Rhys W e’reline ofsittingchauffeuredin the backvehicles, of a chauffeuredall heading Bentley, to the sametrailingspot. behind Buildinga long22. The lavish venue is nestled away from prying eyes, and a stone’s throw from Rodeo Drive and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. “Arianne’s vision is coming to life,” Keira says. Her face is kissing the window in her attempt to catch the action outside. “Tonight, is the big night,” I say. “It seems like only yesterday I was sitting in a meeting with Beckett when she made her presentation. Although punishing and fast-paced, I can’t even wrap my head around the fact it’s only been three weeks since Flint’s photoshoot. Things are moving at lightning speed.” “Michaela and I had the same conversation last night. I’m amazed it’s only been six weeks since I landed in LA. It seems like a lifetime ago, yet it went by in the blink of an eye. So much has happened.” “All good stuff, though?” “Mind-blowing stuff,” she says. “The best being... you.” “That goes without saying.” I grin. She rolls her eyes. “Someone has a big ego.” “I was agreeing with you, dimples.” I lean into her and drop a soft kiss against her forehead. I don’t want to mess up her beautiful face. “For the record, you’re the best thing to happen to me, too.” “I love hearing you say that.” Her lips stretch into a warm smile. My heart flips. It’s been doing that a lot lately. Like always, I suppress the feeling. My head needs time to catch up with my heart. We’ve been dating for a month. This is the first time I’ve lived with a woman. I thought I might feel suffocated or trapped, but I don’t. I always look forward to seeing her beautiful face at the end of the day when I get back home. Contrary to when she arrived, my girlfriend no longer has time to sit idle around the pool. Her days are packed with meetings, photo sessions, and a long list of things related to being a spokesmodel. I’ve had to travel to Dallas and Silicon Valley since we’ve been together. Being away from her was harder than I expected. Returning to LA meant a hot and steamy reunion where I fucked her hard enough to forget my own name. “I’m excited and nervous at the same time,” she says. “There’s nothing for you to be nervous about. The press and the public love you.” “So far, it’s been a handful of selected media outlets with Joey as my chaperone-slash-bodyguard. Tonight, the dogs are out.” “Stop worrying. You’ll do––” My phone vibrates. I fish for it inside the pocket of my suit jacket. Beckett. BECKETT Arianne and I are pulling up to Building 22. Joey gave me the heads up. Her team is ready. Security is in place. Where you at? RHYS Fifteen minutes away from launching a freaking rocket into orbit. BECKETT
Love the analogy. SCORE will rock LA tonight. Try not to steal all the attention away from me when you st ep onto the red carpet with a woman who will most certainly outshine me. I smile at his response. RHYS Can’t make any promises I know I’ll break. My girl will be the center of attention. Suck it up, pretty boy. See you soon. I tuck my phone into my pocket. “Is everything okay?” I meet her gaze. “Beckett is worried the press won’t pay him attention since they’ll be so focused on me because I’m the lucky bastard who gets to accompany you—the face of SCORE Yours, a soon to be ‘Greatest Women in Music’, and world’s bestselling music artist.” A cloud of sadness darkens her hazel-green eyes. “It’ll all be sorted out soon,” I say. Once her old record label knew where to find her, they made sure to forward a copy of the contract she signed. Eagerness blinds you when you’re a new artist hungry for fame. You’ll gladly sign your life away. “Once again, I royally fucked up,” she says. “I finally get what I want, but I can’t reach out and grab it, and it’s all my fault.” “Enough of the self-loathing.” “No point in downplaying it,” she says. “I brought this on myself. I screwed up. Again.” She crosses her arms over her chest and averts her gaze. “Look at me.” She ignores my command. “Come on, Keira, look at me.” Her eyes meet mine. “Holt’s lawyers in London are on it,” I say. “I was naïve and arrogant to think I called the shots. This recording contract with Holt might end up being nothing more than a pipe dream at this rate. I haven’t even signed on the dotted line and already, I’m trouble.” “You’re not trouble.” I want her to shake this crazy idea out of her head. “There’s a reason Holt has badass lawyers in the US and in London. You think you’re the first artist to go head-to-head with a recording label? Hardly. It’s only been a week. These things take time.” Not surprising, record labels came knocking at her door. The offers were tempting, but she trusts Holt. So do I. She lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m too impatient, I guess.” “With good reason.” I cup her nape and look de ep into her eyes. “You get to sing the type of songs you were born to sing.” “It would break my heart if this deal with Holt fell through––” “It won’t. Holt will wait.” She nods. I skim her cheek with my knuckles, brushing my way to her chin. I lift it, forcing her eyes to lock onto mine. Her soft plump lips are tempting, but her nude lipstick is too perfectly applied to smear. I fight the urge to kiss her. “No one is going to take away your dreams. I won’t let it happen.” “You’re an amazing man, Rhys Hartford. I’m so lucky to call you mine.” “No more than I’m lucky to call you mine.” I tap the tip of her nose. “To ke ep things into perspective, SCORE—and tonight—would never have happened if it wasn’t for my own collection of screw-ups, and Beckett’s.”
She offers a small smile. I’ll take it. Keira never mentioned she owed a substantial amount of money to her former record company. Nor did she mention she never sought legal advice before walking away from her contract. The only reason they didn’t come after her sooner is because they had no idea where she was hiding. Until the legal matters are sorted out, she’s still their artist, therefore she can’t sign under Holt’s label. I didn’t have the heart to scold her for holding back on me, but I was royally pissed off. Open-ended loops can come back to bite you in the ass. I appreciate her unwillingness to take advantage of me, but what’s the point of having an obscene amount of money at my disposal if I can’t help my girl? Since finding out, I used my power and influence to deal with this shit. “Mark my words, the face of SCORE Yours will win an American Music Award trophy and a Grammy.” “Rhys, that’s dreaming big,” she says. “I know it in here.” I tap against my heart. “It’ll happen.” For the few remaining miles, we ride in silence, fingers interlaced, eyes focused outside, lost to the scenery. “Oh gosh, this is it. We’re here,” Keira says when Building 22 comes into view. “As we discussed, Mr. Hartford, once we get out of the limo, Officer Dalton and I will flank you and Miss Weatherly,” Officer Kaminski says. He’s been so quiet since we drove away from the Rodeo Drive high-end jeweler’s shop, I almost forgot he was sitting in the passenger seat. Almost. He’s one of the two armed police officer-slash-bodyguards assigned to make sure nothing happens to the bling. “We’ll stand back just enough for photo ops, but we can’t give Miss Weatherly too much leeway. We need to ke ep our eyes on the jewelry at all times.” “I understand,” I say. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kiera says. “I’m walking lunch money.” I chuckle. Given the press presence tonight, it’s no surprise a well-established Beverly Hills jewelry designer wanted to steal a little bit of the limelight. From the stunning necklace to the wide bracelet at her wrist to the dazzling cocktail ring, and the spectacular earrings, Keira is dripping in diamonds. The security detailing isn’t optional. As the car cre eps closer to the red carpet, I pull out my phone and text Joey to tell her our limousine is the next in line. When the car comes to a stop, Officer Dalton, who was riding in another car we were tailing, opens Keira’s door. He extends a hand and helps her out. Officer Kaminski gets out next and I follow. As I close the top button to my black suit jacket, I catch sight of Beckett and Arianne working the press line. Collin and Shane Dennison aren’t too far behind. As usual, Collin is calling too much attention to himself. I shake my head. To make a big splash, you need headliners. Within the next half hour, Building 22 will be bursting at the seams with Hollywood movers and shakers. The illustrious list also includes many of our close friends. Pride washes over me. Then, I struggle for a second when my throat tightens as an unexpected wave of emotion threatens to overwhelm me. These events are a reminder of how far Beckett and I have come––from the lows of rehab to the pinnacle of success. Whenever we st ep out like this, the realization always hits me full force. Tonight, is no exc eption.
As I round the vehicle to meet Keira, I search the crowd. Glamour hangs around us like an overripe fruit. I spot Joey. I nod, answering her silent question. I know the drill. My eyes lower to the beautiful woman standing next to me with a mixture of awe and excitement at the prospect of embarking on a new journey together. “Ready?” “Ready. I think.” “I’m right here. You lean on me if you need to.” “Okay.” She offers a brilliant smile. We take a st ep forward. Earsplitting cheers break into the night. A man waves at her. “Keira, we love you.” A woman screams, jumping up and down. “Oh my God, it’s Keira Weatherly.” “Keira! Keira! Keira!” A group of people chant their devotion. Some hold signs with hearts and fan messages. My girl waves and blows kisses. A cacophony of sound swells from the crowd in response. With one simple request, Flint changed Keira’s life. A smile tugs at her lips when her gorgeous eyes connect with mine. “I can’t believe this is all for me,” she says. “Get used to it, dimples. It’s just the beginning.” From the corner of my eye, something catches my attention. I shift my gaze away from Keira’s and catch Joey waving at us. “Come on, we’re holding up the press line,” I say. “Okay.” Cranking up the charisma, I smile at the men and women who will become disciples in helping us spread the gospel about SCORE Yours. I wrap an arm around my girl’s slender waist and pull her into the throng of the media. “Keira, over here.” We turn in the direction of a black woman. Her fashionable bright blue suit, black strappy heels, slicked back straightened hair, bright red lips, and stylish black glasses that frame her dark brown eyes make her stand out. “You left LA as an unknown artist and you return to the City of Angels like a reigning queen. How does it feel?” My girl laughs. “That’s a tall order.” “So is he.” The r eporter brushes her eyes down the length of my body. “But that also seems to play in your favor. Congratulations on scoring Rhys Hartford. What I’d give to be in your designer shoes.” “Pretty witty play on words,” Keira says. She glances up at me, but the twinkle in her eyes tells me she’s flattered and amused by the r eporter’s remark. I laugh it off. “Well, thank you,” the black woman says with a beaming smile. “FYI, Rhys, fan girl over here.” She points at herself. “I was unaware I still had fans,” I say. “Nonsense,” she says. “It’s a shame you only had one hit, but I was a huge fan of your flow. And the way you spit those rhymes... kickass.” “I’m humbled. My career lasted a nano second and I’m always surprised when fans remember me.” “You’re selling yourself short, Hijinks,” the r eporter says. I smile at the mention of my stage name. For a beat, I’m transported back. “Your song reached the top 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the US, hit number one in nine countries, and was in the top 100 songs for that year.” I’m impressed she remembers. “Subsequent songs failed to chart,” I say. “It was a fly-by-night success.”
“Yet, it had a lasting impression on me,” she says. “I like you.” “Don’t they all,” she says with a wink. “Seriously, you’re great,” I say. “Right back at ya, Hijinks.” “Keira, over here.” A curvy redhead with a cascade of hair and a noticeable British accent calls our attention. Since tonight isn’t about me, I bid goodbye to the r eporter-slash-fan and pull my girlfriend along so we ke ep walking the press line. “Love, love, love the dress. The color on you... so perfect.” The redhead gushes all over my girl. “Who are you wearing?” “Angel Suárez,” Keira says. “An American?” “Yes. Angel is an LA based Cuban American designer.” “His style is flawless,” the curvy redhead says. “You stole the words right out of my mouth,” Keira says. Even though Angel’s dresses have been featured in a handful of fashion magazines, it’s not until my girl’s photoshoot A-listers and socialites started paying attention to him. Angel considers her responsible for turning him into one of the most coveted designers in the country. Photos of the now famous white dress had such an impact on his career, he’s declared her his muse. Tonight, she’s wearing a gorgeous fitted light-purple dress with a strapless neckline that hits her below the knee, accompanied by a killer pair of white python high heels with red soles. My girl is still sporting short blonde hair. It’s becoming her trademark. The edgy hairstyle and her bare shoulders accentuate her long neck and showcase her tattoo. She’s truly gorgeous. And the best part is she owns it tonight. She had me waiting downstairs as she was getting ready. When she hit the last st ep, I was transfixed by the sexy goddess standing before me. As much as I wanted to drag her back up the stairs and ravish her one more time before we hit the road, I knew it would be inconsiderate of me to fuck up her perfect makeup and hair. “Wow. The jewelry is breathtaking.” The redhead’s brown eyes shine bright with admiration. “I’ve never worn anything this expensive in my life.” Keira brings a hand to her chest. “To say I feel like a million dollars would not only be a cliché, but it would be an understatement.” Keira poses to show off the rocks—all part of the client’s expectations. It’s unfathomable how much money the jeweler was willing to pay her for this photo op. A few members of the press oooh and ahh. “I’m sure,” the redhead says. “Do you get to ke ep the diamonds?” That question gets old fast. “Only if I’m willing to fork out the money,” Keira says. “And that’s unlikely to happen.” The r eporter moves her attention to me and gives me a onceover before staring me square in the eyes. I resent the insinuation I read in them. “Rhys is my boyfriend, not my sugar daddy.” Keira answers the redhead’s silent question. “The jewelry isn’t mine to ke ep.” That’s my girl. The redhead inhales before shooting off another question. “Rumor has it your former record company is looking to piggyback on all the media attention you’re getting. Were those video clips teasers? Are you considering a duet with Trinity after vanishing for so long?” “SCORE Yours is my focus right now,” Keira says. Great answer. Good for her for being unperturbed by the redhead’s comment. Her former record label put the duet offer on the table again. Like the first
time, my girl rejected it. Two group mates are dead. The group is defunct. As a last-ditch effort, the label threw the press a bone—a recording of Keira and Trinity in the studio. The song—and performance—fell flat. Still, the media is turning the old clip into breaking news. It’s laughable. “Don’t you think it’s a shame to ke ep your voice bottled up?” The redhead soldiers on. “I haven’t made any decisions yet in regard to my career as a singer. Right now, I’m having fun being a model.” “That, and having a lot of fun with...”—the redhead’s eyes fix mine with a sharp stare—“one of SCORE Yours’s sexy billionaire executives. It’s a coveted position to be in. Lucky you.” Holy fuck, she’s out of line. “If by that remark you mean I have a pretty kickass boyfriend who happens to be the COO of the company, then yes, I agree with you, I’m a lucky woman.” Keira’s smile is tight. “If you’ll excuse me, I see another r eporter who’s trying to catch my attention.” Bravo. Keira grabs my hand and pulls me forward, our bodyguards matching our st eps. We’re blinded by a thousand flashes, too many mics are shoved in our faces and we’re bombarded with a deluge of questions, but it’s not like we didn’t expect it. Most of the questions are addressed to the dazzling blonde hanging from my arm. Tonight, I’m not as fascinating as my girlfriend. I’m okay with that. We ke ep moving down the press line and soon, we’re so close to the entry, I could reach out and grab the door handle. Finally. This isn’t my first red carpet walk, but it’s a lot of pressure to ke ep your cool. You’re under intense scrutiny. You have to ke ep a stoic face and bite your tongue no matter how stupid or far-fetched the question. If the press gets a reaction out of you, you become easy prey. So far, my girl is doing a bang-up job. A middle-aged, bald guy lifts a finger up. “Keira, one question before you go inside, please.” “Sure.” “My name is Jedd Maitland and I’m with the Hollywood Herald,” he says. “Hi Jedd,” Keira says. “What’s your question?” “In a tell-all interview we’re about to publish in our magazine and online, Chelle’s mom claims you’re partially responsible for her daughter’s death. How do you respond to that?” Keira’s body goes rigid on my arm. My brows crease with concern when my eyes connect with hers. What the fuck? She shifts her gaze, returning it to Jedd. “Chelle’s mom refuses to budge from her erroneous assumptions.” Her tone is icy. I search the crowd to see if I can catch Joey’s attention. She’s standing by Arianne and Beckett’s side as they grant WNN—Wire News Network’s Enews entertainment program—an interview. Shit. I don’t want to ring the alarm, but I have a bad feeling about this guy. “Fair enough.” Jedd pretends to acc ept Keira’s answer, then fires off another one. “Care to elaborate on the jealous feud between you and your best friend over British trust fund baby Paxton Foley? What better time than now to share your side of the story.”
What is he talking about? “There was never a feud between Chelle and me over a guy, so I don’t have anything to say about that,” Keira says. All this is news to me. “Is Chelle’s mom lying?” Keira’s gaze narrows. She’s about to answer Jedd’s question, but I squeeze her hand to silence her. She squeezes back. “She answered your question,” I say. “Oh, you’re her boyfriend, her publicist, and her guard dog?” He smirks. “You wear too many hats, Mr. Hartford.” I’m about to wrap your tongue around your fucking head if you don’t stop hounding and pestering her. I take a de ep breath, my nostrils flaring. “Tonight is about SCORE Yours. If you have questions relating to Keira r epresenting the brand, we’re all ears. However, if you’re here to cause problems, I have a serious issue with that, so yeah, I’m doubling as her guard dog.” “Something tells me these guys have the publicity angle for SCORE Yours covered.” The bald guy points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the mob of r eporters. I stare him down, willing myself to ke ep my composure. “No doubt they’re all dying to r eport on the designer Keira is wearing, or take photos of the diamonds on loan, or request you two lock lips on the red carpet for the perfect photo op old Hollywood style. I’m more interested in digging into the past. Her murky past, to be precise.” His head jerks to my girl. “That’s real news.” The corner of his lip lifts into a smirk, a precursor he has no intention of playing nice. “She decamped London like someone who has something to hide. There’s a lot of unfinished business––” I let go of Keira’s hand and take a st ep forward so I’m standing toe-to- toe with him on the other side of the red velvet rope. I tower over him by easily ten inches. “Let it go.” “Or what?” The defiance in his eyes suggests he won’t back down easily. I glance to my left then my right. I can’t chew his head off without having a hundred cameras pointed in my direction. This could turn ugly—and viral—real fast. I suck it up and st ep back, my eyes still shooting daggers at him. Asshole. “You want to know who killed Chelle?” Keira’s question breaks the tense standoff. “Finally, you’re willing to talk,” Jedd says, moving his attention away from me. What I’d give to punch the smirk off his face. “Piranhas like you,” she says, lifting her chin, her voice coated with anger. “You pretend to be a r eporter, but in reality, you’re nothing more than an ambulance chaser who gets his kicks from fishing for lies, ready to twist anything in your favor for more website views or to sell more magazines filled with half-truths. It’s all about the money. Never about the people you hurt...” She shoots him a contemptuous glare. “Or worse, the people you kill. You want to believe Chelle’s mom’s story, knock yourself out.” With that, Keira heads for the door, the two officers in tow. What the hell just happened?