BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (108 page)

“In the end I’m here to tell you that I love comets and fairy dust too much to let life pass me by.”

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

THE NEXT WEEK, I spent time in the studio with Sebastian and Spider working on the song I was going to play with them at the gala. He’d chosen his breakout hit “Superman”, only he’d slowed it down so I could open the number before Spider’s guitar riff kicked in. It made me jittery and queasy to sit there and work with two seasoned musicians critiquing me, but it wasn’t enough to send me into a blind panic.

The air was charged between us, though, with stolen glances and brushes of our skin. I did my best to give him plenty of leeway and not be alone with him. Like a rubberband that’s about to snap, the tension threatened to drive me insane.

Just yesterday in the studio, I’d been leaning over the music stand to find my notes and when I raised back up, he’d been hovering over me, the strangest expression on his face.

I’d tugged down my short skirt—thanks to Mila. “Are you trying to look up my skirt?”

“No,” he’d said and straightened back up, hands raised. “I swear there was something in your hair and—”

“Sniffing my hair?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then back up, please.” And I’d shooed him back a few inches.

He’d smirked and grumbled something about picky artists needing their space for their big heads. I’d laughed.

Even though the tension between us was electric, our playing was incredible. His husky singing voice held secrets, and I got lost in the sound we made, my soul clicking with something in his.

Hadn’t it always been that way with us?

My head kept going back to the stolen moment in the walk-in cooler at Rio.

He’d been erratic and crazy and slightly deranged. The truth was I had gotten under his skin and my gut knew it terrified him.

Now here it was Friday already, and I sat next to the pool, working on the guest list for the gala. Mrs. Smythe and I had met or spoken on the phone frequently, nailing down the details. Counting the kids and attendees, over three hundred people would be in attendance at the black tie affair at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. A formal event, each attendee would pay two thousand dollars a plate. Thank goodness, Wilson had been over a couple of times with his list of Hollywood celebrities to invite. Since our lunch at the Rio, he’d helped me quite a bit.

I glanced up when Sebastian walked up to the patio from his property, holding a brown wicker basket with a closed lid. Strange sounds came from it.

“Hey you,” he said, and leaned in to give me a quick peck on my cheek. Nothing serious, and he didn’t linger.

I cocked my head. “Your basket is freaking me out.”

He chuckled. “I don’t buy presents for girls much, so I hope I wasn’t too far off the mark with this, but I’d like you to meet fur ball—which isn’t really her name. You can call her whatever you want,” he said as he pulled out a fluffy, slobbering little puppy.

I blinked at it. I could barely take care of myself. “A puppy?”

He plopped her in my arms. “Duh. She’s for you, goof.”

She whimpered and licked my hand. “But why? What do I do with it? Where does it sleep? Does it eat cheese puffs? Oh God. I’d suck at being a parent.”

He lifted his soft blue eyes to mine. “It’s a stupid gift, isn’t it?”

I shook my head. She
was
terribly cute with her big brown eyes and long hair. “No, no, no. Why do you say that? Wait, is this some kind of break-up-dog? Because you feel
guilty
about what happened?”

His jaw tightened. “Stop putting words in my mouth. This is because when I saw this dog, I knew she had to be yours. She’s sweet … like you. She’s musical … I heard her howl at the pet store. She’s got the softest fur … just like you.” He chuckled at my expression.

“Okay, not even touching the fur comment, but why were you even thinking of me?” I pressed.

He looked deflated. Shit, I was ruining this. “Why what?” he said. “Can’t I just do something spontaneous? Why do you have to put a label on it?”

I sighed. “So you think about me? A lot. Like when you just randomly walk in a pet store? And not just when you go to bed and have sex dreams about me?”

“Yeah. I also think about food a lot, too.”

Ha. Fine. I gazed back down at the gorgeous dog that seemed to be some kind of Yorkie.

I rubbed her head and she licked me. “Well, thank you. I’m in love with her already. I’m going to call her Tater.” She yipped delicately. “She likes it.”

His lips quirked. “Tater? After me?”

“No, because I like French Fries,” I chuckled. “I hope she doesn’t like to jump in the pool like Monster did.”

“That was a wonderful night,” he said with a wistful expression. “You and me talking until dawn. Until I left, of course.”

I covered my face. “I can’t believe I ran down here and just—kissed you.”

He chuckled. “It was the Romeo quote that did it, wasn’t it? Works every time.”

I punched his arm. “I thought I was the only one you’d quoted that to.”

He got a serious look on his face. “Only you, V, only you.”

He sat down next to me in a lounge chair, and I looked at him harder, noticing the disheveled hair and the dark circles.

“Are you okay? You seem tired.”

He didn’t meet my eyes. “I’m cool. Besides the studio, Spider and I got signed for another commercial.”

There was more, though. Something was on his mind.

I winced. “Any news on the Hing movie?”

He shook his head, his eyebrows gathering in. “Nah, I didn’t get it. It’s official. Whatever, I was a long shot with him—everyone knows that—obviously.” He rose. “I’ll talk you tomorrow at the studio. Take care of Tater for me.”

Oh.

My heart hurt at the disappointment on his face. “I’m so sorry. They’ll be other movies, other directors. Right?”

“Yeah.” And then he walked away from me, and I wanted to call him back.

But we were different now. Uneasy and afraid to be alone together for too long.

It sucked.

MILA HAD MADE good on her night out with Baxter. She rented us a Mercedes limo that Saturday night and made us reservations at a new club called Krush. We picked up Baxter, who was sexy gorgeous with his linebacker body and big dimples—until you noticed he only had eyes for the dudes. We didn’t care. He was fun, picked up on our vibe to dance, and kept the creeps away.

We’d just finished dancing and I’d headed to the bar to get us another round when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Quit your whining, Baxter, here’s your Buttery Nipple,” I called out triumphantly as I turned around drink in hand.

But it wasn’t Baxter. It was Blair.

“Well, if it isn’t the sweet little violinist named
Violet St. Lyons
.” Her lips curled up in a snarl.

My entire body tensed. “Blair. Nice to see you. I’m actually here with some friends—so if you’ll excuse me.” I made to brush by her, but she blocked me.

“Oh, don’t be in such a rush. I still want to talk,
Violet
.”

Going by the slight flush on her face and the smeared makeup, she was trashed. I smiled tightly. Might as well let her get her say in. “Fine.”

She shooed a girl off the stool next to her and then plopped down, crossing her tanned legs delicately at the ankles. She sipped on a glass of wine and sent me a haughty glare. Something she seemed to have mastered. “I don’t know what you’re doing to keep Sebastian away from me, but you need to chill out. You’re ruining his career.”

“He can make it without you, and I think you know that. Find a new boy toy—unless you’re in love with him?” The thought had crossed my mind.

She laughed. “God, I may have had sex with him which was
fantastic
—and I may have fallen in love with him for a second or two—but romance is
not
my ultimate goal. Success and longevity in Hollywood is.” She took a sip, her slitted eyes on my face. “Not that you would know about ambition. Your music career seems to have taken a nosedive rather dramatically.”

That stung. “You don’t know the first thing about me or my music.”

She tossed her head back and chuckled. “You’re quite the feisty thing, aren’t you, but I think I prefer the freak from the coffee shop. At least she had the sense to run away.” She ran her finger across the rim of her glass. “Let me put it like this,
Violet
: You may have skated by without anyone picking up on who you are, but I know. And for some odd reason, it bothers you for people to know. All it would take would be a mention that you were the reason Sebastian Tate left me, and people would
hate
you.” She fluttered her spidery eyelashes at me. “To prevent me from spilling the beans, I think you should talk to Sebastian, convince him to amp up
our
relationship—maybe even a fake proposal.” She bit her lip. “God, I’d love to try on wedding dresses and buy a ring and plan a bachelorette party.”

The room spun. Being in the eye of a paparazzi storm? Terrifying. I licked my lips, feeling cold and then hot. My mouth dried and I started tapping with my free hand. I dropped the shot and the glass shattered, alcohol and glass flying. Someone screamed and people gave me a wide birth as they looked accusingly at the mess and then me, but I was frozen, fighting my panic, fighting Blair.

“Dearest, maybe you should sit down. You really
are
a basket case.” She
tsked
.

No. Not this time.

From somewhere deep inside me, some small part of the girl I used to be reared her head. Yet, because of my parents, I wasn’t an evil person either. And when I gazed inward I saw myself clearly. I saw that I was better. I saw that no matter what had happened to me, I at least had a chance for a future happiness. I wasn’t so sure Blair did.

I stepped in so close to her I could see the pores of her skin.

She definitely needed a chemical peel.

“I see who you are,” I said. “You’re a small-town girl with a big talent and it got you far. Look at you … you’re America’s Sweetheart, but now that you’re getting older, you’re mean. Ugly. Maybe I should be angry with you, but when it comes down to it, I’m not. I know what death is, Blair. I fell twenty thousand feet from the sky into a cold ocean. I watched my mother bleed to death in front of me. My father drowned so I could live. So, if you think that I am going to sit by and worry about what some jaded actress from lower Alabama has to say about spilling my secrets to the press, you’re sadly wrong. You are an infinitesimal zit on this universe, and there are plenty of other issues worth my time.” I gathered myself. Smiled. “Oh, and I wanted to personally thank you for your fifty thousand dollar contribution to Lyons Place.
Indie Rock Today
announced it this morning.” I leaned in and gave her a squeeze. “God loves you.”

I walked off on shaky legs, but with victory in my bones.