For Love or Money (8 page)

James
looks nervously at the man and then me. “Hey—Lana. This is professor
Sherman. Sir, this is—”

The
older man laughs. “No need to introduce. I am well aware of who Lana Webber is.
It’s a pleasure, Ms. Webber.”

I
prepare myself for judgment and hate, but he stands and offers me a hand. I
place mine in his, stunned a single teacher wants to shake my hand without a
glove or Lysol—what with all the trashy shit they believe about me.

“I’m
a huge fan of your father’s company. He’s such an amazing man. I still can’t
believe James here—”

James
stands, cutting him off. “I was just leaving. The library is closing. Can I
walk you out—or back to dorms? Safety in numbers and all.”

He’s
acting insane and overly nice. It’s weird. I cock an eyebrow and am actually
about to say no, but the song picks at me. “Sure. It was lovely to meet you,
sir. You are both so talented. I thought I was listening to a live version on
satellite radio or something.”

He
nods. “Nice to meet you as well, and thank you. That means a lot coming from
you.” His eyes dart from me to James. I don’t know what the hell is going on,
but I need to make James sing for me again. James closes his guitar case and
grabs my elbow, leading me away from the grinning prof. I look back when we are
far enough from the class. “Is he a weirdo?”

He
scowls at me. “What?”

“Why
are you dragging me away from him?”

“I
just need to get going.”

“Oh
God, is he a client?”

He
turns, giving me a nasty bad look. I pull my arm from his hand, a little put
off at the mad grip accompanying the evil look. “Why are we—like running?
I avoid running at all times.”

“I
can tell. He’s just a musician I jam with sometimes.”

“He’s
super nice. He’s the first person to be nice to me in weeks.”

“I
was nice to you.”

I
laugh. “No, you weren’t. You haven’t been nice to me yet. Stopping to see why
I’m crying doesn’t count after you scared the hell out of me in that elevator
and the shower. You owed me that much. You think I don’t know why you took me
from Andy’s house? You think I haven’t put two and two together? I know you
assumed I was drunk, and not passing out from anxiety. You were counting on the
fact I wouldn’t remember being at Andy’s and seeing you there, in my shower no
less.”

“Fair
enough.” His cheeks blush. “That back there IS the nicest man on earth, and if
we are being really honest—I just don’t want you talking to him about
me.”

My
jaw drops. “You think I would tell him?” Wow!

His
dark-green eyes flicker to mine. “I do. I think you’re reckless. You do drugs
and drink and you can’t be trusted with secrets. The media is stalking you like
a bear after a garbage bin, and people are always watching and recording you.
So I do not trust you. No offense.”

I
stop dead in my tracks. “Did you just call me garbage? Untrustworthy garbage?”
What is this guy’s problem? What did I ever do to him?

His
cheeks flush. “No. It’s a saying us colloquial folks use.” He grabs my hand
again and drags me to the stairs.

“You
think that little of me?”

He
looks back at me. “I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

I
don't want that. I need him to sing. “Sing for me again and I will take your
secret to the grave.”

He
snorts. “Fat chance. No way, honey.”

I
jerk him back to look at me but his face is covered with sarcasm and mockery. I
swallow hard and lean forward. “Yes way, honey.”

“Are
you giving me an order?”

My
gaze narrows confidently. “As a person who has your dirtiest secret in her evil
clutches, I guess I am.”

“You
want to play the blackmail game?” He sees I mean business but he stares me
down.

I
nod, with venomous hate and desperate hope coursing through my veins. “I do in
fact. You sing for me in this competition for my new job, and I will never tell
a soul. You don’t sing and I’ll be exactly the sort of girl you just assumed I
was. You want to think things about me, fine whatever. I don’t give a shit what
people think of me. But if I act exactly the way you presume to think I am, you
can’t be surprised or pissed.”

He
laments, hopefully seeing that he brought this on himself. “Go screw yourself
and no—not in this lifetime and not even if I was in a coma and you moved
my lips for me.”

I
shrug. “Okay. But when the tale of the sad and lonely Harvard gigolo gets out,
you can’t be angry that I just went and acted the way that comes naturally to
me.” I walk by him, hurrying down the stairs. “For the record, carrying me to
the apartment building is exactly what I would have done, so you aren’t any
better than me, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou.”

“Stop.”
I turn and to see a serious case of despondency and ire on his face. He grits
his teeth and seethes past them. “What do you need me to do?”

“Rock
like The Boss. I need you to be the next—Lochlan Barlow.”

He
cocks an eyebrow. “From Thin Ice?”

I
nod.

His
accent thickens as he gets all dramatic. “That’s it? Well shit, sugar you
should have told me that's all you needed. I’ll get right on that. In fact,
I’ll just abandon my degree and play my guitar for money. Jeeze, why didn't I
think to do that all along? Why did I ever leave Nashville to come to balmy
Boston if I coulda made my fortunes there?” He sounds angry in a way that makes
me take a couple steps back. He scoffs. “Just Lochlan Barlow, pshhh. I am way
better than he is, or was rather. He’s all married and shit now. I heard he’s
taking a leave. Hell—I should just see if Thin Ice is looking for another
front man.”

I
fold my arms. “You done?”

He
nods. “I was done before you even opened your mouth. You are even more
unbelievable than I expected.”

“You
can win this. I am telling you—I believe in you and am willing to bet my
job on it—on you.”

“And
if I don't agree to this, you really will out me to everyone?”

I
stare him down, not nodding but not shaking my head either. I would never do
it, but he already thinks I’m the antichrist. Why not let him keep on believing
I am?

He
takes the stairs slowly, one at a time. “You win this competition and we never
have to speak again? You will NEVER bring up my sordid details and we will
NEVER cross each other’s paths?”

I
nod once.

“What
guarantee do I have that you aren’t going to go back on your word? What am I
getting out of this?”

I
don’t have a single thing to give him—or do I? Shit. I pull my phone out
and send a text to my lawyer as I speak. “I have a dummy corporation with four
executive apartments on the West End, maybe you’ve heard about them?”

He
chuckles. “In the news recently? Yeah, I did hear something.”

“They’re
worth a million a piece, literally the last thing I own beyond an extensive
collection of clothes, shoes, and handbags. We will draw up a contract with my
dad’s lawyers, gifting all four of them to you if I spill the secret. We’ll
have a sealed envelope containing the secret and my sex tape I made when I was
eighteen, like an idiot. They will remain with the lawyer until the end of the
contest. If you do this with me, I will pay you with two of the apartments and
my sex tape. We will go to our graves each having a daunting secret about the
other person. Equal leverage and equal partners.”

His
eyes narrow. “Who’s in the sex tape?”

Closing
my eyes I try to block out his face when I say the name. “Andy.”

“Deal.”

I
shake my head, hating that I have become the person he thinks I am. For
whatever reason, I don’t want him to think that I am that shallow and horrid. I
want to be the girl Henry and Geoff think I am. The girl my dad wants me to be.
This is not the road to that.

I
offer him my hand but he shakes his head. “No. We’ll shake when the papers are
drawn up. And I’m going to need money for the next couple months. I’ll need all
my free time for rehearsals. I’ll have to retire from the other job.”

I
nod and hand him over the Visa. He takes it, not knowing it’s literally the
last thing I have, beyond a checking account that will just last me the summer.
My dad doesn't know about it, just like James doesn’t know I’m betting on him,
betting my entire life on him.

Keyboards
and cold hearts

James

I
flip the Visa over and over in my hands. I don’t even know what to do with it
but I don't want to use it. It makes me feel guilty just looking at it. It’s a
black card with the name Webber Records on it in gold. I can’t believe she gave
it to me after threatening to ruin my life.

I
glance over at the violin and smile. What a fucking joke? I took the damned
thing and agreed to try to help her. I’ve spent three years trying to come up
with a way to do it. And here she not only comes up with a way for us to hang
out, but she also found a way to drag me into the mud with her. Figures.

But
would she actually do it?

Part
of me, a pretty large part, doesn't think she would. She and Andy are pretty
close and I can’t see her wanting to hurt him like that. Andy and me are close
enough I would never want to hurt him like that. He’s a weird guy but he’s
always done right by me, the scholarship kid. He became my friend the first
week and has let me into the inner circle and dragged me all over the planet
with him.

Andy
isn’t my only problem. There’s also Duncan and Richard, who are my friends. I
haven’t slept with their moms but I date them regularly.

And
there is the issue of the school. I still have to get accepted for my MBA when I’m
done my undergrad. No school will take someone with a reputation for
prostitution.

I
can’t even imagine what my mom would say. She’s worked two jobs my whole life,
desperately trying to help me with money and school. She would be so ashamed. I
would never be able to look her in the eye again.

As
much as I want to, I can’t even blame Lana for it all. I made my filthy bed and
now I have to lie in it. I took money for sex. The fault is mine, her extorting
things from me for doing them is nothing surprising, but it bugs me. It picks
at something deep inside of me. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that she
knows about it all, but it does. I guess it’s that deep down I know there is a
realness to her that she hides away from everyone. She isn’t just the blackmailing
skank she wants me to believe she is.

I
glance from the violin to the guitar on my dresser and chuckle.

Damned
thing.

I
swore it wasn’t ever going to be my future. In Nashville we see washed-up stars
with nothing to fall back on, on every street corner. Or playing in that same
bar for decades, never getting anywhere. I made a vow that wouldn’t ever be me,
and now she’s gotten me to do the very thing I have been against my whole life.

Something
about those dead blue eyes and that evil smile makes my skin crawl and not in
the way I want. She gives me shivers instead of the heebie-jeebies.

Damn
girl.

Seeing
her being different, more human, over the last little bit has made me
vulnerable to her beauty. My momma always did say girls would be the death of a
boy like me. She wasn’t kidding. I am an idiot when it comes to sexy girls.
Adding crazy is my krytopnite.

I
get up and pull my soccer gear on for practice and jog over to the field. When
I get there, I come across Nick giving me a look from a dark corner of the
corridor. It’s almost creepy until he mutters just loud enough for me to hear.
“Weaver’s okay and awake.”

I
take my first real breath in a week. “You’re not kidding with me, right?” God,
please let it be true so Lana is off the hook.

“No
man. He’s good. No brain damage either. Thank fucking God. I told him to stop.
I told him we had to go, but he was in that room with that rich bitch and her
gothic friend. He came out of there looking like hell and passed out.”

The
plot thickens, just like it always does with the rich kids.

He
runs his hands over his face and shakes his head, taking a huge sigh. “I just
want to say, you were right. We should have left with you.”

I
nod. “Alright, well let’s play some soccer and try to move on from this.” Damn,
it is my lucky day.

He
folds his arms. “I’m sorry you caught shit from coach.”

My
chest nearly freezes up. I look around us. “The world IS still turning, right?”

“Shut
up.” He chuckles.

“What?
You rich shits never apologize for nothing.”

He
nods at me. “Well, I guess hell froze over then, whatever.”

We
walk in silence onto the field. Coach gives me a nod. I know it’s his version
of an apology.

I’m
fresh out of the showers and changed after practice when I run into Lana
waiting outside of the locker room with ear buds in, jamming along with her
head to a song. I almost walk past her, but she looks up and smiles, it’s an
unnaturally friendly smile. It makes her look soft and sweet and prettier than
any girl I’ve ever actually seen in person. It’s a look I’ve never seen on her.
I know I told her dad I would give her a chance. I believe the thing he sees as
redeemable is still there behind. But the smile on her face looks like one she
might use to get what she wants.

Great,
she’s plotting.

“I
found a drummer and a bassist but we need a keyboard player.” She gets up to
walk with me, earning me looks from the boys leaving the locker room too.

I
sigh and pick up the pace. “How the hell did you find bass and drums already?”

She
grins. “The great James Holland draws a crowd. Everyone wants to be in a band
with you.”

“That’s
not even funny. You never said a single thing about a band.”

Her
eyebrow lifts, mocking me. “Honey, you’re cute but you’re not that cute.” She
does a pretty good job with my accent when she wants to be annoying.

“Now
that’s a bold-faced lie. My momma said I am the cutest boy she ever did meet,
and I have enough charisma to charm a snake.”

She
smiles. “You calling me a snake?”

“Maybe.”

“You
don't stand a chance at charming me, cowboy.” She nudges me playfully. She
isn’t pretending to be nice. She’s actually being nice. Shit, is she high
again?

I
grab her arm and look into her eyes. They look normal, bright even. “You doing
drugs?”

She
shoves me back as old Lana rears her ugly head. “What are you, my father?”

I
don’t budge. She sighs. “No, okay? I haven’t touched anything since the kid. My
dad meant business, James. He cried, okay? He doesn't cry. Ever.”

I
don't want to talk about her father so I change the subject. “Weaver woke up.”

Her
eyes widen. “He did?”

I
nod. “He’s fine. Nick says he told the police what really happened. Told them
about the penthouse and the fact he was in the room with Nance Hensley.”

Her
jaw drops. “Oh shit. No way.” There is something in her eyes, something
burning. I imagine it’s the cold sting of betrayal.

“Yeah.
Guess you’re off the hook. Want to quit the whole band thing?”

“No.
The show must go on, now move it. I’ve asked Mr. Sherman if we can use a room
to practice in and he said yes. So that’s the plan.” I open my mouth but she
shakes her head. “No. That’s the final plan. We’re going there now. We just
need a keyboard player and we’re set. If you all play well together, that is.”

I
want to groan and grumble, but a small part of me wants to see who the other
guys are. I haven’t played with a band in years, not since I got here. Not to
mention it is the perfect way to rope her into opening up to me so I can
fulfill my end of the agreement with Lars Webber.

“Did
you just say you’re looking for a keyboard player?”

I
look back to see Nick standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Lana
narrows her gaze. “You’re one of the little shits who said I was the one who
brought the drugs? Nick, right?”

He
nods. “Hensley came to my dad and threatened him. When he left I was told what
I was saying. I didn’t hang you out to dry, Lana. My dad told me to say that I
was so drunk I didn't remember a thing. I did the same thing any of us would
do. My dad was pissed I tested positive for coke and hash, and I didn’t even do
any. I drank, that’s it. Your fucking party was a gong show but I didn't tell
the cops shit.”

“It
wasn't my party and I’m over it. Whatever. I’m even more over talking about it.
If you want to play with us that sort of shit isn’t going to be tolerated. It’s
a team effort of hard work.” She sounds like she’s going to say yes to his
sorry ass, a move I would not make. I don't trust the kid. He has an agenda.

She
pauses. “No. You’re going to have to vacation this summer, and your dad will
never say yes to you being in a band on a show.”

A
grim smile crosses his lips but his eyes are filled with determination. “My dad
telling me to lie and stay out of it was the last advice he’s giving me.
Hensley is an ass and Nance is a liar.”

She
chuckles. “Fine. Do you have the keyboard?”

He
nods.

I
just can’t see it but she can. She holds her hand out. “Phone.” He gives it
freely and she enters in her number and an address. “Be there in an hour.”

His
eyes dart to mine. I shake my head, but he nods and smiles wickedly before he
turns and walks away.

“That
was a mistake.”

She
looks up at me. “We’ll see.”

“Do
you actually know anything about the music industry?”

She
shakes her head. “Not a ton, nope. I know what I like and what I don’t.”

“You
know it’s more work than that, right?” I feel sick. I have a terrible feeling
we’re going to go on national television with a shit show.

She
shrugs. “We’ll see.”

“You
keep saying that but the only thing I think we’ll see is us making a fool of ourselves.”

She
winks at me and I see the cold hateful bitch smile return. “We’ll see.” She
walks away, shouting back at me, “Go get your guitar and meet me at the place I
just texted you.”

I
feel the vibration. “How’d you get my cell phone number?”

She
laughs, it’s evil and exactly what I expect from her. The sweet look had me
worried, but I’m relieved to see the return of her evil ways—she won’t
have me turning my head anytime soon, caught by the swing of her miniskirt.