Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy 3)

I grabbed my purse from underneath the room service cart and slipped on my pumps just as I heard another sleep-thick groan rumble up from Julian’s throat. I winced with every step I took toward the exit, hoping my steps were soft enough to avoid fully waking him. The broad expanse of his chest stretched across the mattress as he turned onto his back, one arm draped across his eyes. I turned the handle as quietly as I could, holding my breath and praying to whatever god was listening that the hinges wouldn’t squeak.

They didn’t. The moment the heavy door opened, I took off as quickly as I dared in my tall heels, thankful for the carpeted hallway that muffled my steps. I didn’t stop until I reached the elevators, where I jammed my thumb into the call button repeatedly, hoping it would somehow make the car ascend faster. The light streaming in through the windows made that low, convulsive pain in my head crescendo into a sensation best described as “the inside of my skull is lined with razor blades.” While I waited on the elevator I fished in my purse for my sunglasses, inwardly cursing myself.

How late had I slept? What time was it? My cell phone was dead. There had to be a clock in the lobby, but I hated not knowing just how badly I’d screwed up. All these loose ends made me feel like I’d lost control of myself and the situation, and if there was one thing in life I was unwilling to lose, ever, it was control.

The chime of the elevator car’s arrival heralded my salvation. I was so desperate to get the hell out of there that as the doors opened, I came inches from barreling into a woman standing in the car. She was dressed in a sharply tailored suit and holding a drink carrier containing two venti coffees from Starbucks. Had I put on the brakes even half a second later, I would have spilled their steaming contents all the way down the front of her cream, silk blouse.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, wilting beneath her glare. Without so much as a word she marched out of the elevator, a sneer on her lips, and as I watched her go, I sneered right back. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. Well, score one for me.

“Home free,” I muttered as I pressed the button for the lobby. At least, I hoped I was. With any luck, I’d be able to put all of this behind me and get on with my life. I still had so much to figure out… For example, I needed to figure out how to get back to my own hotel, and I still needed to pack up before my flight back home.

And where the hell did I put my notes from last night’s conference…

I should never have mixed pleasure with business. As long as I was the only one who ever knew, there was no reason to stress too much over it. My reputation was the most important thing I had in life, and I nurtured it like a child. No way was I going to let some rock star ruin it. Julian Bastille had no idea what it was like to live under the weight of other people’s expectations. I, on the other hand, couldn’t afford to make even one tiny little mistake.

Not when I had so much to lose.

I could only hope that what all those travel brochures and commercials claimed was true…

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Julian

The sound of a door slamming startled me awake. I pitched forward, coming to a bolt upright position swathed in the satin sheets of a hotel bed. I frowned, pushing aside the mess of my hair from my face as the familiar, sticky sensation of a hangover washed over me. I hated being hungover more than I hated being sober—thankfully, the cure for both looked to be readily available in the form of a champagne bottle peeking out of a tin bucket.

“Must’ve had a good night,” I said to myself, practically patting myself on the back as I stole a glance at the opposite side of the bed I had woken up in. I’d expected to find the incredibly sexy woman I’d picked up the night before—that was usually the case—but there was nobody to be found… Just empty space. I spanned my fingers across a slight indentation in the mattress. It was still warm.

I laughed in disbelief. It was madness—someone had turned one around on me! The way these things usually went, if there was anyone who was going to dash before any explaining gets done, it was going to be me. Somehow, this girl had scampered off as quick as you please and left me none the wiser.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, shaking my head. I instantly regretted it; I could feel my brain sloshing around in there. Right about then, I’d have happily donated my right kidney for some paracetamol.

“So, this is what that feels like? Unreal.”

This—both the encroaching migraine and the unfamiliar sensation of being run out on—called for the only antidote I had at my disposal: getting fucked-in-half drunk again.

But even as I put the champagne bottle to my chapped lips, I couldn’t help but wonder how such a turn-around had taken place. Never in my life had a girl made such a quick escape after having a go with me between the sheets. The more I thought about it, the more I started to feel like I was starting to lose my touch.

Rumors had been spreading lately that I was washed up, and finding myself alone in this swanky room wasn’t helping matters. I definitely wasn’t drunk enough to follow that train of thought to the end of the line, so I took another long draught from the bottle in my hand. It was the only remedy I knew.

Outside the door, I heard the sound of a key card swiping. My mood brightened and I set the champagne back down on the room service cart.

“Come back for more, have you, love?” I called out as the door swung open. I carded my fingers through my hair once more, hoping to style it into something decently presentable, and plastered the most roguish grin I could muster on my face…

At least until I saw my manager, Tessa, standing there with a drink carrier in her hands and a grimace on her scarlet lips.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Get your damned clothes on, Jules,” she scolded, practically spitting venom with every syllable. “You’ve got a flight in two hours, and here I find you naked as the day you were born and drinking last night’s champagne.”

“How do you know it’s from last night?” I asked with a shrug, summoning my inner petulant teen. I already had a headache—I didn’t need another one wearing a pants suit. “Could be from this morning.”

“I checked your credit card transactions you utter ponce,” she said, bending down to pick up my shirt, which she promptly threw at me. “How do you think I found you?”

“Figured you had one of those micro-chips embedded in my skin. You know, like how they do with dogs,” I shot back, grabbing the champagne bottle again. I took a defiant drink, holding eye contact with Tessa over the curve of the glass. “We can always reschedule the flight. It’s not like I don’t have the money.”

“But you don’t have the money, do you?” she hissed, tossing a pair of my pants at my head. “That’s the whole reason we’re here—to get you back in the spotlight! Instead, you’re throwing away what little cash

you’ve got on one-night stands and fancy hotel rooms. Which, I might add, is something you already had!”

I ducked the pants as best I could, using my body to shield the champagne from harm. A man has to have his priorities, after all. At least part of what Tessa said was true: we were starting to get a little strapped for cash, but to say we were out? That was ridiculous. As much as I liked to party, I was hardly a big spender.

“Your numbers are dropping, Jules,” Tessa reminded me, approaching the cart and setting the drink carrier on top of it. “And if you plan to keep having your fun with whatever sweetheart comes your way, then you’d better be willing to actually perform at your bloody shows instead of running off before your set!”

“I thought I’d forgotten something,” I murmured as Tessa thrust one of the Starbucks cups at me. I took it, sniffed, and then finished off what was left in the champagne bottle instead. She glared murder at me. “Come on, now. There’ll be other gigs…”

She snatched the bottle from me. “Not if you keep this up, there won’t!” Slamming it down on the cart, she ripped the other drink from the carrier and put it to her lips, guzzling it like caffeine was her lifeblood. “I have tried so hard to keep your head above water—do you know how hard it is to book a big show for a rock star whose music has only a small cult following here in the States? Do you?!”

“Then let’s stick closer to home, love!” I said, smiling as the booze finally started kicking in. My first headache was already on its way out, and hopefully Tessa would be next. “Who needs America?”