Incite

by Heather Leigh

  Yeah, she’s attractive mate, but get to know her and it’s not as pretty. Trust me.

  Kiera ignores the valet, because that’s what she does, and walks through the front door as if the party were being thrown just for her. I chuckle under my breath and nod at the wide-eyed man. She’s only here because I invited her, yet she feels entirely too comfortable with attending. She instantly spots someone ‘important’ that she needs to suck up to and leaves my side without a second thought.

  I wander over to the bar, stopping to exchange polite words with different industry people and other familiar faces. Since rehab, I usually stick to water or juice at these things, but I can handle a beer or two without any problems. It’s only the hard stuff that I have to avoid completely.

  “Water with lime, please.” He nods and seconds later, hands me my drink. I decide not to push my luck by drinking tonight, especially since I’m already in a shitty mood. Plus, I want to have all my faculties if I run into that Forrester prick.

  “Thanks mate.” I take my water and turn to scan the room. I notice several executives from my record label chatting with someone I don’t know. Ross wanted me here tonight to mingle with our bigwigs, know what side your bread is buttered on and all that.

  On the other side of the room are a few young actors and actresses I recognize from a movie that released just a few weeks ago. Some trilogy made from a bunch of best selling books. Leah was excited by it, that’s how I know anything about it. She said a girl actually killed herself outside the premiere. Fans can be fucking mental sometimes.

  “Adam!” I turn at the sound of my name and see Calvin Wallace and Vic Klein waving me over to their group.

  Time to work.

  I grin and approach the men, shaking hands and exchanging back slaps with everyone. Cal and Vic are genuinely good people. I’ve known them for eight years. Their touring company put together the band’s first big tour and they’ve done every single one since. They do what they say and they say what they mean, which is rare in the entertainment crowd. Their honesty is refreshing and I appreciate it, especially back when I first started and discovered that lies and backstabbing were commonplace in the industry.

  “Adam, great to see you son,” Vic says, throwing his arm over my shoulders to pull me into the circle of suits.

  “Great work, Adam. Sending the Harford boy’s stuff to me,” says Dane Calder, the president of my record label.

  “Harford?”

  He must see the bewilderment on my face because he chuckles and elaborates. “The boy from the hotel. You sent me his work. He came in with his band and played for me, they’re incredible.”

  “The kid? You listened to his stuff?” I’m not sure why I’m shocked, I mean, I record platinum-selling records, but it still humbles me that someone like Dane would take my advice. I’m even more shocked that the record label president listened to the kid’s band personally.

  “Of course I did.” Everyone laughs with him. “You’ve got a great ear for talent, why wouldn’t I listen if you thought it was good?”

  I shrug and take a sip of my water. “Not sure. I’m glad it worked out,” I’m happy for that kid, Roger. He deserved a chance and Dane’s right, his stuff is incredible. I guess a part of me still believes I’m just that poor kid from Hackney, not good enough to have an opinion that matters.

  “He should be here tonight with his band. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you,” Dane says.

  “Right. Sure.”

  “They’re great Adam,” says Rachel Whatley, head of marketing for the label. “I can see them headlining someday. They’re a marketing agent’s dream come true. Kind of like you.”

  Rachel smiles and winks at me. She’s always been like this with me, playful, flirty, but it never goes past professional. I like that about her, no pushy expectations, no desire to ‘see what it’s like to fuck a rock star’. She’s brilliant and comfortable to be around and loads of fun when she wants to be.

  “Thanks Rachel.” A tall figure behind her catches my eye and my entire body tenses up. “Sorry, I see someone I need to talk to.” I give Rachel her a quick peck on the cheek before excusing myself.

  My mind starts working overtime as I approach Kiera. She’s laughing and clinging to the arm of that bastard Andrew Forrester. I may not love her, but I’ll be damned if she’s going to hang all over that prick in front of everyone and make me look stupid.

  I come up behind her and around to her side, crossing my arms and waiting patiently for Kiera to acknowledge my presence. Studying him while he’s not looking, I see a flash of irritation on Forrester’s face, and he shrugs his arm out of Kiera’s iron grip as he speaks to a man on his other side.

  Ha! She annoys him as well. Normally, I’d say you’re bloody welcome to her, stupid actor, but I refuse to lose to him again, even if I don’t really want the prize.

  Kiera finally acknowledges me, but not until fucking Forrester stops his conversation and stares at me expectantly. Kiera turns and seems annoyed that I’m so close to her.

  So sorry to interrupt your flirting.

  “Adam, I didn’t know you were there,” she says, her lips pressed tightly together.

  “I’m quite aware of that.” She frowns, then pouts her lips at me.

  “Oh honey, don’t be jealous,” she says with a phony giggle, leaning in to kiss me. I flinch back unconsciously, making her frown again, probably because I embarrassed her with my rebuff.

  Whatever.

  “I’m not jealous,” I tell her, looking right at Forrester as I speak. “Not in the least.”

  He smirks and narrows his eyes at me but says nothing. Sodding bastard!

  “Something funny?” I ask, aggravated that I have to converse with him at all.

  “Only to me,” he says smoothly in his stupid movie idol voice. I see his eyes widen a fraction as I regard him. Bastard knows that I see right through his fake front. He thought I was too dim to recognize the insult, but the surprise on his face is obvious.

  Good. Now you know you’re not the only one who’s an expert at putting up a fake smile.

  “Andrew, I was just telling Adam in the car over that I was so pleased to see that you won “Sexiest Man Alive” again,” Kiera purrs. What the fuck is wrong with her? Jesus, even that jerk Forrester is uncomfortable with her flirting right in front of me, and he fucking hates me.

  I make a rude noise at her reference to the magazine title, and his head whips up to lock eyes with me at my obvious jab. “Interesting,” he says, “I was told you wanted it.”

  I bristle at the fact that he had heard this, even though it isn’t true, and have to clench my teeth together to keep from saying something that would probably not be in anyone’s best interest. My eyes drift and I see his hands balled up into fists at his side. Flicking my gaze back up, I notice his neck is bright red and his jaw is pulsing with rage.

  It seems that as angry as he makes me, I drive him mental as well.

  “I thought I did, when it meant something. Now I can see that it doesn’t,” I say smartly, laughing hysterically inside at the way his hands clench even tighter and his feet shift apart as if to take a swing at me.

  Bring it on, fucking bastard. I’ve waited long enough. Just because I don’t like fighting, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t make an exception for this piece of shite.

  Forrester notices the smirk that breaks through my calm exterior and he moves a step closer to me. It seems that Andrew Forrester has a bit of a hot temper on him. That could be very useful knowledge to have.

  “I should have done this back when…” he begins.

  “Andrew, I need you over here!” Someone in the room calls out to him, forcing him to step back and calm himself down. I watch as he takes several practiced breaths before scowling at me, then putting on his fake smile and walking away.

  Kiera grabs my arm and drags me into a quiet corner. “What the hell is your problem, Adam?” she hisses.

  “Problem? I don’t have a prob
lem.”

  Then for absolutely no reason, I laugh. I can’t stop it from happening, so I go with it, laughing like I’ve gone barmy. When I see Kiera’s confused and angry face, I have another attack of the giggles until tears literally run down my face from the hilarity.

  “Adam, get your shit together,” she whispers crossly.

  It takes a while, but I’m finally able to calm down enough to breath normally. The giant smile doesn’t leave my face for the rest of the night, and this one is genuine.

  Fuck Andrew Forrester. Fuck Kiera Radcliff. And fuck everyone else. I just don’t give a toss anymore.

  chapter 36

  Ellie

  The door to flat 304 swings open and Gemma’s husband, Louis, stands there smiling at me.

  “Ellie! Come in. Gemma’s in the lounge.”

  “Thanks Louis.” I give him a peck on the cheek and enter their cozy little home. The smell of something baking fills the warm space.

  “Gemma! I’m leaving love! I’ll see you later!” Louis turns to me, “Bye Ellie. Have fun.” He exits the flat and pulls the door closed as he goes.

  “El! Get in here!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I mutter under my breath.

  Gemma has become one of my closest friends, as close as Kate and I were in school. After I left James, I realized that my entire adult life centered around my job and my fiancé. I had nothing to call my very own, not even any friends. I fixed that right quick, and Gemma has turned out to be one of the best mates I could ever have.

  “Hey! I’ve got cookies in the oven, chocolate chip.” Gemma is sitting cross-legged on the couch, holding a glass of ice water. “Have some water, it’s so hot out it’ll cool you off,” she says smiling.

  I pour a glass from the pitcher on the coffee table and take a big sip.

  “Thanks. It is really hot out, even for July.” I dramatically wipe my brow and sip the cold water. “Christ, that’s good.” I sink onto the couch next to her.

  “So, what’s this problem you need help with? Is James begging you to get back with him, because I’m telling you El, I’m not going to allow it.”

  “Gemma! No, I’m not getting back with James.” I give her a sour look. “You know I wouldn’t do that. Besides, it’s been over a year, I’m sure he doesn’t think about me anymore.” I put down my glass so I can chew on my thumbnail.

  “Ellie, for God’s sake, stop doing that to your poor finger.” Gemma puts her glass on the table and takes my hands, wrapping hers around mine. “Now, stop stalling El. I know you’ve been a wreck for the past couple of months, tell me what the problem is.”

  Gemma’s green eyes shine with concern, her perfectly plucked eyebrows are gathered in the center. I feel guilty for making my friend worry about me. I know I’ve been a mess lately, I just haven’t been able to discuss it with anyone until now.

  “Alright, let me finish telling you everything before you freak out, okay?” I look at her warily, but she nods her head and waits for me to continue.

  Where to begin?

  “You know I’m from Shepherd’s Bush, right?”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that.” She’s confused by my question.

  “Well, when I started sixth form, my dad lost his job and the following year, when the money ran out we had to move to Hackney. Specifically Lower Clapton,” I take a deep breath, watching as confusion turns to curiosity. “I finished my last few months of school there.”

  Gemma’s eyes widen from the revelation that I lived in such a crime-ridden area, though it’s cleaned up a lot since. I swallow down the lump in my throat and have to untangle my hands from Gemma’s to take a sip of my water. I lean down and drag my handbag over from where it sits on the floor.

  “Sorry. Anyway, remember trivia night last winter, right before the holidays? I ran out after they read the final question?”

  “Of course I remember, you scared the crap out of me,” she says without hesitation.

  “Right. Okay. Well, the question, it was about… ummmm…” I suddenly feel overly warm, almost uncomfortably so.

  “Ellie, calm down and tell me,” Gemma says in a soothing voice. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It’s not bad… it’s just hard to talk about,” I admit, dropping my gaze to focus on the patterned fabric of the couch.

  “Well, whatever it is, I’ll help you.”

  I take in a deep, cleansing breath and look back up at my friend. “The question about the school attended by the members of…”

  “Oh! I remember! They asked where the members of Sphere of Irony went to school,” she squeals, then she slaps her hands over her mouth. “Sorry El! I promised not to interrupt.” Her voice is muffled from behind her hands.

  I smile. “No worries. That was the question. I went to that school… with them.” I reach into my handbag and pull out an old photograph, one that Kate had taken of me and Adam leaning against the wall outside the DK after an afternoon rehearsal. Adam is grinning at me, the look on his face is one of reverence. The boy is clearly in love. I’m smiling at the camera, my arms wrapped tightly around Adam’s neck. We are both young and happy.

  Gemma’s eyes get wider than I ever thought possible. I can tell she’s bursting to ask me about the band, to find out what I know. She’s a huge fan of theirs, and talks about them non-stop whenever we discuss music, which I try hard to avoid doing.

  “Adam, he was my boyfriend,” I whisper, just loud enough for Gemma to hear. “That song…” Tears prick the back of my eyes and I get angry. I’m so, so tired of crying. It feels as if I’ve spent a lifetime crying.

  “Please, let me speak,” Gemma begs, squirming in her seat. I look at her and laugh through the tears. She’s literally going to explode if I don’t let her ask her questions.

  “Go ahead. Let it out.” How can I deny my best friend the chance to freak out over my admission?

  “Holy bloody hell, Ellie! You dated Adam Reynolds? I don’t know if I hate you or if I’m in complete awe of you! Tell me what’s going on or I may well have an aneurysm!”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Gemma.” Her enthusiasm helps to lighten the mood. “I’ll tell you.”

  It takes a while, but we have time, and after the buzzer sounds from the oven, we have plenty of chocolate chip cookies to go with my story. I explain how my dad was killed, and I lied to Adam about not wanting to be with him. I tell her about the horrid party in L.A., about James and backstage at the concert, the hotel room encounter with Adam the next day, the brutal assault and my broken phone. She cries with me when I tell her why Callum Murray attacked me all those times, and how Adam’s brother was likely involved in the last incident.

  “Ellie, that’s just the saddest story I’ve ever heard,” she says as she wipes her nose with a tissue.

  “Maybe not the saddest, Gemma. Surely you have at least one friend more pathetic than me?” My attempt at humor clearly falls flat judging by the look on Gemma’s face.

  “It’s not funny, El, it’s your life! You’re supposed to be with him. He wrote that song for you! That beautiful, wretched song. I read an article in GQ about it a few months back,” she cries. “You have to call him, there has to be a way.”

  I smile and drop my eyes again, “I know about the article, Gemma. That’s why I’m here. I need help. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Adam, but it’s as if he’s a bloody MI-6 agent! No one will forward a message to him or even admit that they can forward a message.”

  Gemma’s eyes narrow when I look up, and she gets a mischievous look on her face. “Good thing I’m an expert at being devious and sneaky.”

  Surfing the internet isn’t something I do regularly. If I do, it’s usually on my tiny mobile which is too frustrating to use for much more than checking the news or finding a good place to eat.

  “Crap!” I shout, slapping my hand down on my kitchen table in aggravation.

  I’ve been searching for something, anything to use to contact Adam on my bra
nd new laptop. All I’ve found so far is an address for some stupid fan club. Thanks but no, I don’t want an autographed picture of the band.

  I’m left wanting to pound my head into the tabletop, so I decide to lay my cheek down on it instead. It shouldn’t be this hard to find something, I mean, crazy people find celebrities houses all the time, right? Weirdoes and stalkers and such… Okay, so I’m not a weirdo or a stalker, but still! If someone mentally unbalanced can show up at Sandra Bullock’s home and get inside, my reasonably intelligent self should be able to find a way to contact Adam Reynolds.

  For four months I’ve been calling and leaving various messages with different people at his record label. I sent letters addressed to every single member of the band, hoping that just one might make it into their hands. Not a word from anyone. Gemma said she’s working on it for me, but it’s been three months since I poured my heart out to her and she hasn’t heard from anyone she’s contacted either.

  I snatch up my phone and ring one of only two people in my life that I can whine to about Adam.

  “Ellie? It’s the middle of the work day, are you alright?”

  “Yes Mum,” I rub my eyes tiredly. “I worked a long shift yesterday, so I’m off today.”

  “Oh, okay. I was wondering.”

  “Mum, I haven’t had any luck getting through to Adam. You don’t think he’s gotten my messages and is just ignoring me, do you?”

  That is the real reason for the acid-churning ache in my gut every day, why I hardly sleep anymore and have bags under my eyes the size of jumbo jets, why I’m so edgy and nervous that my friends are giving me looks as though I’m two steps from being committed to a mental hospital.

  What if Adam got the messages and doesn’t want me anymore?

  I’m not stupid. He was dating that terrible American actress, Kiera Radcliff for a while, then the red tops all said that he’s been in a tussle with actor Andrew Forrester over some red haired girl whose parents are actors as well. As far as I know he could have completely moved on from me.