“What do you mean?” I start to feel nervous, so I drum my fingers on the table. She notices right away.
“You can trust me, you know.”
My eyes search hers and I stifle a laugh. “You work for Damon, my husband. Of course I can trust you.”
“That’s not what I mean. Look, Ivy, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that something isn’t right. That today’s headlines stating you’ve reconciled with your true love don’t reflect the real story.”
I stay quiet. Damon warned me not to say a word. The deal was simple—Xander’s career would remain untarnished as long as I cooperated. Otherwise Damon threatened to dismantle the band and ruin Xander’s future. I have to put out an album and keep quiet about our real reason for the reconciliation. Six months I have to give him—I can do that.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
“I married him,” I answer, not wanting to lie.
“I know. It’s just that the look you’re giving Xander in the photo looks like love. The look you gave Damon when he walked away looked more like disgust.”
I look at her, stunned, and before I can stop them the words tumble out. “Damon threatened to ruin Xander and the band’s career like his father did to Nick Wilde . . . unless I married him. I couldn’t let that happen to Xander or the band. So I did what he asked.”
“Really? Nick didn’t stop touring because Xander’s mother, Charlotte, got pregnant?” she asks, and I quickly answer.
“No. Damon said his father fired Nick for poor sales performance and that the Wilde Ones’ sales have been anything but stellar, so he could do the same.”
“From what I know, Josh Wolf is a decent man. I can’t imagine him killing anyone’s career unless the sales were nonrecoupable. And I’ve actually seen those sales reports not too long ago, and I don’t think that was the case.”
“You have? How? Why?”
“I have them in my possession. My uncle never married and I was his sole heir. When he died, all his possessions were willed to me. I was going through his stuff a few months ago to help Jagger prepare for his audition and I came across the sales reports. I thought it was strange that they were in with his things, but then, my uncle was a silent partner with River and Xander’s grandfather’s store, Avery’s. So I figured the documents just got placed haphazardly in the wrong stack. I did look at the numbers out of curiosity and remember thinking they were actually phenomenal.”
I look at her, trying to figure this all out. My head is spinning. Why would Damon lie about that?
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I can help you. Do you trust me?”
I nod. “How?”
“I know a freelance writer who specializes in financial investigation. Can I contact him? Ask him to look into this? Maybe he can find something you can present to Damon as a counter, a way out, who knows?”
Again I nod. A counter—the word sounds so strange, but then again, my situation is anything but normal.
She sets her phone on the table and hits CONTACTS. I watch her as she selects BEN and texts, I have a job for you. I’ll e-mail you the details later.
“There, done.” She hands me her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know if we find anything. And, Ivy, if you need to talk, just call me.”
I type in my contact information and slide the phone back across the table. “Thank you.”
“Listen, it’s none of my business and I don’t know Xander that well. But from what I do know, he seems like a tough guy. I think he can handle Damon.”
“Who can handle Damon?” his voice inquires from behind me. His lips are on my cheek as he pulls up a chair. The spot where his mouth touched my face feels damp and clammy, and I want to wipe it away.
Aerie doesn’t stumble in her response. “Ivy’s security.” She smiles and looks over at Johnny. “I was joking about having a glass of wine”—she raises her glass—“while conducting the interview and asked if he”—she points to Johnny—“would get in trouble. Then I corrected myself when I looked over at him again and said I think he can handle you.”
Damon isn’t amused. “Well, are you ladies finished? I have a lot of pressing business to attend to today and I want to get my wife back to the bus.”
“I think we are,” Aerie says, closing her laptop. “I’d like to send Ivy the questions and responses before I publish, though. If that’s okay with you?”
Damon seems extremely distracted. “Of course. Just run them through my assistant and she’ll see to it that Ivy gets them.” He scoots his chair back, reaches for his wallet, and throws a fifty-dollar bill on the table like it’s confetti. Then he takes my hand and tugs me to my feet with a smile, as if I’m a child not following directions. More disgust flows through me.
I extend my other hand to Aerie. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Daniels,” I say as nonchalantly and as formally as I can.
“Mrs. Wolf, it was my pleasure. Damon, thank you for the opportunity.” I’m so sickened by the sound of his name as mine that I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
“Good afternoon,” Damon says for the both of us before placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me forward. She glances down when her phone beeps with a text and I hope it’s the information she was talking about.
My disgusted reaction toward him only grows with every touch, and again I question what I ever saw in him. We reach the waiting car as Johnny trails behind us. On the way back to the bus, Damon says nothing while he reads e-mails on his phone and I relish the silence. Looking out the window as we approach the two tour buses in the parking lot, I see Amy boarding the Wilde Ones bus. The pit in my stomach grows, and I start to wonder if I am strong enough to do this—even for Xander.
CHAPTER 16
Something to Believe In
Xander
Damon Wolf has been here for two days. I can’t get near her and it’s killing me. I have to find a way to get past his security—I need to know if she did this because she wanted to or because she had to. Either way, I don’t understand her actions but I’m not ready to give up. Hatred has been consuming me and I exhale his name as a curse before mustering the strength to get out of bed.
Slowly sitting up, I turn my phone on—too many messages to check right now. My head is pounding and I feel like shit. The bus is unusually quiet. No one seems to be around. I tack up the daily before hitting the bathroom. Then I jump in the shower, slip a pair of jeans on, and head back to the galley, where I lie back down and close my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.
“Xander, there you are. I’ve been calling you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Amy calls from across the room, holding the daily sheet in her hand.
I lift my head. “What are you doing here?”
“Jiffy Lube Live is a double bill, remember? You were supposed to call me?” She points to the sheet I prepared days ago but never bothered to look at today before I posted it.
I throw my head back. “Shit, I completely forgot Breathless is opening for us tonight.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I know. I called Ena and she didn’t know anything about it.”
“My head’s been in my ass lately. I’m really sorry. What do you need me to do?”
“I took care of it all. The guys are finishing up in the amphitheater now.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
Technically, coordinating with Breathless would have been Ellie’s job, but as soon as Damon showed up he told the label to let her go, quoting cost cuts. She was actually really happy about it—she said she had wanted to move to New York City for some time and the severance pay would give her the time she needed to find a new job.
“Want some company?” Amy asks me with a smile.
I throw my hand over my eyes. “I’m really beat and I have a lot on my mind. What do you say we catch up later?”
There’s no response, so I move my arm and rise on my elbows. She smiles at me and reaches her arms around her head to unwind her braid. Then in an extremely bold move she steps forward and straddles me on the bed. The smell of her hair hits me and the feel of her body on mine makes me want to forget everything and just let go.
She runs her fingers up my bare chest.
“Amy, what are you doing?”
Again nothing—just silence. She slowly starts to unbutton her blouse, but I gently take her hand to stop her.
Again I ask, “Amy, what are you doing?” but this time my voice is cool in a way I’ve never spoken to her before.
“I want you.”
I sit up and carefully slide her off me. I take her chin in my hand and tip her face up to mine. “Amy, I have to tell you something I should have told you a while ago.”
“What is it?”
“I’m in love with Ivy.”
“But she’s married to Damon,” Amy snaps.
“I know, but that doesn’t change how I feel about her.”
Tears fill her eyes.
“We’ve had a casual thing going for a long time. It had to end eventually.”
“I’ve wanted more than casual for a while and I thought you did too.”
“Amy, believe me, you’re gorgeous and I enjoy your company . . . but I’m not in love with you.”
She takes a deep breath and stands. With a frown she says, “Fuck you, Xander Wilde. Don’t call me ever again.”
I throw myself back down on the bed as soon as she leaves. I can’t even go after her right now. I feel like an ass**le, but I never promised her anything.
The guys come back around thirty minutes later and drag my ass out of bed. They ran into Amy, who was spitting nails. Garrett puts his arm around my shoulder. “Look, buddy, I think I told you once—chicks don’t do casual.”
I shake my head because I don’t really have a response and he pours me a drink and tells me all about how chicks don’t do casual. After drinking more than we should on the bus, we head over to the arena, all in foul moods. We watch Breathless perform and drink a few more beers. I know I’m being irresponsible, but I just don’t give a shit right now.
Breathless is ending their set and it was flawless. Jane’s love for the audience and of performing made for a great high-energy show. Scarcely taking a breath between songs, she powered through soaring ballads, bounced excitedly through new songs, and scorched the place with a cover of Katy Perry’s “Roar.” Her charm and undeniable strong pipes had the half-packed house crazy in love with her.
The band has fifteen minutes before taking the stage. Again Ivy doesn’t show to huddle with us, but this time we know she’s in her dressing room because her f**king bodyguard is standing outside it.
Leif, undaunted, walks up to him. “I need to talk to Ivy. Get out of my way.”
The brute crosses his arms and completely ignores him.
Leif gets right in his face. “I said, I need to talk to Ivy.”
“Not happening before the show,” he grunts.
“Why the f**k can’t I talk to her?” Leif curses fluently at the ninja.
With my face still battered from my last encounter with Johnny, I make my way over there. I want Leif to make it onstage; I don’t give a f**k what happens to me.
“Come on, man, no use trying to budge this ass**le,” I tell Leif.
Just as the door opens and I think I finally have my chance to talk to her, I see that it’s Damon, not Ivy.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks me, staying close to his bodyguard.
I just stare at him while ways to kill him run through my mind.
The cue for the band to take the stage sounds, and I look at Leif. “Go.” He hesitates and I growl at him. “Go.”
“This is f**king bullshit,” he shoots at Damon and finally walks away, leaving me with Damon and his bodyguard.
“Are you letting her onstage or what?” By this point I’m scowling at them both.
“Look, boy, you need to learn how this is going to work. I hold the cards. I say where and when Ivy makes an appearance. I say who she talks to and who she doesn’t. Do you get it?” He enunciates every syllable in case I don’t understand him.
I glare at him. “Fuck off.” My voice is cold and my intentions are made clear.
There’s fury blazing on his face but not as hot as mine.
“You will be gone before morning—or you and your band will be on your bus headed back to LA. A few calls to the remaining venues about a conflict among the band members, some drugs found on the bus, whatever the hell I want to make up, will have them accepting Ivy graciously in your band’s place. Do you hear me?”
I lunge for his throat, but Johnny grabs me by mine with one hand and gives me a swift punch in the gut with the other. Damon nods at him toward the set of doors leading backstage. “Let him watch his last show,” he orders, and I’m assisted backstage, in case I couldn’t find it myself, in some kind of hold that I can only assume is a martial arts move.
The Wilde Ones’ show sucked. By the time Ivy took the stage, the audience was yelling about why it was taking so long. They started up with hits, but their performance lacked energy, there was no excitement, and they all seemed completely drained of any artistic ability. Even Ivy’s last song, a cover mix of a combination of both Kelly Clarkson’s and the Script’s “Walk Away,” just wasn’t enough to excite the audience. The show was a bomb. Immediately afterward Ivy was quickly taken from the arena. As I’m staring at her back as Damon’s personal security leads her away, Leif grabs my arm. “Come with me. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“You can trust me, you know.”
My eyes search hers and I stifle a laugh. “You work for Damon, my husband. Of course I can trust you.”
“That’s not what I mean. Look, Ivy, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that something isn’t right. That today’s headlines stating you’ve reconciled with your true love don’t reflect the real story.”
I stay quiet. Damon warned me not to say a word. The deal was simple—Xander’s career would remain untarnished as long as I cooperated. Otherwise Damon threatened to dismantle the band and ruin Xander’s future. I have to put out an album and keep quiet about our real reason for the reconciliation. Six months I have to give him—I can do that.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
“I married him,” I answer, not wanting to lie.
“I know. It’s just that the look you’re giving Xander in the photo looks like love. The look you gave Damon when he walked away looked more like disgust.”
I look at her, stunned, and before I can stop them the words tumble out. “Damon threatened to ruin Xander and the band’s career like his father did to Nick Wilde . . . unless I married him. I couldn’t let that happen to Xander or the band. So I did what he asked.”
“Really? Nick didn’t stop touring because Xander’s mother, Charlotte, got pregnant?” she asks, and I quickly answer.
“No. Damon said his father fired Nick for poor sales performance and that the Wilde Ones’ sales have been anything but stellar, so he could do the same.”
“From what I know, Josh Wolf is a decent man. I can’t imagine him killing anyone’s career unless the sales were nonrecoupable. And I’ve actually seen those sales reports not too long ago, and I don’t think that was the case.”
“You have? How? Why?”
“I have them in my possession. My uncle never married and I was his sole heir. When he died, all his possessions were willed to me. I was going through his stuff a few months ago to help Jagger prepare for his audition and I came across the sales reports. I thought it was strange that they were in with his things, but then, my uncle was a silent partner with River and Xander’s grandfather’s store, Avery’s. So I figured the documents just got placed haphazardly in the wrong stack. I did look at the numbers out of curiosity and remember thinking they were actually phenomenal.”
I look at her, trying to figure this all out. My head is spinning. Why would Damon lie about that?
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I can help you. Do you trust me?”
I nod. “How?”
“I know a freelance writer who specializes in financial investigation. Can I contact him? Ask him to look into this? Maybe he can find something you can present to Damon as a counter, a way out, who knows?”
Again I nod. A counter—the word sounds so strange, but then again, my situation is anything but normal.
She sets her phone on the table and hits CONTACTS. I watch her as she selects BEN and texts, I have a job for you. I’ll e-mail you the details later.
“There, done.” She hands me her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know if we find anything. And, Ivy, if you need to talk, just call me.”
I type in my contact information and slide the phone back across the table. “Thank you.”
“Listen, it’s none of my business and I don’t know Xander that well. But from what I do know, he seems like a tough guy. I think he can handle Damon.”
“Who can handle Damon?” his voice inquires from behind me. His lips are on my cheek as he pulls up a chair. The spot where his mouth touched my face feels damp and clammy, and I want to wipe it away.
Aerie doesn’t stumble in her response. “Ivy’s security.” She smiles and looks over at Johnny. “I was joking about having a glass of wine”—she raises her glass—“while conducting the interview and asked if he”—she points to Johnny—“would get in trouble. Then I corrected myself when I looked over at him again and said I think he can handle you.”
Damon isn’t amused. “Well, are you ladies finished? I have a lot of pressing business to attend to today and I want to get my wife back to the bus.”
“I think we are,” Aerie says, closing her laptop. “I’d like to send Ivy the questions and responses before I publish, though. If that’s okay with you?”
Damon seems extremely distracted. “Of course. Just run them through my assistant and she’ll see to it that Ivy gets them.” He scoots his chair back, reaches for his wallet, and throws a fifty-dollar bill on the table like it’s confetti. Then he takes my hand and tugs me to my feet with a smile, as if I’m a child not following directions. More disgust flows through me.
I extend my other hand to Aerie. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Daniels,” I say as nonchalantly and as formally as I can.
“Mrs. Wolf, it was my pleasure. Damon, thank you for the opportunity.” I’m so sickened by the sound of his name as mine that I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
“Good afternoon,” Damon says for the both of us before placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me forward. She glances down when her phone beeps with a text and I hope it’s the information she was talking about.
My disgusted reaction toward him only grows with every touch, and again I question what I ever saw in him. We reach the waiting car as Johnny trails behind us. On the way back to the bus, Damon says nothing while he reads e-mails on his phone and I relish the silence. Looking out the window as we approach the two tour buses in the parking lot, I see Amy boarding the Wilde Ones bus. The pit in my stomach grows, and I start to wonder if I am strong enough to do this—even for Xander.
CHAPTER 16
Something to Believe In
Xander
Damon Wolf has been here for two days. I can’t get near her and it’s killing me. I have to find a way to get past his security—I need to know if she did this because she wanted to or because she had to. Either way, I don’t understand her actions but I’m not ready to give up. Hatred has been consuming me and I exhale his name as a curse before mustering the strength to get out of bed.
Slowly sitting up, I turn my phone on—too many messages to check right now. My head is pounding and I feel like shit. The bus is unusually quiet. No one seems to be around. I tack up the daily before hitting the bathroom. Then I jump in the shower, slip a pair of jeans on, and head back to the galley, where I lie back down and close my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.
“Xander, there you are. I’ve been calling you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Amy calls from across the room, holding the daily sheet in her hand.
I lift my head. “What are you doing here?”
“Jiffy Lube Live is a double bill, remember? You were supposed to call me?” She points to the sheet I prepared days ago but never bothered to look at today before I posted it.
I throw my head back. “Shit, I completely forgot Breathless is opening for us tonight.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I know. I called Ena and she didn’t know anything about it.”
“My head’s been in my ass lately. I’m really sorry. What do you need me to do?”
“I took care of it all. The guys are finishing up in the amphitheater now.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
Technically, coordinating with Breathless would have been Ellie’s job, but as soon as Damon showed up he told the label to let her go, quoting cost cuts. She was actually really happy about it—she said she had wanted to move to New York City for some time and the severance pay would give her the time she needed to find a new job.
“Want some company?” Amy asks me with a smile.
I throw my hand over my eyes. “I’m really beat and I have a lot on my mind. What do you say we catch up later?”
There’s no response, so I move my arm and rise on my elbows. She smiles at me and reaches her arms around her head to unwind her braid. Then in an extremely bold move she steps forward and straddles me on the bed. The smell of her hair hits me and the feel of her body on mine makes me want to forget everything and just let go.
She runs her fingers up my bare chest.
“Amy, what are you doing?”
Again nothing—just silence. She slowly starts to unbutton her blouse, but I gently take her hand to stop her.
Again I ask, “Amy, what are you doing?” but this time my voice is cool in a way I’ve never spoken to her before.
“I want you.”
I sit up and carefully slide her off me. I take her chin in my hand and tip her face up to mine. “Amy, I have to tell you something I should have told you a while ago.”
“What is it?”
“I’m in love with Ivy.”
“But she’s married to Damon,” Amy snaps.
“I know, but that doesn’t change how I feel about her.”
Tears fill her eyes.
“We’ve had a casual thing going for a long time. It had to end eventually.”
“I’ve wanted more than casual for a while and I thought you did too.”
“Amy, believe me, you’re gorgeous and I enjoy your company . . . but I’m not in love with you.”
She takes a deep breath and stands. With a frown she says, “Fuck you, Xander Wilde. Don’t call me ever again.”
I throw myself back down on the bed as soon as she leaves. I can’t even go after her right now. I feel like an ass**le, but I never promised her anything.
The guys come back around thirty minutes later and drag my ass out of bed. They ran into Amy, who was spitting nails. Garrett puts his arm around my shoulder. “Look, buddy, I think I told you once—chicks don’t do casual.”
I shake my head because I don’t really have a response and he pours me a drink and tells me all about how chicks don’t do casual. After drinking more than we should on the bus, we head over to the arena, all in foul moods. We watch Breathless perform and drink a few more beers. I know I’m being irresponsible, but I just don’t give a shit right now.
Breathless is ending their set and it was flawless. Jane’s love for the audience and of performing made for a great high-energy show. Scarcely taking a breath between songs, she powered through soaring ballads, bounced excitedly through new songs, and scorched the place with a cover of Katy Perry’s “Roar.” Her charm and undeniable strong pipes had the half-packed house crazy in love with her.
The band has fifteen minutes before taking the stage. Again Ivy doesn’t show to huddle with us, but this time we know she’s in her dressing room because her f**king bodyguard is standing outside it.
Leif, undaunted, walks up to him. “I need to talk to Ivy. Get out of my way.”
The brute crosses his arms and completely ignores him.
Leif gets right in his face. “I said, I need to talk to Ivy.”
“Not happening before the show,” he grunts.
“Why the f**k can’t I talk to her?” Leif curses fluently at the ninja.
With my face still battered from my last encounter with Johnny, I make my way over there. I want Leif to make it onstage; I don’t give a f**k what happens to me.
“Come on, man, no use trying to budge this ass**le,” I tell Leif.
Just as the door opens and I think I finally have my chance to talk to her, I see that it’s Damon, not Ivy.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks me, staying close to his bodyguard.
I just stare at him while ways to kill him run through my mind.
The cue for the band to take the stage sounds, and I look at Leif. “Go.” He hesitates and I growl at him. “Go.”
“This is f**king bullshit,” he shoots at Damon and finally walks away, leaving me with Damon and his bodyguard.
“Are you letting her onstage or what?” By this point I’m scowling at them both.
“Look, boy, you need to learn how this is going to work. I hold the cards. I say where and when Ivy makes an appearance. I say who she talks to and who she doesn’t. Do you get it?” He enunciates every syllable in case I don’t understand him.
I glare at him. “Fuck off.” My voice is cold and my intentions are made clear.
There’s fury blazing on his face but not as hot as mine.
“You will be gone before morning—or you and your band will be on your bus headed back to LA. A few calls to the remaining venues about a conflict among the band members, some drugs found on the bus, whatever the hell I want to make up, will have them accepting Ivy graciously in your band’s place. Do you hear me?”
I lunge for his throat, but Johnny grabs me by mine with one hand and gives me a swift punch in the gut with the other. Damon nods at him toward the set of doors leading backstage. “Let him watch his last show,” he orders, and I’m assisted backstage, in case I couldn’t find it myself, in some kind of hold that I can only assume is a martial arts move.
The Wilde Ones’ show sucked. By the time Ivy took the stage, the audience was yelling about why it was taking so long. They started up with hits, but their performance lacked energy, there was no excitement, and they all seemed completely drained of any artistic ability. Even Ivy’s last song, a cover mix of a combination of both Kelly Clarkson’s and the Script’s “Walk Away,” just wasn’t enough to excite the audience. The show was a bomb. Immediately afterward Ivy was quickly taken from the arena. As I’m staring at her back as Damon’s personal security leads her away, Leif grabs my arm. “Come with me. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
