by L.J. Shen
I wormed out of my leather jacket, looking around me to make sure my few valuable possessions—mobile, Tania, and wallet—were with me. “And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because she ain’t alone.”
I looked up, watching my agent striding in her snug three-grand dress toward me. She’d brought sitter number eleven. New Girl was now standing in front of me, wearing a Mad Men type yellow dress. Tight and completely ridiculous for a daylong plane ride. Her blue hair was braided into an embellished chignon, and she looked like a color-blind fairy.
“New Girl,” I exclaimed with false enthusiasm, so that Jenna would think I at least tried before I gave her the boot. I refused to call her Indie because A) her name was silly, and B) that would be acknowledging she was a person and not an obstacle. I opened my arms and walked toward her, all swagger and easy smirk. “We’re thrilled to have you on board.”
New Girl’s smile transformed from timid to irritated. When my arms wrapped around her shoulders, I heard her wheezing out the remainder of her hope that this was going to resemble something civilized. Jenna was standing beside us, and I took the opportunity—again—to loom over New Girl and whisper into her ear, “Run, darlin’. One last chance to do so.”
Her body turned to ice, but she didn’t cower, and for that, I sort of didn’t hate her all the way. At least she had some backbone. So far, I’d treated her even worse than the rest. Because—unlike the rest—she hadn’t budged.
“Glad you guys are getting along.” Jenna eyed me, suspicion leaking from every syllable rolling between her lips. She knew something was fishy. But, like the majority of people around me, she didn’t want to open that can of worms.
I leaned back and threw an arm over New Girl’s shoulders, squeezing her into an embrace.
“Like, legit, we’re gonna be best buds,” I mimicked the whiniest, most valley-girl American accent I could scrape.
Jenna stubbed a manicured fingernail to my chest. “Write me an album, Al. One where you don’t throw shade at half the industry. Make it good. Behave. And just a heads-up—Bushell is doing a similar tour. Your European dates parallel. Stay away from him.”
My ears perked, possibly literally.
I wondered if Fucking Fallon—dubbed as such for ruining my life—accompanied him. Bushell, I never wanted to see again. Fallon? Now, that was a different story. Jenna saw the question on my face, because she was quick to answer it.
“Let me put you out of your misery—Fallon is coming with him. Listen carefully one more time—with. Him. Not with you. It’s over, in case you needed any more clarification.”
“Don’t tell me—” I started, which prompted her to bang her open palm against my torso. I was ninety-nine percent sure that most agents didn’t spend the better part of their time continuously smacking their clients in the chest.
“She nearly ruined your goddamned career! You almost snorted yourself to death. If you want to kill yourself over a girl, one who jumped from your bed to your ex-best friend’s without batting a pretty eyelash—be my guest. But if you pull any funny business on ‘Letters from the Dead,’ I swear to God, your tour title will become literal, because I will kill you.” She paused, took a deep breath, and then slapped on a Botoxed smile. “Metaphorically, of course. My lawyer said no more death threats to rock star clients until the Malibu house is fully paid off.”
I tipped my head back and laughed. A hearty, big, that’s-why-I-hired-your-crazy-arse laugh. Sure, I needed Jenna, but she needed me just as much. I was still the hottest shit since sliced bread in Hollywood, and even after Cock My Suck, which, admittedly, was a sugarcoated, mass-produced, Maroon-5-meets-Ed-Sheeran-in-a-Catholic-school-prom inspired album, I had enough star power in me to light up Vegas. If my next album flopped, maybe, just maybe, I’d be subject to that kind of threat. For now, I needed to make an effort, but definitely not to submit to Jenna’s every whim.
“You’re going to miss me.” I winked at my purse-lipped agent, who didn’t even bother rolling her eyes anymore.
Jenna shoved New Girl in my direction. “Help her when you land in Australia. She’s never been on a plane before. We had to issue her a quickie passport.”
New Girl’s face turned ruddy so fast I thought her head was going to detonate. She tilted her chin up and tightened the grip on her duffel bag. She needn’t worry. I was a cunt, but I’d never make fun of someone because they didn’t have the same opportunities I had. It wasn’t long ago I’d had to count every penny and sneak into the tube when I needed to get places. But, just to be clear, I was still going to make her life hell. I didn’t do positive discrimination. Or a negative one. Call me a saint.
“Anything else?” I plucked a cigarette from my Camel soft pack.
“There’s a manual listing Indigo’s job. Read it carefully and don’t argue. It’s a process, Al.” She slapped a folder onto my chest, her raised eyebrow daring me to argue.
“And you”—she tossed something into Indie’s hands—“this phone has two contact numbers—mine and Hudson’s, Alex’s PA. No Internet connection. No apps. It’s only good for one thing, and that’s reporting back to me. You’ll give me daily updates, got it?”
Then Jenna turned around and walked away, not even sparing her new employee a goodbye. New Girl stood in front of me, her face a mixture of defiance and determination.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” I lit up. Maybe I wanted to get arrested. Jail time meant alone time, and alone time wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“I’m looking at my worst nightmare.” She blinked, almost willing herself to un-see me.
If nothing else, she was bloody honest. Taking a step in her direction, I made sure we were toe-to-toe, my cigarette dripping ash down to her hair when I whispered the words, “I’m not your nightmare, sweetheart. Nightmares, you wake up from. With me, I’ll keep going until you’re out of my hair. We clear?”
Not allowing her to gather her wits—Arsehole Behavior 101, I trademarked that shit—I turned around, dumping the thick file with her job description into the bin on my way to the leather seats by the huge window.
I hoped, for her sake, she wasn’t too frightened of flights, because she’d need to board one alone after I sacked her curious little bum.
From there on, it was same old shite, different day. We got on the plane. The takeoff was bumpy. Turbulence made New Girl’s face ashen, and I was certain everything in her body clenched, cunt included. Fifteen minutes into the flight, a stewardess strolled into the room with the blond wooded cabinets and asked if we’d like something.
“Ginger ale on the rocks and a loaded gun.” I waved her off, staring at a blank page I needed to fill with inspiring, thought-provoking prose.
“He means for himself, not for you,” Lucas, who was sitting on a white L-shaped sofa next to New Girl, clarified. He was the only one who’d deigned to talk to her, probably to piss me off. “And if it wasn’t for his treating alcohol and cocaine as a recreational hobby, you wouldn’t have to be here.”
I made a mental note to tell Lucas to kindly withdraw his tongue from New Girl’s anus, because his arse kissing was getting on my last nerve.
I didn’t want him to mess around with the girl who was hired for me.
I didn’t want to see how easy life was for him while I was being dragged through a mud of depression every minute of the day, my old friends, alcohol and coke, the only ones able to pick me up from the dirt.
Mostly, I didn’t need to watch them both making out on airplane sofas and backs of vans while I nurtured a breakup fiasco that left my ego bruised. Especially seeing as he was part of the reason I was in this situation in the first place.
“Careful, Lucas. My toys are mine, so keep your hands out of my toy box,” I warned, taking a sip of my ginger ale, my eyes still on the blank sheet.
He didn’t ask what I meant.
He knew.
Sydney, Australia
“You aren’t stupid,” Luca
s repeated for the ten-thousandth time.
My hands kept disappearing in the big holes of his stylish jacket, which he’d loaned me because I’d forgotten it was winter in Australia when it was summer in the States. I realized my mistake the hard way, when we poured out of the jet into the bitter wind and overcast sky. Even the short trip to the glitzy black Mercedes van left me shivering.
“You couldn’t have known.” Lucas’ voice was so tender you could barely hear the pity it harbored.
“Yeah.” Alex sniffed, walking ahead of us, not even turning around to spare us a glance. His guitar was strapped to his shoulder, hanging over his back like a turtle’s shell. “How could you have known it’s winter in the southern hemisphere when it’s summer in the northern hemisphere? It’s just one of those best kept secrets on the fucking planet.”
Everybody’s chatter died down. Blake, Alex’s manager—the guy with the stringy black hair, beefy figure, and sharp suit, frowned. Alfie, the tall one with the golden curls, shook his head and kicked little rocks on our way to the SUV. Lucas’ sapphire eyes apologized on Alex’s behalf, and he squeezed my arm.
“Don’t mind him. You all right?”
I nodded. “Other than feeling like an idiot? Fantastic, thanks for asking.”
We climbed into the van, where I successfully didn’t squeak about the right-hand steering wheel, and continued my mute streak. I flipped through the schedule of the tour Blake had handed each of us before we boarded the plane. Alfie had used the edges of the paper as dental floss. I wanted to look out the window and watch Sydney for the first time, but the truth was, I didn’t trust myself not to gush, and I wasn’t in the mood for another round of being Winslow’s punching bag. I figured I had to lie low, at least until I graduated from New Girl to Indie in his eyes. Nonetheless, I hated him for making me feel this way. I also knew I was not going to be Little Miss Doormat for the next three months. I’d find my footing and fight back.
We were staying at a fancy hotel that kissed the ocean of Darling Harbour. I’d been to hotels before, but they were the kind that sat on busy highways and referred to their eighties décor as ‘charming’ in their wrinkled brochures. This one was different. A monstrous building with arrows and arches for miles. Holy crap described the hotel pretty accurately, although Jesus H came in a close second. We had to drive around the place for ten minutes, waiting for security to block the sidewalk with metal barricades so the rock star could check into the hotel, but when we finally pulled over, I realized I had a bigger problem than trying to decide whether Sydney reminded me more of a clean, new Miami or an urban Palm Springs.
“What in the…” I gasped, too taken aback to finish the sentence. There were hundreds of fans lining up beyond the barriers, screaming and waving signs and posters in the air. Sobbing girls were clawing at their faces as they shouted Alex’s name so loud I wondered if their eardrums could spontaneously burst as a result. The SUV rolled to a stop. The Brits stared at each other, contemplative grins playing on their faces. Alex’s face remained emotionless.
“It’s a lot to absorb.” Lucas shuffled in his seat beside me, his palm finding mine then squeezing once for assurance. His touch was warm and sweet. He was attractive, in a soft, romantic way.
“Yeah, New Girl,” Alex surprised me by saying, reaching out to me as well, squeezing my thigh. My heart tailspun to my lower stomach at his touch, prompting goose bumps to spread along my scalp. “This whole thing is about you, so please tell us how you feel about hundreds of people waiting for someone who is not, in fact, you.”
My patience. My sweet, tender patience urged me not to throw a punch straight into his face. True, I needed the job. But Alex Winslow was starting to look like a tight draw next to my financial worries.
“Can I breathe without your nasty commentary?” I peeled his hand from my thigh and dumped it at his side. I wished he didn’t look like an angry god and write like a tortured poet. It would have made hating him so much easier.
“Only if you do it silently and not in my direction,” Alex was just as quick to respond.
“Congratulations, Winslow. You somehow managed to snag The Rudest Person in the World award,” Blake grumbled, still typing on his phone.
“I accept, but probably won’t be able to attend the ceremony.”
“Good idea, you’d probably burst onto stage and steal statues that aren’t even yours…” I muttered, my eyes widening in horror as the words left my mouth. The world paused for one second.
Alfie broke the beat, snorting from the back seat and exhaling, long and loud. “Oi! I’m getting a hard-on by proxy. If you two are gonna hate-fuck each other, I’m buying a front-row ticket.”
“Alfie!” Lucas swiveled his head around with a scolding look.
“What? Front row’s got several seats. You’ll get to see them, too.”
“Enough,” Blake grumbled, tucking his phone into his pocket and sliding the door open. “Everyone—out! Indie, please try to keep a low profile. Our lad here can be a little touchy when it comes to Jenna appointing nannies to him. Understand that he’s a twenty-seven-year-old and one of the most influential celebrities in the universe. You being here is hard to swallow.”
Alfie raised his hand as if to ask for permission to speak. “But if you’re good at that—at swallowing—maybe you could soften the blow after all.”
Alex turned around and punched his shoulder so hard the thump filled everyone’s ears. “That’s enough of your smart mouth. Let’s get going.”
We emptied out of the SUV. I stumbled forward, blinded by the flashes of dozens of cameras and shouting paparazzi. I kept staring ahead, hoping I’d make it through the revolving door without a spectacular fall or an embarrassing period stain. I wasn’t even on my period; it just seemed like something that could happen to me. The noise, the light, the laughter all mingled in my head like a lethal cocktail. My limbs liquefied and claustrophobia took over me.
A hand reached from my side, enveloping my arm firmly. “I’ve got you.”
I galloped to the entrance, being led by whoever ushered me. I only took a breath when a thick glass wall divided me and the people behind the barrier. I turned around to thank whoever was still holding me, and my heart dropped at the sight of Lucas giving me his good-boy smile.
“Thank you.” My mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
“Our rooms are ready. The perks of being in Alex Winslow’s entourage.” He tucked his hands into his front pockets, staring at his shoes.
Shit. “Where is Alex?” Jenna had specifically warned me about not letting him slip out of my sight. We’d be staying in separate rooms, with Blake rooming with Alex to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid. All other times, I had to be by his side. Alfie was leaning against the reception counter and flirting with one of the concierges. Blake was on his cell phone and kept repeating the sentence, “I don’t care that it’s the best hotel in Paris, in Europe, or on the Milky Way. If Alex sees him, he’ll kill him.”
“Outside, as per usual.” Lucas’ eyes wandered to the rock star, following his movements. “Giving his fans what they want. Why do you think there are so many of them? They’re his number one priority.”
My gaze followed Lucas’ line of sight. Alex was leaning over the barrier signing posters, backpacks, and breasts, while also taking time to snap selfies with hyperventilating fans. There were two security guards beside him, each of them the size of The Hulk, staring helplessly at the eccentric superstar and wishing he’d stop flirting with teenage girls and danger. The fans were seriously close to pulling him into the mob and swallowing him whole like a pack of zombies.
“I need to go get him,” I said, to myself more than to Lucas.
“It’s not like they can slip him some drugs. He’s in plain sight.”
“I can’t believe he’s actually nice to someone.” I turned to Lucas. I also couldn’t believe I chose to say this to his drummer and friend.
Lucas leaned into my space, but someh
ow, it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. “I know it sounds like a cliché, but really, life made him a massive jerk. He wasn’t always like this. I think you’ll find he’s a great bloke. He’s just…angry.”
He sounds like my brother, I thought.
We both watched Alex before Blake reappeared, stepping too close to me, making me shift toward Lucas.
“Rooms are ready. Whose turn is it to pull Alex out of the sex claws?”
I pretended not to hear the question, doubting he even considered me an option. Other than Lucas, all the guys acted like they’d rather fight a hungry lion in a closed ring than have a civilized conversation with me.
“Alfie’s turn. Who were you talking to, mate?” Lucas asked.
“Jace, Will’s agent.” Blake exhaled, his chest deflating. “There’ll be an overlap in England and Paris. England I’m not worried about—Bushell will be staying at his Gram’s cottage in Sheffield. But in Paris, we have that Halloween event at the Chateau De Malmaison. It’s charity.” Blake gave Lucas a pointed look.
“We can fake an emergency.” Lucas shrugged, switching into business mode. “Though I guess it would raise some questions, especially this soon after rehab.”
Blake nodded, rubbing his neck. “It gets worse. Word is that Will and Fallon are engaged. Nice of him not to mention it to us when we…” He never finished his sentence, and I knew better than to probe.
All eyes darted to Alex again. For the first time since I’d met him, he actually looked happy as he took a selfie with two girls with braces.
“Alex will use it as an excuse to binge-snort.” Lucas tapped his closed fist against his thigh.
Blake shouldered out of his pea coat. “Yeah, well, I didn’t give Jace the pleasure of asking about it, but if that’s the case, he’ll be out on a bender by tonight. Jenna’s talking to her contact in TMZ now, buying time before publication.”
Fallon was obviously a sore spot for Alex. I didn’t know who she was—I never followed celebrity gossip—but I did know that for the past two years, Will Bushell had been Winslow’s archenemy.