody hits on her.
Georgina wants my artists to think my relationship with her is purely professional—so I’ve respected her wishes and kept my distance tonight. But the downside of me keeping my distance is that none of my artists knows the hot-as-fuck reporter from Rock ‘n’ Roll is taken. Indeed, they think she’s fair game. Frankly, it’s been a crazy-making situation for me, not being able to kiss her in front of everyone to make it abundantly clear she’s all mine.
As I watch Georgina and Isabel talk, it seems to me things are going well. They’re smiling and looking friendly. After a bit, the women hug, which tells me Georgina has landed an in-depth interview, and then Isabel heads off into the party.
I take two steps toward Georgina, intending to head over to her, when Savage from Fugitive Summer swoops in on his mark. Motherfucker. The pair high-fives enthusiastically, which tells me this isn’t their first meeting of the night. Fuck. They chat enthusiastically, their body language familiar and highly friendly. But I keep my distance, out of respect for Georgina’s wishes. I let her do her job. But when Savage puts his hand on Georgina’s shoulder—and then nonchalantly moves a lock of Georgina’s hair off her shoulder—all bets are off.
My heart thundering, I march through the crowd, and straight to the pair.
“I need to speak with you,” I bark to Savage.
“Can it wait? Georgina and I—”
“It can’t wait. Follow me.”
I grab his sleeve and pull him with me, leaving Georgina standing in shocked stillness, her mouth in the shape of a perfect “O.”
“Reed, come on, man. You’re cock-blocking me.”
Damn straight, I am.
I lead him around a corner and into an empty hallway and whirl around.
“Do not hit on the Rock ‘n’ Roll reporter.”
He shakes me off him. “She’s hot as hell.”
“She’s hands-off.”
“Who says?”
I pause. Fuck. I promised Georgie. “She’s here to do a job. Not to get hit on. I promised her boss nobody would hit on her.”
He scoffs. “I think we should let her decide if she wants to get hit on or not.”
“Go find the other writer. Her name is Zasu. She’s been assigned to do your interview.”
“Georgie and I have great chemistry. And we already have the whole thing figured out.”
“You’re doing an interview with Zasu. It’s not a request.”
He leans his shoulder against the wall of the hallway. “You want Georgina for yourself, don’t you?”
“My motivations don’t matter. The only thing you need to know is the owner of your label is telling you she’s off-limits. Now, go find Zasu.”
He pulls out a cigaret
te and slips it into his mouth. “Got a light?”
“No.”
He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, winks at me, and saunters out of the room, throwing over his shoulder. “You’re too old for her, anyway, man. She’s only twenty-one.”
Fuck.
I run my palm through my hair and take a deep breath and leave the hallway.
Quickly, I spot Henn at one of the bars with Hannah, Josh, and Kat, so I beeline over there.
“Old Man Rivers!” Josh calls out when he sees me. He’s been calling me that nickname since our college days, but, in this particular moment, I’m not amused.
“Don’t call me that tonight. And order me a shot of tequila.”
Not surprisingly, everyone but preggers Kat enthusiastically joins me in doing a shot. After which, I lean into Henn’s shoulder. “Have you gotten access to his devices yet?”
Henn rolls his eyes. “Not since you asked me about it at the pool this afternoon.”
“Why hasn’t the bastard clicked on any of your phishing emails yet?”
“Sometimes, these things take time. But don’t worry. There are other ways to skin this cat. I’ll focus on it first thing Monday morning, once Hazel’s party is behind me.”
“Can you work on it tomorrow before Hazel’s party? I’m going to explode if I don’t get the ball rolling on this as soon as possible, Henny. I need you to do this for my mental health.”
“Who is this guy?”
I pause, weighing how much I can divulge to my best friend without feeling like I’m betraying Georgina’s confidence. Henn is one of two people in the world—the other being Josh—I trust completely. One of two people who get me completely. And, besides all that, if I expect Henn, a white hat hacker, to use his superpowers to completely destroy someone, I’m going to have to convince him he’s using his superpowers for good.
“This is confidential.”
“Of course.”
“Not even Hannah, Henn.”
“I understand.”
I pause. “Gates was Georgie’s teacher in high school. Her senior year, he pinned her arms behind her back and kissed her against her will. He tried to rape her, but she ran away screaming.”
“Holy shit.”
My heart is pounding. My blood simmering. “It fucked her up, Henn. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but she’s traumatized.”
“Understandably. There’s so much that’s wrong about all that. I don’t even know where to begin.”
“I want to destroy him, Henny. Well, actually, what I really want to do is strangle the life out of him with my bare hands. But since I don’t want to go to prison, I’ll settle for ending life as he knows it.”
Henn’s jaw sets. “I’m on it. I’m pretty drunk right now, and I’ve got Hazel’s party to deal with tomorrow. But I’ll get access as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, brother. I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from driving to the Valley and handling him myself.”
“Don’t do that.” He pats my shoulder. “Have a drink. Actually, have several.”
“I already have.”
“Have some more.”
He turns to the bartender and orders a gin and tonic for me, just as the Fantastic Four, as they call themselves—Aloha and her husband, Zander, and Keane Morgan and his wife, Maddy—reach the bar where my group is standing.
“No, I haven’t talked to Georgina yet,” Aloha says to me, before I’ve said a word. “We’ve been dancing.”
“Well, chop, chop.”
“Okay, okay.” But when the DJ starts playing “Sweet but Psycho” by Ava Max, Aloha shrieks and pulls Maddy, Hannah, and Kat to the dance floor.
When the ladies are gone, Henn addresses Zander and Keane. “Hey, do either of you have any weed on you? Reed needs to take the edge off.”
“Are there dicks in gay porn?” Keane says, holding up a joint.
“Do me a favor and take Reed onto the patio to smoke that thing. He needs something more than a gin and tonic to keep some homicidal thoughts he’s having under wraps.”
“Homicidal thoughts?” Keane says. “That’s no bueno. Come on, Reed. Z and I will fix you right up.”
Chapter 31
Reed
Once outside on the patio, Keane, Zander, and I move toward a dark, isolated corner by a low retaining wall, where we can smoke out and gaze at the amazing view without a hundred people approaching to kiss my ass, or bum a hit off the joint, or gush over Keane. But when our threesome comes to a stop, Fish’s voice rises up from the ground only a few feet away.
“Well, hello there, fellas,” he says. And when I look down, there he is, camped with Georgina’s stepsister on the opposite side of a low retaining wall, their backs against the wall as they gaze out at the sparkling view.
Keane, Zander, and I look at each other, nonverbally acknowledging what we all instantly understand: we’re totally cockblocking Fish right now.
“Sorry, brother,” Zander says. “Carry on. We came out here to smoke a joint, but we can certainly find another spot.”
“Oh, no need to do that,” Fish says, hopping up with a laugh. He pulls his girl up with him. “Did everybody meet Alessandra at the pool?”
“Yeah,” Keane says. “Hey, Ally Cat.”
She waves shyly.
“Hello again, Alessandra,” I say. I met her briefly this afternoon, but she was so intimidated, she barely held my gaze. And this time isn’t much better. Which, frankly, annoys me. Whether she’s intimidated or not, she needs to put on her big girl panties and try to impress me. She’s a music student, for fuck’s sake! And I’m the head of River fucking Records. If she can’t pull her shit together enough to at least try to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, how is she ever going to make it in the music business? Has this girl never heard the phrase “seize the day”? How about “fake it till you make it”?
Exhaling with frustration, I take the joint from Keane and inhale extra deeply and then hold it out to Zander, who takes an extra-long hit, too. He offers it to Fish, who does his thing, before offering it to Alessandra, who, not surprisingly, politely declines.
“Give Reed her share,” Keane says. “Murder can really fuck up a guy’s life.”
“Not if they don’t catch ya,” I say, taking the joint from Fish. Another inhale. Another hand-off. A long gulp of my gin and tonic. And I’m feeling pretty good. I smile at Alessandra. “If you’re worried about breaking the law, don’t be.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Weed. It’s legal in California.”
“Oh,” she says, catching my meaning. “Only if you’re twenty-one, right? I’m nineteen.”
We all chuckle, thinking she’s kidding. But when her face blasts with color, we all have the good sense to respectfully pipe down.
“You want another bottle of water?” Fish asks, looking at his girl. “Something to eat?”
Alessandra looks relieved Fish has just offered her an eject button out of this stressful situation. “Yeah, I could use a water. I’ll come with you.”
“Why don’t you stay here and chat with me for a minute, Alessandra,” I say.
She freezes, looking like she’s about to crap her pants.
“Just for a couple minutes,” I say soothingly.
“Uh oh,” Keane says. “What’d you do to get called to the principal’s office, Ally Cat? You done fucked up, sis. Godspeed.”
“She didn’t fuck up anything,” I say. “I just want to chat with her for a minute about music. Georgina mentioned you’re studying music at Berklee.”
“Yes,” she manages to say.
“I know a lot of people who graduated from there,” I say. “It’s a great music school.”
She nods.
I address the three men. “Will you boys excuse us for a few minutes?” I look at Alessandra. “That is, if you’ve got a couple minutes to spare?”
She looks like she’s going to throw up, but she says, “Of course. Gre
at.”
“I’ll come back in a bit,” Fish says. He looks excited, like he’s thinking this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity for this girl, if only she plays her cards right.
“Okay,” she squeaks out.
“If you’re not here when I get back for some reason, I’ll find you.”
“Great,” she replies, but her red cheeks make it clear she’s inwardly freaking out.
When Fish and the other guys are gone, I lead Alessandra to a nearby bench in a quiet corner. Once we’re situated, I take a long swallow of my drink, finishing it off. I put the empty glass on the ground next to me, gaze for a long moment at the view, and then say calmly, “I’ve heard your demo, Alessandra. All three songs.” I look at her. “And you’ve got some work you need to do, if your dream is to make a living as a professional artist.”
She presses her lips together, her eyes wide, but says nothing.
“The good news? I like the quality and tone of your voice. I love your vocal control. Very impressive. I also think you’ve got a good sense of melody and how to build a song. But if you don’t figure out who you are as an artist—as a person—then these next two years of time and tuition are going to be wasted, assuming you went to Berklee because you want to make music your career. As things stand now, I could get you work as a demo singer. Maybe even a backup singer. You could write songs for other artists. But if you want to be an artist in your own right, if you want to perform your songs and make a living doing that, then you’ve got a lot of work to do.”
She opens her mouth. But closes it. Her nostrils flare.
“Some of those vocal tics you do? Knock that shit off. That’s not you, and you know it. You’re copying the artists you admire. Being a Laila knockoff. Strip that bullshit off your vocals and tell the truth, whatever it is—good, bad, or ugly. If you get real, you’ll get confident, Alessandra. The two things go hand in hand. And then maybe you’ll smoke the proverbial joint of life when it’s offered to you. Or you’ll turn it down, if that’s truly what you want to do. But when you turn down the joint of life, don’t do it because you’re nineteen, and the legal age is twenty-one. For fuck’s sake, turn it down because you don’t want the fucking joint! Which is a perfectly valid thing, by the way, as long as it’s the truth.”