“I would sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near,” Ash sang to me, the band crescendoing behind him.
Uh oh. I was in trouble. Big trouble. I knew right then and there, I’d have to avoid seeing him on stage. Like kryptonite with a mic in his hand, his voice working magic, his whole persona larger than life and sexy as hell. Those smoldering eyes, that lean, muscular frame, he was already dangerous enough. But once he became the lead singer? Forget about it.
I literally could not shut my mouth. I had to bring my hand up to it, covering my parted lips as I watched him perform. My heart beat, my hands shook, and my panties practically melted right off of me. The only way I stood a chance at keeping my cool this month was if I completely and totally avoided seeing him on stage ever again.
§
“Tuesday, he’s got a show in L.A. Thursday, Santa Clara.” The next day, 8 a.m., Lola woke me with a call to discuss my itinerary. I’d made it back to my apartment the night before. Ash had been surprisingly gentlemanly, insisting on a limo taking me all the way home. Not back with him. Slightly disappointed, I’d still slept like a rock.
“He’s flying out today and you’re heading out Monday. You’ll have dinner in Malibu.”
“Monday, Malibu.” My head pounded in my hands. I hadn’t gotten super drunk last night, but I did feel hung over. The fourth glass of bubbly that had me feeling so light and giggly last night now sat like a lead weight on the back of my skull. I needed some water.
“They went for it, you know. They love you.”
“Good, good.” Who was she talking about, exactly?
“Great job last night. Lay low today. They’ll probably be outside your apartment.”
“Outside my apartment?” I realized she meant paparazzi, waiting with cameras to try to photograph me. That sounded creepy and implausible. “Are you sure?”
“We released your information to all interested parties, so, yes, I’m guessing they’ve staked you out.”
“Like a press release?” What would the headline on that be? Boring, average girl exactly as boring and average as she looks?
“Something like that. Now remember, you don’t want to talk to them.”
“I don’t.” I didn’t need to be coached on that point. Those guys barreling in after Ash into the library had resembled a pack of hyenas.
“You don’t want to seem too eager or it’ll look fake. Today, Ana, the most important thing is you’ve got to stick to the script. Everyone you’ve ever met is going to get in touch and ask what’s going on.”
I sank down into the bed. This was going to be complicated.
“You have to remember to stick to the script. Keep it brief. You’ve met a great guy and you’re falling hard for him. That’s all anyone gets from you.”
“OK.” Truthfully, that storyline wouldn’t be too hard to manufacture. Ash had pretty much knocked me over last night. I hadn’t had to fake a thing. Every smile, every flutter had been real for me. That was the problem. It wasn’t supposed to be.
“I’ll send a car around for you tomorrow morning eight o’clock. Don’t worry about packing anything, we’ll take care of all that.”
“When will I come back?” I’d let my boss know I’d be gone this week and she’d sounded relieved more than anything else due to the financial squeeze, but I had to tell my roommates, my parents. Oh my, my parents. They were going to be a challenge.
“Friday. You’ll have the week of Christmas in the city, tons of opportunities for exposure. This is off to a great start.”
I groaned, sinking back into my pillows. She’d told me to lay low today. My head still killed. That wouldn’t be a problem.
Several hours later, I stirred again, this time due to Jillian’s knocking at my door.
“Ana!” Her voice finally broke through my fog. “You’ve got to see this.” She thrust her phone under my nose and snapped on my lamp. Wincing at the intrusion, I blinked and tried to focus. On her screen, I saw a limo and a glittering silver gown. Ash Black looked devastatingly handsome as he took the hand of a lovely lady. Me.
“You’re everywhere!” Jillian sounded hushed with awe. “There are photos of you guys kissing under mistletoe. Video of him singing Frank Sinatra.”
Oh man, that had been staged as well? I mean, of course it was. It was my problem if I listened to him sing Cole Porter’s lyrics and felt them deep in my soul as a personal expression of affection just for me.
“Look at his face when he sees you!” Jillian clicked replay and a video clip started again, the blinding flash of camera bulbs, the jostling and calling out. But someone had captured Ash at exactly the right angle. When he first saw me stepping out of the limo, he looked gobsmacked, his eyes wide with admiration and amazement at my beauty.
“God, I hope someday some guy looks at me like that,” Jillian sighed.
I wanted to tell her it was all an act. She shouldn’t feel bad. None of this was real. But I couldn’t, I’d signed a NDA. And part of me wanted to believe the fairy tale for a minute, too. She clicked play again and it was like a drug, watching his reaction. He was so good at it, so practiced and coached he really looked like he was honestly thrilled, struck with wonderment at the sight of me. I was really going to have to watch myself.
And stop watching Ash fake it so good. I rolled over back under the covers. “I’m hungover,” I groaned. “Let me sleep.”
I managed to spend most of the rest of the day in bed, sipping water, heating up a can of chicken noodle soup around four p.m. I ignored my phone and fielded questions from Jillian and Liv with more ease than I’d feared. A pounding headache and no good sense of what I could honestly say helped me stay super evasive. And my parents, thank goodness, were completely unplugged from social media or pop culture in general. I’d already begged out of our weekly Sunday night dinner, guessing correctly that I wouldn’t be up for it, so I got off easy with a phone call. They’d never heard of Ash Black and at least when we spoke late that afternoon they hadn’t heard a word about their daughter dating a celebrity. But I had to lay some groundwork.
“I did have a nice date last night.”
“You did? Tell me! Was it that boy you just met? What kind of a family is he from?”
“I met his grandmother at a family get-together last night.” That seemed a good lead-in. “She was very friendly. She asked me to have tea with her next week.”
“A boy who respects his grandmother is a good boy.” Ash Black was not a good boy. “Is he Russian?”
“No, his grandmother’s British.” Royalty, at least it seemed to me.
“That’s too bad. What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a musician.”
“Piano?” She assumed he was a classical performer.
“He’s ah…He’s a vocalist. And a string instrumentalist.” Translation: leather-pants-wearing, shirtless, tattooed rock god. This was complicated. I wanted my parents to like him enough to not panic, but not like him enough to start working on the wedding invitations. Russian Orthodox to the hilt, my mother had a full set of little religious icons arranged in my honor, praying for love and fertility, in that order of course. How was she going to react in two weeks when we got engaged? And then two weeks after that when I broke it all off? I supposed I could take a chance and not tell her any of it, but with all the gossip magazines she was bound to see something. Ash Black news wasn’t just on a few online fan sites. Ash Black news made People magazine headlines. My mother shopped at the grocery store, she went to the dentist. She’d see People magazine.
I put it on the list of things I’d manage when I had to. I’d just have to find a way of not yanking my parents around too hard on this roller coaster ride I’d signed up for. It was only one month, after all, and it wasn’t as if they’d ever meet him.