by Virna DePaul
God, Tucker Benning couldn’t be more rock and roll if he tried.
Nothing like living the cliché, but I knew a lot about that. I’d lived it too, hadn’t I? I’d been a typical celebutante through most of my teens and too much of my early twenties, a predictable poor little rich girl. Partying hard and blowing money. First, to hide the fact all I wanted was my mommy’s approval, something I was likely never going to get. Second, to drown out the knowledge that I’d likely driven my father to an early grave.
I’d since put all that wildness behind me.
Was being here with Tucker, hooking up with a rock star—and an especially notorious one at that—the start of my downward spiral into self-destruction?
“Seriously, Ms. Lorenz, why are you so upset?” Tucker said.
I blinked back at him but those green eyes were sphinxlike, giving up very little. “My mom’s Anna Lorenz,” I said, as if that would make any sense to him. Of course it didn’t, but for me, it was truth and it was my burden to carry.
He frowned. “Yeah. So?”
“She’s the editor for the biggest fashion magazine in the States. I mean, I get it if it’s not your standard reading material.”
“Well I prefer Rolling Stone or Maxim. I’m not gonna pretend to be more pretentious than I am, princess.”
I liked that about Tucker. He was who he was and fuck anyone who didn’t like him. I pretended to have that same easy confidence but that’s all it was. An act. “Anyway, I guess you could say I grew up with all the fashion stuff. I was always drawn to it because it was Mom’s life. It definitely helped get me interested and, yes, I’d be lying if my name didn’t give me my first leg up. But I need to make it on my own now, prove I can be more than just my mom’s shadow.”
“I don’t know why you’re worried,” he said, green eyes wide and far too earnest for a guy who made his living singing his way into girls’ pants and snorting God knew what. “You’re one of the most gorgeous, powerful and amazing women I’ve ever met.”
I blushed and looked away. I didn’t believe in compliments. I wanted to believe in them, and I wanted to get used to receiving them but that was just a pipe dream. Nikki Lorenz had been a joke and a tabloid punch line for far too long. Hell, there were late night hosts who had earned second homes by making jokes about me. All my fault, of course.
The last thing I felt was amazing or powerful.
Most of the time, I felt like a small boat in the middle of a tsunami. Still afloat, but just barely, and any damn wave at any moment could send me crashing to the ocean floor.
Just like my mother no doubt expected.
“I’m not that amazing,” I said, pulling the comforter around me. “I’m flattered you think so, but being skilled at blow jobs doesn’t an amazing person make.”
“I meant what I said,” Tucker said, clenching his jaw. “And just for the record, I’ve had better blow jobs.”
It should have pissed me off. Instead, I burst out laughing. “Thanks?”
“You’re welcome. Because I have no doubt that given some time, you’ll be the best I’ve ever had. In the meantime, you’re still the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. You’re a force of nature. I see it in how you can pull off shoes that should leave you in traction. I see it in how you have a store opening in Paris and you’re not even thirty yet!”
“So Google gives out my age now? Perfect.”
“Stop trying to derail me. I’m serious here. Being amazing at life is about passion, and trust me, you’re a passionate woman, Nik. There’s really something special about you and I knew that before we ever even met.”
“Wow. Okay. Well…you don’t really know me. Not the real me. And you don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but his words were weakening my protective walls even more than he already had. Soon, they’d shatter into dust and I’d be left utterly defenseless. I couldn’t let that happen.
Still, it was hard to see him hunch down on himself and frown at my words. I’d wounded him when he was just trying to be kind. But I couldn’t make myself believe what he was saying. Not after all the times I’d embarrassed myself and my parents. Not after all the times Mom had raked me over the coals for being such an utter and total disappointment. “It’s just so hard when you have to live in someone’s shadow,” I said with one last lame attempt to explain.
He snorted. “No kidding.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I know exactly what how you feel, Nikki.”
“Really? You’re like the rock star out there. There’s no band hotter than Point Break.”
He rolled his eyes. “Assuming that might be true for the moment, it won’t be true for long. We’re about to be on a very long hiatus. Kids have short memories. They’ll find the next hot band next month, and we’ll start back at the bottom. Either way, I’m not the rock star out there and I never have been.”
“Huh?”
“Liam Collier is the band’s front man. The singer. He’s the one the fans love most.”
“Oh, right. You mentioned Liam earlier. So you hate him?”
Tucker flinched back. “What? Hell no. Liam’s my best friend. But it was my idea to start the band in high school in the first place. And at the time, I was a much better drummer than Liam was a singer. Hell, he couldn’t even read notes when I first got the idea. Not saying Liam didn’t learn fast or that he’s not amazing now, but I wanted this from the beginning. I wanted it so much, but he’s the one that’s the heart of the band. He’s the one girls go after the most. He’s the one that the media covers twice as much. I love my best friend, I do, but he casts about as big a shadow as the damn Empire State Building.”
“Oh my god, you’re right. That’s exactly how I feel about my mom!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, well don’t look too happy about it, will you?”
For a moment I froze, feeling like a bitch, but when he laughed and pulled me in closer, I breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time in a long time, I felt like someone got me, I mean really got me.
Maybe Tucker did know what it was like, to always feel like you had to measure up to someone else’s legacy. It was this impossible hamster wheel of trying to catch someone else’s star, but knowing that you never would, no matter how hard or how fast you ran.
“Does Liam know how you feel?” I asked.
“Probably not. How about your mom?”
I shrugged and he shook me a little.
“Keep talking to me. Tell me how you feel about it. Why you feel you can’t measure up to her.”
“It’s just always been that way. Everyone goes to my shows and they don’t just expect new or different, they expect the best. It’s like they all think Mom started giving me fashion lessons in the womb, and God forbid I design anything that isn’t outrageous and innovative. I like fun and flair, but I like combining that with function. I like that challenge. That restraint. But there’s always this part in the back of my mind, this voice telling me, ‘They’re not going to like it’ or ‘They’re going to ask what my mom thinks of it.’ or ‘They’re going to think they’re boring. You’re boring.’”
Tucker squeezed my shoulders tightly to his chest. “So that’s why your designs are so extreme? Because then there’s no chance anyone can say you or they are boring?”
I shrugged. “The only designs my mom even comes close to complimenting are the more outrageous designs.”
“But your mom hasn’t ever designed anything, has she? She critiques, sure, but that’s like music critics too, you know? It’s easy to tear something down, but it’s fucking hard and scary as hell to put your own stuff out there. You do. You do it every day and you need to get credit for that.”
“No points for trying, only succeeding. Words courtesy of Mom. And I’ve always been an utter disappointment to her.”
Tucker kissed my cheek. “Then this is the part that I don’t get, I guess. I mean Liam and I compete but I’d do anything for h
im. You make it sound like your mom is basically Satan in heels.”
“In some ways, she is,” I said, and then laughed. I wanted him to think I was joking even if the pressure from her was overwhelming. “But, jeez, talk about a downer. Enough about my Mommy Dearest issues. You mentioned reading about my new boutique. Chez Lorenz is celebrating its grand opening tonight. It’s almost one and I have so much to do before eight.”
He pulled back and frowned down at me. I looked up at him and tried not to flinch under the scrutiny of those moss green eyes. “Are you trying to give me the bum’s rush?”
Yes, because I feel like I’ve poured my heart out to you and I just want to keep doing it. I was in damage control mode, but I didn’t want him to know that.
“No, but I need a serious shower, then I have to get things ready for the party.” I stood, as did he. I mock sniffed his arm pit. “You can use a serious shower yourself, mister.”
“If that’s an invitation…”
“It’s not. Go get showered back at your place and put on something nice.”
“Nice? Why would I do that?”
“So you can be my Plus One at the opening.”
I could tell that he was surprised. That he’d been expecting me to blow him off until the next time I wanted to hook up. Maybe that would be the smart thing to do, but bottom line, I didn’t just enjoy Tucker’s company in bed. He had a way of making me feel as amazing as he said I was, and I could definitely use that boost of confidence tonight. I just had to remember that Tucker was a temporary fix. I could enjoy the heck out of him for a short time, but anything more than that and I’d get addicted to him and it would only be a matter of time before I crashed and burned.
Leaning up on tiptoe, I gave him a huge kiss, gratified when he took it to another level. Once again, fantasies of getting naked and getting Tucker inside me flooded through my head. He had me practically panting with desire in seconds, but somehow I managed to pull back. “I’m sorry, I really do have to get ready. There’s so much to do and if I take any more time, I’ll be stressed. Maybe afterward…?” I bit my lip.
He grinned and tapped the end of my nose. “No maybe about it. Afterward is going to definitely happen. And I can’t wait.”
I breathed a sigh of relief that even as he seemed to want me as much as I wanted him, he was also going to be a good sport and let me do my business before he did me. “Give me your phone number,” I said.
He did, and we exchanged numbers. Feeling almost giddy, I gave him another quick kiss then patted his ass. “I’ll see you there.”
I watched him walk out the door feeling happier than I’d felt in a long time.
Once he was gone, however…
The more time passed, the more I started stressing about the opening, and the more I felt like a puppet that had been cut from its strings. I returned to the balcony, hoping to recapture the feelings of contentment I’d felt with Tucker, but they escaped me. I sat back heavily in one of the heavy iron chairs on the balcony, suddenly plagued by insecurities and fear. Worrying not only about the opening tonight, but about the upcoming show, as well. Tucker had said I was amazing. Passionate. But he barely knew me. He had no idea what a fuck up I’d been most of my life. That I’d still been a fuck up when my dad had died. It was something I’d always regret, that my dad hadn’t seen me move on to better things. My mom had, but she didn’t exactly see it that way and you could bet she’d be the first in line to write a scathing editorial if my shoe designs were lacking in any way at all.
Hell, my mother would probably invent new ways for my shoes to suck just so she could yank out her poison pen. The opinion of Anna Lorenz, fashion maven, had ruined the careers of more nascent designers than I could count. She was New York high fashion and, by extension, she was also the voice of all high fashion. And as I’d told Tucker, she liked extreme, at least when it came to my designs. Now, I designed shoes I loved, shoes that spoke to me deeply, but I also pushed the envelope beyond where my instincts told me to stop. As a result, everything in my line consisted of shoes no sane person would walk in if they wanted to keep normal feeling and circulation in their toes.
High fashion didn’t cater to sane, everyday people, it catered to designers and hipsters looking for something different. But in the end, what was the use of garnering accolades for your creativity when no one actually ever wore your stuff in the real world?
Fuck.
I suddenly craved a drink. Finding Claude’s stash, I poured myself a shot of Jack. The burn of the liquid down my throat grounded me, but also brought back memories of my partying days that I didn’t want to revisit. I’d never been out of control when it came to alcohol. A little had always gone a long way, giving me just enough of an edge to find my high in other ways. Dancing. Sex. Streaking. Hell, even fighting. It wasn’t the numbness of alcohol or drugs I’d always craved, but a heady combination of electric energy that told me that I was alive combined with the free fall afterward that made me calmer, able to handle anything life threw my way. It was that kind of adrenaline rush and subsequent let-down that wiped my mind clean, when my heart was pumping so hard I couldn’t notice anything else, even the echoes of my mother’s doubt and disdain.
Without even knowing it, Tucker’s words on the balcony had attempted to do the same thing, but now that he was gone, they were ephemeral. How could I recapture what I’d felt when he’d told me how amazing I was?
There, on the balcony, a terrible thought occurred to me. I fought it, but I felt like I was falling apart at the seams. The stakes were so high, and I just needed to get into that zen place where I knew everything would be okay. I’d done it before…
I stepped up to the balcony railing and gripped it, the smooth metal warm from the sun. My heart was pumping wildly in my chest but my breaths were even. Before I could second guess myself any more than I had, I boosted myself up until I was sitting on the railing, my legs dangling over the edge. Then I carefully stood, balancing on my bare feet. I raised my hands out wide and arched back my neck.
All of Paris was spread out below me, my new kingdom ripe for the taking. The wind was blowing just slightly and I enjoyed the feel of it on my face for several seconds before my knees wobbled underneath me. I almost pitched forward and terror zipped through me, but at the last moment, I fell back and into a waiting chair.
I sat there panting and wrapped my arms around my knees.
Tears were hot on my cheeks but I tried to ignore them. For a few seconds I’d felt exhilarated; I’d cheated death again and now nothing I faced this evening could compete.
Part of me was horrified at my thoughts. Knew I should tell someone what I’d done and ask for help. The first person I thought of telling was Tucker.
Sexy, confident, sweet Tucker, who though I was amazing, and thought he knew what I was going through because he envied his best friend’s role as leader of the band.
But no, that could never happen. No one needed to know that Nikki Lorenz, hot new shoe designer of the moment, was falling apart.
No one needed to know my secret.
Least of all Tucker Benning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tucker
I didn’t know shit about shoes. I mean, yeah, I liked a high heel on a hot babe as much as the next guy. I knew when something looked fugly or when sneakers were rank enough to be tossed out. I’d never been a fan of girls into combat boots, and I didn’t get why, when women could wear those sexy as hell pumps, they’d go around in ballet flats. But, mostly, I didn’t think about it much.
As for me personally, I have some sneakers for if I want to hit the gym (read: when the record label makes me before publicity shoots) and a few nice shoes for award shows, but I don’t know the names of the different styles and honest to God taking them off is usually a huge relief at the end of a fancy night out. Mostly I wear motorcycle boots everywhere.
Tonight being a rare exception. Tonight I was wearing dress shoes with a pair of designer jeans and a white bu
tton down, trying to looking nice for Nikki’s show.
So, basically, I was probably the last guy on Earth to be able to tell you if shoes were awesome or not.
What I did know was that the shoes displayed in Nikki’s Chez Lorenz were unlike anything I’d ever seen, even when I’d Googled her. Again, that might not be saying much. If I’d been the type of rocker like Keegan was a rapper, some guy who wanted to design someday, then maybe I’d have a lot more ideas about footwear. Clearly, Nikki had gotten a license with whoever made that pink Japanese cat-thing. Was it Hello Kitty? I wasn’t sure but you saw that thing all over when you traveled in the East. She had some heels with pink crystals all over them and that cat’s face on the side. Cute, flirty, and a little fun. But that was the most normal shoe there.
There was a pair of heels that were at least eight inches high but the shoe part looked like someone had glued a ballet flat to a spike. I wasn’t sure you were supposed to walk in them. Hell, if some poor girl tried, she might snap an ankle. Still, they looked badass. Then there were the shoes I could barely describe. Tons of heels at least six inches high with rhinestones and Swarovski crystals added, but they also had those same toes that looked like point shoes, just rounded a bit. Then there were things that reminded me of architectural designs, wild geometric patterns that really were more art than shoe. Among them were these grey and turquoise numbers that were made of different cuts of triangular fabric. They looked more like the world’s weirdest trophies. They didn’t have heels coming out of the back but seemed to sit on platforms coming out of the middle of the shoe.
In other words, if you didn’t have amazing balance—like tightrope walker fucking phenomenal—you shouldn’t try a Nikki Lorenz special.