"I have other calls to make." My palms are so clammy I nearly drop the phone. I wipe my left palm on my jeans then shift the phone to my left hand. "Will you be here at nine or not?"
"Yeah, I'll get to it."
"Thanks. Goodbye." I hang up the phone before I can say anything embarrassing.
My heart is thudding against my chest. I just told off a rock star.
And he listened.
He believed my threat.
The tension in my chest melts into something lighter. I'm nervous, yeah, but I'm also exhilarated.
I feel like a badass.
Alessandra nods approval. "That was good. What was it— Isabella?"
"I go by Bella."
"Of course." She gives me a long once-over. Her expression fills with confidence. "You okay to make the rest of those calls?"
"I think so."
She nods. "You are. I can tell."
I'm not as sure about that. But I know I want to feel as badass and exhilarated as I did after the first one.
I nod. "I've got it."
18
Bella
I make the rest of the calls without any additional clammy palms. Then Alessandra has another task for me. I should probably object to doing her bidding, but I'm enjoying the break from my thoughts too much to care.
I get caught up helping her until I feel an arm around my waist. Joel pulls my body into his. He drags his lips up my neck, then they're hovering over my ear.
His breath warms my skin. "The venue is filling up. You should grab a spot by the front or head to the VIP area upstairs."
I press my back against his chest, melting into his body. It feels good being this close to Joel. Too good. "Can't I watch from backstage?"
"Eventually. But the first time you see me perform—no fucking way." He takes me to the curtain, to that spot where you can see the stage. "This is not a view of a concert. You don't see the show. You don't feel the energy."
"Where is the view?" I don't see his point, not yet, but I can admit that this isn't my area of expertise. I haven't been to a concert since high school.
"By the front of the stage, with everyone pushing to try to get closer to the hot singer." He presses his lips to my neck. "Mal has fucking crazy fans."
"And you don't?"
"Watch the show. You'll get it."
"Okay." It's not hard to imagine the singer drawing a crowd. But then it's not hard to imagine women screaming Joel's name and throwing their panties on stage.
My stomach churns.
This is a fling until one of us says otherwise.
After our divorce, we go our separate ways.