ARROGANT BRIT (A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE)

by Wild, Nikki

  “She’s lying,” I told him in futility.

  “I don’t care if she made up every fucking word,” Steven glowered. “The truth is, you’ve been a liability from the start. A distraction. You’ve been around my client for weeks, now. Did you know that he’s not returning my calls, texts, even my emails?”

  He poked his finger into my chest again.

  “Trent’s too wound up with you. You’ve been keeping him preoccupied from his duties to the band, to his manager, to everything.”

  “He just got back! He’s relaxing!”

  “Yeah. And as careful as he is, he’s back one day with you and then something like this shit happens. Did you know that he’s never been caught by the paparazzi? Not even a single cell phone picture? Guy is clean as a whistle. You come into the picture, you fuck it up from the word Go.”

  “He should be back tonight,” I told him. “I don’t have a phone…I can wait for him and tell him to talk to you. That it’s urgent.”

  “Little late for that, sweetie,” Steven growled. “You see, my job isn’t to fuck Trent. My job is to make sure that he stays on the straight and narrow. And you have made my job this much harder.”

  “So, we’ll wait for him to get back, and then we’ll talk it all over and find out what we need to do.”

  “Nuh-uh. Ain’t gonna fly.”

  He crossed his arms and looked at me expectantly.

  “So…what, then?”

  “You make a decision,” Steven told me pointedly, tilting his head. He was almost grinning. “You either decide to stay here and continue distracting your little rockstar crush, or you let him move on with his life and continue making the magic happen.”

  “You…you want me to leave?”

  “Of course I do. You’ve been a thorn in my side __– and his – since the start.”

  “That’s not true,” I told him furiously.

  “No? Do you have any idea how hard he works to keep this band together and out of trouble? And now he’s publicly pissing off fans and getting coverage on the biggest paparazzi site on the web.”

  “Of course I know how hard he works. He tries as hard as he can to keep a clean image. And she’s lying,” I insisted.

  “Of course she’s fucking lying! You think I don’t know my own band? But what does that matter? The damage is done. This is how it starts. He’s going to be scrutinized now, and they’ll find something else, and then something else, and another…”

  I shook my head.

  No. He’d knock Steven out if he were here.

  “Of course, Trent doesn’t listen to reason, either,” Steven continued. “He’s gonna run this entire thing into the ground for a hot piece of ass, isn’t he? It’s not even just him you’ll drag back down into the dirt with yourself. You’ll be taking the whole band with you.”

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “No…that can’t…”

  “If I were you – and I am so glad that I’m not – I’d ditch town. It’s still fresh in his head. Trent hasn’t totally invested in you. You’re still just some groupie to him, you know? You can get out without hurting his feelings.”

  “But that’s not true,” I answered sadly. “We talked so much… he went out of his way to try and prove how much he cares…”

  “And you fell for that? What are you, fucking eighteen? Do you know how many girls that asshole has made feel special right before he rips their heart out?”

  The sound of his raucous laughter was like a pail of icy water to my face. It snapped me out of the daze I’d been in for the last few days – no, the last few weeks.

  I’m just a distraction.

  A liability.

  His laughter started to die down, and Steven looked at me with something that vaguely resembled pity.

  “You see it now,” he told me sympathetically. “How stupid you’ve been. You thought you could change him? You seriously thought that you would be the one girl in the world who would improve him?”

  I turned away.

  I spoke the only words I could.

  “I don’t have any money,” I told him.

  “Of fucking course you don’t. Do you think he’d just leave you his credit card or something? He doesn’t trust you, honey. He never really has.”

  The words stung. I wanted to run and hide and never come back up for sunlight.

  “I can’t get a bus without money.”

  Steven went silent.

  I looked up at him, afraid that he was angry. But no… he was merely calculating, weighing options in his head.

  “Listen. Pack your shit. I’ll take care of the bus ticket. And I’ll even toss you a few hundred bucks to get you on your feet when you’re there.”

  “You would… do that?”

  “Of course,” he told me. He wasn’t smiling. “You think I’m a bad guy? I’m just doing my fucking job. Ironing out the creases. Cutting off loose ends. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Doesn’t mean I’m a prick. Trent just paints me that way because he doesn’t like it. Who would? I’m sympathetic…”

  I nodded quietly.

  “Like I said, pack your shit. I’ll have you on a bus in the hour. Where do you need to go? Back to Riverton, or wherever it was called?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “I can’t go back there… Not after the way I left…”

  “Smart thinking,” Steven agreed. “Maybe you’re more intelligent than I would have figured. So, where are you going instead? Pick a spot, honey. I can have you on a bus to Miami, or Philadelphia, or wherever the fuck you wanna go.”

  I sighed heavily. There was only one other place in the world for me… one other place where I knew I really deserved to be. It’s where I should have been all along.

  A place so terrible I shut it out.

  A place so awful I never thought about it.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s time I went back home.”

  Chapter 25

  Trent

  Two Days Later

  I knew something was wrong the second that I stepped foot into my house. Compounding, rising dread twisted its way up in the back of my head, like smoke in the darkness.

  I’d felt it from a mile away.

  And I didn’t like it.

  “Angel?” I called out.

  No answer.

  Maybe she’s asleep, I wondered. I couldn’t bring myself to believe it, though. No…something was definitely wrong.

  I dropped my things at the door, scouring for any signs of a break-in. The front door was unharmed, and I didn’t spot any broken windows on my way to the stairs.

  Hopping two at a time, I ascended up to my bedroom. Our bedroom. Flicking on the light, I peered around the room like a hunter sniffing for prey.

  There was nothing out of place.

  No signs of a struggle.

  Except…

  My heart sank as soon as I spotted the letter on the bed. Scrawled in girlish handwriting, I first spotted her signature at the bottom as I snatched it up under the light.

  Trent,

  I’ve enjoyed our time together. I really have. But it’s time for me to let you be who you need to be. We both know this wasn’t going to last… Please don’t hate me. And don’t look for me. You won’t find me.

  Angel

  My hand clenched, but I restrained myself from shredding the letter apart in the instant.

  And there, on the pillow?

  The tablet I had bought her while we had been on the bus. It was just sitting there, as if it weren’t hers. She’d left it because she’d honestly thought it didn’t really belong to her.

  Fury built up inside.

  Boiling, pulsating anger.

  No, I snarled to myself.

  You don’t get to do this to me.

  Irrationally, my mind boiling with pain and regret, I felt like I had just been stabbed – right in the fucking heart. The knife twisted again and again as the letter fell to the bed from my lifeless fingers, and I fought the whipping storm of emo
tion that was threatening to tear me apart.

  No, I repeated to myself with rising hostility.

  This isn’t happening.

  This CAN’T be happening.

  But something didn’t add up.

  Through the hatred and the anger, a small spark of rationality spoke through. Like a calming knife through the bubbling, snarling flesh of my fury, it cut through the bullshit and whispered something into my ear.

  She wouldn’t do this.

  I paused, letting the thought continue on. It was calming, soothing, but most of all…it sounded like it was making sense.

  This isn’t Angel.

  Not without interference.

  Not without the right push.

  Something had happened…and I was going to find out exactly what. But I didn’t have to think long or hard before a single name popped into my head.

  Steven.

  He’d hated her from the start.

  What was the word he’d used?

  Liability.

  I picked up the phone, forcing a friendly smile across my face. It was one of the hardest things I’d had to do.

  “Steven! Are you around?”

  “I’m kinda in the middle of something. Where are you?”

  “I’m just picking up my car,” I lied. “I should be home in about forty-five minutes. Think you can meet me there?”

  “Now’s not a good time, man.”

  He sounded apprehensive.

  Which told me I was right.

  “It’s important. I think you’re right about Angel – she’s a liability. Time I cut her loose. But you, being my PR guy and all…mind backing me up?”

  “What? R-really? But she’s…I mean, uh…”

  “Steven, stop fucking babbling. She put herself up in a hotel and she’s on her way to my place. Can you come straight over?”

  “I’m not so sure this is a good time…”

  “C’mon, Steven. You and I, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Help me out here and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “…Alright. Half an hour?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  About thirty minutes later, there was a knock at my door. Through the peephole, I could see the lanky, condescending fucker.

  “Door’s open!” I called out, muffling my voice and taking a step out of the way.

  The door popped open.

  A moment later, Steven walked in.

  “H-hello? Angel? Trent?”

  I stepped forward from behind the door, slamming it shut. He barely had time to turn before I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and slammed him up into the wall, knocking a large photo frame down and shattering the glass.

  “Trent – buddy – what the fuck are you–?”

  Roaring with anger, I threw him across the room. He hit the ground hard, trying to scramble to his feet as I rushed towards him.

  “Back the fuck off–” he started.

  I landed a solid punch against his cheek, sending him sprawling into my sectional couch. As he struggled to climb back up, I jumped on him, landing a knee in his chest and knocking the breath from his lungs.

  “Oof!” he cried painfully.

  As I started to hit him repeatedly, Steven tried to dislodge me – first by force, then by throwing weak punches, and finally by attempting to scratch me.

  I finally climbed off of him, and he lunged forwards. But instead of reaching me, he slipped, hitting his head on my coffee table.

  With my anger barely controlled, I pulled his sniffling, shaken form up from the ground. Half-expecting him to be whimpering, he was instead snarling – broken but angry.

  “You fucking piece of shit,” he growled.

  I held him by the shoulders, my enraged eyes matching his gaze with enough strength to apparently surprise him.

  “What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do.”

  “What?” He snarled back.

  “Don’t make me ask again, you spineless, backstabbing, limp-dicked son of a bitch.”

  Steven’s furious sniffling began to settle, and he looked at me with a mixture of fear and absolute irritation.

  I have to give it to him.

  At least he doesn’t back down.

  Maybe he’s less spineless than I thought.

  “Angel, right?”

  I nodded angrily.

  His face curled into a shit-eating grin.

  “You had me worried with your little phone call. Sorry Trent. Your lovebird is long gone by now.”

  Because I couldn’t afford for him to lose consciousness on me, I delivered a strong punch to his gut. He crumpled to the ground, moaning and clutching his abs while I stood up and popped my neck.

  “That’s for not answering my question,” I told Steven coldly.

  I pulled him back up from the ground, half-supporting him on his knees in front of me.

  “Let’s try again. What. The fuck. Did you. Do?”

  Steven’s painful, defiant glance flipped up towards me. I could already see bruising and swelling starting to settle in.

  He was going to look rough tomorrow.

  “You know what I did,” he mumbled. “She’s a distraction. A ticking time bomb. That bitch is your motherfucking Courtney Love. You have other people depending on you. The rest of your band, the roadies, the label. Ever since you snuck her onto that bus, your performances have been shit. Critic opinions, not just mine. And then there’s the paparazzi thing.”

  “What paparazzi thing?”

  Steven laughed painfully.

  “Have you not been on the Internet at all in the last couple of days? It’s been all over the gossip sites.”

  I pulled him closer.

  “Tell me. Now.”

  “I’ll do you one better,” he chuckled before wincing with pain. “I’ll show you. Let me down.”

  Reluctantly, I relinquished my grip.

  Once he’d pulled himself up off of the floor and fished his phone out of his pocket, he did just that. He showed me what had happened.

  The article.

  The pictures.

  The interview.

  I read carefully, twice over, before handing him the phone back.

  “This is nothing. It’s fixable.”

  “It’s a little harder than that,” he told me.

  “No. No, it’s not. This is your job. You run public relations for us. You manage us. Well, you’re supposed to, but you’re so fucking terrible at it that I can’t believe we got stuck with you…”

  Steven opened his mouth to retort but, after one glance at my eyes, he closed it again quickly.

  “So you showed her this, then.”

  Steven nodded.

  “And you made up some bullshit to make her go away?”

  “It wasn’t bullshit, Trent. What makes this girl different? You left her here the first chance you got. No money, no friends, and a backpack full of clothes. Leaving was her choice. All I did was lay out the facts.”

  “The facts?”

  “Everything I told her was true. You can believe that I filled her head with complete shit, but my job is to keep this train moving.”

  “My girlfriend isn’t some piece of dead weight to be cut loose,” I growled menacingly, advancing upon him.

  I was so furious that I hadn’t even realized the Freudian slip.

  “Well, you have your professional opinions, and I have mine,” Steven snarled with a slight hiss of pain. “All I know is, I did my job. You know, you’ve been a hock of shit since day fucking one. Always making shit difficult. You’re a real piece of work, Trent Masters. This is the worst fucking gig I’ve had in years! And I represented The Spitting Pigs, drug-fueled orgies and all!”

  I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close, one last time.

  “Steven…where is she.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wrong answer,” I replied, wheeling my fist back.