by Arell Rivers
Dedication
Prelude
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Bonus Scene
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Arell Rivers
HARD TO HOLD
Book 2 of THE HOLD series
Copyright ©2016 Tarnished Halo Publishing LLC
Published by Tarnished Halo Publishing LLC
2016 Edition
ISBN digital: 978-0-9982844-2-2
ISBN print: 978-0-9982844-3-9
Editing: Angela Polidoro, www.polidoroeditorialservices.com
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Formatting: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs, www.pinkinkdesigns.com
Cover design: Kari Ayasha, Cover to Cover Designs, www.covertocoverdesigns.com
Bio photo credit: Elzbieta Kaciuba Photography LLC, www.elzphoto.com
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, business establishments, organizations and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For my critique partners, Noella Phillips and Michelle Bond. You are the most supportive, creative, generous and brutally honest women I know. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you amazing ladies.
Hard to Hold
Sad and alone, broken but not out
Fighting for everything, or nothing at all
It’s not true, it can’t be true, I know it’s not
She’s my girl, and I’m hanging on
Why can’t she see it’s her—always her?
I need her in my life
I’ll do whatever it takes
To right this wrong, make her believe
Living without her is not living at all
I need to be back in her arms again
There must be a way to stop the madness
Keep us safe from prying eyes
And protect us from the quicksand
Will I ever be where I belong?
Oh why, oh why is she so hard to hold?
Lyrics and music by Cole Manchester
Saturday evening
“THANK YOU.” I take the ticket from the bellman, who puts my small, wheeled suitcase in the luggage holding area.
Across the lobby, at the registration desk, the Caesars hotel rep taps on her computer. She stops abruptly when Marco approaches her desk. Smiling at him, she leans over and says something while batting her eyelashes. He glances down at her cleavage and slowly brings his eyes up to meet hers with a huge grin on his face. Geez.
Mom spent our entire visit going on and on about Marco. She’s made an exception to her rule about distrusting good-looking, rich men for Marco, since she’s best friends with his mother. At every turn, she commented about what a great catch he is. Swooned over his tall, dark and handsome looks. Effused about how his career as a founding partner of an entertainment production company is exciting, yet allows him to be home every night.
“Unlike that Cole Manchester with his all-night parties, his stalker and bodyguards,” her disapproving voice echoes in my memory.
When Marco showed up again at Mom’s house this afternoon, he made it clear that my mother isn’t the only one who’d be thrilled if we reconciled. But my heart wants someone else, and Marco’s taking me here to Las Vegas cemented in my mind that he’s only in the friend-zone.
I can’t make out what Marco’s saying to the rep, but she blushes and turns to walk into the back office. I join him at the desk. “All good?”
“Yup. They’re pretty full, but I snagged a room.”
Good. I nod. The flirty rep returns and hands Marco his room key. While he’s signing some papers, I get directions to the Ozzy Martinez concert that’s being held in the hotel.
When Marco’s finished, we take off toward the concert venue. I grow more confident with every step I take. Yes, Cole has money in the bank from his music career, he’s beyond handsome and I have a bodyguard because his stalker has it in for me. But he’s also kind and loving, and he’s shown me more than once that he always puts me ahead of everyone else. Plus, as his PR account manager, I’m the one who arranges many of his late-night excursions.
On the other hand, Marco cheated on me back in high school when we were dating. And judging from how he ogles every woman we pass, I doubt he’s changed his ways. How could I have let Mom make me doubt my feelings for Cole?
Finally, we reach the backstage door. My feet throb as if they’ve walked a mile through this gigantic casino. These stilettos probably weren’t the most practical choice, but I know how much Cole appreciates me in them.
Before we enter, Roberto, my bodyguard, clears his throat. “Remember, we’ll slip inside the conference room together, and then I want you two to stay put. I texted Wills, so he knows we’re here. As soon as I get that room key from him, we’re out of here.”
We both nod. Cole’s bodyguard won’t let us down. The sooner, the better. I whisper to Marco, “No matter what, we have to stay off my boss’s radar.” I showed him a photo of Greta on the flight out here.
“Got it. We’ll slink around like teenagers at a bar.” Lovely.
As unobtrusively as possible, we enter the room and take the positions designated by Roberto, who gives us a pointed look before leaving in search of Cole’s bodyguard. Ever since the stalker attacked me in LA, Roberto’s been my shadow. I tried arguing that Marco and I could wait for him in the lobby, which seems busy enough to be safe, but he wasn’t having any of that.
Gulping air, I look around, zeroing in on Cole like a laser. He has his back to us and is surrounded by women, most of them in their mid-twenties and scantily clad, all vying for his attention. My mou
th goes slack. He looks utterly delicious, with his six-foot frame clad in jeans and a tight T-shirt that hugs his sculpted abs. His highlighted brown hair is damp from sweat after his performance. My fingers tremble with the desire to touch him.
I’m diverted from mentally drooling all over him when a couple of reporters I know come over and ask me questions about Cole. I answer as concisely as possible, trying to remain firmly in the background. One remarks on my “cute LBD.” Greta would kill me if she saw me at a work event out of “uniform,” even though I’m not actually working tonight.
I reach up to adjust my glasses, only remembering I’m wearing my contacts when my finger hits the bridge of my nose. My hair is down, too, not in the regulation ponytail I wear for all things Greta. The look is for Cole, not Greta, but I’m attracting too much attention. My heart races as another reporter makes a beeline for me, and a group of them farther inside the room turns and looks at me. Maybe I should go back to the lobby and wait, despite Roberto’s admonition?
Marco leans toward me. “Gig’s up.”
Panicked, I follow his gaze to a tall, striking blonde woman who is heading directly for us. Greta. And she does not look pleased. I grab Marco’s hand and try to drag him toward the exit, but he refuses to budge.
“We have to go.” I hiss.
Marco smiles at me and shakes his head. “She knows it’s you. Don’t worry; I’ll handle her.”
My breaths come in rapid succession. This can’t be happening. I’m not supposed to be here. What will she do?
“Rose Morgan. I’m shocked to see you here.”
Before I can even open my mouth, Marco interjects, still holding my hand. “Are you Greta? Rose mentioned you were going to be here. I’m Marco Ricci.” Smiling, he extends his right hand toward Greta, while giving mine a squeeze. “I knew my girl likes Ozzy Martinez, so I surprised her with tickets. We hopped into my private plane and, well, here we are.”
My numb fingers squeeze his hand back in appreciation. Marco stuck to our pre-arranged story. One I prayed we wouldn’t have to use.
Greta fixes her gaze on Marco, and I recognize the calculating edge in her eyes. She’s wondering how he can be of use to her. Taking his hand, her body language transforms into a much more welcoming posture. “It’s always a pleasure to meet the boyfriend of one of my employees.”
He smiles and brings her hand to his lips. He’s really pouring it on thick, but Greta seems to be eating it up.
“We didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say.
Greta barely acknowledges me and purrs, “Tell me, what do you do, Marco?”
My body goes rigid as he pulls me in tight to his side and kisses my forehead. I force a smile as he says, “I’m a founding partner of MRM Productions.”
With a gleam in her eyes, Greta says, “Oh really? I’ve heard of your company.”
“We could meet up tomorrow morning and discuss some possible collaborations.”
“I would love to.” She pauses and gives me a calculating once over. “But now that Rose is here, I’m thinking of heading back to LA tonight. I have other projects that require my attention, as you can imagine. That is, of course, if you don’t mind Rose working for a bit. I did all the heavy lifting, so it’ll just be some quick follow-up.”
Since her suggestion fits with my desire to talk with Cole and iron everything out, I’m in favor of this change in plans. Before Marco can say anything stupid, I respond, “Greta, that would be fine.”
Appearing concerned, Marco turns to me. “Are you sure, Bella Rosa? It’s already late.”
And now he pulls out his pet name for me from when we were dating in high school. It’s enough to show me that while Marco is helping me this evening, he hasn’t entirely given up. Forcing a smile, I say, “I’m sure it won’t take long. Greta has this all sewn up.”
Turning back to Greta, Marco says, “It’s such a shame I’ll lose the opportunity to spend more time in your delightful presence, Greta. Soon?”
“I’ll hold you to it.” She glances at Cole, who is still surrounded by fans. “Have you met my boy?”
My boy. I’ll be sure to let Cole know how she refers to him. I shake my head and reply, “He’s been very busy.” Marco and Cole can’t meet. No way. I try to pull Marco toward the exit again.
Ignoring my cues, Marco says, “If you don’t mind, Greta, I really would like to meet him. I think we have a lot in common.” She gives him a quizzical look. He continues, “We’re both from Jersey, the land of Springsteen and Bon Jovi.” I exhale, grateful he didn’t reveal anything about my relationship with Cole, but I don’t want this meeting to take place. Ever.
She laughs. “Two of my favorite clients. Come on, Marco, there’s no time like the present. Follow me.”
Crap. Worst-case scenario. Greta’s presence ensures I can’t speak freely, Marco’s revealed himself to be a loose cannon and I can’t imagine what Cole is going to think. All I can do is get through this quickly and pray Wills gets my message to Cole.
We zig-zag our way through the crowded room. The gods must have ignored me again, because no matter how much I drag my high heels, it’s clear I’m not getting out of this introduction. All too soon, we arrive where Cole is standing with his back to us.
Greta touches his arm to draw his attention away from his fans. She says something to him and he turns just as Marco wraps his arm around my shoulders.
I suck in my breath when Cole’s eyes fall on Marco and then follow Marco’s arm to where it collides with mine. His mouth drops open and his eyes bounce between Marco and me. I can’t hold his eye contact.
Marco speaks first. Extending his hand, he says, “Marco Ricci. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Their handshake looks like a testosterone-fueled death grip.
“Rose and I were at her mother’s, and I talked her into flying out here on my company plane for a quick weekend getaway.”
He pulls me tighter to his side. Acutely aware of Greta’s presence, I smile at Marco while nervously touching each of my fingers to my thumb. This has to end. Now.
“How nice for you. Both,” Cole bites out. The pulsing vein in his neck tells me he’s about to explode. What must he be thinking? My need to explain bubbles up my throat, but I force it down. Not here. Not now. I shut my eyes.
Cutting in, Greta unknowingly diffuses the standoff. “Now that you’ve met Rose’s boyfriend”—and ramps it right back up—“it’s time for you to get back to your adoring fans.” She physically turns Cole around to face a group of ladies.
My heart feels as if it were in freefall. I remain immobile, watching Cole’s innate professionalism take hold. He starts smiling again, showing off his brilliantly white teeth. And his dimple. He resumes signing whatever his fans give him and posing for photos. But I know him well enough to notice the feverish pulse in his neck, and the way his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. I need to get him alone.
A couple of reporters come over to me and ask questions about Cole, which I manage to field. No one approaches Greta.
A few minutes later Greta says, “Let’s discuss strategy.” Then she turns on her high heels and takes practiced steps toward the doorway, as if she’s still strutting a runway. She smiles and nods at various people in the room, always schmoozing.
To guarantee Marco will play along and not try to talk to Cole in my absence, I wrap my arm around his waist and follow Greta out of the room. Roberto joins us, keeping a distance of a couple of paces.
I desperately want to get away from Marco, but I’m stuck until Greta leaves, so the two of us remain arm-in-arm in the hallway. Roberto passes and stops halfway down the hall.
“Sorry to have to cut your meeting short, Marco,” Greta says, turning toward him. “Cole had to get back to signing autographs.”
“No worries. Work comes first.”
Greta addresses me next. “The reporters couldn’t stop talking about how well Cole did onstage. I’m going to stay with him for another hour or
so then head back to LA. Go—” She looks at Marco. “Er, please go and monitor the social media mentions and make sure the reporters are doing as promised. No room for error.”
I know the drill. “I understand.”
She looks me up and down and purses her lips, as if finally noticing—and disapproving of—my attire. “You have your laptop?”
“Yes.”
After nodding in dismissal, she turns to my companion and offers him a huge smile. “I enjoyed meeting you, Marco. I’ll make sure Rose sets up our private meeting soon.”
Releasing me, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a business card and hands it to her. “I will count the days. I’m in LA so often that I’m thinking of relocating to your fair city.”
Taking the card, she leans in and kisses him on both cheeks. Oh, brother.
Once she returns to the room where the fans and reporters are still, no doubt, buzzing around Cole, I sag against the wall. Marco looks at me. “She’s good.”
“Greta VonStein is the best publicist in the business.” The words tumble automatically from my mouth.
Roberto joins us. I ask him the only question that matters. “Were you able to catch up with Wills?”
“Yes. All set.” He holds up a keycard. “I’ll escort you to Cole’s penthouse suite.”
I squeeze my eyes shut in relief. At least something is going right. Finally. “Thank you.”
“Would you like to get a drink before you spend the rest of your evening waiting for the pretty boy pop star?”
I rein in my temper. After all, Marco did fly me out here. “No, thanks. Cole shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“I just know if my girl showed up on another guy’s arm, I wouldn’t be all smiles with other women.”
Yeah, right. “He’s doing his job. And why did you have to demand to meet him?”
“I wanted to feel out the competition.” He runs his fingers through my hair.
Stepping back, I reply, “There’s no competition, Marco. It’s like I told you, I’m with Cole.” My nerves are frayed. “You and I have been over for ten years. We talked about this already.”