“Bring that over here,” I said, falling back on the couch. “I haven’t had food all day.”
“Because you were boning the model and slept in?” Cammie said, dipping a carrot into the hummus and popping it into her mouth.
“Yes,” I admitted sheepishly.
“Poor Jorge,” she said with a wicked smile.
I laughed. “Don’t you worry about ol’ Jorge. He got enough fruit to last him a year.”
“What does that mean? Is fruit slang for anal or something?”
I spit out the pita chip I’d just put in my mouth and it landed with a thud on my pristine carpet.
“Cammie! Jeez.”
That only made her laugh even more. I think she lived to give me a heart attack.
“Relax,” Cammie said. “I know that you and underwear boy didn’t go that far. I just wish he was a little better in the sack.”
“It’s just… have you ever had sex with a Brazilian underwear model and thought, ‘Seriously, I thought this would be better’?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
I laughed at her dry retort. “Okay, well, it was terrible. No tingles, no fireworks, and definitely no happy ending.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” I shrugged. “I’m over it. From now on, I’m just going to think of other things to do with my vagina.”
“Yeah, you could probably store your receipts in there,” Cammie joked.
I held my hand up to stop her from expanding on that subject. I’d like to keep my morning coffee in my stomach, thank you very much.
“If I make a phone call will you stay silent or should I lock you in the bathroom again?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You called Channing Tatum, and I made sex noises in the background. Seriously, how was I supposed to resist?”
I shot her a blank stare and she held up her hands in defense.
“Look, I’ll go grab my laptop and do some work while you make your oh-so-important phone call.” Yes, she put air quotes around oh-so-important.
“Good,” I said, taking a deep breath and reaching for my phone on the coffee table. The sooner I called Jason, the sooner we could move on and get started on this dumb project.
My fingers shook in the most annoying way as I scrolled through my contact list trying to find the M’s, but I did my best to ignore it. Coffee always made me jittery anyway.
Jason Monroe.
There he was.
I had a sudden urge to program the devil to appear whenever he called me, but then I remembered that he’d never call me so it’d be a waste of time.
“Are you going to make a call or just stare at your screen like a weirdo?” Cammie said, plopping down next to me with her MacBook.
“Oh, I was just trying to make sure I knew what I wanted to discuss before I pressed send,” I replied, defending my awkwardness.
She replied with a “mmhhmm” that only sassy grandmas could truly get away with. I hit send and then held the phone to my ear. One… two… three rings passed before the call clicked on.
“Jason.”
That’s how he answered. What was I supposed to do with that? Just say my name back too?
“Uh, Jason, this is Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn who?”
Oh, c’mon. How many people did he know named after a borough in New York?
“Heart,” I replied with a sharp tone.
“How did you get this number?”
Cammie scoffed next to me, and that’s when I realized that the little snitch had her ear pressed to the phone on the other side of me. Oh well, it’d save me the trouble of telling her how rude he’d been as soon as I hung up.
“Does it matter? We need to talk about how we’re going to figure out this duet.”
He sighed. “It’s been decided. We’re going out to my ranch in Montana to write and record the song. If you can’t go, I’ll write the song myself and you can just learn it before the award show. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing that.”
What in-all-that-is-holy was shoved up this guy’s butt?
“Wow. You are probably the assholiest person I’ve ever met.”
He chuckled at that. The bastard actually laughed. “Assholiest isn’t a word, and if you’re going to suggest words like that for our song, I’d rather not have you show up in Montana.”
Cammie pinched my leg and I knew she was just as angry as I was over the way he was talking to me.
“Listen up, Mr. God’s Gift to Music, we’re going to do this duet together, and it’s going to be an amazing song. We’ll perform it on stage and then we’re never going to talk to each other again. Sound good?”
“I can’t wait,” he said, dragging out the word wait in a way that shouldn’t have made my stomach dip, but it did anyway, because apparently my libido was still attracted to jerks even if my brain wasn’t.
I hung up before he could say anything else and then Cammie and I stared at each other in silence for what felt like two hours.
Finally, her blank expression twisted into a little smile.
“Well, I guess you’re going to Montana.”
Chapter Five
Leaving to go to Montana for a few weeks actually didn’t sound so bad. My life in LA was not a cakewalk (as much as it seemed to be from the way the media spun it). Oh, poor celebrity has to have designer dress fittings and nail appointments. The truth is my days were regimented and scheduled down to a “T”.
Five days a week I woke up at 6:00 A.M. and had a two-hour workout session with my trainer. Then I had thirty minutes to shower and get across town for my voice lessons. Those seeped into my piano and guitar lessons. Then I usually had an afternoon appointment with my choreographer so that I could practice for any upcoming performances and start memorizing routines for future tours.
On top of all of that, if I was working on an album, I’d head into the studio and spend hours writing and rewriting lyrics until they were exactly the way I wanted them.
It was a lot to handle on a good day.
I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, but the prospect of getting away from it all for a few weeks sounded really nice. Even if I would have to spend that time away with someone who hated my guts. For no reason. Seriously, we’d spent all of five minutes together and the guy thought I was Medusa come to life.
After my phone call with Jason, Cammie and I spent an hour dissecting his actions, and coming up with all sorts of theories about why he acted the way he did:
1. His parents were part of a traveling circus so he had to grow up around crazy carnies.
2. He was born without a frontal lobe so he couldn’t process human emotions properly.
And our personal favorite:
3. He was a Russian robot spy, sent to the US under strict orders to infiltrate our pop culture and slowly drive singers, like myself, insane.
We hadn’t worked out all the details of his assignment yet, but we were pretty convinced that we were on the right track.
…
Later that week, I was sitting across from my assistant, Summer, inside of a small LA deli. A turkey sandwich with all the fixings sat in front of me while Summer filled me in on all the details I’d need to know before departing for Montana in a few days.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You know Montana is in the middle of nowhere, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s exactly why I want to go.” The quiet, calm atmosphere was calling to me.
Summer sneered. “Sounds like a snooze fest. At least you can hangout with Jason. Maybe he’ll teach you how to ride bareback.”
“Yeah, right before he kills me and hides my body where no one can find me.”
“Ew. Not cute,” she said, before taking a bite of her Greek salad. Her purple hair was a shade darker than it’d been the last time I’d seen her and she’d styled her eyeliner into a dramatic cat-eye effect.
“So, I’ve been coordinating with Sa
ndy, Jason’s assistant,” she began. “She’s super nice. I feel bad that she has to work for that shmuck.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“Anyway, she gave me the details on the ranch in Montana. Apparently ‘ranch’ is a relative term. She said it’s a really gorgeous house in the woods. You’ll have your own room and bathroom, secluded away from Jason’s.”
“Wow, I’m surprised he’s letting me stay in the house at all. I figured I’d be exiled to the barn.”
Summer coughed and stared down at her salad. “Well, actually at first you were staying in a cheap hotel in town. But Sandy and I convinced Jason that that setup would be a bit ridiculous.”
I grunted. “Of course. Okay, go on.”
She nodded, running her finger down the itinerary on her iPhone. “You’ll fly out of LAX in three days and you’ll be in Montana for however long it takes to finalize the song. I postponed most of your commitments until after The Grammys. For the ones that I couldn’t move, I’ve either coordinated with them to have a meeting over Skype or the company will fly someone to Montana to meet with you.”
“Sounds good.”
“So you just need to start thinking of what you’d like to take with you and I’ll help you pack. You don’t have much time to wrap things up here before you leave.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have much to wrap up honestly. I’ll have to break the news to Cammie. She knew I was leaving soon, but I’m pretty sure she thought we’d have a bit more time.”
Summer arched a brow. “You aren’t leaving LA forever. It’s like a month.”
I pursed my lips. No one understood my relationship with Cammie. For the last fifteen years, Cammie and I were all each other had. Our relationship wasn’t normal or healthy, but we were each other’s best friends and we’d never been apart for a whole month before.
Summer must have read the distress on my features. “If it makes you feel better, I can coordinate a weekend where she can come visit you.”
I sat up straighter, already planning our weekend in my mind. Does Montana have nightclubs? “That’s perfect. I’m sure she’ll need a break from her projects anyway.”
She nodded and started typing away on her phone. “Don’t forget her graduation is the weekend before the award show. I’ll schedule your flight home to ensure that you can be there.”
“Perfect.”
Summer sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, eyeing me curiously.
“So now we just need to figure out what the hell people wear in Montana.”
“Brokeback-chic?” I offered.
…
I was opening a bottle of wine in my kitchen later that evening when I realized that I should probably attempt to contact Jason again. I knew our assistants had been in constant communication, but it would be he and I staying together in Montana and it felt strange to know nothing about the man. I could have googled him, but I refused to get any information about someone from the Internet. If everyone trusted what they read on the Internet, then I was apparently a transvestite alien with four illegitimate children and a drinking problem.
So instead, I scrolled through my phone, past all of the contacts, to find Jason Monroe lurking where I’d programmed him in the other day.
I thought back to our two previous interactions and honestly, I didn’t think our first and second impressions of each other could be more off. I don’t know how he perceived me after seeing me in my bra on the elevator, but I definitely thought he erred on the arrogant asshole side of things, so maybe it was time to straighten that out.
Before I could stop myself, I hit dial and held the phone up to ear while I poured myself a big ol’ glass of Chardonnay. Liquid courage at its finest.
The phone rang five times and I was about to hang up, sure it was about to kick over to his voicemail, when he finally answered.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he said when the call clicked on.
My eyes flew to the kitchen clock. 12:03 A.M. Damn. Cammie had come over and we’d watched a marathon of Real Housewives.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to wake you.”
Although, seriously, what rock star goes to bed early anyway? Shouldn’t he be snorting crack off hookers or picking between which Playboy Bunnies he wanted to take to bed?
He didn’t respond to my apology so I was left with dead air hanging on the phone.
“I’ll let you go,” I said.
Still nothing.
I moved the phone away from my ear to hang up, but just before my thumb hit the red button, I heard him growl, literally growl, through the line.
“What is it?” he said.
Even though my first instinct was to tell him off for being so rude, I forced myself to remember why I’d called him in the first place. I was trying to make amends. He and I were about to be secluded in the woods together so it was time to start singing Kumbaya.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving for Montana in a few days.”
“So you called me to tell me something that my assistant already confirmed with me days ago?”
Wow. If I could have reached through the phone and stomped on his foot, I would have. I’d never done that to anyone and you know, I usually didn’t condone violence, but this guy pushed every one of my buttons.
“Do you have any friends?” I blurted, genuinely curious if there was anyone on earth that enjoyed this man’s presence.
“Plenty. Do you want to know why I’m friends with them?” he responded.
“Yes.” I was so interested in this man’s personal life. I was even tempted to break my Internet rule, just to learn more about him.
“They don’t call and wake me up at 3:00 A.M.”
I rolled my eyes and took a long sip of wine. Now he was being dramatic. It wasn’t even close to 3:00 A.M. My eyes flew open when it hit me—he wasn’t in LA. Summer had told me he was in New York for some press thing and that’s why we were flying to Montana individually.
Wow. I could not win with this guy.
“Oh my God, seriously. I’m sorry,” I said this with an awkward laugh I was helpless to contain. But it was either that or tears, and I had a feeling Jason would respond even worse if I started to cry.
“You’ve already said that,” he replied and for the first time I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
“Well, I really mean it.”
He grunted. “I’ll be sure to tell my trainer that when he comes knocking on my door in two hours.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I laughed. I know I shouldn’t have, but I’d never had anyone in life literally see my bad side from every angle. No wonder he hated me so much. I would have hated me, too.
“Good night, Jason.”
“Please don’t call me again at night. Or better yet, just don’t call me. I’ll see you in Montana in a few days.”
He hung up and I leaned forward onto my kitchen island, letting my forehead rest against the cold marble. It’s not that I was someone that had to have the admiration of everyone around me. I just knew that I wasn’t a half-bad human being. I mean, sure, sometimes I stole soda at restaurants when I told them I was only getting water. And occasionally, I lied to my dentist about flossing. Sue me.
But I held doors open for people behind me and always let cars in when lanes were merging. So, I needed Jason to know that. I needed him to know I was a door-holding Good Samaritan.
I needed to win over Jason Monroe, but I had no clue where to start.
Chapter Six
“What if they have Ebola in Montana?”
I put down my magazine and glanced up at Cammie. Her dark brown eyes were wide with worry and for a second, I think she actually thought I’d get the Ebola virus.
“They don’t.”
That didn’t calm her nerves. She started pacing through my living room, back and forth. Back and forth.
“What if you get a tape worm from eating something bad and then you have to have surgery to get it out of y
ou because it’s like the size of a snake?”
“Do they really get that big?” I asked, genuinely concerned about why I hadn’t heard about this sooner.
“In Montana? Probably,” she said, throwing her hands into the air for emphasis.
I started laughing at her dramatic flair. It was time to rein her in before she got too carried away. I tossed my magazine onto my coffee table and stood up to give her a hug.
“All right, psycho. I’ll be okay. I won’t be getting any tape worms or random viruses,” I said, reassuringly rubbing her long brown hair. It felt good to console her; it kept me from thinking about the loneliness that would surely sink in as soon as I stepped onto the plane.
“And you’re sure you want to leave me for a month? Just abandon me in LA to fend for myself? Who will clutch me in their bosom when you’re gone?” I glanced down to see that she wasn’t even kidding, I did have her face pretty much smashed into my boobs. Whoops.
“Oh! That reminds me. I had coffee the other day with Grayson, remember? And I talked to him about you.”
Her eyes flew up to mine, as she pulled out of my arms. “What, why?”
“Uh, because you’re both architects. Well, you’re about to be one. I wanted him to give you some advice.”
She stared up at the ceiling as if I was the biggest nag in the world. “No. I don’t need his help.”
I was seriously over her “I can do everything on my own” rant. It wouldn’t kill her to get some advice. “Well he owns one of the biggest firms in LA, and he told me to tell you to call him,” I explained, pulling out a piece of paper from my kitchen junk drawer so I could write his number down for her.
“He did?” she asked with a note of curiosity.
“Yes, so here is his number. You don’t have to go work for him, but don’t you think he’d have a few pointers for you since he’s gone through everything you’re going through?”