Wild Thoughts

by Charity Ferrell

  Her response lights a fire inside of me. “Why don’t you do your job and keep your comments to yourself, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to have people expose every personal detail about your life and then be scrutinized for it. I get a ticket? People tweet me telling me to kill myself. I’m not in the mood to take a selfie with some teenager while I’m trying to take a piss? I’m a dick whose music needs to be boycotted.”

  “You’re right,” she says, her tone somewhat cold. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “If I have any more interviews, you let them know I’m not talking about who I’m screwing, my arrest, or Stella. They ask, I walk and will never do anything for them again.”

  “Got it.”

  And with that, the conversation ends.

  I probably sound like a dipshit for complaining about my situation. Don’t get me wrong. I’m appreciative of how far I’ve come and how successful my fans have made me.

  I grew up poor, dirt fucking poor, to a single mother living off food stamps and the welfare system. Her, my younger brother, Easton, and I lived in a small two-bedroom apartment that could fit in the living room I have now. I was teased in school for the hand me downs I wore and receiving free school lunches.

  All I wanted to do is escape my miserable life.

  And that’s what music did for me.

  It helped me evade the hurt and insults.

  When I was twelve, I tagged along with my grandma to a garage sale. That’s when I saw it, the guitar that changed my life. I begged her to buy it for me, promising to mow her yard every week, and she agreed. It felt like Christmas when I brought it home. I finally had something that was all mine. I spent all of my time learning different songs and then went out on the streets to play for people’s spare change. Someone recorded me, posted the video online, and two days later, Thomas showed up at my doorstep.

  I’d been discovered at thirteen. Now, thirteen years later, everyone knows my name and I can buy anything I want.

  I became the poster child for a young, successful musician. I allowed everyone else to make my decisions and tell me how to act and feel. I was afraid to rattle people’s tails, but that changed three years ago. I decided to start living the life I wanted and let loose, and everyone lost their shit.

  The fame and money are nice, don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for everything I have, but it can also be a burden. If I make one wrong move, it’s all over the news. I get more fucking publicity than the damn Pope. I can’t go to the club or hang out with a woman without the entire world hearing about it.

  I make business calls during the ride back to my place, and the rush of heat smacks me in the face when I open up the door after Libby parks in my driveway. I get out and walk to the front door but stop to turn around when I realize she isn’t doing the same.

  “You coming or staying out in the heat all day?” I yell.

  She doesn’t reply, but gets out of the car and follows me inside. I stroll through the large foyer and head straight into the kitchen.

  I bought this place on my eighteenth birthday when I decided it was time to live on my own … and with Stella. I let my mom keep the house I bought two years before and settled in here. It was nice, but not my style, so I had the entire home renovated.

  Everything is now sleek and modern. The kitchen is equipped with all stainless steel appliances, the cabinets are black and flat-paneled, and the counters a white marble. There’s a pool and hot tub out back, along with the perfect entertainment area equipped with a full fireplace and pizza oven.

  “Keys,” I say.

  She tosses them to me. I walk around the island, open up a drawer, pull out another set of keys, and hand them to her.

  She eyes me in confusion. “Where are we headed now? I didn’t see anything else scheduled for today.”

  “We’re not going anywhere. These are keys to the Jeep in the garage. It’s yours while you’re working for me since you have no means of transportation. Try to do the speed limit and not kill anyone.” My cousin, Nate, has been using the Jeep while he’s staying with me, but I texted and told him to leave the keys in the kitchen. I jerk my head towards the hallway that leads out to the garage. “You’re off for the rest of the day.”

  After that bullshit interview, all I want to do is sit by the pool and write some new music.

  She tries to hand the keys back to me. “I can’t take these.”

  “How did you get here today?”

  “I took an Uber.”

  “Uber isn’t dependable. I won’t be happy if I have to wait around for some Uber driver whenever I need something. Use the Jeep. Consider it a company car.”

  She blows out a long breath. “Okay, thank you.”

  I’m usually not the nicest guy, especially lately, and handing out cars to strangers isn’t something I do on the regular, but this chick is surprising me. She didn’t pry for information about my private life, she’s not afraid to challenge me, and didn’t ask for my autograph like most of Thomas’ hires do. He once brought one over who tried to SnapChat our entire conversation and even followed me into the bathroom.

  No, Libby is straight business.

  “And will you do me a favor?” I ask, and she raises a brow. “Give Thomas a satisfactory progress report. He’s going to be pissed about the interview. I won’t be answering my phone, so he’ll probably start blowing yours up. Try to talk him down for me.” I smile, winking.

  She rolls her eyes and holds up a finger. “First off, never wink at me again. Winking is not a turn on ever. It’s actually creepy.” She lifts her hand up and wiggles the keys in the air. “Thanks again for the wheels. I really appreciate it, so I’ll give you a B- minus for today. But before you get rid of me, we have to go over this week’s schedule. What I walked into today better not happen again.”

  So much for being in peace.

  I collapse onto a stool. She takes the one across from me, and we spend the next twenty minutes going over my schedule twice. She grabs my phone and punches everything in the calendar, just in case I get amnesia or some shit.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, bringing herself up from the stool.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  My eyes stay on her as she leaves the kitchen. My new assistant is sexy but in an innocent kind of way. She’s wearing a loose, black dress that runs all the way down to her ankles, but it hugs her in all the right places and accentuates her plump ass.

  Nate comes strolling in a few seconds later and whistles. “Damn bro, who was that?” he asks.

  I recently let him move in with me temporarily to help him get his shit together. I didn’t want to but my mom begged me. A year ago, I agreed to pay for his college, but he failed all of his classes and got kicked out. Now he’s working at some club and trying to save up enough money for his own place.

  “Thomas hired her because my other assistant wasn’t exactly doing her job. Libby is supposed to keep me in line,” I answer.

  “I wish I could get someone like that to work for me.” I give him a hard look, and he shrugs. “And assistant? I still don’t understand why you won’t give me the job.”

  “You couldn’t survive freshman year of community college. There’s no way in hell I’m putting you in charge of my career.”

  He chuckles while opening up the fridge and grabbing a beer. “So instead of hiring me, Thomas hired you a babysitter.” He pops off the cap and takes a big gulp. “At least she’s hot. Am I allowed to screw the help?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Leave her alone or your ass will be kicked out, do you hear me?” The last thing I need is her filing sexual harassment against his dumbass.

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry man, I was only kidding.”

  I turn around at the sound of a throat clearing to see Libby standing there, her hands folded in front of her. There’s no doubt she overheard our conversation.

  She bites into the edge of her lip. “I �
�� uh … forgot my purse in your car.”

  I look at Nate and shake my head before getting up. “Let me get it for you.” She follows me outside, and I unlock the car to get her bag. “Sorry about that.” I hand it to her. “Nate is my cousin. He can be a raunchy asshole, but he’s harmless. I promise.”

  “Sounds like it runs in the family.” She grins, clearly proud of her comeback.

  I return the smile and point at her. “You better shut that pretty mouth and go before I make you scrub my toilets and give me a foot massage.”

  She laughs. “Okay, I’m out of here.”

  “Drive safe and obey all traffic laws.”

  Nate is heating up day old pizza when I go back in. “That’s why you took my Jeep?” he questions. “To give it to some chick?”

  “It’s not your Jeep, first off. She’s working for me, and that’s more important than you riding around trying to pick up chicks.”

  His face pinches together. He doesn’t like my answer, but he isn’t going to challenge me about it. “Emeralds is having Latin Night tonight. It’s going to be killer. You want to come?”

  “Clubs aren’t my thing.”

  “Come on. Emeralds is known for its privacy for celebrities.”

  “Fine, whatever, but if it gets too crowded, I’m out.” I used to enjoy going to clubs, especially when I got in underage, but that shit gets old and usually leads to trouble and crazy tabloid pictures.

  I grab my phone from the counter when it beeps and read the text on the screen, frowning.

  Stella: What are you up to?

  “Who is it?” Nate asks, like he’s my mother or some possessive girlfriend.

  “None of your damn business, you nosy ass,” I answer, closing out of the text.

  “Stella?” I don’t say anything. “Dude, let it go. She’s always playing games, leading you on, and then dumping you.”

  “I have let it go. I broke things off with her, but she’s not the only one to blame. I’ve done plenty of stupid shit myself.”

  “Not as much as her, and the fucked up thing is that she always ends up looking like some angel while you’re hung out to rot.”

  Chapter 4

  Libby

  I pull in front of my best friend’s condo in my new loaner Jeep. It’s the most expensive model they make – equipped with black leather seats and an off-market GPS and stereo system. I can’t believe he gave this to me after only working for him a day.

  The past few days have felt like a whirlwind. I thought I’d prepared myself for meeting the infamous Knox Rivers, but it was nothing like I imagined. I’d geared myself up to deal with a jackass, someone who’d order me around and not acknowledge me for anything else.

  Instead, I got something different.

  Thomas stuck me with him because he knows I’ll do a good job and won’t put up with Knox’s shit. I’m used to dealing with high-maintenance rock stars. A pop star pretty boy shouldn’t get me too worked up.

  And maybe that’s why I hate the entertainment industry so much – because I’ve dealt with it for so long. I despise it but also know a lot about it. I know people. I have connections. I can get reservations at the nicest restaurants and book luxury suites last minute. I know PR and how to twist bad images into shining ones. My dad nearly appointed me his personal assistant by the time I was fifteen.

  I inhale a deep breath and release it slowly before getting out and walking inside. Mia moved here about a year ago. She didn’t want to be in a building with hundreds of other people anymore, so her parents found her a kick-ass two-story condo in a gated community with a private entrance and front porch.

  “Hey bestie,” Mia calls out. “How did the new job with celebrity boy go?”

  I stroll into the kitchen to find her ass planted on the counter, a box of cheese pizza open next to her, and a glass of wine in her hand. Her pitch-black hair is pulled back into tight French braids and she’s only wearing a sports bra and yoga pants.

  Mia has been my best friend since third grade. We were both crushing on the same playground heartthrob and hated each other at first, but after he kissed another ponytailed girl, we ditched him, banned together, and swore off boys for the rest of elementary school. She’s been my rock through this entire IRS mess and is letting me stay in her guest room free of charge.

  I hop onto the counter on the other side of the pizza. “Pretty much how I imagined it,” I answer, grabbing a slice.

  She kicks her bare feet back and forth. “So is he as big of an asshole as the media makes him out to be?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t exactly figured him out yet.”

  Yes, there were times when he acted like a complete jackass, but I can tell there are more dimensions to him. He hides parts of himself, and the hidden parts are always the best ones. He didn’t have to loan me a car. He could’ve been an asshole and refused to work with me, leaving me unemployed. But he didn’t.

  “Did he hit on you?”

  I scoff. “He’s my boss. I highly doubt he’s going to try to sweet talk me out of my panties.”

  “I don’t know, girl. I’ve heard the stories. I don’t think he minds banging his employees.”

  “Even if he does try to sleep with me, it’s not happening. The only things on my mind are making money and getting my degree. That’s it.”

  “Does he know who you are?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s two entirely different worlds. His fans and my dad’s don’t exactly run in the same crowd. His are girls who make posters asking him to marry them. My dad’s are mosh-pit loving lunatics and women who have him sign their tits.”

  “You’re probably right, and I doubt the dude reads the tabloids.” She jumps down and brushes crumbs off her stomach. “I’m about to get in the shower.” An innocent smile presses against her lips before she turns around and yells something over her shoulder. “Oh, and by the way, we’re going to Emeralds tonight.”

  I slide off the counter and follow her upstairs into her bedroom. “Hell no. You know I hate that place.”

  “And so do I. I’d much rather sit on the couch and watch documentaries about serial killers. But it’s Dixon’s birthday, and his brother is throwing him a party there. It will look pretty shitty if his girlfriend doesn’t show up. So tonight, we both suffer.”

  I groan, dramatically falling down face first on her bed. “I’m sure Dixon will be okay ditching the party and hanging out here if you ask him.” She and Dixon have been dating since high school, and I’m positive he’s going to pop the question in the next year.

  “True, but I can’t miss it.” She lowers her bottom lip and pouts. “It’s one night. If anything goes down, we’ll leave. I promise.”

  I roll my eyes, sighing. “Fine.” Mia is an only child, a spoiled only child. “But we’re not staying late. I have to work in the morning.”

  “Girl, Knox probably won’t be up until noon.”

  Chapter 5

  Knox

  I regret agreeing to come to Emeralds as soon as I sit down in our VIP section and make myself comfortable on the leather sofa. The music is bumping loud from the speakers. Dancers are hanging from the ceiling and swaying their hips to the beat on the dance floor, and I’ve already had three servers come over to give me complimentary bottles of alcohol.

  Nightclubs aren’t much of my scene. I prefer parties at my house where George, my bodyguard, can confiscate phones and make people sign non-disclosures.

  “Oh shit,” Nate hisses next to me.

  I jerk my head in the direction he’s pointing and force down a sick feeling while I watch the bouncer move the rope aside to allow three women entry. They head directly in our direction.

  This moment is what I’ve been trying to avoid for months, and it has to happen here out of all places.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter.

  Why is she here?

  We agreed to end things for good this time, to cut off all communication, and not keep playing the let’s be friends bullsh
it game that ends up being more than that.

  “Do you think she’s going to be chill tonight?” Nate questions.

  I bend forward to snag a vodka shot and drain it down before grabbing another. “I never know when she’s going to be chill.” I take the next shot at the same time Stella and her friends make it to us.

  Stella’s glossy red lips tip into a bright smile when she plops down next to me; like we’re good ol’ pals again.

  I glance over at her. Her long, midnight black hair is down, flowing against her back in loose curls. I used to spend hours playing with that hair, running my fingers through it. Her blue sleeveless dress hits right above her knee, and her golden skin shows off her Spanish heritage.

  We met when we were sixteen years old – both of us starting to get our feet wet in the entertainment industry and experiencing what fame truly was. I was into my music, working constantly, and she was the star of an Emmy-winning prime-time show. I think that’s why our connection was so strong. We were going through something difficult and life changing together.

  But we grew up and grew apart. I was busy with my music and constantly traveling. Her show ate up her schedule. We’d break up, get back together, and then break up again. She’d hook up with other people. I’d hook up with other people. It was a toxic and vicious cycle.

  First loves aren’t always meant to be a constant in your life.

  She leans into me, draping her hand around my arm. “Knox,” she says. “I texted you earlier.”

  Her voice is loud and clear, and I know it’s a warning to all the women around us. Another Stella trait – she’s incredibly jealous and possessive.

  Her smile grows when I stare down at her.

  “I know,” I answer.

  “So you ignored me?”

  “What did I tell you? I told you I’m done playing the games. We both agreed to move on.”

  She lets out an annoyed huff. “We can’t be friends?”

  “No, we can’t. I won’t be dragged by the tabloids and labeled the asshole again because we decided to hang out as friends and people think we’ve reconciled. If I’m around another chick after that, the media rips me apart, assuming I’m fucking around on you. And you don’t say shit about it. You sit back and let yourself be portrayed as the victim.”