Page 62 of Fame and Obsession

“What?” I growl.

I can take arrogance, not mockery.

“You just make me laugh, Phoebe.” He trails his hand down my arm. “Your sarcasm is unbalanced.”

“Are you calling me crazy?”

“Are you?”

“What if I said yes?”

He smirks. “The good thing about music? There’s a song for everyone.” Winking, he pushes a few more buttons, and within seconds, the car fills with the hard guitar riffs of Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch.”

In that moment, the tension breaks, and we both laugh.

Unfortunately, he failed to also mention that music is also a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Seventeen

Julian

A lesser man would’ve turned the car into an alley and thrown her seat back.

The thought still crosses my mind, especially when that split in Phoebe’s dress opens while she tries to hoist herself out of the bucket seat. Instead, I toss the keys to the valet and offer her my hand.

We just got here, and she’s already torturing the hell out of me.

Standing by her side, I tuck her arm into mine and trace the shell of her ear with my lips. “Are you ready to do this?”

“No,” she whispers.

“You’ll be fine. Don’t let them intimidate you. Answer what you want to, ignore what you don’t. You’re in control, remember that.”

“How do you stay so calm around all this?” She clings to my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin.

For the first time, I see the real Phoebe. Gone is the snarky bravado that always takes center stage. Instead, an insecure young girl trembles on my arm, igniting a fierce need to protect her.

“Who says I’m calm?”

“You just... I mean, you never seem—”

“Princess, this business is all about face value. They report what they see. You give them what’s here”—I point to my face—“not what’s here,” I say, tapping my finger to my temple.

“I’m just glad they care about you and not me,” she confesses, turning her face inward as cameras flashed around us.

I chuckle at her naïveté. “Were you in the same room with me at MetroGroup?” As expected, she stiffens at the mention of our less than ethical beginnings, so I quickly add, “Ellison was right. This type of publicity is golden for your company. You’re just as much of—”

“Julian, why can’t you take a limo like a normal person? CBB has already run a piece with you showing up in that Smurf-mobile.”

I ignore the insult. “Hello to you too, Helena.”

She arches an eyebrow while shifting a curious glance toward Phoebe. “Are you going to introduce us, or do I still get to be ‘the bitch from the hallway’?”

I should fire her for that.

“Helena, this is my ghostwriter, Phoebe Ryan.” I give Phoebe’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Phoebe, meet my filter-challenged manager, Helena Gibbons.”

Phoebe extends her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Gibbons. I’m sorry about that night. I had no idea he’d run after me.”

---