Wicked desires, p.8
WICKED DESIRES, page 8
What the fuck?
“The PR team works together, but each of you will work with them on an individual basis. They will be in contact with each of you as soon as this tour ends. Until then, try to keep the fucking damage to a minimum.”
We are all out of our seats the second he finishes speaking. Tommy is long gone by the time we make it to the door. “You guys do know he is going to have to go into rehab when this tour is over…right?” Benji says to no one in particular, as the four of us ride the elevator down to the main floor where he has a car waiting to take us back to the hotel.
I scrub my hand over the scruff on my unshaven jaw as I think about how hard that is going to be. We could probably all use a little time in rehab, if I’m being honest, but he’s right, Tommy’s losing his shit. He needs help.
“He’s not going to be happy about that, and I doubt he’s going to go willingly, but I think you might be right, he needs help. He’s been spiraling for months now. The signs have been there, but we all have our own shit going on, and none of us noticed it until…well, we just didn’t notice it.” I don’t need to mention what went down a few days ago.
Shawn speaks up for the first time. “Look, Benji, I appreciate that you are worried about Tommy. We all are. But you could have just talked to us. You didn’t need to haul us all in here to be reprimanded like a bunch of errant schoolboys. That was fucking humiliating. And, for the record, let’s not forget who is actually doing all of the fucking work for that bottom line they are so worried about. We may love what we do, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Everyone wants a fucking piece of us, and I’m going to tell you right now, that doesn’t leave much left over for us, so cut us some fucking slack.”
Benji shoves his hands in his pockets and looks Shawn directly in the eyes for a few beats before moving on to Dylan, and then settling on me. Tension is thick in the air.
“Noted, and, for the fucking record,” he spits out, “I did try. This meeting wasn’t my idea. Symphony has had concerns for a while now. Things came to a head after the incident with Tommy. Let’s just get through tomorrow and then the final show next week. Try to keep the booze to a minimum, and maybe lay off the drugs, and if it’s not too much to ask, please don’t trash your goddamn rooms this time.”
The elevator doors open and there is no sign of Tommy as we all pile into the limo and head back to the hotel. I find Tommy in the hotel lounge a couple of hours later. He’s perched on a stool at the bar, staring into a glass of something amber which is sitting on a coaster in front of him.
“Hey.” I slap him on the back as I take a seat next to him and order a drink. We both sit there, quietly contemplating the shitstorm that hit us this morning. We don’t need to talk; just being there for one another is enough. We have known each other since we were kids. The four of us made a pact long ago that we would never let each other down, and that’s why I’m here now. Dylan and Shawn wanted to come, but after Benji’s plea, we decided a little one-on-one time might be better, since we seem to get into too much trouble when the four of us get going.
Finally, I decide to break the silence. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Tom.”
He cuts me off with a wave of his hand and then downs his drink. “I’m going to do it.” I almost choke on my drink but manage to swallow as I set my glass down.
“What happened—it scared the shit out of me. Fuck, I didn’t even know that chick’s name and I almost killed her. I could have killed myself.” He raises his hand and orders another. I don’t say anything, because this is the first time he has been willing to talk about what happened.
“Here’s the thing, Gray…I know I’m in trouble and I’m heading down a slippery slope, but I can’t seem to help myself. And I don’t think I can perform without it. It scares the fuck out of me.”
The bartender sets a fresh glass in front of him. He wraps his hands around it and stares into it until his knuckles turn white. He then turns his head and raises his bloodshot eyes to meet mine, and I swear I see hopelessness swirling in their depths before he drops them back to his drink. I’m not sure what to do. We’ve never been in a situation like this before. I start with information about the girl he is worrying about.
“Her name is Carly, and she is going to be just fine. You didn’t force her to snort that coke. She is over twenty-one, and she was there of her own free will. You aren’t responsible for what happened to her.” He shrugs, but at least he is listening, so I keep going.
“Look, we could all use a break. We’ve been going hard for the past six months. After we play the Madison Square Gardens show, this tour will be over, and we can take some time off to get our shit sorted out. Then, we’ll come back stronger than ever for the next one. I don’t agree with the stunt Benji pulled this morning, but we haven’t exactly made things easy on him, and maybe this is the wakeup call we all needed to pull our heads out of our asses. Let’s just get through the next couple of weeks and re-evaluate after that. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.” He downs his drink and stands to leave. “I’ll give it my best shot, I promise.
It’s three forty-five and the four of us down a shot, just one. Benji’s approved this, so fuck what Symphony says. We do shots before every show. It’s part of our pre-show routine, and no matter what anyone says, that is not going to change…ever. I usually like to have a quick fuck before I go onstage, but unfortunately, that isn’t happening here. We are standing in the middle of Times Square with just a curtain separating us from the crowd. I’m not shy, and the guys have seen me fuck women a million times before, so it wouldn’t bother me or them, and there is no shortage of women who would be happy to accommodate me, but I promised Benji I would behave. Aside from the shot I just did, I also haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since I left the bar with Tommy yesterday afternoon, and as far as I can tell, neither has Dylan or Shawn. Tommy is on something, but he’s not going to be a problem. He always holds his own onstage and has never let us down. He’ll be okay. We just need to get through three songs and then we are out of here.
We step onto the makeshift stage that was erected only a few hours ago. There are no bells and whistles, just the bare bones we need to get the job done. Dylan is standing on one side of me, and Shawn is on the other. Tommy takes up the rear, behind his kit. Someone out front is speaking to the crowd, and then my heart rate kicks up with a familiar rush when I hear, “Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for a real treat this afternoon. Get ready for Ruin!” The crowd goes crazy. Tommy counts us down, and we start to play just as the curtain rises in front of us.
We crush the first two songs, and the crowd continues to grow. There are a shit ton of security around us, along with police on horseback, keeping the crowd under control. Things could go sideways in a heartbeat, but that’s not our concern. We are here to perform, and that’s exactly what we do—we are killing it. There’s not a lot of room up here on this tiny stage. I like to move around, but I’m limited to a few feet in any direction, so I focus on the crowd instead.
We slow things down for the third and final song. I’m singing one of our biggest hits. It’s about a dark-haired, green-eyed girl who steals hearts and never gives them back. I look out over the crowd and my heart almost fucking stops when I see her. She’s fucking gorgeous. The auburn highlights in her long dark hair shine in the sun, and she has the biggest green eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s the fucking girl in my song and I can’t take my goddamn eyes off her. She is so close, I feel like I can almost reach out and touch her, and her eyes are riveted on me. I smile and point at her. She slaps her hand over her heart, and then points right back at me as she flashes me a megawatt smile in return. I feel like I’ve been hit by a lightning bolt as electricity zings between us. I force myself to move on, to give my attention to the rest of the crowd, but I can’t seem to stop my eyes from returning to the green-eyed girl. To me, one girl is as good as the next, but fuck, there’s just something about her.
The song comes to an end, and the curtain drops as soon as the last chord dies off, blocking any chance I might have had to find out who she is. I’ve never, ever regretted the end of a song as much as I do in this moment. I don’t know what the hell it is that I’m feeling, but I can’t let it go. The need to find out who she is, is overwhelming.
I jump off the stage and pull the curtain aside. My eyes zero in on the spot where she was sitting, but she’s not there, and my heart sinks. I frantically look around, trying to find her. Where the fuck did she go? There are literally hundreds of people moving around out there. She could be anywhere in that crowd. I narrow my eyes as they skim over the crowd, I search for a couple more seconds before I give up and drop the curtain. She’s not there. I need to forget about her and move on—but my mind refuses to let it go.
Who is she?
How can I find her?
She was only on my radar for the length of a single song, but somehow, she’s managed to get under my skin. That never happens. The need to know what it is about her that is different from all the rest is overwhelming.
7
TORI
It’s been a week since my parents dropped their little marriage bomb on me. Time is ticking and I still haven’t a clue what I’m going to do about it. I’ve pored over the details of the trust repeatedly and I still don’t have any answers. My brothers were both shocked when they found out about my current situation. They didn’t even know about this clause in the trust because they both fell in love and were married before they turned thirty-two. They have both gone over the trust with a fine-tooth comb and can’t find a loophole either. Unless we can find something that all three of us have missed, there appear to be only two choices, I either marry by my thirty-second birthday or I forfeit the money.
My parents have stepped up their efforts to find me a suitable husband but I still don’t have any viable options, despite what my mother thinks. She is still riding me to give Rich another chance, so I’ve decided to avoid her at all costs because hell will have to freeze over before I’ll ever agree to marry Richard Sommerfeld again.
Rich has been MIA, just like he was for the past five years, but I’m certain I haven’t seen or heard the last of him. Not when he knows there is almost a hundred million dollars on the table. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to marry him without an iron-clad prenup, but he would still get a nice little payday if we did divorce. No way. He’s getting nothing, not me and definitely not my money.
I haven’t shared this news with the girls, not even Avery. She has enough going on right now. She doesn’t need to worry about my first-world problems. The four of us are going to my family’s Hampton estate this weekend for a girls’ getaway. If I get my nerve up, maybe I’ll spill, but honestly, I don’t really want to think about it, and I don’t have any options anyway, so I don’t see the point.
Jesus, I actually think I might be losing my mind, because last night, after too many glasses of wine, I briefly considered paying someone to marry me. I had it all worked out. It would solve all my problems without all the hassle of a relationship. I would prepare a tidy little contract which would keep things nice and simple, with no loose ends and no messy feelings to worry about. The trust doesn’t say anything about divorce, only that I must be married for a period of six months before it would pay out. I could put an expiration date on it and end things after an appropriate amount of time. Of course, I’d then have to find someone I could stand being around for however long it lasted. It wouldn’t be easy, even if it is a fake marriage—this is such bullshit.
Today, I’m shopping with my best friend. We are about ready to drop. Both of us are laden with multiple bags as we trudge through Times Square on our way to Avery’s condo. It’s late afternoon and a stage has been set up but is curtained off so we can’t tell what is going on. I can hear instruments being tuned and I love live music, so I plead with her to take a break so we can see who is playing. It’s a free concert, so why not? I see a spot I think we can squeeze into near the front of the crowded bleachers. I take the lead and force my way in, dragging Avery behind me, so we can sit and give our tired feet a break.
Someone steps in front of the curtain and tells us today is our lucky day because we are going to have the pleasure of hearing three of the top hits from one of the hottest rock bands around. He then introduces Ruin and the curtain rises, revealing one of my favorite bands. I scream along with everyone around me. These guys are everywhere right now. I love their music, and to top that off, they are all freakin’ hot, especially their lead singer—who has the body of a love god and a voice he’s clearly sold his soul to the devil for. He’s gorgeous and I can’t take my eyes off him. Now there’s a bad boy I’d like to get down and dirty with.
Grayson Pierce starts to sing, his voice one with the music, haunting and raw. The crowd goes wild, and everyone immediately jumps to their feet. Jesus, the man can sing. The deep, sexy rumble of his voice has all my lady parts sitting up and taking notice.
“Oh my God, how lucky are we? I love these guys,” I yell at Avery who is now standing on the bench next to me to try see over the heads in front of us. We are jammed in like sardines and security is working hard to keep people behind the metal barrier that has been erected around the stage. I notice the police have arrived on horseback to keep the crowd under control.
The band slow things down for their third and final song. It’s one of their biggest hits, simply entitled “Green Eyed Girl.” I love this song. I’m not going to lie; I may have fantasized more than once about it being written about me. I’m singing along word for word with Grayson Pierce, whose lethally sexy voice could make a nun break her vows without thinking twice. I’m so caught up in the moment, I forget about everything else going on around me. I freeze when the insanely hot lead singer turns his hypnotic blue eyes my way. Holy shit, Grayson Pierce—Mr. Tall Dark and Sinfully Sexy—is staring right at me as he continues to sing about a green-eyed girl, like I’m the only woman in the world.
“Holy shit, babe, I think he is singing to you,” Avery squeals next to me. I don’t say a word, I just keep staring at those gorgeous blue eyes. Then he smiles and points right at me and my heart skips a beat—or fifty. I slap my hand against my chest to try and get it going again and then before I realize it, I’m pointing back at him and smiling ear to ear. I feel faint and my panties are more than a little damp.
Christ, he is so freaking hot.
He moves on, but I note he doesn’t point at anyone else, and I could be wrong but it sure looks to me like he keeps looking back at me, at least that’s what my lust-filled brain keeps telling me. When the song ends, the curtain drops, and so does my heart. I’m left wanting more, but I suppose that is what this little impromptu concert was all about—ticket sales. Whatever, that was the most exciting thing that has happened to me in years. God, my life is pathetic. The crowd starts to disperse, and we are forced to move with it.
“What the hell was that?” Avery asks as we are jostled about.
“I don’t know,” I answer blankly, as I look over my shoulder at the stage, hoping for another glimpse of Mr. Hotness. He’s not there. “It felt like he could see right into my soul.” I wave a hand in front of my face as I try to cool down. I should really be waving it quite a bit lower but it’s going to take more than a little cool air to put out that fire.
I chuckle bitterly because, despite what I’d like to believe, none of that was real. “I’m sure he has that move down to a science by now. He probably picks out a new girl for every song. Let’s get out of here.” My heart drops as reality sinks in. It’s the story of my life, I always fall for the ones I can’t have. I can’t deny that Grayson Pierce has had an effect on me…and a million other women, my mind reminds me. He’s probably exactly the type of guy I usually fall for, a one-and-done, emotionally unavailable commitment-phobe. No thanks.
That weekend didn’t exactly turn out the way the four of us had hoped, and consequently I didn’t end up sharing my news with any of my friends. Avery’s stalker finally decided to make an appearance. Avery was pretty physically and emotionally banged up by the time it was all over. It was terrifying for all of us, but at least this ordeal has finally come to an end for Avery. And the stalker she referred to for months as Tic Toc now has a name—Brian Taylor. He is now in custody, and he won’t be going anywhere for a very long time. Avery is recovering under the watchful eye of Liam Sanders, her knight in shining armor.
Unfortunately for me, Liam Sanders does not have a third brother, so I’m still looking for a husband, and the clock is ticking louder than ever. I now have slightly more than five months to find a husband, and the idea of faking one is looking more promising every day. The problem is, I have no idea who that person would be. I don’t know anyone who would be believable. It can’t be an associate or someone I clearly have no interest in. My family would never buy into that.
I’m still combing my mind for potential husbands when I step out of my building and the skies open up. Great. Just great. Rain starts pouring down. It’s springtime in New York; when it rains, it rains hard, but thankfully, it doesn’t usually last long. I step back under the protective awning of the building to save my hair and clothes. I have an important meeting in less than an hour and I don’t have time to redo everything I’ve spent the last hour putting together.
I received a call this morning from a guy by the name of Benjamin Campbell. He asked if I would be willing to meet with him to discuss finding a property for a client of his. He didn’t give me many details, he only said that his client was someone famous, so discretion was a must. The only other piece of information I got was that he was interested in purchasing a home somewhere in or near the city. I’m flattered, but sometimes these kinds of deals are more trouble than they are worth. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to work with a person of notoriety. Whoever the mystery buyer is, they don’t need to worry. I come from money and I’m good at keeping secrets.
