“What?” Ross seems uncertain where this conversation is headed. “Well, yes…” He presses his mouth into a tight line. “Tell me you didn’t fuck the boss’ daughter, Dax.”
That’s it. I snap and Ross has the unfortunate luck of being the closest one to me when it happens. Ross stumbles as I surge forward. He ends up with his back pressed against the door. I get as close as I can without actually touching his ridiculous thousand-dollar suit.
“No I didn’t fuck her! She’s been trying to fuck me for the past year and a half!” I roar. “She’s Kate’s old flatmate, Ross!”
His eyes widen further than I would have thought possible. “The one who stalks you at the clubs?”
“Yes, that one! I didn’t know her last name! I can’t have her on tour with me, Ross. She’s fucking mental!” I back up, pacing the room while I concentrate on not punching the wall or something else that would injure my hand and make me miss the show.
Ross steps forward, shaking his head, genuine remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dax. But she’s literally is the boss’s daughter. I can’t fire her.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Ross’s gaze hardens and he straightens out his suit, tugging at his shirtsleeves. He turns from Hawke’s kind uncle into the professional Hollywood manager in the blink of an eye. The one who doesn’t tolerate rock stars who have temper tantrums.
“I suggest you ignore her. She’s a ninety-pound girl, Dax. She can’t force you to do anything. You’ll figure something out.”
With that, he turns and exits the room, leaving me with the raging urge to punch someone and a near crippling desire to throw Lila Griffin over a cliff.
“Dax! Sound check!” Someone calls for me from the other room. I storm off, hoping the music will take my mind off of Lila and her bloody fucking shit.
It’s not until we’re getting back to our hotel, early in the morning, after one of the biggest moments of my life that I realize I never rung Kate back.
Fuck me.
Kate
“So what? You’re just never going to talk to your stony boyfriend again? That’s ridiculous and immature, Kate.” Abby is glaring at me from the opposite side of our table at a tiny Mexican restaurant near our flat.
“No. I didn’t say that. I… I need to figure out what I’m going to do, that’s all. And why are you calling him stony?”
Abby laughs. “You know, because he’s always so… composed.”
“You only notice things like that because you’re obsessed with trying to figure people out, Miss Psychologist.” He is stony and composed, but I won’t give Abby the satisfaction of being right. I drag my fork through my chile relleno, not interested in actually eating it. In fact, I’ve probably lost a half stone since hearing Dax with Lila at the New York concert.
Lila. On tour with Dax. My slutty ex-flatmate around my boyfriend twenty-four hours a day for the next six… well, now five, weeks.
“Have you decided?”
I stare at her blankly, having missed the question. “What you’re going to do about Dax. Have you decided?” Abby asks again.
“No. It’s just,” I take in a deep breath, willing myself not to cry. I’ve cried more than enough over the last week. “I can’t compete, Abby.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Compete? What does that mean?”
I huff. What would Abby know about feeling invisible? She always looks like she’s ready to pose for a swimsuit magazine, all tall, tan, and skinny, with beach-ready blonde waves cascading down her back and big blue eyes.
“What am I, Abby? Honestly? I’m nothing special. I’m not gorgeous, I’m not rich, I’m not posh… I’m just some plain girl from the East End. Why wouldn’t my boyfriend go on the pull while he’s on tour? He’ll have girls like Lila flashing their tits at him every chance they get.”
Abby sits back in her chair with her arms crossed, looking bored. “Are you done?”
Heat fills my cheeks in embarrassment.
“Now, look at me and listen up.” Her harsh tone gets my attention right quick. “You are not,” she puts up her fingers and makes quotes, “‘some plain girl from the East End’. You’re beautiful, smart, and one of the most talented soccer players I’ve ever seen. You have to stop putting yourself down all the time, Kate. If Dax didn’t want you, he wouldn’t be with you. It’s as simple as that.” She finishes drinking her lemonade and fishes out an ice cube to munch on. “And what makes him so much better than you anyway?”
I shrug, not knowing what she’s looking for me to say.
“Hmph. He’s not better than you, that’s why.” She swallows down the remainder of the ice. “Money, fame, good looks… those things don’t make anyone better than you. Some of the most attractive people I’ve ever met are actually quite hideous on the inside.”