“I fired Waitrose, too.”
At least he had the courtesy not to ask me why. The answer was obvious, and he knew it, because he was there to talk me off the ledge every time I thought of throwing Lucas out of my life. I followed Indie until she was faced with the end of the hallway and had nowhere else to go. She turned around, narrowing her eyes at me and plastering her back to the door, clinging into her personal space.
“What do you want from me, Alex?”
Everything. I want everything, and then all the things you’ve already given away to other people. I want them back, too.
“Don’t play coy.” I grabbed her wrists when she tried pushing me off again, but she didn’t really mean it—I know it sounds creepy, but it was true—her hips bucked forward, and her breath was fast and husky. “It’s gig night, and I just fucked up royally. We have work to do tonight, Stardust.”
She threw her head back and laughed, the voice she was producing so sardonic I barely recognized it as hers. “Work? Your whole tour is crumbling. You fired your drummer, your babysitter quit, and you walked off the stage.”
And hid a bottle of champagne.
And began messing with you only because Waitrose showed the slightest interest.
The list was longer and acutely embarrassing. “You can’t quit.”
“Why?”
“Because you need the money too much, and I need you too much.” What was I saying? What was I doing? I thought I heard Blake gasp, and I couldn’t even blame him. I hadn’t subconsciously drunk that bottle of champagne and then blacked it out, had I?
Stardust took a step toward me and cracked a smile, with teeth and all, and I finally saw her for who she really was. A cunning pixie, a thief of hearts. She was shy and reserved, but she had power now, and she knew it. It made our game so much more interesting.
“I’ll stay for the money, but I won’t help you anymore. What are you going to do to me? You can’t force me to talk to you. All I signed up for is watching you.”
“Oh, Stardust.” I thrust my face into hers, laughing. This was where I thrived. In our cruel banter. “You have no idea what I can do to you, but you’re sure as hell about to find out.”
Jenna: Has Blake been fooling around on the tour?
Indie: Does Alex usually fool around on tours?
Hudson: Ladies. I’M HERE FOR THIS.
Jenna: Don’t mind Hudson. He can solely communicate with you using offensive GIFs.
Hudson: Not true.
Hudson: Okay, a little true.
Jenna: Alex is…complicated. He’s mostly ambivalent toward women. He’d engage in one-night stands occasionally, but not as often as one might think. The only woman he ever talks about is Fallon, and even that is drenched in negativity. Your turn.
Indie: Blake has not been seeing anyone or fooling around. He works and argues with Alex, then works some more. He hasn’t even looked at a woman since we boarded the plane to Australia.
Hudson: Jenna. Talk to us. Are you and Blake finally going to bump uglies?
Jenna: Hudson, leave the chat.
Hudson: Like hell I will.
Jenna: You tell Alex everything. Go away.
Hudson: No!
Indie: …
Indie: Are you dating Blake?
Jenna: No.
Jenna: But we slept together.
Jenna: And I’m pregnant.
Jenna: I sound like one of the idiots I used to laugh at when I’d read teenage magazines when I was fifteen.
Indie: 1) cruel, and 2) you need to tell him.
Jenna: I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’ll keep the baby. Don’t tell him.
Indie: I won’t. But you should.
It took Blake, Alfie, and Lucas to throw Alex into the van. He put up a good fight, but what struck me even harder than the fact it had taken three grown men to shove him into the vehicle, was that no one cared he’d fired Lucas. They’d all acted like everything was normal, dismissing Alex’s authority.
I’d needed to talk to someone when I’d found out my brother had been arrested and was spending the night in jail for assault. And I’d wanted to talk to Lucas specifically because he was more logical and emotionally balanced than Alex.
When we got to the hotel, I unlocked my door quickly to avoid the Alex-storm that had been brewing in the hallway behind me. The minute his arm reached behind my shoulder to stop me from entering, I turned around to face him. He looked serious, determined, and…what was the third thing? Exhausted. It couldn’t be easy to live life the way he had, but I was worn-out, too.
Flashes of his breath skating down the nape of my back when he retrieved the lyrics he wrote on me made my skin blossom into goosebumps. God, I was in trouble.
“I don’t want to write tonight.” My eyes followed the trail from his square chin to the collar of his gray Henley. His neck was slender and masculine at the same time. I wanted to lick it.