Idol (VIP 1)

She pouts, then goes and looks at Scottie, her gaze roving over him. He sits still, amusement in his eyes. She glances back at me. “Nope. There’s still no spark. I could look at him all day, but that’s about it.”

I nod. Brenna and I are in total agreement.

“If you ladies are done dissecting my physical attractiveness,” Scottie says, “I’d like to get going. Ms. Bell, I’ve booked you a flight to New York with Ms. James. It leaves in three hours, which means you’ll have to get packing now.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“No.” He adjusts his already perfect cuffs yet again. “I’ve other business to attend to first. I’ll be following later.”

Brenna makes a noise that could mean anything, given her perfectly composed expression, but neither of them addresses it. She stands and heads toward my room. “Right then, on with the packing.”

No way am I leaving Little Miss Bulldozer to pack for me. I hurry after her, excitement and anxiety thrumming through my veins.

Chapter Fourteen

Libby

New York City has a sort of silver tint to it—half of it in constant shadow, the other half shining in the sunlight slanting through the tall buildings. I crane my head, gaping up through the car window at those skyscrapers like the little yokel I am. I don’t even care. It’s a people-watching paradise, a constant rhythm and flow of human activity. There’s an energy here that permeates the air and sinks into your skin. I have the urge to ask the car to pull over so I can walk.

“You want to roll down the window so you can pant like a dog?” Brenna’s voice is full of humor.

I don’t take my eyes off the scene rolling past. “I tried that earlier, and you complained about the hot wind mussing your hair. Remember?” We’d just come out of the Holland Tunnel, popping straight up in the middle of the Theater District, and I’d nearly jumped out of my seat from excitement.

Brenna makes a noise of smothered agreement. “We’ll go exploring later. In fact, speaking of mussed hair, how do you feel about a makeover?”

The question pulls me from my window, and I sit back against the plush leather seat of our hired limo. “As in we have some sort of Princess Diaries, dude takes a pot of wax to my eyebrows and a weed whacker to my hair moment?” I laugh faintly. “Am I that bad?”

“No, of course not.” Brenna’s cool gaze travels over me as if she’s inspecting a derelict house in need of rehab. “But every girl can do with a bit of sprucing up now and then. Especially if she’s going to be in the press.”

Press? My stomach takes an unruly tumble. “You don’t need sprucing,” I point out, ignoring the angry antics of my innards.

She shrugs, not even causing a wrinkle in the scarlet red suit painted on her. “I’ve had my makeover.”

“If that’s the result, sign me up.”

“Really?” Her eyes glint, and it’s only half evil.

It’s my turn to shrug. “You think I’m going to complain about some shopping, a day in a hair salon, and a massage? Just because I don’t usually do those things doesn’t mean I don’t like them.”

“I never said anything about a massage.”

“Oh, there will be massages. Mani-pedis, too.”

“I like the way you think, Liberty.”

We share a grin, and then she’s on the phone making plans. When she finishes, she eyes me again.

I refuse to fidget. “You’re looking at me like I’m a lump of clay.”

“Just waiting for me to mold,” she agrees with a nod. She arches a finely plucked brow.

“Nothing too outrageous. I still want to look like me. Only…better.”

She chuckles. “I understand completely. We’ll bring out the best version of you.”

“And then get massages.”

“That’s the real carrot, isn’t it?”

“Yep. I’m all over it like a starved bunny.”

Even though she’s smiling slightly, her gaze turns cool and cautious. “You realize Killian wants to pay for this.”

“I figured. If he’s offering, I’ll accept.”

Brenna sits back, crossing her legs. How she manages to make that look sexy and casual is beyond me. At this point I have a girl crush. “You know,” she says, “I expected you to resist Killian footing the bill. Cry independent woman and all that.”

“In the course of a month, Killian has torn apart my lawn with his bike, thrown up all over my favorite shirt, and eaten my food almost daily. I wasn’t too happy about the first two, but feeding him was my pleasure. I’m guessing this is Killian’s pleasure. Refusing a gift he’s offering would be petulant. And I sure as hell don’t have the money for what you have planned.”

“You’re slightly odd, you know that?”

“Says the pot to the kettle. Now tell me, is that your natural hair color or did you get it done at the salon we’re going to?”