The term “deer in headlights” had never seemed more applicable. I had never imagined a situation quite like this, and I froze. My entire body went numb as a buzzing noise started inside my head. All I could think was: this is a private lot. How’d they get here?
Of course, the paparazzi weren’t known for their ethics, so trespassing probably wasn’t a big deal to them.
The mob of gossipmongers rushed toward us as a collective horde. Flashbulbs exploded, catching my stunned expression and just-got-fucked hair. The vultures shouted questions, demanding to know the status of our relationship.
Adrian dropped my hand and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, dragging me flush against his side.
“It’s okay. Just keep your head down,” he told me, his voice silky and smooth. When he shouted at the reporters, he didn’t sound so kind. “You have no business here. This is private fucking property.”
The paparazzi stood between us and Adrian’s car, but he didn’t let that stop him. He marched forward, straight at the dozen cameras, and pulled me along for the ride. More flashes went off. I ducked my head and turned into Adrian to obscure as much of my face as possible, my mind not realizing they’d already gotten their money shot.
I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry or scream. My worst nightmare was coming true, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Are you in love with Adrian Kane?” Someone thrust a camera directly in my face, which bounced off my cheekbone.
I yelped, more out of surprise than pain. That was when shit hit the fan. Adrian went ballistic. It all happened so fast. Even in hindsight, I could never tell the exact sequence of events, but I would always remember the look of absolute rage contorting Adrian’s features.
There was a crunch when he grabbed the camera and destroyed it with one hand. Then the offending reporter was airborne. His screams mingled with a wail of sirens from the lot’s security vehicles. A brave yet idiotic paparazzo came at Adrian, swinging.
Adrian whipped around and raised his arm to block the blow. The man tumbled backwards, holding his nose. It didn’t look like Adrian even touched him. Not to mortal eyes, at least.
The others finally backed off, just as security arrived on golf carts. Adrian tightened his hold and ushered me to his car. He yanked open the passenger door and gestured me inside. Eyes wide, heart racing, I sank into the plush leather seat in a daze. Adrian crouched down so that he looked up into my face. He brushed the hair back from my face and tucked it behind my ear. His touch was featherlight, yet I winced when his fingertips ran under my eye where the lens had hit.
There was a rumble deep in Adrian’s chest. His free hand clenched into a fist.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He closed the door. A voice in the back of my head reminded me Adrian didn’t play by human rules or follow our laws. I reached for the door handle to go after him, but the thought of facing all those cameras again was too much.
Instead, I sat in the relative quiet of his car and watched as Adrian went over to speak with the security guards. He had a brief conversation with the man who’d waved us into the lot at the gate. Adrian’s temper had dimmed, but his erratic hand gestures suggested he was still pretty heated.
He stormed back to the car, expression murderous. When he slipped inside, he sat and stared straight ahead for several long moments, as if composing himself. Finally, he reached over and touched my leg.
“I’m so sorry, Phi.”
My lips moved, but I couldn’t get the words out—probably because I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t Adrian’s fault. Clearly, he hadn’t called the paparazzi.
The engine purred to life. Adrian put the car in reverse and backed up before switching gears and speeding away with a peal of tires. I sat frozen in the passenger seat. He kept stealing glances in my direction, as if worried about my lingering shock.
That made two of us.
“Did I scare you?” Adrian asked as he navigated the twists and turns of the dark, winding road ahead. “I shouldn’t have reacted so violently.”
It wasn’t funny, but I laughed. Then I laughed harder until tears sprang from my eyes. I couldn’t say when the laughter turned to sobs. Before I knew it, I was gasping for air as the world spun.
Adrian veered hard to the left and brought the car to a screeching halt in the gravel. His hands cupped my cheeks, dark eyes penetrating the haze.
“I’m so sorry, Phi,” he said again, almost like he was pleading with me. “He hurt you, and I lost it.”
I leaned into his touch, letting his cool skin calm my nerves. His shoulders sagged with relief.
“It’s not that,” I managed to say. “I mean, it matters. Like, you shouldn’t hit people, you know? Even douchebags. But if I’m being honest, I can’t say it wasn’t sort of hot.” I shook my head. “No. Not the point. None of that is the point. I don’t want my life splashed all over the fucking internet. That’s not me, not my style.”
Defeat flashed in his eyes before his perfectly composed mask fell into place.
My voice turned high-pitched and squeaky at the end, a fresh wave of tears filling my eyes. This time, I blinked them back.
“You don’t understand, Adrian. I’m broke. The store is weeks from going under, and I don’t want to be painted as a gold digger.”
He leaned in and brushed his lips across mine. “Give me twenty-four hours,” he whispered.
“To do what?” I asked.
He kissed my bruised cheekbone. “To change the narrative.”
* * *
Adrian wanted to take me back to his house, but I insisted on going home. We compromised and agreed he would drive past my place—if there were reporters, it was off to his Batcave in the Hollywood hills. Thankfully, the coast was clear, and I got to sleep in my bed that night.
Holly wasn’t at our place, but she rushed home from the bar as soon as I texted her, only stopping to pick up two bottles of cheap wine. I checked my phone incessantly, jumping every time it pinged with a notification. It was only a matter of time before those photos leaked, likely alongside footage of Adrian assaulting the photographer.
“Let his PR people worry about that,” Holly said, plucking the phone from my hand and replacing it with a wine bottle. “It’s after midnight. Not a peep so far. Maybe it’s time you get some rest.”
I polished off the pinot grigio and curled up in my bed. Holly turned on my favorite comedy special and stretched out beside me. Amazingly, I managed to fall asleep. Or maybe I passed out. The wine had gone straight to my head.
My phone’s vibrations woke me. I groaned in the darkness as it buzzed again. Holly slept through the noise, which was surprising since she still clutched my cell in her hand. I pried her fingers loose and checked the display. The call was from a 212-area code—New York.
If it’s important, they’ll leave a message, I thought, flopping back against the pillows and closing my eyes.
The caller was persistent, however, and dialed right back after hanging up. Annoyed, I accepted the call.
“Hello,” I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.
“Ophelia St. Clare?” the caller asked.
I sighed. “If this is a reporter, no fucking comment.” I lowered the phone from my ear, intending to disconnect.
“I’m not a reporter, Miss St. Clare. I’m a location scout for On the Rise Entertainment. My name is Gabriel Rasher,” the man said hurriedly. “You are the Ophelia St. Clare who owns Sunset Records, yes?”
Beside me, Holly finally opened her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked groggily. “It’s, like, butt-ass early.”
I ignored her. “Um, yes. I’m the owner of Sunset Records,” I told the caller, switching my phone to speaker so Holly could hear the conversation.
“Oh, good. Wonderful. Look, Ms. St. Clare, I won’t mince words. We’re supposed to start filming The Good Old Days next week, the biopic about the band The Night Terrors. A pipe burst last night at our primary location. Your store was always my first choice. The producers outvoted me before, but now we’re desperate. What do you say?”
“To what?” I asked, my brain still foggy.
“To renting out your store for the film.”
It was one of the few times in my life I was utterly speechless.
“Obviously, we would offer generous compensation,” he added quickly. “Since we are asking you to close for four weeks.”
“Close for a month? How much are we talking?” I asked.
The man gave a number that eclipsed my sales for the previous year. Holly and I just stared at one another. Was this really happening? Did location scouts really call out of the blue and offer a solution to all financial issues?
“How did you learn about the store?” I asked.
“I used to come in with my father when I was a kid. It’s always been my favorite,” Gabriel replied.
“So, Adrian Kane didn’t put you up to this?” I pressed.
The man laughed. “In a way, I guess he did. I heard his interview the other day. When we got the call first thing this morning about the pipe, your increased social media visibility made it pretty easy to convince the producers.”
I blew out a long breath. “Let me call you back in a few hours.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course. This is my cell. You can also call either the L.A. office or the New York one. Either will patch you through to me.”
“Okay. Talk soon.” I disconnected and turned to Holly. “Do you think he was telling the truth about Adrian?”
Holly snorted and sat up, eyes bright with dollar signs and possibility. “Who cares, Phi?”
“I mean, I do.”
She shook her head. “No, sweetie. Not this time. You are an independent, badass bish. We all know it. But you need to learn to accept help. If Adrian set this up, say thank you. This is an enormous opportunity, and I won’t let you ruin it for yourself.”
I felt conflicted. Did I want to tell Gabriel Rasher yes? Of course, I did. The money would allow me to make improvements, maybe even hire some marketing help. But the exposure from having the store in a movie—that was priceless. Did it really matter if Adrian intervened to make this happen?
“Well, first, we should make sure this guy is legit. I don’t want to decide anything until we know that for certain,” I said, climbing over Holly to get out of the bed.
She followed me to the kitchen, where we made coffee while we scoured the internet for Gabriel Rasher. It didn’t take long to confirm that a man by that name did, in fact, work as a location scout for On the Rise Entertainment, and he was involved with the biopic in question. The story about the pipe bursting was harder to corroborate since I didn’t know the previously chosen location.
“Only thing left to do is call the office and have them put you through to Gabriel Rasher,” Holly said.
“I need a little more time to think,” I said.
There was a commotion out front, like garbage bins knocking over, and the neighbor’s dog started barking. Holly and I exchanged glances, then hurried to the front door. She was faster and peeked through the curtains on the window.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Cold swept over me from head to toe. “Reporters?” I guessed.
Holly nodded. “Three of them. Should we call the cops?”
My phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down and saw Adrian’s name flash on the screen. Before I even said hello, he started talking.
“What’re you wearing?” he asked.
I sighed. “I’m not in the mood to play this game.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he replied.
“What? No. Wait. You can’t. The paparazzi are outside,” I hissed like they might hear me through the door.
There was a long stretch of silence before Adrian finally answered. “I know. I called them.” Then he hung up.
I stared at the phone in disbelief. Was he serious? The gossip hounds had accosted us only hours before, and now Adrian was all chummy with them? What the actual fuck?
“Ahhh… You should… do something with your face.” Holly waved a finger in the air. “You definitely don’t want a picture of you looking like this circulating.”
I didn’t want any picture of myself circulating anywhere. As more and more paparazzi joined their friends, I realized that wasn’t an option. What had Adrian said about changing the narrative?
Instead of dwelling, I rushed to the bathroom and washed off the remnants of last night’s makeup. The bruise around my eye had faded rapidly, and I only needed a bit of coverup to hide the mark. I couldn’t get a brush through my hair, however, so I went with a messy bun.
Holly opened the bathroom door and tossed me a loungewear set from her dresser. “Here. This is cute but casual. And the color looks good with your skin tone.”
These were so not concerns in my everyday life. Still, when I looked in the mirror, even I had to admit that for such short notice, I looked okay. I checked the time on my phone. Twelve minutes since Adrian’s call.
Where is he?
Normally, two-minutes late was still early in my book, but my stomach was in knots and I just wanted to get this over with. I went back to the front door and peeked out the window. The reporters had turned their attention to the street, where Adrian was expertly parallel parking his Maybach. Just the sight of him stepping from the driver’s side gave me a tingle.
He gave the photogs a shy smile and a wave, a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm. He stopped to answer the paparazzi’s questions, which I couldn’t hear through the door. Desperate to know what he was telling them, I hurried outside onto the porch without considering the consequences.
Adrian noticed me first, and his eyes widened. The reporters followed his gaze, turning their cameras on me. Adrian strode across the street and up the few steps to join me.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, careful to keep my voice low.
He grinned down at me. “It’s our story, Ophelia. No one else gets to control it.” His arms slid around my waist, and he leaned in for a kiss.
I shook my head. “Not so fast. Did you have Gabriel Rasher call me?”
His expression went blank. “If I say yes?”
I stared up into his beautiful face and thought about what Holly had said about learning to accept help. It wasn’t my forte. But if I rejected Gabriel’s offer, the store would go under.
“What am I supposed to do with myself for the next month while they film? Boredom doesn’t suit me.”
Adrian squeezed me tighter, relaxing when I didn’t throw a fit or yell at him. His mouth brushed against my ear when he whispered, “Come on tour with me. Let me show you we could have a future together. Fuck what people think.”
When his lips found mine, I knew I would say yes. After all, the world was about to find out about our relationship. The reporters would follow me regardless, so there was no point in hiding. Of course, it was the picture of me flipping off the paparazzi while kissing Adrian that made headlines an hour later.
I didn’t know what a month of tour life might hold—groupies, drugs, orgies? It was anyone’s guess. But I felt certain of one thing… after a month with Adrian and his sexy fanged smile, I’d never be the same.
* * *
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