Arianne Phoebe lifts her glass. “You’re way too excited.” “Stop being so rational,” she says. “Lift your glass, woman, and clink it with mine.” I oblige. “Here’s to the woman of the hour,” she says. I smile. We both take a long sip of our martini. Beckett and I arrived late last night. I’m jetlagged, but no way was I going to miss an evening out with my best friend. What a trip. On Friday and Saturday, Sennheiser shared a few well-guarded secrets behind the jaw-dropping success of their six-figure headphones. I took copious notes, as my mind was spinning with ideas on how I could borrow some of their innovative strategies and apply them to SCORE. On Saturday night there was another gala with the same army of r eporters and photographers. Contrary to the opening gala, the last night in Germany was a lot less buttoned up. On Sunday, we were back on Beckett’s private plane, heading home. Since our time in Germany was jam-packed with presentations and social gatherings—and a hell of a lot of naughtiness—Beckett declared Monday was a day off for both of us. I didn’t argue. I spent most of the day unpacking and running errands. Phoebe insisted on drinks to celebrate my return, so here we are at Nic’s Martini Lounge in Beverly Hills. “My bestie is the envy of every woman on the planet,” Phoebe says, dropping her glass on the table. “I was at the right place at the right time.” “You’ve been in LA for five weeks and you’re more popular than the most coveted actress in La La Land.” Phoebe’s brown eyes shine bright. “You weren’t hanging out with one smoking hot musician. You had your pick of three.” She lifts her fingers to drive her point. “Beckett Christensen, Tomas Lazovi n , and Anders Benkovi n ?” Phoebe shakes her head. “No wonder the media won’t shut up. You’re lucky you’re my best friend and I’m madly in love with my Peruvian god. You don’t have to worry about me being jealous. However, if I were you, I’d start walking around with bodyguards because I’m pretty sure there will be many women eager to claw your eyes out.” Her hilarious comment catches me by surprise and I have to drop my martini glass on the table before spilling its contents. The press found a million ways to twist a candid moment in time into screaming headlines. ‘MISS HOLY CHIC HAS A NAME: ARIANNE BUCHANAN CAUGHT PARTYING WITH THREE OF THE MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELORS IN THE WORLD’ ‘MISS HOLY CHIC AND CEO ROCK STAR ST EP OUT AT SENNHEISER
GALA’ ‘IS MISS HOLY CHIC CHANGING BECKETT CHRISTENSEN’S BAD BOY WAYS? STAY TUNED’ ‘MISS HOLY CHIC, THE ROCK STAR AND THE CELLISTS. WHAT A LUCKY GIRL’ ‘HAS HELL FROZEN OVER? IS BECKETT CHRISTENSEN OFF THE MARKET?’ I still can’t get over the tsunami of attention. “I said the City of Angels was your new beginning. I was right,” Phoebe says. “You’re taking a little too much credit for this.” “I disagree. I’m the one who pushed you to live a little, and after two years of living like a nun, you took my advice. Eat your heart out, Slut Mariah.” I laugh. “I couldn’t have predicted I’d end up on the front page of so many publications, but I thank God everything so far has been positive,” I say. “I would’ve been mortified if any of them had criticized my sense of fashion.” “I take full credit for that as well. Andrea turned you into a princess. That dress was so regal looking.” The press agrees. ‘MISS HOLY CHIC TRADES BEJEWELLED T-SHIRT FOR STUNNING RED DRESS’ ‘MISS HOLY CHIC TRANSFORMS INTO THE LADY IN RED AT SENNHEISER GALA’ ‘MISS HOLY CHIC SETS THE BAR WAY HIGH IN ELEGANT TRAFFIC- STOPPING RED DRESS’ “I’m still a bit baffled by how a new wardrobe and an updated hairstyle make such a dramatic difference,” I say. “I didn’t recognize myself when I looked in the mirror before Beckett walked into my room.” “You looked the part of the successful CEO’s date,” Phoebe says. “Thanks.” She takes another sip of her espresso martini. I do the same. Something wicked flashes in her eyes as she examines me from over the rim of her glass. “What?” “You’re poised.” I expect her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. She stares at me with a goofy smile on her face. I arch a brow. “I’m poised for what?” She has this smug look on her face now. God help me because something tells me what’s about to fly out of her mouth is going to floor me. “Reverse harem is the new ménage. Why have two guys when you can have four—two execs and two musicians—”
“What?” “Rhys is still in the running, right?” I glare at her like she just grew two extra heads. She shrugs. “Just sayin’.” “What is wrong with you, Phoebe? The idea of me with two guys is pr eposterous. Four? I’ll swim across the Atlantic before that ever happens.” “So, all that pent-up sexual energy that was jumping from the opening and closing galas photos is just between you and Beckett?” “How do you come up with this crazy stuff?” “It’s quite obvious from that photo of you looking up at him with goo goo eyes and him looking down at you with as much lust.” I shake my head, amazed. Phoebe leans forward and places her hand on top of mine. “Arianne, I’ve known you forever. You texted up a storm about mundane things related to your trip. You even made light of the comical situation surrounding the mistake in the reservation. You’ve already had some dirty fun with Beckett. I can just imagine two people in a room with one bed, a continent away... no one has to know...” She pauses. “But there’s the telltale sign.” My head jerks back. “What telltale sign?” “Your eyes are sparkling, Ari. Either you scored some amazing shopping deals in Germany, or you got laid. My money’s on the latter.” My back hits the seat. “Am I wrong?” There’s no point in lying. “You’re not.” “Why did you ke ep it from me? Is he an asshole? So help me God if he is—” “He’s not.” I shake my head. “On the contrary. Beckett is a gentleman, through and through.” I hesitate. “The trip was a lot to handle... and being forced to share one bed...” “What?” Phoebe’s eyes are huge. I let out a long sigh. “I’ll start from the beginning.” I spill my guts to my best friend. Phoebe fans herself. “Oof...” More fanning. “I thought Oscar sexed me up pretty good, but you two leave us in the dust.” “Like I said, it was intense.” “In capital letters.” Phoebe laughs at her own joke. “Since you two didn’t work today, I assume he spent the day rocking your world?” I wish. I shake my head. “It was a day filled with chores. Sex with the CEO wasn’t on the list.” I offer a small smile to hide my disappointment. “How come?” “The man plays with my body with as much finesse as he masterfully strums a guitar, leaving me bone-tired and satiated after countless toecurling orgasms. When he dropped me off, I was hoping”—and praying —“Beckett would want to come up to my place and even stay the night, but he didn’t.” “Did you invite him up?” “I didn’t.” “Arianne, you were bold enough to ask for what you wanted on the first night of the gala,” Phoebe says. “That was different.” “In what sense?” “We’re back in LA now—” “This smoking hot hookup started well before Germany.” “True, but it was never at this scale. In Germany, things became intimate. I’d spend my days with him, and at night after dinner and socializing, it was the two of us. We were insatiable. We’d go at it until the point of exhaustion... and then we’d pass out—” “Why didn’t you ask him up?” “He seemed a distant by the time he dropped me off last night. I wasn’t going to humiliate myself by begging for sex because of a few heated trysts that might not mean much to him,” I say. “True, he has a nice cock and everything—”
“You want more.” It’s not a question. I’m afraid to hope for more. “I don’t want to get hurt again.” Phoebe squeezes my hand. “From everything you’ve told me, he’s a far cry from your ex—” “I’m not the best at reading or understanding men. Chance made me believe, but it turned out I was nothing more than a commodity with a brain that helped him achieve the success, clout, and financial wealth he yearned for. Once he was done with me, he discarded me, and r eplaced me in a New York minute. What if Beckett does the same thing? Maybe when he dropped me off last night, he remembered he was the CEO and I was just a consultant.” Old insecurities cre ep up. “You make him sound like Jekyll and Hyde,” she says. “You’re reading too much into it, Ari. Maybe he was exhausted.” I drop my eyes to my glass and circle the rim with my finger, as if to soothe myself. “There’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t want to jump Beckett Christensen—” “Perhaps, but not all of them end up in his bed. You did... three nights in a row. From what I gather—thank you, Google—Beckett is a once and done kinda guy. It’s well documented.” “I’m sure the r epeat performance was because it was convenient.” I shrug. “My room was next door—” “You’re so full of shit, Arianne.” My eyes fly up to hers. “Even if Chance and Beckett aren’t cut from the same cloth, you said it yourself, he’s a once and done kinda guy. After our uncomfortable goodbyes last night, I’m starting to second guess my decision to throw caution to the wind because right now...”—a lump forms in my throat—“I feel like his office booty call.” As I make my way from the cab to my place, I try not to remember Phoebe is going to fall asle ep in Oscar’s arms tonight. I’ll be cradling a pillow. It never bothered me before, but after three nights sle eping nestled against Beckett’s strong chest and wrapped in his arms, my bed will feel cold and lonely. The downside of opening your fortress is you put your vulnerability under a spotlight. Sigh. When I get to my apartment, I peel out of my clothing, slip into a silk robe, and stroll to the balcony. This is my new nighttime routine. What’s the point of living in LA if you’re not going to take full advantage of the warm weather? You’d never know we’re in October. I’m not even out here a minute when my phone rings. I rush back inside and scramble for it at the bottom of my bag. Without any hesitation, I acc ept the video call. Her smiling face pops on the screen. “Mom. Is everything okay?” “Of course, honey. Why would you ask that?” “Because you rarely do video calls.” “I had to see it with my own two eyes,” she says. “See what?” She squints her green eyes at me. “If this Miss Holy Chic the press ke eps talking about is the same person as my daughter, Arianne Buchanan.” I laugh. “Even your father insisted on me calling you. He’s certain someone kidnapped you and is duping the world by passing as you. When did our daughter become such a freakin’ gorgeous model?”
I laugh even harder. She joins me. I regain my composure and wipe tears from my eyes. “You’re so dramatic.” “Honey, your it-takes-a-hell-of-a-lot-to-impress-me dad is beside himself. So am I,” she says. “You wear glamour well.” I beam. “You like the new look?” “I do. Now, you look like mini me,” she says, smoothing her natural blonde hair. “All kidding aside, I was starting to wonder if I didn’t have to call your publicist to get through to you,” Mom says. “Didn’t you get my text messages?” “I’m sorry. I was going to call you back. I was out with Phoebe.” “Oh, how is she doing?” “She’s acing all areas of her life. As usual.” “Nothing new there. You two are such go-getters,” Mom says. “Hence, why you’ve been best friends since the first day you met.” I walk to the couch, sit down and stretch my bare legs on the coffee table. “Are you calling to catch up or is this about Germany?” I get right to the point. “Everywhere I turn, there you are with that gorgeous man with the beautiful blue eyes,” Mom says. “But then, you have to go all Hollywood on me. I can’t believe you spent three days in Germany with Cello2 Cello. They’re huge stars.” “So is Beckett.” “That may be the case, but I’ve never heard his music. You know how much I love, love, love Cello2 Cello.” The second I introduced her to their music, she was hooked. “Did you get me an autograph?” “No, Mom. I didn’t want to come across like a crazy fan girl.” “Oh.” She does little to hide her disappointment. “I might meet them again—” “You can’t be serious.” Her eyes grow as wide as saucers. “Yes, they’re part of Beckett’s circle of friends, and soon, they’ll cohost a talent show with him. So, it isn’t impossible.” Mom’s head jerks back. “Are you and the CEO dating?” A huge grin slicing her lips. “No, we’re not.” “Oh.” She does this thing with her head, tilting it left to right with her lips pursed together. Something is brewing in there. The last time she called, she offered a cautionary warning. Now, she looks bummed out. I don’t get it. “What is it?” “It’ll be our little secret.” She places a finger in front of her lips. “Shhh.” “I don’t follow.” “I’ll tell Daddy, but I won’t tell Moira. I’ll let her believe you and the CEO are the new it celebrity couple.” I knit my eyebrows together. “Why would you do that?” She shrugs in a noncommittal way. “Mom, what’s going on?” “Everyone in the neighborhood is talking about those photos of you and the hot CEO. For the past few days, people have been cramming into the restaurants, waving their phones at me in excitement. As you can imagine, it’s impossible to contain such big news. Since I wasn’t answering her incessant calls, Moira marched into the restaurant, livid—” “Why?” “She demands I force you to back down.” “Back down from what?” “She wants you to put an end to your well-orchestrated media campaign designed to steal the spotlight away from Mariah.”
“What?” I’m incredulous. “Mariah’s press release about the hoity-toity fashion designer who will design her wedding dress fell on deaf ears because everyone has been talking about Miss Holy Chic.” “She had a press release for that?” I can’t believe it. “She really thinks she’s royalty.” “I told you last time, Mariah is delusional. Her mother is no better. My stupid sister believes you’re doing this to be spiteful because Mariah is the love of Chance’s life, and vice versa, and they were meant to be together.” If this weren’t the most pr eposterous thing I’ve ever heard, I’d laugh. “Mariah backstabbing you to get with said love of her life is irrelevant.” Mom’s tone is dripping with sarcasm. “Aunt Moira needs new meds because the ones she’s taking now don’t work for her.” “You should’ve seen her. She was jabbing a finger in my face, telling me you were ruining everything.” “Forget about prescriptive meds, she must be high.” “She became so belligerent, your father and another employee had to wrestle her out of the restaurant. She was creating such a scene.” I’m dumbfounded. For a beat I’m stunned into silence, then I burst out laughing. “What is it?” “Mom, even if those photos of Beckett and me don’t tell the full story, Mariah is foaming at the mouth and bursting at the seams with jealousy.” Take that, bitch. “It’s payback for all the shitty things she did to you,” Mom says. “She’s stuck with Chance... and you have a chance with sexy Beckett. Pun intended.” I stare at her confused. “Mom, weren’t you the one telling me to ke ep my wits about me?” “I know, but...” “But, what?” “Perhaps, I was wrong, Ari.” “What brought on the change of heart?” “The way that man looks at you in those photos suggests there’s more there. A mother knows, honey.” She says that last sentence with a strong Scottish accent, reminiscent of my youth. “Those photos are smoke and mirrors, Mom.” I expect her to drop the subject, but instead, she drops a bomb on me. “What if they’re not?” Her green eyes stare intently at me. I’m speechless.