Chapter 13

CHAPTER13

TATE

I sit there for a moment, processing what she said, before I’m spurred into action and leap to my feet, chasing after her. The server yells out a “hey” as I start to exit through the café’s front door, and I stop, reaching for my wallet. Slapping a couple of twenties on the hostess stand before I hightail it out of there.

The second I’m outside, I stop in front of the café and whip my head left, then right. Then left again, squinting as I see the back of a familiar dark head walking at a pretty fast clip. I launch after her, calling her name, but she doesn’t even acknowledge me.

And I know she has to hear me.

I push my way through the crowded sidewalk until I’m practically right beside her, keeping pace with her brisk walk. “Where are you going?”

“I’m trying to leave this . . . meeting with some dignity.” She lifts her chin, putting on the haughty princess act.

Can’t deny it—she’s pretty fucking hot when she’s rocking that vibe.

“Meeting? Dignity?” I’m so fucking confused. “What happened back there?”

“Absolutely nothing.” She comes to a complete stop in the center of the sidewalk, and I do too, people pushing past us, annoyed that we’re blocking them. “And that’s fine. Really.”

No, it’s definitely not fine. I don’t get why she keeps saying stuff like that.

“Be real with me, Scar.” I reach out, lightly grabbing hold of her elbow, and electricity sparks where my fingers press into her soft skin. “What’s wrong?”

She turns her head to the side, her lips pressed together. It’s like she doesn’t want to look at me, and she even tugs her arm out of my grip. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“If you actually felt that way about me. When you were describing the song earlier.” She fully faces me once more, and she looks like she could crumple under the pressure at any moment. As if she’s on the verge of tears. “It’s okay if you were just caught up in an idea. I know the reality isn’t as great as the fantasy.”

I’m frowning. Is that what she really believes?

“Come on. You don’t really like me like that.” I frown. “Do you?”

She wraps her arms around her middle, as if she’s cold. “No. I barely even know you.”

“Exactly. I barely know you too.” I duck my head a little, trying to meet her downward gaze. She reluctantly glances in my direction. “But we can get to know each other.”

“What do you mean?” she asks warily.

“What if I said I had a proposition for you.” I lean back on my heels, trying to play it cool, even though my heart starts to beat in double time.

“What kind of proposition?”

“A . . . business deal, if you will.” I glance around before I grab her hand and tug her toward an alcove right next to a store, where we can talk and be out of the way. “Hear me out.”

“What kind of business deal are you talking about?” She yanks her hand from mine, and strangely enough, I miss her touch.

“Look.” I offer her a smile. Rest one hand on my hip while I run the other hand through my hair. “This is going to sound crazy.”

“Life has been pretty crazy ever since I met you.”

True. But not in a bad way. At least, not for me.

“This is going to be the craziest thing yet.”

“Just tell me.” Impatience laces her voice, and she even rolls her eyes.

“I’ve been offered a record deal. With my old label.” I smile at her, wishing I could tell her just how important this is. But I feel like it would be a waste of words. I just need to get to the heart of it and see what she says.

“That’s great.” There is zero enthusiasm in her tone.

“It really is, but here’s the crazy part.” I hesitate. “They think we’re together.”

She frowns.

“You and me,” I continue.

“Like we’re in a relationship?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Like what everyone else is saying?”

“Exactly. And they love it. They think we are a great story. Two kids in love, me writing songs about you. It’s a total gimmick they want to use.” And exploit.

“Is it some sort of gimmick you came up with first?” Her question is pointed, her eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t thinking about gimmicks the night of your party or when I wrote that song. I was just . . . feeling it.”

The doubtful look on her face tells me she’s not buying my explanation.

“The only way I can get this record deal is if you’re a part of it.” I pause. “As my girlfriend.”

Her mouth drops open, and she doesn’t say anything. She even looks around, as if she’s searching for an opportunity to escape, and I take a step closer to her, tempted to grab hold of her so she doesn’t bail on me.

“You’re serious,” she finally says.

“Dead serious.” I nod.

“But we’re not together.”

“We can pretend to be. It’s working out pretty well so far.” I smile.

She scowls.

My smile drops.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters.

“It actually happens all the time. Fake relationships in Hollywood? That’s a total thing.”

“We’re not in Hollywood, though,” she points out.

“We could be.” I try smiling again. “That’s the other part of the deal. They want me to make the album at a studio in Los Angeles. And they want you to come with me.”

Her mouth hangs open again. “I don’t even know you.”

“We could definitely get to know each other.”

“What if I don’t like you?”

“I’m fairly irresistible.” I’m wearing a big grin, trying to be my old charming self, but Scarlett isn’t having it. “What do you say?”

She crosses her arms in front of her. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“And you’re going to say no?” I wince, bracing myself.

“I’m definitely saying no.”

Damn it.

“Why?” Why can’t shit ever go my way? Why can’t she be completely enamored with me and willing to do whatever I say? Any other woman would be totally down. They’d kill for the opportunity to go to sunny Southern California and let me make a record while they were off frolicking at the beach and spending their money. Going out with me on occasion and letting me grope them—lovingly—for the cameras, putting on a show.

Not this girl. She’d rather run from me like I’m a flesh-eating zombie.

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard. I don’t even think I like you.”

Now I’m on the defensive. “I’m not too sure if I like you much either.”

“Then how are we going to be believable as a couple? Did you think that part through? Doubtful.” She shoves at my shoulder and then takes off again, her pink skirt fluttering in the breeze.

I jog after her, impressed by her speed. “This will help you out too, you know. Make you stand out from the crowd.”

“Maybe I don’t want that. I’m not a fame whore like you.” She doesn’t even slow down.

Ouch. She knows just where to stick me.

“I know you’re trying to stand on your own two feet,” I call after her.

“Please.” She tosses her head, her hair flying. “I don’t matter to anyone. If I were even to go through with this, they’d only pay attention to you. This is all for you and your reemerging career. I gain nothing from this. You just want to use me for the media attention.”

I think about what she said to me earlier. How no one knows who she is. How she’s lost in the Lancaster family and not seen as an individual. “If we play up the fact that you’re my muse and you’re the only reason I actually have a career again, I think they might sit up and take notice.”

Her steps slow, her gaze finding mine quickly before she looks away again. “No one will believe that.”

“Everyone will. They’ll believe anything they’re fed, especially when it’s a romance like ours. Come on, I just wrote that song about you, and they’re all dying over it. You’re totally my muse.”

She sends me an incredulous look before she grabs hold of my hand and drags me through the crowd so we’re standing right in front of the window of a tiny deli. The touch of her hand in mine sends an electric bolt straight up my arm, leaving me unsettled, and when she lets go of my hand to cross her arms in front of her chest once again, I’m disappointed that she’s not touching me.

I rub at my chest, trying to ease the sudden throbbing of my heart.

“This is so unbelievable.” A huff of laughter falls from her lush, pink-glossed lips, and she shakes her head. “There is no romance between us, Tate.”

“Our fake romance then. Can’t you see we can spin it any way we want? With everyone hanging on our every word, just dying to see us together again, we can portray ourselves however we want to look to the public.”

“Will they actually buy it?” she asks, her voice soft.

“They’ll buy it if we sell it to them. We can do this. Look at how easily they believe we’re already together.” Unable to help myself, I reach out and grab her shoulders, holding her gently. “This is my last shot at making something of my singing career. I’ve been working on some songs and writing lyrics for the last year, like I somehow knew this was coming. And for whatever reason, I’m being given another chance. They want me again. My manager. My record label. This is big, and I don’t want to screw this up now. All because they want me to have a girlfriend who isn’t actually mine. That’s why I need you, Scarlett. When I mentioned to my manager I wanted to write the lyrics for every song on my new album, he warned me they’d tell me no. But after the immediate success of ‘Red’ and me letting them know you’re my muse, I think they might agree.”

Scarlett grimaces. “But it’s nothing but lies.”

“Only to you, but only because you know the truth. They don’t know about you and me.” Holy shit, that would make a great song title. “The real you and me. I can see it—if we’re on each other’s side? We can convince the world of anything.”

She takes a step back, and my hands fall away from her arms. I like touching her. When my hands are on her, I feel . . . connected to her. And now the connection is gone, just like that. “And what do I get out of this scenario, hmm? From my point of view, you’re the only one with all the benefits.”

“You finally become your own person. Not just that Lancaster girl or that heiress. You become the Scarlett Lancaster.”

“I already am Scarlett Lancaster.” She rolls her eyes, obviously frustrated with me.

“But how do people refer to you? Can your name stand on its own? Or is it always ‘the daughter of Fitzgerald Lancaster, Scarlett’? Wouldn’t you prefer everyone forgot ol’ Fitzy once and for all and focused only on his beautiful daughter instead?”

She’s quiet for a moment, staring at me, and I swear the city noise fades. Until I can’t hear anything but the sound of her breathing. The sweet lilt of her voice.

“You think I’m beautiful?” Her voice is barely a whisper, the doubt in her gaze . . .

Surprising.

I tilt my head, letting my gaze blatantly roam all over that beautifully etched face. The fine cheekbones and elegant nose and that damn sexy mouth. “Come on, Scar. Don’t you ever look in the mirror? You gotta know you’re stunning.”

She shrugs. Glances around as if what I said made her uncomfortable and she can’t meet my gaze. “I don’t know. I’ve been chasing after the same guy for years, and he never really notices me. Most of the time I feel like I’m invisible.”

That guy is a giant fuckup. And I’m going to take where he messed up with Scarlett and turn it into my opportunity.

“You’re definitely not invisible.” I take a step closer. “Forget him. Focus on me instead. Let him chase after you when he thinks you’re with me.”

“I doubt he’d even care.” She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, looking unsure.

I’d love to ask her why his opinion of her matters so much when he doesn’t seem that into her. She’s young and gorgeous and rich—there should be a ton of guys chasing after her.

But if I can convince everyone she’s mine . . .

Look, if she were actually taken, that guy—or girl, hey, you never know—would have been right by her side the entire time at her birthday party. I know if this girl were mine, I’d never let her out of my sight. She’s too damn beautiful to be ignored.

An idea hits me out of nowhere, and I decide to shoot my shot.

“Want to make that guy jealous?”

Her answer is immediate. “How could I do that?”

“Pretend you’re with someone else.” I grin. “Like me.”

She’s quiet for a moment, hopefully contemplating my idea. I shove my hands into my trouser pockets, waiting on her answer, hoping like hell she doesn’t turn me down.

“This could get messy,” she finally says.

My answer is immediate, my relief just on the horizon.

“Not if we get lawyers involved. My manager has a team of lawyers. They could have papers drawn up by tomorrow morning. You can add whatever clauses you want,” I suggest, feeling desperate.

Desperate for her to agree. Desperate for her to play pretend with me, just for a little while. I need this record deal. I want it so fuckin’ bad I can practically taste it. And the only person who can help me get it is . . .

Her.

“There will be a nondisclosure included in the agreement, of course. Something that will protect us both. We wouldn’t want the truth to get out, that our relationship is fake,” I add, trying to reassure her.

“Right. Of course. That would be embarrassing.” She nods, her gaze finding mine yet again, hers troubled. “You really think people would believe we’re together?”

“They already think we’re together, Scar,” I say gently. “We’re all over the internet. I’m tagged in photos on social media all damn day and night. As a matter of fact . . .”

I go silent, and her eyes widen slightly. “As a matter of fact, what?”

“We probably shouldn’t have this sort of discussion on the street, out in public.” I glance around, suddenly afraid someone is listening.

“No one is paying attention to us.” She waves a dismissive hand.

“Pretty sure everyone who passes by us is paying attention.” I make eye contact with a woman who walks by, her eyes lighting up as she recognizes me. Shit. “They know who I am.”

“It’s always about you, isn’t it.” Her droll tone would almost be amusing if I weren’t close to freaking the hell out.

“I’m being serious. Watch them. They recognize me. Us.”

Scarlett does as I suggest, her gaze following people as they walk along the sidewalk, the majority of them glancing over at us with recognition in their gazes. I hear giggling and glance over my shoulder to see two teenagers blatantly staring at the both of us, one of them aiming her phone right at me, taking photos.

Double shit.

“Damn it. People are going to think we’re arguing,” I say, fighting the panic bubbling inside of me. “A lovers’ spat.”

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Please. You wish.”

“I’m serious.” I rest my hand on her hip, tugging her in close, and she gasps. “Play along with me.”

“Last time I did that, I ended up with my photo splashed all over the internet.” She’s breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I study her tits. They’re bigger than I remember, though the last time I was with her, she was dressed in a mountain of tulle, so it was hard to see much of anything but her legs. Which were nice, I can’t lie.

“Get ready. I’m guessing that’s going to happen again.” Her hands fall onto my chest, and now I’ve got both of my hands on her hips, tugging her forward. Our bodies collide, and I bend my head, descending slowly. Slowly . . .

“I didn’t agree to this yet,” she warns me, her lips practically brushing against mine when she speaks.

“You want me to stop touching you, that’s fine. I’ll let go of you right now. But think of the headlines once these photos hit the internet. What are people going to say about us? They’ll definitely say we’re fighting, and the speculation will undoubtedly get worse.”

Damn it, I need her on my side, not working against me.

“I don’t care what they say.” Her voice is weak. Even a little shaky.

I don’t believe her. She’s trying to pretend it doesn’t bother her what people say, but I know the truth.

“It’ll be all over the internet within a couple of hours,” I say almost gleefully. “‘Tate and his heiress arguing on the streets of Manhattan.’”

My aim was spot on. It’s the “his heiress” comment that pisses her off. I see the flare of anger in her gaze, feel the way her body tightens beneath my touch.

“I’m more than just an heiress,” she retorts.

I lean in close, my mouth hovering above hers once more. “Prove it.”

She blinks those pretty dark eyes up at me, her brows drawn together in confusion. A soft sound leaves her as I descend, a mixture of a sigh and a . . . moan?

Those dark eyes fall shut, and I kiss her. Softly. Sweetly. Nothing too forward or out of control. I pull away slightly, studying her pretty upturned face, the way her eyes are tightly closed and her lips pursed like she expects another kiss.

So I give her another one. It’s gentle and pleasant, and there’s no passion in the kiss whatsoever. As a matter of fact, it feels almost like an apology kiss.

I remember what those were like. Once upon a time, back when Five Car Pileup was first formed and everything was exciting and new, I had a girlfriend. My high school sweetheart, Jessica. She was sweet and pretty, and she gave me head on a semiregular basis, which meant my teenage self was completely in love with her. We argued a lot, and I was always apologizing to her, but at the time, I was glad to have her in my corner.

Jessica was right there beside me throughout the formation of the band. Always with me as Five Car Pileup shot straight into the stratosphere and we became bigger and bigger until no one could contain us.

We were it. The fill-in for the hole that was left when One Direction broke up. The girls went crazy for us. So much screaming and yelling everywhere we went that sometimes it stressed me out.

But at the time, I thought it was all worth it. We were on top of the world at one point. On teen-magazine covers and performing at award shows. Everyone was praising us; even harsh music critics said we filled a void.

After a year together, my bandmates had become my best friends, we had a song in the top ten on the Billboard charts, and we were about to start our second US tour. This one was going to be longer and at bigger venues, and I truly believed nothing could stop us.

Were we arguing among ourselves? Yes. Were Jessica and I having problems? Oh, hell yes. She was jealous of all the attention I received. The publicity team hated having her around. They wanted me to appear single so every teen girl in America could imagine that she had a chance at me. But I refused to break up with her. I was loyal.

To a damn fault.

Then I found her with my very best friend of the band. Jamie. I walked right into his bedroom at the hotel suite we shared and caught him sitting on the edge of the mattress with Jessica on her knees, showing off her blow job skills for Jamie.

I went blind with rage. Without hesitation I socked him in the face, and he went down without a fight. I screamed at her that we were through. All the crying and carrying-on didn’t affect me. Those swollen lips of Jessica’s were just around my best friend’s dick, and I couldn’t get the sight out of my head.

I wanted to destroy him. And her. Everyone.

Most of all, I wanted to destroy myself.

That was the beginning of the end, though looking back now, I can be truthful with myself. I had already started drinking. Snorting a line here and there, just to loosen up and have fun at a club. Going to clubs when I wasn’t even eighteen, let alone twenty-one.

I was a hot mess. I can’t go down that path again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to Scarlett, and her eyes pop open, her dark brows drawing together in concern. “Am I forgiven?”

“For what?” She’s breathless again and even appears a little dazed.

How many times has this girl been kissed anyway? I’m guessing not very often. That kiss had zero heat in it, but she’s looking like I did rock her world.

“You don’t remember what I did?” I grin, pulling away slightly, giving us—her—some distance. “You must’ve forgiven me then.”

She shakes her head and yanks herself out of my grip. “You make no sense.”

“Say yes, Scarlett.” I put on all the charm, flashing her my million-dollar smile. The one that used to incite girls in the crowd to throw their panties at me when we’d perform. “I’m only asking for a couple of months of your time.”

“A couple of months?” The alarm on her face is obvious.

“Eight weeks.” That doesn’t sound so bad.

“Four.”

Wait a minute. Now she’s negotiating?

“Six,” I say firmly, my brain going haywire, trying to compute if that’s enough time for me to write all the songs and put together the tracks for my album. Probably not, but if I don’t have a choice . . . “Deal?”

Her expression is wary, and just when I think I’ve lost her completely, she whispers . . .

“Deal.”