A Billionaire for Christmas

“Look, it would be one thing if he were an oboist in an orchestra—”

“He’s a classical pianist!”

“Then what’s he doing playing bass guitar in a rock band?” Beth said, her voice sounding like she’d said royal flush, ace high.

Raji whispered, just in case anyone was hiding under the sauna benches, “Peyton joined Killer Valentine because his ex-girlfriend was a member, and he was trying to get back together with her. You remember the Benedict Oelrichs scandal back East?”

“Yeah,” Beth said, her eyes narrowing with the effort of remembering. “Ponzi scheme, right? He committed suicide rather than pay everyone back.”

“Benedict Oelrichs was the ex-girlfriend’s father.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Peyton went along with everybody and ostracized her. He wanted to apologize and get her back or at least make it up to her, so he gave up a soloist slot with the L.A. Philharmonic to join Killer Valentine so he could make it right.”

Beth rolled her eyes, lapis lazuli marbles rotating in their sockets. “Wow, that was stupid.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Raji said. “That’s how important it was to him to make it right. He never told her that he quit the L.A. Phil for her. She thinks he turned it down before he found her again.”

“It’s pathetic that he followed her around like a lovesick puppy just to apologize for something that happened in high school.”

“But there’s more. The Russian mafia kidnapped Georgie, and Peys and Xan Valentine broke her out and saved her. The mafia guys tied Peys’ and Xan’s hands behind their backs, and Xan had to break the fuck out of his hand to get out. I mean, there was nothing left but bone shards and pebbles in there. That’s why he doesn’t play the bass or second guitar anymore.”

Beth blanched visibly paler, even though she was peaches-and-cream to begin with. She tucked her hands behind her back.

“I know, right? The hands.” Raji held her hands up, above her waist, and palms in as if she had just scrubbed in for surgery. “It makes me nauseated to even think about it. And Xan used to be a violinist. He was a child prodigy, a classical violinist over in Europe. Like, he had a recording contract when he was a teenager. Evidently, he was brilliant, not that I could tell the difference. I’ve seen videos of him, but he sounds like every other violin player to me.”

“I used to play the violin,” Beth said. A funny look had come over her face, her blue eyes too wide, and her breathing too shallow. “Let me see a picture of him.”

Raji retrieved her phone from her locker, went back to where Beth was lying down on the wooden benches in the sauna, and searched while she talked. “Peys said that Xan was famous when he was a kid, but that something went wrong. He disappeared from over there and turned up here to start a rock band.”

“That’s weird. No one does that.” Beth’s pale eyebrows met above her nose.

Odd.

Beth only did that when she was really worried about something, like the night before Match Day when every medical student finds out where they will do their residencies. Raji had had to get Beth wasted on schnapps to keep her out of the envelope until the appointed time for opening them.

Raji said, “Something about Xan’s childhood. Peyton says that he’s really unbalanced.”

“Is he on drugs?” Beth shifted her butt, squirming around where she was lying on the wooden sauna bench. “They’re probably all on drugs.”

“Peyton isn’t on anything. He’s funny about taking an aspirin when he has a headache. He says that Xan is all kinds of crazy, but drugs aren’t the problem. He was injecting steroids into his throat because of vocal nodes and inflammation—”

Beth turned her head to stare at her. “Jesus, Raji!”

“—but not heroin or anything.”

“Oh, yay. That makes it so much better,” Beth snarked and resumed staring at the ceiling. “It’s hot in here. Finish confessing so we can go somewhere before I dehydrate and die.”

“Pretty much everyone else in that band has had drug problems, though,” Raji admitted. “Rade, the original keyboard player, died of an overdose, you remember?”

“Yeah, no. But sure. I don’t keep up with the drug habits of rock stars.”

“Oh, quit being such a snob. And after that, they sent Grayson, the original bass player, to rehab. It’s been years, and he’s still there.”

“Wow. That band has a drug culture problem.”

“They used to, but not anymore. Cadell, the lead guitarist, was addicted to heroin, and Tryp, the drummer, dabbled in just about everything, from what I hear.” Raji scowled at her phone. “Where are those damn videos?”

“Heroin, steroids, other drugs. Holy crap. Were they sharing needles?” Blond Beth was so pale that she turned a delicate shade of green. “Raji, you cannot hang out with this guy. Everyone will just assume that you’re stealing from the pharmacy stocks or that you caught something antibiotic-resistant.”