Page 43 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“Has Kim said anything about our next date to you?” he asks me, when his face has returned to its usual color.
“No, she hasn’t.”
“Then, I had a suggestion, which you can obviously say no to if you want.”
I eye him as I take another bite of my taco. “Go on.”
“One of the execs is having a party at his beach house tomorrow night. All the band are going with their partners. It would be a bit strange if you weren’t there.” He screws the lid back on his bottle. “Of course, I can tell them you had other stuff on, but …”
“A beach house?” I squeal, lowering my taco. “Like one of those proper multi-million dollar amazing ones you see on reality shows?”
“Probably better. He owns a large stake of the record company.”
“Wow.” I place my taco down in the basket. “I’d love to go–”
“But?” he says with a stiffening of those shoulders again. It’s like he’s continually bracing himself for bad news, for the knockout punch.
“But … wouldn’t I be a bit out of place? I’m an assistant and you’re a rock star and won’t everyone else be celebs or millionaires or–”
“Do you want to know a secret, Cupcake?” I nod. “Everyone at those parties feels like a fraud. Like they shouldn’t belong there. It’s surreal. It’s not normal life. Not reality. Everyone is waiting for someone to call them out. To say they don’t belong.”
“I’m not sure you’re making me feel any better about it,” I laugh.
“I’m just saying imposter syndrome never goes away. We’ve sold millions and millions. Yet I’m always waiting for someone to say, actually your music sucks. It’s been a giant mistake. Go back to Sweden, Hjalmar.”
“Hjalmar?”
He shuffles on his seat, looking a little embarrassed. “My real name.”
“Your real name isn’t Hunter?”
“No, West came up with that because nobody could pronounce my actual name. That’s what I mean, Isabella. We’re all frauds.”
“Hjalmar,” I try to say, completely screwing up the pronunciation and making him smile at me.
Jeez, I wish he’d stop with that. It melts me into a puddle every time.
Say no, Isabella, say no to going to some glitzy party at the beach where you’ll be out of your depth and at risk of falling in love with your stupidly hot but fake boyfriend.
“They’ll probably have Jessie performing?”
“What the actual?” I say, staring at him over my taco. “Jessie?”
“Yeah she’s dating the exec. He usually manages to persuade her to sing at their parties.”
And there you have it. I’m screwed, because how can I say no to an invitation like that?
11
Hunter
“You lied.This isn’t a beach house,” Isabella says, lifting her oversized sunglasses and peering at the house we’ve just pulled up in front of.
“What do you mean? The beach is right there.”
“But this isn’t a house. It’s a hotel. No, bigger than that, a beach resort.”
“I told you, Steve owns most of the record label.”
