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.”
I flinch when she moves in closer, her tits brushing against my arm. “Screw what the media thinks.” She’s in a mood. If I ask her to come home with me right now, she will.
“Our relationship was toxic. We didn’t trust each other. So let’s stop going somewhere we know isn’t leading to a happy ending.”
Her nails dig into my skin. “One more night,” she pleads. She doesn’t want to see me touch another girl here. She doesn’t want to see me leave with another girl tonight.
I drag her hand away from me. “You have to quit texting and calling. Why do you keep fucking with my head? You can’t find dick as good as mine?”
She rolls her eyes. “Why do you always have to be so complicated?”
“I’m not in the mood for this discussion. Let me know when you’re done playing games.” I refuse to look down at her while I bring myself up. I eye the exit and gear to head that way but stop to look back at her before I do. “Actually, don’t. We need to quit living in the past.”
I fight myself from comforting her when the heartache passes over her face.
I can’t be that man for her anymore.
My head is throbbing as I bolt past everyone in our section. I need a fucking breather.
“Libby fucking Graves!”
I freeze at the sound of her name.
Why?
It’s only her first name. It’s probably not even her.
There’s most likely a million other Libby’s in this city, but that doesn’t stop my curiosity. I wander over to the section I heard the name screamed from and look into it like some creep.
My mouth drops.
It is her.
I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the wall, trying to stay in the shadows. My sexy new assistant is sitting on the end of a couch in a short little black number, a martini in her hand, and looking miserable as hell.
That makes two of us.
I glance away from her and look at the drunk dude moving her way. He’s dressed in a polo shirt and khakis in a fucking club. Jesus, get this guy some loafers and I’d mistake him for my accountant. He reminds me of one of those douchebags who tell you his attorney father will sue you if you lay a hand on him.
“You finally decide to make an appearance,” douchebag yells out. It’s the same voice that called her name. He lets out an annoying laugh. “Do you still think you’re too good for me now that you’re broke as a joke?”
Every muscle in my body tenses up when he bends down to her level – face to face with her. She pushes at his chest in irritation, causing him to stumble back.
“It doesn’t matter if I’m broke or not,” she replies. “I’ll always be too good for you, dipshit.”
He throws his arms out and lets out a condescending laugh. “Then why are you here? No one likes a freeloader hanging around, and we all know you can’t even afford admission to get in.”
The dark haired girl next to Libby leans forward, like she’s acting as a bodyguard, and draws her hand at the guy. “Josh, cut the shit,” she yells. “You’re drunk and look like an idiot.”
“I look like an idiot? I’m only stating the truth and all of you know it. She’d be fucking dumb not to get back with me. I’m her meal ticket.”
Why am I standing here watching this?
Why can’t I tear myself away?
I look down and notice my fists are balled up.
The guy sitting next to the girl who defended Libby gets up and pushes douchebag further away from them. “This is my birthday party,” he hisses. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll kick your ass out of here. Leave her alone. You hear me?”
Asshole backs away. “It’s cool, Dixon. I’m not even trippin’ over some chick.”
The dark haired girl snorts. “Obviously you are, psycho.”
Libby looks over at her. “Mia, drop it,” she says. “Or he’ll keep acting like this.”
“Fine,” Mia groans, tossing her hair over her shoulder before looking around. She gasps, and I freeze up when her eyes hit me. She points my way. “Oh my god, Lib. There’s your new boss.”
Oh fuck.
Do I make a run for it or act normal?
I give them a polite wave and feel like a complete dumbass when everyone looks my way. Libby gapes at me, like she’s not sure she’s seeing clearly. I turn around on my heels without waiting for a response and stalk back over to our table. I find Nate surrounded by a crowd of girls and grab his arm to pull him away.
Curiosity is eating at me.
I nod towards Libby’s section. “Do you know those people?”
Nate works here, so he seems to know everyone.
“Oh them?” He laughs mockingly. “They’re the I live off daddy’s money club. Those assholes came into the world with silver spoons in their mouths and attended private schools that cost as much as your Lambo.” He arches a brow, looking at me curiously. “Why? One of them catch your eye or something?” He must not have noticed Libby.
I shrug. “Just wondering.”
I pull out my phone and Google Libby Graves.
I start reading about her father being some rock legend and look back her way. She whispers something to her friend and then gets up. My eyes follow her as she starts walking towards the exit. I’m reading about when and where she was born on Wikipedia when I notice polo boy heading in the same direction she went.
I shove my phone into my pocket. “I’m out of here.”
“You serious?”
“I have my video shoot in the morning and can’t be hung over.”
Nate nods in response and heads back to his fan club. I text my driver and let him know I’m ready to go. I never drink and drive, even if I’ve only had a few drinks. I can’t risk getting a DUI.
I walk along the edge of the crowd, trying to go unnoticed in the dark, and make my way towards the back entrance, where the people who don’t want to be seen pay to walk through. I hit the bottom step of the stairs when I hear her voice.
“Josh, seriously. Get the hell away and don’t touch me again.”
“You can’t be serious,” he groans. “What do you have going for you now? Nothing, Libby. No one else is going to want a chick whose dad is a criminal and has to live off her best friend.”
I turn the corner and spot them arguing back and forth. Libby is backed into a wall, and he’s stopping her from moving around him.
I slide my hands into my pockets and walk into their space. “Hey Libby, what’cha doing?” I ask.
Josh looks like he’s ready to pummel me in the face, and I focus my eyes on him, daring him to try. I don’t bullshit or take shit, and I think I’ve hit enough paparazzi to prove that.
“Nothing,” Libby draws out, looking back and forth between douchebag and me.
“I’ve been looking for you.” I hold up my phone. “I got your text. You ready to go, babe?” Josh looks at me in shock, and I point my phone at him. “Keep your hands off her or I’ll break every bony ass finger on them.”
Josh chuckles, but I can see the annoyance of me interrupting on his face. “You have nothing to do
with this, pop star boy. Go back to singing on the streets and begging for money.”
I smirk, and he flinches when I take a step closer. “I dare you to say something else. I fucking dare you, rich boy.”
He backs away slowly. “Whatever dude, she’s not worth it. I don’t like broke strays. You guys are perfect for each other.” He gives Libby a dirty look, turns around, and disappears up the stairs.
Libby runs a hand through her hair, and I notice a flush creep across her cheeks when she looks at me.
“I’m about to leave,” I tell her. “You need a ride home?”
I want to ask her about the guy, how she knows him, and how the fuck she got involved with a jackass like him.
She gives me a questioning look. “You were about to leave or being nosy?”
“Both.” She doesn’t say anything. “My driver is about to pull up. You can come or not. It’s your choice.”
Chapter Six
Libby
“So Libby Graves, how is it that everyone knows who you are but me?” Knox asks, as soon as he slides across the backseat of the SUV after me.
The aroma of vodka and peppermint drifts through the air. He makes himself comfortable, resting his back against the door, and we leave as soon as his driver gets back into the vehicle.
It’s dark, and the windows are tinted, so the only time I can make him out is when we pass a bright streetlight, but I can feel his eyes on me. I sense him studying me, waiting patiently for my answer.
“Not everyone knows who I am,” I reply, shifting around in my seat.
I didn’t plan on this job playing out like this. I expected him to be the rich asshole that’d let me do my work without asking any personal questions or playing the whole get to know each other game.
“That’s sure what it looked like. Tonight wasn’t the first time you’ve been to Emeralds, and you seemed to be comfortable with everyone in your little VIP area.”
“Were you spying on me?”
“No, I saw you on my way to the bathroom and decided I was interested in you. Consider it employee screening.”
“You can easily screen me through Google if you’re so interested.” That’s what everyone does these days, anyway, search for what they want to know and instantly believe that whatever comes up is true. If it’s on the internet, it’s apparently a fact.
“Trust me sunshine, I’m the last person who uses the internet as a credible source.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I know complicated very well.”
What does he want from me? To sit here and confess my life story? “I was only there because it was my roommate’s boyfriend’s birthday party. She begged me to come with her.”
I should’ve said no. Josh’s dad co-owns the club, so he thinks he controls the place. He’s been constantly texting me – asking to go out and offering to be a shoulder to cry on since the news about my dad broke out. I’ve ignored every single one.
“Huh.” I tense up, waiting for the next question of his interrogation. “My driver needs your address.” I relax and give it to him before pulling out my phone to text Mia, letting her know I’ll meet her back at the condo.
“Was he your ex?”
So much for him letting it go.
“No,” I answer. My breath catches when he reaches up and turns on the overhead light. His deep-set eyes meet mine, urging me to keep going. Why do I feel like I owe him answers? “I wouldn’t consider him an ex. We had a thing, a temporary one, in high school. He was a rebound after a bad breakup. Josh thought it was more serious than I did.”
“I never did see you as a tease.”
“I’m not a tease. The only reason Josh keeps pursuing me is because I don’t fall at his feet for his money.”
“You mean his daddy’s money?”
I nod, and his words feel like a sucker punch straight to the gut. Is that how people looked at me? Like I was some spoiled brat who lived off daddy’s money and didn’t work for anything on her own? Yes, my dad paid all of my expenses, but we made a deal that I had to keep my grades up and was on my own after graduation.
“It’s this neighborhood right here,” I tell the driver, pointing to the gate. I give him the entrance code, and a sense of relief hits me when we pull in front of the condo.
“This is a nice place,” Knox says, looking out the window.
“It’s my best friend’s. She’s letting me stay with her until I save up enough money for my own.”
“Nice friend.”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Eight o’clock sharp.”
“Eight o’clock sharp,” he repeats, a smile tilting at his lips. “Damn, I hate early mornings. Goodnight, mystery Libby.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, softly.
I stop the driver from getting out and open up the door. I don’t look back on my way to the front porch, even though it’s killing me, and rest against the door after slamming it shut.
I never thought I’d run into Knox outside of work.
Why is he being so nice to me?
And why do I like it?
Chapter Seven
Knox
Stella: What the hell, Knox? You ditched me and left with another girl?
I toss my phone back onto the nightstand after reading her text. She sent it at three this morning, which means she was probably wasted off her ass, feeling jealous, or wanting to fuck.
Or all of the above.
She has plenty of guys to do the job for her, so why is she suddenly all over my dick? Before last night, I hadn’t seen her in months. Sure, she texted me a few times after my arrest, but we weren’t necessarily on speaking terms. Nor do I want to be. She did a long ass interview with some magazine and told them she was done talking about me, wanted to move on with her life and be happy.
That’s what I’m letting her do.
I grab my phone again at the sound of another text.
Nate: Dude, is there something you want to tell me?
There’s a link to a web page attached to his text. A photo of me leaving the club with a blonde woman pops up when I click on it. I squint, looking at it closely.
It’s Libby.
Fuck.
This isn’t good.
The person that’s supposed to cover up shit like this is the one that’s involved. I wonder if she’s seen the picture, and if she has, does she have a statement ready?
I hop out of bed, shower, and pull on a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. I look at the clock when I make it into the kitchen. Seven fifty in the morning. I don’t remember the last time I was up this early, but Libby threatened to soak my ass in cold water if I wasn’t up when she got here. I make myself a drink, snag a banana, and start to peel it when my phone rings.
“Hello sunshine,” I answer.
“Hey,” Libby says on the other line. Her voice is sweet, almost angelic-like this morning – definitely better than her snippy ass attitude yesterday. “I’m outside. Can you let me in?”
“On my way.”
I jump off my stool and meet her at the front door. She’s in another one of her maxi dresses – this one tighter than yesterday’s, but not as revealing as what she was wearing at the club last night. Her honey blonde hair with hints of pink is hanging down in loose curls, pink gloss covers her lips and nearly a dozen bracelets dangle from her wrist. In one hand is a planner. In the other is a clear cup filled with a green drink.
“Remind me to get you a key made,” I say, moving aside to let her in.
She walks towards the kitchen. “I’ll make a note of it.”
“Just don’t start sniffing my boxers or go hiding in my closet to get a peek at my goods.”
“Trust me, that won’t be happening. Your goods are safe around me.”
I plop back down on my stool and take a long swig of my drink as I watch her stand in the doorway. Her arms are folded across her breasts, the cup and planner dangling from each hand, and she looks uncomfortabl
e as hell.
I nod towards her cup. “What’cha drinking?” I ask, in an attempt to break the silence.
She looks down at it. “A spinach and kale smoothie.”
I curl my upper lip before holding up my stainless steel bottle. “My trainer makes me drink that shit sometimes, but I can guarantee you it’s not as delicious as what I have.”
“And what exactly do you have?”
I give her a careless shrug. “Just some whiskey and coke.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I shake my head in response. “Throw it away,” she demands, her voice turning harsh. “You have a shoot today, and I’m not dealing with any drunken bullshit.”
“No can do, sunshine. I’m not wasting good whiskey.”
She scoffs. “I’m sure you have the money to replace it.”
“I’m not dumping it out.”
She throws her planner down on the counter and sets her drink next to it before stomping my way. She stops in front of me, a snarl on her upper lip. “Oh, yes you are.” She holds her hand out like I’m a child who has something he shouldn’t.
“How about this, you drink the rest of it for me.”
“I’m not drinking whiskey for breakfast. I don’t drink whiskey … ever.”
I hold back my laughter and press the lid of the cup to my lips, testing her. It’s working. Perfect. “Either you drink it or I chug this thing right now and show up drunk at my shoot.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
She snatches the drink out of my hand. “I haven’t had this much peer pressure since high school.” She plugs her nose before taking a gulp. I wait for it, watching her face as it dawns on her. “You’re an asshole.” She shoves the bottle into my chest, and I catch it before it falls in my lap.
I give her my best innocent look. “What?”
“It’s chocolate milk.”
I can’t hold back my grin any longer. “Nesquik, to be exact.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“Chocolate milk is the drink of real men.” I lean back in my chair and take another drink while she gives me a dirty look. “So what’s on the agenda today, boss?”
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