For Love or Money (21 page)

I
honestly love you

James

When
I get to her door I take a breath before knocking. I don’t want to go to the
stupid party. I want her to open the door as I push her back in and fuck the
hell out of her, and then maybe order room service.

But
she wants me to appreciate the side of her that isn’t naked and moaning.

She
doesn’t see that I like every angle of her. I just especially like the fact
she’s addicted to sex, no matter how hard she fights it.

She
matches me.

I
knock and wait, but no amount of daydreaming could have prepared me for the
moment she opens the door.

She
is stunning.

I
swallow hard. She’s in a pale-golden yellow dress that is strapless and sits on
her perky breasts. If I look hard enough I can faintly see the outline of her
nipples through the fabric. The dress is bunched at the waist with a dark-gold
belt that matches the huge pumps she’s wearing. Her whole body has a shimmering
golden hue to it, even her legs which are fully exposed by the short dress.

I
shake my head. “You can’t wear that.”

She
looks down. “What? Why?”

“I
don’t want to get into a fight.”

She
slips her creamy, gold-colored clutch under her arm and leans against the door.
“You don’t think you can handle yourself?”

A
cocky smile owns my face. “I don’t think I can keep my hands off of you if you
wear that. So it’s your choice. You can dress that way, and all night I will be
touching you. Probably inappropriately. And when we get back to this room
later, I will be treating you exactly the way you’re dressed.”

She
nods, maintaining her serious face. “I’m counting on that, cowboy.” She looks
at my dress pants and dress shirt and winks. “You look nice.”

I
can’t speak. I want to pull her skirt up and fuck her. She reads my mind and
leans in, looking up into my eyes and batting her long, thick lashes. “If you
fuck me right now you’ll be sorry you wasted the night.”

I
laugh, fighting my natural urges and erection that’s starting to develop. “You
underestimate my ability to bounce back quickly. Unlike you, I’m still only
twenty-one.”

Her
blue-grey eyes narrow, making her dark eye makeup harsher. “You might just pay
for that comment.” She slides past me and walks toward the elevator.

The
elevator ride is intense. I want to grab her roughly and bend her over. At the
very least, I need to rub her ass against the bulge that won’t go down in my
pants.

But
I don’t. I’m not supposed to touch her and we’re trying to be friends and keep
our two worlds separate.

I
spend ten seconds, convincing myself I won’t be able to stop myself from
brushing my lips against her arms and chest as I lift her skirt, before I
realize I’m losing it.

I
shake my head, focusing on the numbers going down on the panel as we pass each
floor.

Just
as we are nearing the bottom, she glances back at me, seductively. “I think I
love you, James. I don’t want it to be one of those awkward after sex confessions.
So I just want to say it now, in here, where neither of us have to admit
anything else because we feel like we should.” She pauses and smiles. “I love
you.”

My
heart stops beating for a second.

The
door dings and we’re on the main floor. Instead of finishing the conversation,
she walks out into the lobby, smiling and talking, leaving me stuck in the
elevator.

Damn
her.

Her
confession is lingering in the air, making a wall that prevents me from leaving
it. I want to stand there, with it hovering around me.

I
can’t believe she said it. Not because I don’t think she should have, but
because she beat me to it.

I
want to say it back, but I wanted to say it first. Of course, I wanted to have
sex and then say it.

Her
way is like an evil form of torturous foreplay.

I’m
hard, awkwardly hard. The elevator door closes, taking me back up to whatever
floor it has been called to.

My
back is against the wall and my jaw is still on the floor.

An
older lady gets in, smiling at me. She kills my boner, thank God. She smells
like mothballs and an old Chanel perfume my grandma wore before she died.

When
we get to the lobby the gang is standing, waiting for me. Nick is staring at
Lana’s chest while Brandon is avoiding it with all his might.

She
almost makes me hard seeing her again.

She
is so beautiful and she’s mine.

I
walk to them, sliding my hand on her back, hugging her side into me.

Nick
shakes his head. “Good luck, man. That dress is a train wreck.”

They
guys laugh and walk to a limo out front. She nods her head at the door. “No
more buses. I just can’t travel like that.” I know I’m frozen with a stupefied
look on my face. She looks confused. “What?”

“You
say that shit and leave me there with it, and now you want to talk about
buses?”

She
smiles. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to say something you don’t want
to say that I wanted to say.” She’s confusing me but I think that’s her plan.
She kisses my cheek, pulling herself up to my face using my shoulder. “I just
wanted you to know that I love you, and I don’t want you to think it’s anything
other than me telling you I love you.”

I
cock an eyebrow. “You’re bad at this. Love declarations are supposed to be
after sex, I read it somewhere. That’s how they happen for normal people.”

She
takes my hand and winks. “Lucky we aren’t normal.” She pulls me to the limo
through a crowd of paparazzi. She doesn’t even pay them a touch of attention.
Her driver, Henry, clears a path and opens the door for us. When she climbs in
a man grabs my arm. “James, tell us what it’s like dating Lana!”

Another
one flashes something in my face. “Do you really have to call her Miss Lana?
Even in bed? Is it hard working with a diva, coming from such humble roots?
Does she have a relationship with all the guys in the band?”

Eventually,
she flips them off and drags me into the limo. Henry closes the door.

I
look at her, stunned and uncomfortable, but she just smiles and laughs,
pointing at us all. “Everyone calls me Miss Lana from here on out!” It’s meant
to be a joke but the only one laughing is Nick as he moves to sit next to her,
staring at her cleavage blatantly. “I’ll call you whatever you want, Miss Lana,
but you have to promise that when you’re done with this lame ass, you give me a
chance.” He points at me.

“You
wish.” She rolls her eyes.

Nick
moves again, mostly because I shove him away from her. Brandon and Simon have
the look on their faces I assume I have, stricken. I look back at the flashes
of the lights. “Is it always this bad?”

She
shakes her head. “That was a small crowd. Plus I looked hot. The worst are when
my hair is in a ponytail with low-slung jogging pants, a tank top, and no
makeup.” She shudders. “Those are the worst. When they get a bad photo they
always add a rehab suspicion or abortion story or bad breakup lie to the photo.
That’s the worst.” She pauses. “No, actually the worst is when your dad calls
‘cause he sees the abortion storyline and you look like crap ‘cause you have
the flu, and the picture is on every paper. And you just went to get some
Gatorade and fresh air. And suddenly everyone is staring at you in the grocery
store, and you don’t even know the paper has come out yet. But then you get in
the lineup and it’s there, your face and the abortion story. The cover is
actually a fat picture of you because you were out at the beach with friends
and ate too much but no one believes that.” She stops, realizing she isn’t
laughing anymore and the story just slipped out. I can tell she didn’t mean to.

Everyone
in the car is silenced. For the first time we all see what it’s like, even for
Nick. He nods. “My dad had his picture taken with a lady last year, and they
ran a story about how my mom is a lesbian, and that’s how we found out. Our
parents’ marriage has always been a sham. My mom is gay and my dad married her
because he wanted to help her keep her reputation and trust fund. They were
best friends. So he has casual affairs, and so does she, but they won’t ever
divorce and live the way they want to.”

Brandon,
Simon, and I are stunned silent.

Lana
smiles but it looks strained. “And yet, we are the envy of everyone. If only
they knew.”

Simon
blurts, “I never envied you. Either of you. Lana, your family’s insane and your
friends are shit. And the world lies about you constantly. Since I met you,
you’ve basically proven everything I knew about you to be a lie.”

Her
smile turns sincere. “My friends aren’t shit. Not anymore. Now I have the best
friends a girl could want. The best bandmates.”

Simon
blushes and Brandon nods, looking down.

I
wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. We won’t out you for being
amazing. We’ll let them keep thinking you are Miss Lana, the diva.”

She
turns and presses her lips into mine. “Nothing you say could ever change my
image. I’ll always be Lana Webber.” There is some hint of bitterness but she
beams, like she’s past it.

We
get to the massive restaurant and file in as more paparazzi take our pictures
and shout obscene things at us. My hands are balled into fists and my jaw is
tight, but she just waves and smiles past it all, like she is above it. She
leans in and laughs like I’ve said something so funny. “You can’t kill them
all. Just let it roll off your back. Their words can’t hurt us.”

The
adoration in her eyes reminds me none of it matters. What matters is us and the
music, and no one can touch those things.

We
enter the party as a band. Leo is waiting for us there with his arms out,
eating it all up. He looks tired but he is a showman. As much as I have never
liked the guy, he’s earned my respect in a few ways. Hard work is one of them.
He’s exhausted, and yet he’s here. He kisses Lana on the cheek and escorts us
into the party.

People
are smiling and gushing, no longer shooting hateful or judgmental looks at Lana
and us. She has proven she has every right to be here and not because it’s her
dad’s show.

Her
dad comes up, disapproving of her outfit with the same look I think I had when
I saw it, but hugs and kisses her anyway. He shakes their hands but when he
comes to me, he leads me off, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and steering
me to the bar. He leans on it and nods. “I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t
know what I expected when I gave you that violin. I had an idea of how it could
work, but you have exceeded my expectations by far.”

I
shake my head. “I swear, I didn’t do much. The girl has a natural talent, just
like you said she did.”

His
eyes that match hers in color, narrow. “You know I can’t give you my blessing
to date her, right? She lied to me and said she and you weren’t anything. She
wouldn’t have done that if she thought it was a good idea to date you.”

She said that?

My
stomach sinks. “She’s an adult. She can choose who she wants in her life.” I
can’t believe I’m saying it to him, but I won’t lose her, not after the spring
we’ve had.

He
shakes his head. “She’s not an adult, and you need to realize that she isn’t
fully better. She isn’t any different than she was six months ago. I know she
has you fooled. She did me to. But I talked to her therapist and she hasn’t
been to see him at all. She isn’t taking the healing seriously. She’s taking
the music seriously. She’s taking you seriously. You and me both didn’t see the
truth, but he feels it’s one addiction gone and a new one started up. She’ll
get addicted to the spotlight and the performance and to you, because you are
the real thing. She has an addictive personality. I spoke to Ron, her
therapist, today after the show. He feels that she is finding other things to
be addicted to, instead of curing her addiction problems and filling the void
her mother’s death left. She needs to heal, not blanket it all in another thing
to crave. You and the spotlight will bring back the other addictions when you
can’t fill the void like cocaine can.”

His
words sound like they’re based on science and reality, but I don’t want to hear
them. I shake my head, begging with my eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“You
love her, don’t you?”

My
face is tight. I nod my head slowly, answering more with my eyes.

His
face must match mine. He looks so pained I almost don’t hate him for trying to
separate us. “I love her too. I want her to succeed and be happy and find
herself. I just don’t see how that’s possible when she’s latched on to you.”

“What
do you expect me to do?”

His
eyes harden and I see a man who is all about the business pop up on his face.
“I want you and her to keep it professional. Keep your distance from her
emotionally. Let her win this because she has the talent, not the new love
interest America wants to get the scoop on. I know it’s good for ratings but
it’s bad for her. You want what’s best for her, even if it’s not you, right?
What with your past year and all . . . with Marlene Saint
Clare?”