“I see.”
I shook my head. “No, you don’t. He does whatever it takes. And maybe that means dating a starlet who promised him if he did, she’d get the part for him.”
A smile worked his lips. “I’m never surprised by the things people in Hollywood will do to get what they want. I’m just as guilty as the next person. But, I guess you haven’t heard yet since it was just announced by the movie company, but I went in another direction with my movie. Blair Storm did not get the movie. The producers wanted younger.”
My body tingled in fear. “Does she know?” The loss would make Blair even crazier.
He nodded. “Yes, and Sebastian was a close contender—excellent screen test—but to be honest, I don’t like rock stars-turned-actors no matter who they date. Never have. They’re unpredictable.”
I stood, anger flaring. “He’s more than a stereotype. He’s the happiest person I know—or he was until I fell in love with him. He made me realize I don’t have to lose music along with everything else. I’m a fighter too, and we found each other. He’s always going to be the guy who rides up on a white horse to save the girl—or a dog. He has the heart of a giver.”
He smiled broadly and adjusted his glasses. “Damn, I like you, V. When you speak, all I can think is what a great line that would make in a movie.”
“If I ever sell my words, it will be to someone who doesn’t jump to conclusions about a person just because they’re a musician. I’m a musician, Mr. Hing. And my whole story … it’s still unwritten. As Sebastian once told me, I have a long way to go before I’m done.”
His face softened into an understanding smile. The first genuine one. “I see. You have values—which I also like.” He paused. “Maybe we can learn from each other, V.”
I nodded and left.
But somehow I didn’t think the conversation with Hing was entirely over.
“We were over before we even began.”
—Sebastian Tate
I PACED AROUND on my patio, binoculars in hand as I watched V get in her Maserati and drive off, seemingly headed to Wilson’s since the exit for the neighborhood was in the opposite direction.
I shoved them away from me when she was out of sight and reached for my glass of bourbon. Fuck.
She’d pushed me away.
Did I blame her?
Hell, I’d walked away.
I’d let her down by letting Blair get this far. Maybe I should have been easier with Blair at the jewelry store. I’d seen how crazy she was getting, but really my head had been too caught up in V and our relationship.
How was I going to save her?
I had to stop these pictures from ever seeing the light of day.
I’d left V’s earlier and driven to Blair’s house and beat on the door. I’d called her and left voicemails, some angry and then toward the end I was bargaining with her, promising her that I’d serve myself up to her on a silver platter if only she’d call off the photos. God, I was willing to do anything to get her to see reason.
I was desperate, willing to compromise with a selfish lunatic.
Because of V.
I was scared of the way I felt about her. Scared that I couldn’t exist in a world without her.
She was everything I wanted.
Everything I needed.
Everything.
I got weak in the legs and sat. This was not a normal reaction to a girl dumping my ass. No, this was more, and I could finally own up to what had been plain as day to me for days yet I’d refused to say it.
Our souls were one. They always had been and never in a million years would I find another girl like V. I loved her.
Down on my knees, wanting to beg her to take me back, I loved her.
I’d been deluding myself, focusing on my lust, but we were so much more.
I wanted to hold her in my arms and watch her sleep. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair when I kissed her. I wanted to rock her when her grief made her weep. I wanted to sleep with her body curled into mine. God. I wanted to have babies with her. I wanted to grow old with her.
Nothing mattered but V.
Not money or power.
Not being the star of the next blockbuster or recording a number one song.
Not even world peace.
Because the only thing that makes a difference in our lives is love. My parents had it. Leo had it. Violet. Love. Us.
“People will stare. Make it worth the look.”
—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons
THE NEXT DAY was the gala, and my time was running out.
One thing for sure, though, Blair Storm’s ass was mine, and I knew exactly how to make her pay.
I got her address and phone number from Mila and at six in the morning I walked up to her door.
The day before had been insane. After meeting Hing at Wilson’s, I’d driven around LA, trying to get my head straight and figure out how to use Hing’s offer to my advantage. Wilson’s son Mark had popped in my head, and on a whim I’d called him, explaining what I needed without divulging the details of Blair and the pictures. He’d immediately offered up one of his top entertainment lawyers at my disposal. He was sweet on me, and I’m ashamed to say I used it. The lawyer and I met Hing at the Rio, and after three hours of negotiation, we worked out a deal that was foolproof—if Blair cooperated.
Bang, bang, bang!
I knocked and yelled for ten minutes before Blair finally showed up, eyes red and swollen from crying. From losing the movie? Part of me—the side that had lived with my own loss—felt for her. My music and my parents had been all I had. Maybe acting was all she had.