CHAPTER1
Lars
“Wake up sunshine, we’re nearly there.” Phil’s voice was incredibly irritating as it cut through the groggy hangover-induced nap I’d indulged in since leaving the airport a few hours before. My manager could be listed among one of the most annoying men to exist period, but hungover, and freshly arrived in Briar Vale, aka, my own personal hell, he was particularly grating.
“This doesn’t look like Ivy House,” I muttered, my vocal cords sounding like they’d been repeatedly scored with week-old coffee grounds and glass.
“I shouldn’t think so. It’s a mall, you know, where ordinary people go shopping? Christ, Lars, you’ve been living the millionaire rockstar lifestyle too long if you can’t tell a mall from a manor house,” Phil chirped cheerfully, before opening the door. “I’ll be back in a minute, I’ve got to pick up the keys for the house.”
“From the mall?”
“Yep, looks like your uncle’s lawyer’s office was in a mall. It’s a classy start to Briar Vale,” he laughed. He wouldn’t get an argument from me. There was no one who hated this town more than me.
“Well, it’s all downhill from here,” I warned him, before closing my eyes again and burying my face deeper in my hood. I just wanted to sleep and forget the crack of dawn flight that had brought me to the place I’d spent years trying to escape.
It was all Uncle Soren’s fault.
He’d gone my entire life without contact, and never spoken to my mother after she had eloped with my father, and now he was dead, he was making problems for me. That figured.
Silence fell over the car, and I tried to stop my mind from veering into dangerous territory. For me, Briar Vale was full of the kind of memories that I drank to forget.
Last night had been the end of a grueling tour schedule, and I was wrecked. Lately, every tour took a little more and more out of me. One of my teachers once told me that true beauty in any art form came from giving a little piece of your soul to the audience. The last tour had taken more than normal.
Shit, all I wanted to do was sleep, but Phil was taking ages, and I needed to pee. After the last few months on a tour bus with all the facilities I could use and more, it was a pain in the ass to have to go looking for the toilet. Unfortunately, the only person who I could shout at about that was inside the huge mall somewhere. With a lot of cursing and my head pounding, I managed to stumble out of the car. I pulled my hoodie tight around my face and slipped on shades, and a mask. There was nothing I hated more than being recognized and being recognized by people here in this backwater, hellhole town would be the worst of all.
I strode toward the doors, my headache only intensifying as my eyes were assaulted with the garish, glaring array of Christmas decorations. Cheerful tunes blasted out the speaker inside, and even the air smelled of gingerbread. Children ran to and fro excitedly, and couples and families shopped, bright, colorful bags clutched in hand.
To anyone who liked this inane holiday, it would be quaint and charming, I was sure. To me, a self-proclaimed Christmas grump, it was utter hell.
Putting my head down, I headed straight for the bathrooms, trying my best to see through my dark glasses and the tension headache that was joining the hangover one having a party in my head.
The toilets were located as far as they could get from the exit to the store, of course, and when I came out, I got turned about by a huge group of carollers who were cornering poor, innocent shoppers and blasting out amateur harmonies at ear-splitting decibels. Desperate to avoid the group, I turned and tried the other direction. Surely, I could loop back around and escape this Christmas-themed maze of horrors?
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and stared down at it, admittedly, not looking where I was going. I didn’t really get the chance to walk the streets much nowadays. Where I lived in L.A was an exclusive, upscale neighborhood, and everything I needed was brought in for me. Except for touring and guest appearances and interviews, recording, and signings, I had little reason to leave my home.
As I peered down at my cell phone, intending to call Phil and demand he hurry up, the screen lit up, and his name flashed. Finally.
Before I could answer, however, a small, green and red body collided with mine. The impact jolted my cell from my hand, and it spun across the floor, still ringing loudly. I fought down a curse, as I staggered, barely keeping my feet, and turned to see who had decided to body-check me. The curse died on my lips, as my brain slowed like a record skipping.
It was an elf.
Shewas an elf.
The woman before me had full Santa’s helper regalia on and looked damn distracting in it. She was small and curvy as hell in all the right ways. Her legs were wrapped in candy cane stockings, and a small green velvet dress hugged her curves. Long dark plaits hung on either side of her face, and she wore a red and green hat with a bell on it.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking at all. I’m having a bit of a Santa emergency,” she said in a rush, a smile creasing her perfectly plump red lips. My throat suddenly felt dry as hell. She had a rash of amber freckles across the ridge of her nose and across her creamy cheeks. I couldn’t look away from them.What was happening again?Oh right.
She also had her cell phone at her ear, and I slowly became aware of the sound of my ringtone echoing around us. Her green eyes, as lush as the emerald of her outfit, fell to my dropped cell and widened.
“That’s why you’re not answering! Oh my goodness, thank god you’re here. You’re just in time.” She bent down and grabbed my phone, hanging up her own, before looping her arm around mine. I stared at her, my brain still skipping a beat. My entire body jolted at her touch like I’d stuck my hand in an open socket.
“Come on then! I’m Charlie, by the way. We spoke on the phone,” she said, turning me around and pushing me forward, nearly dragging me along with her. My phone had stopped ringing, Phil’s call going to voicemail.
Charlie?The name suited her. She clearly had the wrong person, my mind dimly registered, but through the surprise at being manhandled by this gorgeous stranger, and the hangover, my mouth didn’t seem capable of pointing that fact out.
Ahead the stage loomed, all decorated to resemble Santa’s grotto. Charlie led me around the back and into a small hut.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry, I think you’ve got -,” I started and lost my train of thought as Charlie shut the door to the tiny make-shift dressing room, with herself inside. It was tight inside the hut, and when she turned toward the small wardrobe, she was only a meter or so away. She turned back, vibrating with an energy it was genuinely difficult to interrupt.