“It’s possible.” He quirks his head at Billie. “Is there a hurry?”
“We need to get her registered for school at McCall Academy, and we can’t do that until I’m her legal guardian.”
“McCall,” he says, raising his eyebrows and turning toward me. “Aiming high.”
“There’s no reason Shiloh shouldn’t have the best,” Billie says a little defensively. “And I’ll feel better to have my guardianship official as soon as possible so there aren’t any problems with the Department of Health and Human Services.”
Christian sorts through the forms he’s pulled. “Unless a foster family complains, there shouldn’t be an issue, as long as we’re working toward getting the paperwork filed.” He turns to me. “My understanding is that your last residence was in a group home in San Francisco?”
I nod.
He scrutinizes me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You seem very quiet, Shiloh. Is everything okay?”
I need to actually open my mouth and say something. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”
“But this is what she wants,” Billie interjects with an exuberant nod. “We’ve talked about it several times,” she repeats.
Christian keeps me pinned in his gaze. “I’d like to hear that from Shiloh, if I could.”
I nod again. “Billie’s great.”
“And you want her to be your guardian?”
“Yes.”
He looks at me a second longer before laying the papers in front of Billie. “When you have all of this completed, bring it by my office. I’ll get it filed with family court as soon as I have it back.”
He talks her through the process and I feel myself getting smaller and smaller every time he uses the word “minor.” I’ve never felt so much like a kid in my life.
Which makes me wonder what the hell I thought I was doing with Tro. He’s no kid. He’s six feet, two-hundred pounds of pure sex. And unlike the conversation happening across the coffee table, he makes me feel all woman.
But I’m not. I can’t sign my own contracts, I can’t register myself for school, I can’t rent my own apartment. Hell, I can’t even rent a car. The whole world looks at me and sees a kid. Everyone but Tro.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I know it’s probably Lilah responding to my text, but my hand’s shaking as pull it out of my pocket. Billie and Christian wrap up their conversation and Billie gets up and sees him to the door as I flip my phone and look at the screen.
Any progress on that solo?
The reason I gave for going to Tro’s hotel room three weeks ago. My heart slams against my ribs as I read his text again.
Heat rises in my face and I close my messages. I don’t even want to think about that night. Tro Gunnison, who sleeps with anything with a vagina, turned me down. He’s probably texting me from some German woman’s bed.
I set my phone down, but then pick it up again and do what I’ve been forcing myself not to for the last week—type his name into my browser. It opens a list of links. The news feed at the top has the most recent stories. I click on the first link and am hit in the face with a picture of a devastating redhead sitting on Tro’s lap in a Belgian night club, her face in his neck.
I click to the next article down, which has a picture of the guys onstage in Madrid last night, pyrotechnics lighting the stage behind them.
The next article has another picture of him and a woman, this time groping each other in a dark corner of another night club. This article’s in English, so I read the first paragraph. Princess Silvia of Bulgaria.
My intestines wind their way around my stomach and tie themselves in a knot as I close the browser. He knew he had French movie stars and Bulgarian princesses waiting for him in Europe. No wonder he didn’t want me.
But I hate that I hate he’s fucking Europe when he wouldn’t fuck me. I don’t want to care.
I watch Billie come back from the door, and from the smile she gives me, I’m surprised she doesn’t offer me a cookie and pat my head.
I’ve never felt younger than I do right now.
Chapter 23
Tro
“Thank you, Barcelona!” I shout into the mic after our second encore.
The stage lights dim and I jog off the stage. We hit the wings and Jamie gets both Grim and me in a headlock and jams us together. “Let’s fucking burn this city down!” he yells over the dying applause. “Spanish booze, Spanish *, all fucking night!”
I don’t say anything, but just like every other night in the month and a half since I left Lucky behind, I’m really not feeling it. I’ve let Jamie drag me along a few times to keep the peace with Grim, but I always bag out early and head back to the hotel alone.
We leave the roadies to their work and head back to the dressing room.