Page 44 of The Heartbreakers
“Is she an actress? Maybe a model?” Jack asked. “Give us some sort of hint.”
Oliver shook his head as his lips twitched in amusement. “I’m not saying anything else.”
I looked away from him and swallowed hard. I’d known nothing was going to happen between us, so why had I let myself think otherwise? No doubt because Oliver had been so charming today. Then again, he probably made every girl he talked to feel special. My brows pinched together in a frown, but I wasn’t angry at him. I was annoyed with myself. How could I possibly feel disappointed when I’d known this would happen from the start?
Kelly said something about Oliver being too secretive, and I was pulled back into the conversation.
“I wouldn’t say secretive, per se,” he responded, “but I try to keep my love life private.”
“Really? ’Cause you’re not very good at it,” JJ said. “Terrible, really.”
“‘Try’ was the important word,” Jack said and chuckled. “You should know by now that we media folk are professional detectives.”
Everyone laughed, but the way Oliver’s eyes crinkled up in amusement made it hard not to grin. I instantly realized I was in trouble. Major trouble. Regardless of his lack of interest in me, I still liked him, and the feelings I was starting to have were dangerous. We couldn’t keep flirting, and he most definitely couldn’t keep charming me with tropical fruit.
The next time a private moment presented itself, I would talk with Oliver. Even though he’d obviously already forgotten our shared kiss, I had to make it official that, moving forward, we would be strictly friends. Maybe then my good senses would return, and I would stop feeling light-headed and silly whenever he glanced in my direction. After all, I wasn’t here for Oliver. I was here for myself.
“Hey, Stella?” I tore my eyes away from Oliver and found Courtney standing over me. “May we have a word?”
“Sure,” I said, shooting out of my seat. I was eager to get away from the interview and Oliver, so I dumped my camera bag on the chair and followed her out of the room. We made our way down the empty hallway until we were out of earshot.
“You having fun so far?” she asked. She rolled forward onto the balls of her feet, and I could tell she was trying to be friendly before broaching whatever topic she really wanted to talk about.
“Loads,” I said, which wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.
“Good,” Courtney said and nodded. “I wanted to talk about the privacy policy you signed with Paul. I’m sure he covered this, but I have to reiterate how important it is that while you’re working with the band, you don’t divulge any privileged information that you may hear. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, of course,” I said quickly. I would never do that, not only because this job was important to me, but also because the boys were becoming my friends. I had a feeling this little chat was prompted by what I’d overheard in the car earlier today. At the time, the conversation was confusing, but later that morning I slipped off to the bathroom and paged through the magazine Oliver was reading. I found a short article about how the Heartbreakers appeared on a talk show, and when the host asked some direct questions about the breakup rumors, the boys were so caught off guard that the interview was cut short.
“Wonderful,” she said, letting out a deep breath. “Glad that’s sorted out. Turkey or ham?”
“Huh?”
“My assistant is running out to pick up some sandwiches.”
“Oh. Turkey works,” I told her, but I wasn’t really feeling hungry anymore.
• • •
My first day with the Heartbreakers could only be described as a whirlwind, especially considering their concert hadn’t even started yet, and all I wanted to do was crash. Thankfully, around half past eight there was a short break in the storm. As fans poured into the arena, chanting the boys’ names and singing their songs, silent anticipation swept over the group while we waited in the backstage dressing room. All four guys retreated into their own worlds, so I took a spot on one of the empty couches and gave them space, content with merely observing as they readied themselves.
JJ seemed the most nervous. He was pacing back and forth with his drumsticks moving in a blur as he twirled them between his fingers. Every once in a while he’d fumble and one of the wooden sticks would clatter to the floor. Xander was sitting on the countertop in front of the long wall of lighted mirrors. He had his inhaler clutched in his hands, and even though he’d already administered the medicine, he turned the plastic device over and over as if it would bring him luck. Like usual, Alec had his headphones in. He was leaning against the far wall, his foot tapping along to whatever song he was listening to.
And then there was Oliver. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed as he meditated. His outfit was plain—a black V-neck and skinny jeans, combat boots, and the always-present dog tag that hung around his neck—yet somehow in its simplicity, he managed to look both seductive and mysterious. Like the bad boy at the back of class who could make any good girl want to be bad with one smoldering stare.
I couldn’t help but study him—the way his long lashes brushed against his cheek, the fullness of his lips, the sturdy line of his jaw—and I wished he didn’t have such an effect on me.
My gaze must have lingered too long.
Oliver cracked an eye open. “What?” he asked, looking directly at me.
I felt my ears heat up and started winding the cord of my backstage pass around my fingers. “Nothing,” I said, wishing the couch could swallow me up.
“You were staring at me.”
“And you were sitting scary still,” I said, throwing out the first bullshit excuse I could think of. “I was trying to decide if you’re petrified with fear or if you’d actually turned into a statue.”
“Petrified?” He scoffed and gestured at himself. “Pure confidence right here.”
