Page 12 of Fame and Obsession

By the look on Vivian’s face, she has a stick of dynamite stuck up her ass ready to detonate. She could blow the rafters off the club for all I care. It’s time for my exit. I have rules, but my rules allow for side play.

My Southern rebel wanted to stay, but her pride wouldn’t let her. Pride can kiss my ass.

I take the stairs, following the lingering scent of coconut and intrigue.

* * *

She’s on the blond guy’s lap again.

I thought he might be gay, what with the way he was eyeing those guys at that table, but hell, what do I know? My track record of character judgment isn’t exactly stellar. Besides, as much as he’s had his hands all over her ass, he’ll need surgery to remove them.

I watch her stumble toward the patio, waiting for him to get up and follow her out like a boyfriend should.

Like I would.

Christ, what am I doing?

I just want to get in this girl’s pants. I didn’t bargain for boyfriends, or bisexual lovers, or whatever she might be into. Still, it bothers me that he’s letting his woman wander around alone, with a bar of swinging dicks waiting for—

Who the hell is that asshole?

I can’t see his face as he barrels past me, but I don’t like the intention in his walk. He’s stumbling, obviously drunk, his body coiled for a confrontation. Thoughts of her out there alone hit me like a brick, and I move before I realize it.

I’m about to ruin this guy’s night.

“Hey, the party’s right here, baby,” a voice slurs behind me. “Where’s the fire?”

I curse as a hand grabs me within a couple feet of reaching the patio door. Turning, I take in the intoxicated form of a tall, overly tanned blonde.

I begin my canned apology. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go—”

“Oh, my God, you’re him!” she squeals. I try to pry my arm out of her death grip and leave, but she’s having no part of it and tightens her hold. “It’s really you.” She swings her head over her shoulder. “Lisa, Gia, come here! You’re never going to guess.” Turning back around, she screams in my face, “They’re never going to guess!”

“I disagree.” The scowl forms on my face before PR Julian can stop it.

“So, I’m Sonata,” she introduces herself, which will be useful for insurance settlement purposes involving my shattered ear drum. “You know, Sonata, like the car?” Waving wildly to her friends, she bruises my arm with her claws. “Girls, look who I ran into—Julian fucking Bale, from Lords of Lyre. Can you believe it? He just talked to me!”

Um, no, bitch, you assaulted me.

Helena’s unwelcome voice pops into my head, like an annoying angel sitting opposite the devil on my shoulder. “Be gracious on your way up, Julian. You’ll see the same people on your way back down if you’re a dick.”

So I smile, bend over, and take it like a true professional.

“Oh, my God, I think I’m going to faint!” friend number one screams. “Are you two dating now, Sonata? What a hook for your show.”

Friend number two bounces so much I’m positive a tit is about to knock me out.

“No.” Sonata blushes. “Nothing like that, yet.”

Back it up, Hyundai... What do you mean, yet?

Common sense tells me Hyundai and her friends are strippers—very drunk strippers. While I’m the last person to judge someone by their profession, she’s about two seconds away from attacking me and blaming it on the cheap tequila.

Backing up, I grab a couple of bar napkins and signal the bartender for a pen. A few tearful goodbyes later, they all walk away with autographs and a begrudgingly approved selfie. The whole exchange takes less than a couple of minutes, but it feels like hours.

Shit. I have to be quick. It’ll only be a matter of time before swarms of fans and paparazzi show up.

As soon as I open the door to the patio, I see her standing by the brick ledge with her back to me. I move, drawn to her as if her mere presence has me tethered.

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