"Then what the hell are you doing on my set?" In spite of the words, he didn’t sound angry, just confused.
"I’m here with J—" I started, then quickly corrected myself and extended my hand. "Excuse me. I’m Riley Hewitt, tour accountant for The Hitchcocks."
His brow wrinkled. "You don’t look like any accountant I’ve ever seen."
I gave my best glam pose, my hands framing my face. "All the accountants look like this where I work," I said in a vampy voice, then broke into a grin.
"Then let me tell you, I’ve been doing my taxes with the wrong people," he said. "Listen, really, sweetheart, we could use a few more extras for the crowd scene. You sure you don’t want to be in a video?"
"I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of girl."
"But hear me out, I’ve got this perfect part. See, the zombie nurse that comes after the band will have this giant syringe, and you’ll be in a nurse’s uniform . . ." He grabbed a costume, still on its hanger, from one of the racks. I could only imagine what Palmer would say if he saw me spending company time wearing a skin-tight nurse’s uniform in a rock video.
"Uh huh." I pinched at the fabric of the zombie costume’s micro-mini latex skirt. "And what artistic statement is this making, exactly?"
"Darling, it’s all about the nature of fame."
"Fame?" Under different circumstances, I might have told him off about the "sweetheart" and "darling" treatment, but I didn’t want to piss off The Hitchcocks' director right before he shot their video.
"When a band like The Hitchcocks gets big, their fame locks them inside themselves," he said, suddenly much more animated, talking a mile a minute. It was like I’d turned his dial up to eleven. "They’ll start in straitjackets, each band member in a different cell, but even when they escape their cells, the zombies try to keep them from succeeding. You know, the critics, the fame leeches . . ."
Just what I want Jax to think of me as, I thought. A fame leech and a nurse with a face like a rotted corpse coming after him with a giant syringe.
I was trying to think of how to exit gracefully when I heard my name being called, somewhere behind me. "Riley?" I looked around, but couldn’t see the source of the voice. Louder, this time: "Riley, hey, is that you?"
I looked through the crowd of extras and saw a figure pushing through them. Tall, fair-skinned . . .
My stomach dropped to the floor.
No. It can’t be him. Not here. Not like this, not right now.
"Riley? It really is you, holy shit!" He came closer, running a hand through his auburn hair. "How have you been? What are you doing in L.A.?" I caught a flash of gleaming white teeth hiding between his lips as he drew them into a fake smile.
"Connor." The name came out flatly in spite of my shock, and I felt my arms pull up against my chest numbly. "Why are you here?"
He smiled wider."Here as in Los Angeles, or here as in this studio?"
I want to know if you’re following me around, I thought, but I kept my voice under control. "Either. Both."
He laughed. "You know, I could ask you the same thing."
I narrowed my eyes. "You first."
"Well, let’s start with the city. I moved here for work." He spoke with the slick syllables of Southern California, any trace of his old New York accent long since gone. "As to your second question, I’m here shooting a commercial for my firm on the next soundstage over. I saw your hair and wondered if it was you."
At least he’s not following me. I looked back over to the set and realized Jax and the band were setting up on the soundstage. The last thing I needed was for Jax to meet Connor. Jax may have had his secrets, but this was one part of my past that I wasn’t ready share with him, which meant I needed to finish our conversation without starting a scene. Forcing my voice into politeness, I said, "It’s been a while. Are you still in law?"
"You got it. McDonald & Ritter. Entertainment law. Mostly films, a little music too. So are you acting now?"
"Accounting."
Connor was trying to make conversation, but I didn’t want to engage.
"You mean you stuck with accounting even after we broke up?" His tone, subtly arrogant, made me feel about three inches tall. I gritted my teeth. "I thought you were only in that major so we could take classes together."
"My parents were both accountants. I didn’t do it because of you." I didn’t want to let him get to me, but I couldn’t let that one go. "And now it’s what I’m going to get back to doing. Have a nice life."
Connor’s face clouded over. "Hey, Rye, don’t be like that," he said. "Look, I know things didn’t end well between us. And I’m sorry for that. I just—I saw you over here and I couldn’t let things stand the way they’d been. It’s been a long time, Rye-Rye."
I looked at him, unwilling to believe what I was hearing. It was the first time I’d ever heard him make what sounded like a sincere apology. "Yeah. It has," I said, my voice softer than before.
"What have you been up to, anyway?"
I let myself relax a little. If Connor wanted to make small talk and pretend we didn’t have a past, fine. "Working. Mostly in New York," I said, letting pride inflect my sentences. "I have a great job in the financial district, but this week I’m out here on business."
"New York." Connor’s eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head. "I was happy to get out of that rat race. Hell, even L.A. is relaxed by comparison. At my first internship in New York, three of us woke up at four-thirty every morning to see who could get coffee to the senior partners soonest."
I couldn’t help feeling a little secret delight—I’d been able to stay in the city that had been too much for him. "I guess some people just can’t hack it in Manhattan," I said, smiling smugly.
I expected him to be pissed off, but he just laughed. "There’s that Riley smile I like to see," he said. "And the attitude. I missed that."
"It’s been missing for a reason."
"I know." He stepped toward me, his voice soft. "It’s just, you know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately."
"No. Not interested." I took a step backwards, looking down to make sure I wouldn’t trip on any of the cords around the soundstage. Jax and the rest of the band were in straitjackets, and the director filmed them as they writhed on set—I was just glad Jax wasn’t looking in my direction.
"There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I’ve been working on, and you deserve to know about it."
I crossed my arms tighter. "Look, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. It was nice seeing you, Connor."
"I found out after we broke up that I’m a sex addict," he blurted, loud enough that I looked around to make sure no one had heard.
A sex addict? What the hell does that have to do with anything? "No, you’re not, Connor," I said, my voice rising angrily. "You’re a self-centered, manipulative liar."
He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, no, I deserve that." He paused, then said, "I just wanted you to know I got in a program. I’m on Step Nine."
I rolled my eyes—hard. "Please stop talking."
"Wow, Riley, I expected better from you." His tone was derisive.
He wants to talk about expecting better from me? I looked at him, dumbfounded. "What?!"
"Be pissed off at me if you want," he said, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue. "But the Riley I know would at least let me tell her I’m sorry. Do you even know what Step Nine is?"
I stared at the set, looking away from Connor. "No."
"Step Nine means I have to atone, whenever possible, for the hurt I caused other people." He stepped in front of my line of sight, with a frown that made him look like a sad puppy. "Rye, I hurt you. I know I did."
I lowered my voice, hoping he’d do the same. "Connor, you don’t have to do this."
I didn’t care if he wanted to apologize. I didn’t want to forgive him. I still shook every time I thought about how our relationship had ended.
On the set, the director wa
s shouting to the bandmates: "Okay, now burst through the doors!" All at once, the cells sprang open, and each band member came out, carrying an instrument and leaving their straitjackets behind. The zombies started giving chase right away. I watched pointedly, looking anywhere but toward Connor.
"Riley, seriously, listen to me," he said, "I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry. I lied to you. I cheated. I did terrible things in pursuit of my addiction, and I regret every moment of pain my affliction caused you."
My nose wrinkled in disgust. Even his apology was evasive, trying desperately to avoid responsibility. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his affliction that had caused me pain—it was his actions. But more than that, I just wanted him to go away.
"Apology accepted," I said flatly. "Don’t you have work to do?"
"Hear me out," he said, reaching out to my shoulder. "Just last week, I was thinking about you, wishing I had your number so I could atone. And just like that, here you are. It’s like fate or something."
The director’s loud Boston accent ripped through our conversation. "Hey, Jax, get your head in the damn game," he said. "The redhead will be there when you get done."
I felt suddenly embarrassed. Jax seemed to be looking at the stage, now, but had he been watching me? What did he think—and did he see Connor trying to touch my shoulder and get close?
I brushed his hand away, bristling. "It’s not fate, Connor. It’s bad luck. And you’re too late anyway—I’ve moved on."
His nose wrinkled, and he lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Who is he?"
Shit. I’d said too much, and I didn’t really want to blab to Connor that I was sleeping with America’s next top rock god. I pressed my lips together. "That’s none of your business."
"I bet he can’t give you what I can. Remember how you always wanted to go to Ibiza?"
Don’t, Connor. Just don’t. "Yeah," I said, my eyes starting to well up with tears. "I was all ready to go that Christmas when you broke up with me. Thanks for the memory."
"Well, don’t get so sad, because we can still go," he said, his chest puffing out with ego. "My work is sending me out there to hammer out a contract with an A-list director—but I can’t tell you who. Never know who might be listening."
I gave him my best I-don’t-give-a-fuck smile. "I don’t care. Those dreams are done, Connor." Turning my heel, I started walking toward the soundstage exit.
"Riley, don’t walk away from me," he pleaded. "I still have it. Remember the day you gave this to me?"
He held up a silver keychain with the Eiffel Tower on it—total tourist kitsch, but I’d bought it for him, right before everything fell apart. I stopped in my tracks and looked down, overcome by the memories.
"Remember what I gave you?" He moved closer to me, bringing his face close to mine. "We could still make it work."
I felt a wave of panic and reached into my pocket for my lifesavers, only to realize they were still on the bus. Just my luck—especially when Connor’s the reason I have them in the first place.
I whirled back toward him, enraged. "Let me make this clear to you," I said, feeling my hands start to shake. "Get out of my life, Connor. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care what you do. Just stay the hell away from me."
His mouth twisted into a crooked, angry smile. "God, you’ve changed a lot, but you’re just as crazy as I remember."
I pushed back a wave of nausea. "And you’re just as big a narcissist."
"Nice. Real nice, Riley," he said, his voice rising with resentment and rage. "I apologize and you start your paranoid psychobabble. You always were a grade-A cun—"
BAM!! A punch landed on the side of Connor’s skull, sending him reeling to the floor. "What the fuck?" he screamed, holding his head in his hands.
The tattooed, sun-kissed arm that took him out could only belong to one man. "Jax!" I said, startled. He’d approached before I’d even noticed—which meant, I realized with embarrassment, that Connor and I had been making a bigger scene than I’d realized.
Jax’s dark eyes searched me. "Are you okay?"
I was shaking and on the verge of a panic attack, but I didn’t want Jax to know that someone like Connor could affect me that way. "I’m—I’m fine."
"Good," he said, then turned and called to the security guards on the fringes of the lot. "Get this joker off my set. He’s trespassing and he’s harassing our tour accountant."
On the floor, Connor moaned in pain as security rushed in and lifted him by the arms, starting to drag him out. He shook his head as if clearing his vision and yelled at Jax, "What the fuck was that about? I was just having a friendly conversation with an old friend. Do you know who I am?"
Jax held up his hand, and the security guards stopped dragging Connor away for a moment. Jax glared at Connor with a dangerous glint in his eyes that I’d never seen before. "I don’t give a shit who you are and I don’t give a fuck what you thought you were doing. You made Riley upset. That’s all I need to know." He waved the guards away, "Get this asshole out of here for his own sake."
Connor continued to rant, "Well, I see she’s got her claws into you too. Man to man, don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s fucking crazy!"
Even after all these years, his words could still hurt me.
Jax tensed but I put my hand on his arm, my eyes starting to sting. "No, Jax. Please. Just make him leave. I’m—I’m really sorry I ruined your shoot."
Even though Jax was still tense, he didn’t make another step towards Connor. He watched until security dragged Connor out of sight and then turned back at me.
"Don’t worry about it," he said, his eyes kind and gentle, but filled with concern. "We’ll talk later."
As he walked back to the stage, where the rest of the band was waiting, I found a seat and collapsed into it. Jax said not to worry, but that was impossible—after what had happened today, he’d want to know about my history with Connor. But if he found out the truth, what would he think of me? Jax didn’t need more drama in his life. Besides, what would the rest of the band think of this? When Jax convinced me to sleep in his bed, he told me the band would be cool with it, but that was before what happened in Vegas and before their music video shoot had to be interrupted because of me.
I’d gone from looking forward to the evening to dreading it—and all because of Connor.
I took a deep breath, then another, but it didn’t help. Fighting back my tears, I curled up into my chair and waited for the shoot to end. No matter what tonight brought, I knew one thing:
I needed my lifesavers.
Chapter Twenty
SEEING THINGS
That evening, I walked up the stairs to Jax’s room, while the band milled around chatting after they had wrapped up their shoot. I’d been thinking of the Fortress of Solitude all afternoon and evening, telling myself that I’d feel better as soon as I got a chance to lay down and collect my thoughts.
I pulled back the covers and huddled in against a pillow, and almost immediately collapsed, crying. I couldn’t shake the memory of Connor. Not just how he’d treated me, but how he’d made me treat myself. I’d spent so long trying to forget him, to make myself someone better than the person I used to be.
A soft knock rapped against the door.
"Hello?" I said, trying not to sniffle.
"It’s me," I heard Jax’s voice respond, quietly. I curled up in a corner of the mattress, facing the wall. I couldn’t look at him right now—I didn’t want him to see me as a fucked-up, crying heap.
"Don’t come in here."
I heard the door open and quickly tried to wipe my eyes and get my hair out of my face.
Jax climbed into the bed and crawled to my corner, then put an arm around me tenderly.
I shook my head, burying myself deeper into the covers. "I don’t want to talk. I want to be alone."
"We don’t have to talk," he said, his voice was soothing and soft, "but you shouldn’t be alone. Not when you feel like this."
I cou
ldn’t say anything—I was too overwhelmed. Instead, I let him hold me as my body shook and the tears flowed down my face. The tears gave way to howling, uncontrollable sobs and he held on tighter.
"Next time something like that happens," he said. "I’m going to follow the badass Riley playbook and get out the pepper spray."
I smiled and tried to laugh, but my voice came out ragged and hoarse.
Maybe Jax thought that I was a badass, but he had never seen me like this, barely able to hold myself together. When he first met me, I’d picked a lock to get backstage and then left him with blue balls. He had met badass Riley.
But that wasn’t me.
Badass Riley was just who I wished I could be. Today was proof of that. I’d pepper sprayed a thug, played cowbell on stage in front of millions, and rode a motorcycle without a helmet, but still—I couldn’t stand up to Connor. I could pretend to brave all I wanted, but underneath it all I couldn’t get over the pathetic person I was in the past. What would Jax think once he learned about the real me?
I let out a long sigh. "I—I guess I owe you an explanation, huh?"
"You don’t have to tell me anything," Jax said, combing his fingers through my hair slowly. "When I saw you so upset because of that piece of shit, I didn’t ask what he had done to you because I didn’t need to. If anyone ever makes you feel that way, they have to go. If you want to tell me about it, I’m here to listen. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine too."
I looked up at him, searching his eyes for any hint that he was lying to me.
Jax looked right back at me, his gaze open and sincere. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. "Whatever you choose, I’m never going to let anyone make you that upset ever again. I promise."
Even though Jax and I hadn’t known each other that long, but there was something happening between us. We both sensed that. He had proven he was committed to me beyond the silly games we played, but I was still hiding who I really was from him.
Jax might not think of me the same way after he found out but I still had to tell him. It wasn’t fair for me to lead him on, to let him think that I was someone that I wasn’t.