Page 42 of Fame and Obsession

I exhale a slow breath. “Why are you doing this?”

His answer is to take my hands in his and pin them to the wall above my head. The air thickens with tension as our lips hover inches apart.

Shit, focus!

“What do you want from me, Julian? Publicity? Arrange it through Vinyl and leave me alone. Obviously, you know that address as well.”

A scowl casts over his rugged features as he releases my hands. “That won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer.”

“If you change your mind, call Eric. I’m sure you could use the positive buzz considering what this stunt will cost you.” I give him a syrupy smile. “Unless you’re going to be too busy chasing down my transcripts from junior high.”

He catches my arm as I turned to leave, but footsteps turn our attention down the hallway.

“Jag?” a smoky voice calls out from the darkness. “Brother, where are you? Fans are gonna draw blood if we don’t get our asses back on stage.”

“Guess that’s my cue.” He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, collecting the lip gloss my kisses left. “It’s been a most...intriguing night, Phoebe Ryan. I’ll see you at the press conference.”

“Yeah, about that—I’m not going to make it. I’m not feeling well.” I erupt into a self-inflicted coughing fit.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Sounds deadly.”

“It is,” I lie.

“I know I’m new to the biz, but I’ve been around the scene long enough to know your boss might have an aneurysm if you show up at work on Monday without your featured article—again.”

Son of a bitch…

“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” I stare at him in shock, my thinly held self-control starting to crack.

“What? Are you implying I’d offer to have a copy of the press conference video, along with answers to poignant, intelligent, and thought-provoking questions delivered to Vinyl magazine on Monday?”

“No. Are you?”

Smirking, he crosses his arms in a victory stance. “Absolutely. In exchange for some compliant, non-hostile, one-on-one time of course.”

I gape at him. “That’s blackmail.”

“I prefer to think of it as loaded incentive.”

His condescension pisses me off, but before reacting, I weigh my options. I could stay and make an ass out of myself at a press conference, or I could save my reputation and sacrifice a few hours alone with him in exchange for a kick-ass article that makes me sound like a genius.

It’s a no-brainer.

“Fine,” I agree. “But just as friends.”

He flashes me a wicked grin. “Oh, princess, you didn’t think I’d go to all the trouble of digging up the ghosts of flower queens past just to be your wingman, did you? You think I want to take you shopping or some other platonic shit like that?”

“I could be non-hostile learning to shoot a gun. How does that fit into your agenda?” My attempt at sarcasm is thrown off balance by a well-timed innuendo.

“Oh? Like some one-on-one time so can I teach you how to handle heavy artillery?”

He’s enjoying this entirely too much.

I shrug. “I’d hate for you to be embarrassed and have your ass handed to you by a flower queen.”

His grin widens as the voices down the hall close in. “So it’s a date.”

“Wait, Julian, I never agreed to...” The protest dies on my lips as he sprints down the hall toward a crowd already chanting his name.

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