BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (100 page)

He set down his magazine and strolled over. I took him in, my eyes lingering on his designer jeans and golf shirt. He’d bulked up in the past two years, and it didn’t go unnoticed. His brown eyes glittered at my attention. I blushed. Caught.

“What are we toasting to?” he asked as he handed me a glass. I inhaled his aftershave, a spicy blend I’d bought for him on special occasions. I felt flattered he still wore it.

I nibbled on my lip. “I don’t know. Hope? Love? A good haircut?”

He took my glass from me and set it down. “Forget the toast. Let’s talk.”

I nodded. Steve was still in the back.

He sighed. “First off, I would have come out here sooner, but you weren’t ready. I gave you time, and as soon as I finished undergrad this past semester, the only thing I could think of was seeing you.”

I recalled the socialites. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been lonely.”

He shrugged. “I’m no monk. And judging by the sexual tension between you and rocker boy, you’re no nun.”

“I haven’t slept with him—but I wanted to.”

Pain flashed across his face, but he seemed to readjust as he leaned down and touched my cheek. “You left me eighteen months ago because you needed more time to grieve. I rushed you—I see that now. You packed your bags and walked out of my life, but I’ve never forgotten you.” He took in a quick breath. “I—I want you back.”

“You want the old me back.” I couldn’t be the person he wanted.

“Let me get to know the new you,” he said softly, and kissed me on the lips. With gentleness, his lips parted mine, his tongue tasting me. The kiss took me by surprise, yet I fell into it and kissed him back, part of me yearning for my past and someone who had loved me—
still loved me
?

“At least that part of us hasn’t changed,” he whispered against my lips.

“I’m a college drop-out with a tapping problem,” I murmured.

“You can still go back.”

“You think the Manhattan School of Music would have me?”

A fire lit in his eyes. “I’ll hand in the application myself. Better yet, I’ll call up the chancellor and request a meeting. You were a prodigy, Violet. They’d be nuts to not let you in.”

I tried to picture me sitting in a classroom now. It seemed far-fetched, plus I’d burned bridges when I left. Friends I hadn’t called back. Professors I’d ignored.

“Come back to New York,” he implored.

I sighed. “I have the orphanage to think of. I haven’t been as active as I should have, but that’s going to change. I have a gala to plan.”

He grabbed my hand. “Open another one in New York.”

Perhaps.

But something—or someone—was holding me back.

And then there were all the memories.

My stomach knotted, and I closed my eyes briefly and then met his intense ones. “Geoff, my last night in New York, I stood on the ledge of my apartment building for two hours in the freezing cold debating if I was going to jump or not.”

His eyes flared. “God, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

I stared at my hands. “You didn’t want to know how far I’d cracked. You say you want to get to know me, but the thing is, you may not like the darkness.”

Emotion worked his face. “You’re my heart, Violet, since the moment I saw you. I can’t give up on you.”

And me? I still loved him—in the way you’d love an old movie or a favorite quilt.

Needing a topic change, I picked up our glasses and handed him his. “My parents named me after a comet, so let’s toast to that—to stepping out of the shadows and shining bright.”

“I say we throw a toast to us in there as well. To new beginnings.”

I inhaled sharply at his words, at the heaviness of them. Sebastian had liked new beginnings too.

Not knowing what to say, I held my glass up and we clinked them together.

“My heart is a reckless thing, willing to say or do anything to get the reaction it wants.”

—Sebastian Tate

SITTING INSIDE JAVA and Me, I stared down at the photos on my phone. A tingle of foreboding went up my spine.

Out of all the pic ops I’d posed for last night with Blair, the
Hollywood Insider
had run with three pictures I’d never posed for as the top story on their website. No doubt it would make their television show this evening.

The first was of me carrying V through Masquerade. The second was a fuzzier pic of us kissing in the manager’s office, obviously taken from the window outside the restaurant.
Fucking reporters
. And finally, the last photo was of me and Blair arguing outside the club when I’d told her I was taking her home.

Mystery Girl and Sebastian Tate
was the tagline.

Disaster. All that time invested with Blair, and it had fallen apart in one day.

“I hate to say it, but Blair was right.” I inspected the pic of us in the office. I squinted as I turned the photo in different angles. “That could be anyone. Right?” I looked to Mila for help.

She leaned over my shoulder and patted my arm—not a good sign. “Hmmm, I can tell that’s your hands on V’s butt by your lion ring, and that’s definitely your big old head and blond hair.” She giggled. “What cracks me up is the little black-out line where V’s boob is.”

She pointed at the one of me carrying V after her attack. “What I find interesting is the way you look here. All Neanderthal like, ‘Me caveman. Me protect my woman,’” she joked in a deep voice.

I arched a brow. “Glad you’re amused. You’re not much help.”

Spider smirked at me as he sipped on his tea. “These pics explain why Blair ran out this morning—thank God.” He shuddered.

I nodded. She’d left as soon as her PR girl had gotten a tip from someone who worked at the
Hollywood Insider
.

Mila patted my hand. “Just read what it says out loud. Maybe we can spin it.” She tried to sound chipper, but I had a feeling that once Hing saw that I wasn’t with Blair anymore—that we were arguing—he’d think twice about hiring me.

“You just want to make fun of me,” I said as I scrolled down on my phone to get to the article.

“No, I want to help.”

“I want to make fun of you,” Spider snarked.

I flipped him off and read the article.

Spider whistled. “Blair’s going to piss herself when she sees this.”

As if on cue, my phone ran.
Harry
. The article had been online for ten minutes and he was already calling.

“Asshole agent?” Spider asked

Mila shushed him as I answered.

I opened with, “Harry, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, it’s a fucking disaster when you cheat on America’s Sweetheart! Directors don’t want relationship issues on their set, Sebastian!” He breathed heavily into the phone. I pictured him sitting at his desk in Beverly Hills, clutching the phone like a lifeline as he visualized millions in a movie deal flying out the window.

I kept my voice soft, but my own anger was building. “This article is bogus. There’s nothing between me and V. We’re friends.”

Were we even that now?

He cackled. “Yeah, right. You screwed up when you kissed her, Tate. While she was topless. Pictures don’t lie.”

“Fine. How can we fix it?” I snapped.

Silence for a few beats. “Just be seen with Blair, act like nothing’s wrong. At the end of the day, Hing liked your screen test, he digs your look, but he was waffling based on your rep, so I don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets wind of this.”

I sat up straighter. “Harry, to be honest, I’m sick of Blair. She acts like we’re really dating and says mean shit to my friends. I don’t trust her.”

I heard him groan. “Look, I’ve read the script.
This movie will make you a star
.”

Something V had said came back to me. About how I could make it on my own.

“Maybe I don’t need Blair. Maybe there’s another movie out there for me.”

He sighed. “I’ve got nothing on my plate for you now. This is it. Sure, you can take a break from Blair and see what happens. But fans are fickle and so are movie studios. By the time a new script comes along, you could be old news.”

I fumed. “I still have music, Harry. You’re the one who’s supposed to get the movie deals. Do your fucking job.”

“I’m just saying the truth. Not that I like it.” He paused. “Just stay away from that girl, Sebastian. She’s career suicide.”

I hung up and slammed the phone down. Even though I’d left her house angry, I didn’t want to hear I was supposed to stay away from V.

“Holy Hannah in a hand basket, V just walked in the door,” Mila exclaimed as she looked over my shoulder.

She was here?

“Where?” I said, heart thundering as I craned my neck around to the entrance.

She whistled. “She’s got a sizzling new hair style—and a hottie with her.”

“Who you calling a hottie?” Spider snipped.

I narrowed my eyes. Since when did Spider get jealous over guys Mila checked out? He and I were due another conversation.

When I saw her, my mouth dried. Her long hair had been cut to shoulder-length in a choppy style where the front was longer than the back. The ends had been dipped in an electric purple color. It suited her angular face, the softness of her red mouth.

“She looks like a rocker,” I murmured.

She ducked her head at the stir of attention she and Geoff caused at the door, the locals wondering if someone important had come in, the tourists checking to see if she was somebody. A couple of people whispered, and I got paranoid they’d connect her with the Mystery Girl in the paper.

I let out a sigh of relief when no one rushed her. Maybe the hair saved her. I remembered that her face had been hidden in most of them too.

Mila stood up from our booth and waved them over.

Great
. How the hell was I supposed to deal with her and Geoff in my face?

As they made their way over, Mila sent me a pointed look. “While you were sleeping in this morning with Little Miss Sunshine, I did my research on V. The guy she’s with is the Mayor of New York’s son. He’s in law school, plays polo, and dates socialites.”

She patted my hand. Like I was sad or something. Whatever.

“Go on. Finish it. If I know you, you researched the shit out of it.”

She nodded. “Her parents were wealthy philanthropists. Apparently, their name is like gold in New York; everyone loved them and they were a pretty big deal in the social scene. After the crash, she had quite a bit of notoriety going on for a while, lots of papers wanting her story.”

Mila straightened her headband and sent a look over my shoulder. “Here they come. Act nice because I happen to like her a lot.”

Nice wasn’t happening. I could tell by the way my leg was bouncing under the table. I was still angry—or hurt—or
something
.

V slid in next to me while Geoff pulled up a chair at the end of the table. The waitress brought us refills and they chatted. I sat back with my leg deliberately pressed against V’s, heat firing off in my body at the proximity of her skin.

Mila and Geoff seemed to hit it off right away—birds of a feather—and got into a discussion about mutual society people they knew in Dallas. Spider zoned out by checking his phone, a petulant look on his face as he watched Mila and Geoff’s heads together.