“Yes, Mr. McBride?” Melanie’s got a pen and a little notepad out, but McBride’s instructions are simple.
“Tell Christina if she’s not out of her dressing room in the next five minutes—” he starts, but I quickly stop him. That name, Christina, sounds familiar. And not the good kind of familiar but the kind that puts a foul taste in my mouth.
“That psycho who worked with me on the “All Over You” video?” I demand, and he nods. “Why the fuck would she be here?”
“Your love interest, Lucas.”
The last fucking thing I need in a music video to apologize to the woman I’m in love with is another woman crawling all over me, especially Christina. I jerk my head from side to side. “Fire her.”
McBride is suddenly just as flustered as his assistant. “I can’t just get another actress out here right away, Lucas. Not even for you. We can reshoot in a day or two maybe or even in—”
I shake my head again. “No, no actress at all. When I told you I wanted this video to be simple, I meant that. This is just me. No bullshit. And no actresses dancing around me or up on me. Just me and the song.
He backs away from me, his face a mask of confusion. At last he nods. “Melanie, sweetheart, can you get in touch with Christina’s agent?” When she immediately tells him she will, he adds, “And get me Deana.”
Another name that very familiar. I take a step toward McBride, pointing to set at the same time. “No need to discuss concepts, Karl. Everything I need to do this video is right there. You want something extra? I’ll hold up notecards or something, but that’s it.”
Karl’s shoulders slump, and the look on his face says it all—he thinks this is going to be a clusterfuck of a video—but finally he says, “Can we take thirty to get everything under control?”
“I’ll be in my dressing room.”
Even though she’s busy trying to reach Christina’s people on her iPhone, Melanie is right on my heels (obviously on McBride’s orders) as I head back to my dressing room, asking me if I need anything. When we reach the room, I stand in the doorway and bar her from trying to come inside.
“If I need a water, trust me, I know how to find it,” I say as I let myself in and shut the door behind me before she can say anything else. I’m almost to the couch on the other side of the room when the door swings open. Turning abruptly, I’m ready to tell Melanie to fuck off until they’re ready for me, but instead I face my sister. A lot of the tension I’ve been feeling seems to disappear.
“Shit, here I was thinking your ass had fallen off the face of the earth.”
But my relief to see her must show on my face because she grins. “I got your message this morning about the “Ten Days” music video, and I had to be here.” She breezes past me and throws herself down on the couch. There’s a bowl of apples on the coffee table, which she wrinkles her nose up at even as she grabs one. “Sorry it took me so long. Security gave me a hard time.”
“You were on the list.” I sit down a few feet away from her, watching her expression carefully for any signs that might point to bullshit between her and Wyatt. When she shows none of those, I add, “They should’ve let you right in.”
“It’s the hair.” She sighs, running her hand through her multi-colored hair. “It was a different color on my ID. I need to color it back, but I’m afraid it’ll all fall out if I do.”
“Kylie,” I say, but she keeps going.
“I brought you your award.” She reaches into her oversized bag and plunks a statuette that’s shaped like a giant guitar pick on the coffee table beside the bowl of fruit. “I was going to keep it, but figured you’d keep hounding me if I didn’t give it back.”
If I wasn’t so worried about her—or still focused on nothing but the video shoot—I would have missed the ring. But I see it—fuck, it’s impossible not to see it. And I feel all my muscles tighten up. “I’d be dumb as fuck if I asked if that was a purity ring or whatever the hell they call them, huh?”
Placing the partially eaten apple onto her lap, she brings her hand to her chest, covering her ring finger with her other hand. “If purity means married then I guess you’re not so dumb after all.”
“He proposed to you?” I demand, but she shakes her head. I’m about to ask her if someone else proposed, but she clears her throat.
“We, ah, sealed the deal in Vegas. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I know you’ve been busy with all the band stuff.”
Too busy to give a shit about something like this? “Kylie,” I groan, but she holds up her hands defensively and leans in close.
“And before you even ask, no, I’m not pregnant.”
Because our conversation is just getting started, it suddenly has to come to a close because there are a few timid knocks at the dressing room door. Melanie peeks inside and Kylie and I both glance over at her.
“Mr. Wolfe, we’re ready for you again.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lucas Wolfe
No matter how much time passes by, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that motherfucker Wyatt being married to my kid sister. I should’ve known it would happen, but maybe I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit to notice what was happening around me.
Then again, I should’ve been expecting her to quit on me too. But while I was getting ready for the tour and the launch of my own stuff, I failed to see that one coming. She breaks the news to me about a month after her crazy ass Vegas stunt, and for someone who isn’t easily surprised, I’m fucking stunned.
“I should make your ass pay for lunch,” I tell her. She’d convinced me to take her to some new Italian restaurant that had ended up being shit—plus I spent half the lunch signing napkins and tits for a group of fans that had noticed me. “Really, Kylie? Right before the goddamn tour?”
She presses her lips together into a thin white line. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said, Lucas?”
I down the rest of my beer, which is lukewarm and flat. “I heard Wyatt, New Orleans, and sorry. Did I miss something?”
“You’re being a dick.” She digs her fork into my spaghetti, eats it, and makes a face at the taste. “Okay, that is gross. Sorry, Lucas.”
I shrug. “I’m more worried about you and McCrae picking up and moving to Louisiana. Fuck the shitty food.” I signal our waitress and mouth a request for the check. “You sure you going to be okay, Ky?”
“I plan on keeping you in line even from New Orleans. I would never quit on you.”
“But are you going to be okay?” I repeat.
“I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t think I’d be okay.” She grabs the bill the moment our waitress sets it on our table. “Don’t worry, I got this one.”
Yeah, probably out of her business credit card. I watch her carefully as she digs in her wallet for a credit card, and I’m surprised when she uses cash. “So, why the move?”
Sliding the money to the edge of the table, she lifts her shoulders. “New start. We’ve got so much baggage around here, and so much good history there, that it seems smart. And you’re only a few hours away by flight.” When I just stare at her, she heaves a sigh. “If you had Sienna back in your life right now—if you could have that new start—wouldn’t you pick up and leave?”
Of course I would. “Without a fucking doubt.”
A slow smile builds on my sister’s face. “So you understand where I’m coming from?” When I give her a little gesture that isn’t a negative or a positive, she adds, “You accept this, right? Because I feel like I need that from you before I start telling everyone else what I’ve done.”
When Kylie talks like this, it puts me in a shitty place. She has to know that. I wait until after our waitress carries off the bill and cash to tell her, “I accept everything that makes you happy.”
She sinks back into the booth. “Good. Like, incredibly good. Hell, Lucas, I was more afraid of dealing with you than I was of Dad.”