Amber

  “Hello. Are you, by any chance, Amber Fields?”

  I stare at her, blinking in shock. I don’t recognize her as an employee of the hotel, but she knows me by name, so she must be. “Yes, I am.”

  She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small black device. “Hi. I’m Elizabeth Mathers from OMG News. I hear you’re dating the lead guitarist for Red Hot, Ty Stanz. Is this true?”

  My jaw drops open. I thought the black thing in her hand was a cell phone, because it looks a little bit like mine, but now I realize it’s not a phone at all; it’s some sort of recorder.

  “Who did you say you are again?”

  “Elizabeth Mathers from OMG News.” Her smile has slipped a little. “Can I get a quote from you?”

  “How did you know who I am?”

  “I’m a reporter; I’m pretty good at figuring things out.”

  My mind races. The only way she could know who I am is if she works at this hotel, Lister’s office, or the airline. These are the only people I’ve interacted with who know my name. I think.

  “What kind of quote?” She’s stumped me with a simple question. I’m treading water but only barely.

  “Are you or aren’t you dating Ty Stanz of Red Hot?”

  “That’s none of your business.” She’s starting to annoy me, this young girl with her hair pulled back in a very tight bun and her black pantsuit and running shoes. If I take off into the hotel, will she sprint after me? She looks like she could and would.

  “You don’t think the fans of the band want to know this information?”

  “I don’t care whether they do or not; it’s none of their business.”

  She puts the recording device by her mouth. “Amber is denying the existence of a relationship, but, clearly, there’s something going on here.”

  “Hey! You can’t say that!”

  She gives me a tight smile. “Sure I can. It’s the truth.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re misleading people.”

  “So, are you denying that you’re having a relationship with him?” She shoves the recording device in my face.

  “I’m not saying anything about anything.” I take a step to the side and start walking quickly to the hotel. Unfortunately, she’s wearing those stupid running shoes, so she easily keeps up with me. The recorder is in my face again.

  “What’s your connection to the band? What’s your official capacity with the band?”

  “Mind your own business.” I push her hand away from my face.

  “When pressed for answers, Amber Fields becomes violent,” she says into the device.

  I stop immediately and turn to face her, wondering if there’s actual steam coming out of my ears; it sure feels like there could be. “You are making up nasty lies about me, and I don’t appreciate it at all.”

  “My editor wants a quote. Make it your words instead of mine.” She holds out the recorder.

  I resist the urge to snatch it from her hand and wing it into traffic. “How about, instead, you go find yourself a little bit of journalistic integrity? Does that sound like a plan?”

  She gives me a sly smile. “I can only do so much with people who won’t cooperate.”

  Her words could not shock me any more than her holding a gun to me would. How dare she threaten me! “Since when are journalists blackmailers?”

  “It’s not blackmailing to get an impression about somebody I’m trying to interview.”

  “You know what . . . You really need a new outlook on life. I feel sorry for you.” I turn around to go back into the hotel, fuming over the fact that this woman thinks it’s okay to harass me about my private business. She’s making life on the farm look better and better with every passing second. I think I’ve left her behind, but then there she is again at my shoulder. I’m walking across the lobby with long strides and she’s practically running to keep up.

  “How about we sit down for coffee and talk about it?”

  I spin around and yell in her face. “Leave me alone!”

  Several heads around the lobby swivel to face us. Suddenly, three employees in uniform appear out of nowhere.

  “Are we having a problem here?” the larger one asks.

  I point at Elizabeth, the so-called journalist. “Yes, we’re having a problem. This woman is harassing me.”

  The men stare at me, looking me up and down.

  I read skepticism in their expressions, which only pisses me off more. I raise my voice. “I’m staying here in the hotel, but this woman is not.”

  She holds up her hands, her recorder in one of them. “I’m just a journalist trying to get a story.”

  It must click and fit into place for them because suddenly they move to block her from me. I find myself on the outside of their circle as they usher her out the door.

  I want to jump up and yell in her face that she can stay gone too, but I resist. She still has that stupid recorder and I know she’s itching to use it. I turn my back on her and make my way over to the elevator.

  Jeremy is standing there with his eyes wide open. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be, as soon as I get upstairs and calm myself down.”

  We both enter the elevator and he presses the button for my floor. “Is there anything I can get for you? Wine, a shot of tequila, chamomile tea? I can bring it to your room.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m going to be fine.” I really need to talk to Ty. I’m afraid that stupid woman is going to print something in her newspaper, and he’s going to find out about it and think I said something.

  “If you change your mind, just call down to the reception desk. We’ll help you out however we can.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy. You’re really sweet.” I reach out and pat him on the shoulder just as the doors are opening on my floor. I step out of the elevator and turn around to face him. “How’s it going with your new girl?”

  His grin is huge. “It’s going really well. I have another date with her tonight.”

  I can’t help but smile back. “Have a great time. I hope it works out for you both.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Fields. And don’t let that lady get you down. We have the press coming in here harassing people all the time. We try to catch them at the door, but sometimes they slip through.”

  “I understand. It’s not anyone’s fault. She was very sneaky.”

  “Yeah. They can go too far sometimes, though.”

  “I’m learning pretty quickly that things don’t happen here like they happen in other places.” If a woman acted like that on the farm, she’d be out on her butt in two seconds. I’m really missing home right now. Why did I think I could stay here on a longer basis? One interaction with a person from the media and I fall to pieces. Ugh.

  “Just be careful not to be . . . too trusting.”

  I nod. “That’s good advice, especially for me.”

  He tilts his head. “Why especially for you?”

  “Because, where I come from, it’s a totally different world.”

  “I hope New York isn’t scaring you away.”

  I shake my head as I consider his words. Scared? Since when have I ever been scared? I’ve handled a thousand things more frightening than a silly sneaker-wearing reporter in my life. She’s got nothing on a hive of pissed-off bees or a raccoon with a porcupine quill in its nose, two situations I’ve dealt with on more than one occasion, thank you very much. Please . . . Me? Scared? Not on your life. I feel my confidence coming back in spades. I might be from the country, but that doesn’t mean I’m a mouse; it means I’m a badass.

  Now instead of feeling intimidated, I’m mad. How dare that woman almost ruin my dream of working here. “Nope. It’s going to take a lot more than an annoying reporter to get rid of me.” I want to tell him how at home I manage fifteen hives full of bees that can sometimes get a little cranky with me, but I don’t want to sound like too much of a hick.

  “Awesome,” he says, sounding genuinely happy. “Have a great day.”

 
“You too.” I walk down the hall and pull my phone out of my bag. As I let myself into my room, I’m dialing Ty’s number.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I leave a message on Ty’s voice mail. He’s probably busy in the recording studio with the band, and I don’t want to bother them, so rather than call the studio to track Ty down, I leave it at that.

  If I’m going to be working with the band for two weeks, I need to learn how to deal with these reporters, and I can’t go running to Ty or Red every time someone tries to get an official comment from me. This person Elizabeth from whatever stupid paper she’s with has figured out that I’m somehow associated with them, so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before others do too. And I doubt she’s going to be satisfied with only one attempt at getting a story from me.

  I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom practicing my new plan for encounters with the paparazzi: “No comment.” I change my tone to sound more confident. “No comment!” I try various inflections. “No comment. No comment. No comment!” This is the phrase I’ve heard other people use on television during the few occasions I’ve watched. It seems like it should be good enough to keep me out of hot water. What kind of story can a person possibly get with ‘no comment’ as their only quotable input? As long as I stick with that script and stay outwardly bland and unaffected by her taunts, she’ll get nothing from me.

  After settling into my hotel room, I keep myself busy doing various things—contacting Lister’s office to leave a message about the hairdresser and using hotel stationery to write out my plans for the band: first, we’ll deal with the hair; then we’ll deal with the clothing. I don’t know where I should shop for them, but I’m sure James will have some ideas for me.

  Hopefully, the new material the guys are working on today will be really great, and pretty soon we’ll have a whole new package to present to their fans—an updated look and not necessarily a new sound but new songs for the fans to rock out to. I sketch out ideas, slogans, and random thoughts for how we might further encourage the fans to accept the band’s new image, and the time slides right on by. Before I know it, it’s time for dinner.

  I’m looking over the hotel room service menu when my phone rings. I recognize Ty’s telephone number and pick it up with a big smile. “Hello,” I say cheerily. “How are you?”

  “Fine. You okay?” His tone is flat.

  “I’m good. But you don’t sound so great. Are you upset?”

  “No. Just exhausted.”

  “Tough day at the office?” I’m trying to get him to laugh.

  “Something like that.”

  The line goes quiet.

  “Did you get any dinner yet?” I ask, hoping he hasn’t heard about that reporter before I have a chance to tell him myself.

  “No. I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, I hope you ate something today.”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s not healthy.” I really want to invite him over here for dinner, but I don’t want to sound too forward. “I was just going to order some room service. But I could meet you downstairs for dinner if you want.”

  “I got your message. You said you needed to talk to me about something important?”

  I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. It’s one thing for him to be bummed over a disappointing recording session and another to be mad at me because I’ve done something wrong. “Yes. There was a reporter woman waiting for me outside the hotel when I got back today. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She just asked me some questions about . . . the band. And you.” There’s no point in trying to talk around it. He’s going to find out anyway when Elizabeth prints her story, and I can only imagine what it’s going to say.

  “What kind of questions?”

  “She wanted to know if we’re together.” There, I said it. My face is burning.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “What do you mean, what did I tell her? I told her it was none of her business.”

  I can hear him forcing out a sigh, but he doesn’t say anything after.

  “Are you angry with me?”

  “No, of course not. Why would I be angry with you?”

  “I don’t know. You sound like you are.”

  His voice softens. “Sorry about that. I’m just having a bad day. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come over for dinner?”

  He sighs. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  I have to think about it for a few seconds. I’m not certain what he means. “Well . . . you’re hungry—or you should be, since you haven’t eaten all day. And I’m hungry, kind of. And there’s food here, so . . .” I laugh a little, stumbling over the awkwardness of the conversation. “It sounded like a good idea at the time, but now you’re making me question myself.”

  “Listen, you’re new to this whole thing, so I’m just going to tell you straight up . . . Once these people get their teeth into something, they don’t let go. You told that reporter it was none of her business what’s going on between us, but she’s not going to be satisfied with that answer.”

  “No, you’re right; I don’t think she is.”

  “So you do know how this goes.”

  “Not exactly. But whenever I wouldn’t answer her question the way she wanted me to, she would say stuff into her recorder that wasn’t true. She started making things up.”

  “Great. One of those.”

  “Yeah, she wasn’t very nice. She seemed okay at first, but then she started playing that rude game, and I realized she wasn’t.”

  “Not all of them are like that.”

  I hate talking about this woman who single-handedly did a great job of screwing up my whatever-it-is with Ty—not a relationship exactly, but the potential for one.

  Time to change the subject. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over for dinner?”

  “No . . . yeah . . . I do. I do want to come over. Just give me an hour to get ready.” He sounds completely defeated.

  “Take all the time you need. I’ll be up here in my room.” I’m going to leave it up to him to decide whether he goes to the front desk and asks me to come down or if he comes up to my room for food here. I would definitely not be opposed to another roll in the hay with him. I’ve been thinking about him all afternoon, and I’m pretty sure, after talking to him now and hearing his defeated tone, that he would enjoy a little playtime too. He had a tough day, and my interaction with the reporter certainly didn’t help. Maybe I’ll be able to cheer him up.

  “Great,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “Wait . . . Amber?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say a little mystified.

  “For everything you did with the band today. It was really cool of you to do that.”

  “Of course. I want to do anything I can to help all of you.”

  “I hear there’s an appointment at the hair salon for tomorrow night.”

  “Yes. Is the band excited?”

  “I’m not sure excited is the word I would use to describe it.” He chuckles.

  “Do you think it’s a mistake?” I’m starting to doubt the wisdom of my choices.

  “No, it needs to happen. But these are old guys, and it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks sometimes.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to do my best.”

  “I know you will. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay. Bye.” I wait to see if the conversation is truly over this time. When I finally hear the line go dead, I hit the red button on my phone.

  I have an hour to shower, put some of that yummy-smelling lotion all over me, and figure out which outfit I’m going to wear. I don’t know if I’ll be leaving this room tonight, but I’m going to dress like I will. Hopefully, Ty will take one look at me and decide it’s better to stay in. I don’t want to c
hance seeing that Elizabeth person again, and I’m honest enough to admit that I’m really looking forward to being naked with him again. I just hope he feels the same way about me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  A simple knock at my door nearly gives me a heart attack. It’s him. Ty is here.

  I walk over and look through the peephole. He’s in the hallway, dressed all in black. His hair is crazy and his makeup dark. I’m afraid it matches his mood.

  I open the door to let him in. “Hi.” I’m suddenly shy.

  “Hi.” He looks me up and down, giving me no indication of what he’s thinking or feeling. “Can I come in?”

  I move out of the way. “Sure. I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.”

  The moment I shut the door, he pulls me into a hug. His arms wrap around me and hold me tight. Whatever misgivings I might have had before he got there melt away.

  I’m surprised by how enthusiastically he’s embracing me, but I’m not complaining. I hold him tightly, just breathing and enjoying the sensation of his body against mine. He’s warm, solid, and all man. I had no idea what I was missing out on not having a boyfriend. Not that he’s my boyfriend or anything, but this is two nights in a row we’ve been together, and I’m loving every minute of it. Maybe his moodiness should be putting me off, but I’m finding it intoxicating. I never know what I’m going to get with him, and I love the challenge. It’s like looking at a birthday present and wondering what’s going to be inside the box under all the wrapping paper. So far, it’s always been something good.

  “I really needed this,” he says into my shirt at my shoulder.

  “Me too.” It seems monumental to be admitting this to one another. We’ve only known each other for a couple days. I’ve gone my whole life without his hugs, and I’ve been just fine, so why does it feel like I can’t survive without them now?

  “What’s for dinner?” he asks, finally pulling away. He moves through the room over to the windows.

  The abrupt change from intimate hug to businesslike request for a meal throws me for a loop. I stand there stunned for a few seconds before I can answer. “Whatever you can find on the menu, I guess. Or we could order something from somewhere else if you want and have it delivered.”