Good Stepbrother (Love #2) (10 page)

He smiled warmly again and pulled the contract from Janelle’s grasp. “Perfect.”

I wished I had listened to the warning bells ringing in my head. I wished I had paid attention to the predatory gleam in the mens’ eyes as I signed the paper without reading. But I didn’t. I wanted a shot at the big time. Not everyone got one. I had messed my life up enough, it was time to have something good.

The papers were pulled away from me the second I finished signing. “Fantastic!” Patrick cried. “Well, we’ll get you an apartment in the city, and we’ll have a manager, stylist, and personal assistant by the end of the day.”

Janelle spoke up. “I’ll be her assistant.”

“Fantastic, that’s one thing we don’t need. You’ll handle…” he talked and I stopped listening. I, Brielle Harper, was about to have an apartment of my own in LA. A stylist. A manager. And my aunt as my personal assistant. Me. A small town nobody from Marysville, Nebraska.

“Bri?” I heard my name being called.

“Yes?”

“We will debut you after we record a song or two next week at a great party at Killer in Hollywood.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll be going as Bri Harper from now on. It sounds better. Brielle is too fussy.”

“Okay.” I couldn’t say anything else.

Patrick chuckled and passed me a credit card. “This is yours.”

“Mine?” I gaped at the plastic card with my name on it.

“You need clothes. Your stylist will take you to the best boutiques.”

“Of course.” My outfit was from a bargain outlet at the mall. It wasn’t fancy.

“Congratulations, Bri. Your life is about to change.”

He wasn’t kidding. My life did change. Dramatically. Almost overnight.

Chapter Eleven

A couple of weeks later I sat in my dressing room staring into the mirror. I would be on a late night talk show lip synching my first single,
“
Back Into You
”
. I was virtually unrecognizable. I was...gorgeous. There was no other word for it. My face was sculpted with makeup and my hair was lush and full from the extensions that had been put into it. My eyes were the clearest sapphire blue I’d ever seen them be, and my skin was flawless. I’d lost weight thanks to little white pills I was given twice a day and I fit into a slinky black dress that hugged my lithe frame.

“Bri, are you ready?” Janelle asked me as she walked in. “You have two minutes.”

“I’m ready.” Slipping out of the chair, I towered over her in my heels. “Do I look okay?”

“You look great. Come on.” She grinned in excitement and I tried to be happy too.

We hurried down the hallway and I was placed in the middle of a small stage behind a curtain. “Listen for the music and your voice. Follow along,” the sound person told me with a smile.

“Okay.”

“Have fun!”

“And tonight, for your listening pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, we have a new star in Hollywood. Miss Bri Harper and her single
“
Back Into You
”.
Let’s give her a warm welcome.”

The curtains swung open and lights hit me in the face. Music played and I pretended to sing along, swaying along to the beat. The crowd cheered as I pretended to sing. They loved it. As the song came to a close, my mic was switched on and I murmured sweetly, just as I’d been taught, “Thank you!”

The crowd went wild. I placed the mic back in the stand and walked to the chairs beside Tim Percy’s desk. I would now be interviewed by him. It was good exposure, I was told. He was a greasy looking guy with a big hook nose and oversized square teeth.

“Bri, it’s a pleasure to have you with us tonight,” he simpered as he took my hand and I settled into my chair.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” I smiled over at him.

“Your song,
“
Back Into You
”,
is absolutely gorgeous! I think so many young women can relate to losing someone.”

“Thank you. I heard the song and knew I had to sing it.”

“Have you ever lost someone, Bri?”

I panicked. This wasn’t on the list of questions we had been given before the show started. My eyes flew wide and my palms oozed sweat. “Everyone has,” I managed to murmur.

He nodded sympathetically and looked down at his list of questions. “America wants to know if Bri Harper is single?”

“I am,” I smiled tightly.

“Favorite color?”

“Pink.”

The questions droned on and on and I answered just like I’d been prompted to by Patrick and my aunt. I tossed my hair, smiled beautifully, and pursed my glossy lips. I was gorgeous. That was all that mattered.

“Thank you for being here with us tonight, Bri,” Tim cooed. “We wish you the best of luck in your career. What’s next for you?”

“Thank you for having me, Tim. We are finishing up my record,
Barely Legal,
and I’ll be going on tour later this year.”

“Fantastic, we look forward to hearing more from you. Ladies and Gentlemen, Bri Harper!”

I stood carefully from my chair and waved to the crowd as I hurried across the stage and disappeared behind the curtain. My shoulders fell as I was swarmed by Patrick and my Aunt. “You did okay,” Patrick reassured me. “For your first time, you did good.”

“You looked so pretty!” Aunt Janelle sighed. “So pretty.”

“Thanks. I want to go get some sleep.” I yawned loudly and Patrick frowned.

“Take one of these. You need to go to a club tonight. Mingle with the famous.” He pulled a little white pill out of his pocket and I took it without asking what it was. They gave me energy. I swallowed it down without any water and nodded.

“Is what I’m wearing okay?”

“It’s fine. Let’s go to the limo.” He gripped my elbow and propelled me down the hallway. My heart raced in my chest and it hurt a little, but I could feel myself waking up. We got into the car and drove through the streets of LA. By the time we arrived at the club, I was jittering with energy. Patrick straightened my hair and helped me out of the car.

“This club is amazing,” I breathed and he nodded.

“It is. Close your mouth. It makes you look pedestrian.”

My mouth snapped shut as he led me inside. Music played loudly and bodies whirled and writhed together in a mass of bumping bass and sex. I was out of my element. Patrick took me to a booth and pushed me into the seat.

“Sit. I’ll get you a drink.” He disappeared into the crowd and soon returned with a beautiful green drink. He pushed it across the table and smiled. “Drink up, beautiful.”

My warning bells rang again, but I figured I could trust him. I sipped the drink and winced slightly at the acrid taste. I’ll save you from the details, but I couldn’t trust him. I shouldn’t have trusted he had my best interest at heart.

I woke up late the next morning beside him in a bed in a fancy hotel room.

“You were amazing last night,” he breathed against my neck as he kissed down my skin to my bare breasts.

“I’m going to be sick,” I cried, pushing him away as I ran for the bathroom. I puked into the toilet and eventually made it up to the sink where I stared at my reflection in horror. My hair was a mess and my red lipstick was smeared all over my face. I found a washcloth in a bucket on top of the glossy white toilet. Wetting it, I scrubbed mercilessly at my face while I cried.

My stomach twisted and I bent to spew into the toilet again. I wore no panties and my thighs were tender. I’d been with Patrick, and I didn’t remember a second of it.

Sliding down to the floor, I pulled my knees up to my chest and I wept. I wasn’t sure what he’d put in the drink, but it didn’t feel like I’d been roofied. I was roofied at the party, and at least I was coherent after that encounter.

All I remembered was dancing like a crazy person and grinding on a faceless man, then being told to take another pill of some kind. After that? I remembered nothing. Tears trickled down my face and I swiped at them angrily.
Is this what being famous is like? Do all celebrities go through this?
I buried my face into my knees and jumped as a knock sounded at the door.

“Bri, it’s time to go. Get up. Get yourself together. Girls are here to get you dressed and ready for the day,” Patrick ordered through the door.

I’d signed a deal with the devil and I couldn’t get out now. My fate was sealed. “Okay, one second.” I tried to sound like I was happy. I wasn’t. I hated it. Pulling myself up from the floor, I checked my face in the mirror and finished cleaning off my makeup and straightening my dress before I stepped out into the front of the hotel room.

My stylist pulled off my dress and handed me new clothes to wear while my hairdresser clucked over the state of my hair. Within half an hour, I was presentable. No one would’ve ever known Bri Harper had been raped by a record executive. No one ever knew because I never told. I assumed everyone went through what I did.

I was wrong.

Chapter Twelve

“Charlie?” I whispered through my tears as I sat in the back of my tour bus. “It’s Brielle.”

“Bri, honey…how are you?” he slurred softly. I wondered if he was drunk. I wanted to be drunk.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out. “I didn’t mean…”

“Please don’t say her name,” he begged weakly. “Just don’t, baby.”

“Are you okay? Is Carter…” my voice trailed off as my throat tightened in pain. I squeezed my eyes shut. Charlie was quiet for a moment and I thought I’d lost him. “Charlie?”

“Carter’s…different,” he finally offered. He sounded tired.

“I miss you guys.” It was true. I did. I missed them desperately. It had been over a year since I’d seen them. Six months since I signed my record deal and blew up. I was everywhere. Bri Harper was close to becoming a household name.

“You’re doing well for yourself. I’m proud of you.”

My chest burned at his words. I’d wanted for so long for someone to be proud of me for something I’d done. But being a singer who had sold her soul to the devil and was doing all the terrible things I was doing? I didn’t want him to be proud of that. “Thanks, Charlie,” I finally murmured.

“Carter’s taking care of the shop.” he blurted with a burp.

“What about college?”

“He lost that.” Charlie muttered morosely. “When she…you know. I started drinking. The alcohol dulls the pain, Bri. It makes it so I don’t feel anything anymore. I don’t want to work. I just want to sit here and drink.”

I understood that. I had spent so many years wanting to be numb, and now with all the pills I took, I mostly stayed numb. The conversation we shared was one of the few times I wasn’t numb. It hurt. I hated it. “I understand,” I told him.

“Do you think about her?” he asked.

“I do.” I ran my hand through my hair and curled up on my pillows. “I do every day, Charlie.”

“You look like her. She’d be proud of you. I know growing up wasn’t easy, Bri. I know it wasn’t. But know that you always got a home to come home to, kid. Always.” He cried then, and I wept right along with him.

“I didn’t know what to do,” I sniffled, wiping my nose with my hand.

“None of us did. So we made our choices. We gotta live with them now. But your story, and Carter’s…it ain’t over. Not by a long shot,” he said thickly.

I froze at the mention of our story and my heart thumped painfully in my chest as my stomach clenched. “I need to go, Charlie, we’ll talk soon,” I promised. Before he could tell me goodbye, I hung up and held the phone to my aching chest.

Carter didn’t go to college because of me. Charlie was a drunk because of me. And I walked away from it all. I should’ve been happy I got out and had such a fabulous life.

Not everything that glitters is gold.

***

“Bri! Bri! Bri!” The crowd screamed my name so loudly it hurt my ears. I lip-synced along to the track.

“It’s what the people want, Bri. They want a show, not you singing,” Patrick insisted.

So I gave them what they wanted. I shook my ass and wore next to nothing on the stage. I sang along to songs I hated and prayed the track didn’t skip while I danced. Lights shone in my face and sweat poured me. I was hot and uncomfortable, but I made a lot of money. A lot.

I was a multi-millionaire and I was barely twenty years old.

As I finished the last song, I bowed and blew kisses to my fans before ducking off stage. Patrick snagged me around the waist and kissed me, hard. “Ah baby, you’re so sexy,” he whispered, grinding into me.

“Could we not? You know my aunt likes you.” I was having sex with him regularly, only to keep him happy. I thought that’s what pop stars did. Sleep with record execs and fuck their way to the top. I hated every second of his clumsy groping and hurried, sweaty thrusting.

“Janelle holds no appeal for me,” he cooed in my ear. “But you, I think I want to marry you. You could be the next Mariah Carey.”

Peeling him off me, I shook my head. “I’m never getting married.”

“Why not?” he growled as I walked to my dressing room. “Haven’t I given you everything you could want? Why, look at you. Two years ago no one had any clue who you were, now you’re a household name. You sell out arenas in less than twelve hours, and you’re a millionaire. You should be grateful for all the opportunities you’ve been given.” Patrick lolled against my door jamb as I settled into my chair and looked in the mirror.

“I’m not marrying you, or anyone, Patrick. We’ve been through this.” I sighed and peeled the fake hair out of my own, shaking the fluffy blonde wig out and placing it on my table. “I appreciate the offer. But I’m not going to marry you.”

“Who wants to marry you, Bri?” Janelle popped up behind Patrick and he jumped in panic.

“Some creep,” Patrick garbled. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

Janelle stepped into my room and closed the door. “So it was a great show, baby! You did great. There’s a guy here to see you. He apparently had enough clout to get by the guards. Logan Monroe?”

I perked up. “Logan’s here?” I’d been inviting him to every show I’d ever had and he’d never shown up. Now he was here in Seattle to see me.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“He’s the guy who helped me record the demo. He’s been on the list to get backstage for forever!” Jumping out of my chair, I peeled off my skin tight costume and tossed it behind me. “Help me get out of this makeup and find some clothes. I need to see him.”

“Okay sure.”

Within minutes, I looked normal again in jeans and a hoodie. My face was scrubbed clean and I pulled my hair back into a loose bun. Darting out of the room, I raced down the hallway to the room where everyone on the list waited.

Opening the door, he looked up and pinned me with beautiful blue eyes. “Hey, Brielle the beautiful.”

“Logan! You came!” Launching myself at him, I plopped in his lap and hugged him tight. “Thank you for finally coming to see me. Thank you for the demo and for everything.”

He laughed and squeezed me back. “If I’d known I’d get this kind of reception, I would’ve come to see you a hell of a lot sooner.”

“Why haven’t you?” I pouted.

Sighing softly, he ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “I have cancer, babe. I’ve been sick.”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Sliding off his lap, I cupped his face in my hands. “How long? How bad?”

“Almost to remission. Leukemia. Stage three. Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. You’re supposed to look at me like you can’t wait to rip my clothes off and have sex with me, not like you pity me.” He winked and I laughed.

“You’re a tease. Want to go get some dinner?”

“Why don’t you come back to my place and we could order pizza and catch up?”

“Sure. I gotta leave tomorrow morning though.”

“Pretty sure pizza eating and catching up won’t take that long. We’ll have to figure out how to fill the time otherwise. I have some really good ideas.”

“Do you, now?” He was obviously flirting with me and I loved the idea of having sex with him. I’d liked him since I’d first met him, and I needed some good sex.

“It involves me…and you…and…” he paused, leaning close so he whispered in my ear. “Me fingering a guitar until you sing.”

Giggles erupted from my throat and I nodded. “That sounds great.”

“Then let’s go.” Logan stood and held out his hand to me. Gripping his hand, I stood too and we walked out of the arena through the back exit. He pointed to his car. “It’s not a limo.”

“I don’t care. You know me. You know where I came from.”

“Ah yeah, flippin’ eggs at the diner. You’ve come a long way, babe. Are you happy?” Pausing by the passenger door, he pressed me against the glossy red car and stared deep into my eyes.

“I’m happy,” I lied.

Shaking his head, he sighed. “You’re a shitty liar. Life is too short to be anything but happy, beautiful. Change your story. There’s still time.”

Leaning my head into his chest, I squeezed my eyes closed. “Can we just have easy tonight, Logan? I just want to be with you. Nothing heavy.”

“Okay, babe. I just worry about you. The tabloids sure have a lot to say about you.” He pulled away and shifted me over so he could open the door. “Slide in.”

Sitting down, I buckled in while he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Opening his door, he settled in beside me, buckled in, and started the car. “Let’s go jam.”

We were silent on the drive to his apartment. His words rang in my ears and I hated that I thought about where my life was going. Rolling to a stop, he parked and cut the engine. “Ready?”

I was. More than ready. Climbing the stairs to his apartment, he unlocked the door and let us inside. As I closed the door, he smiled. “So, Chinese or pizza?”

“I don’t care. I don’t eat much anymore. I gotta fit into sample sizes,” I explained.

“Then you should treat yourself. I vote pizza. Lots of cheese.” His eyes twinkled and I kicked off my shoes and nodded. “Why not?”

“Cool. Come sit down in the living room and I’ll order a pie for us. Then we’ll jam.”

I kicked off my shoes and padded into the living room. Dropping onto his plush brown couch, I crossed my legs and waited for him to return. “Hey,” I called as he walked back in.

“Hey beautiful, so the pizza’s ordered. Will be here in thirty. Want to jam? What do you want to sing?” He pulled a guitar from the rack on the wall and plopped down beside me. “Chances are good I know it. So name it.”

My brow furrowed as I thought. “Do you know “Starry Eyed” by Ellie Goulding?”

“I do. I dig Ellie, but don’t tell the guys.” Grinning, he strummed the strings. “Ready?”

He played and I sang. It felt incredible to sing again. Not just lip-sync to over-produced songs that I really hated. My eyes slid closed and I poured myself into the words. The music came to an end and Logan whispered, “Damn.”

“Ellie does it better,” I laughed, opening my eyes.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s you babe. When you close your eyes and sing like that? God damn, you own everyone in the room.”

Flushing, I looked away from him. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that. It’s been like that since you recorded your demo. The guys haven’t shut up about you since. They periodically remind me that I could be replaced. What next?”

I was speechless. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I suggested “Give me Love” by Ed Sheeran.”

“Ah, another good one. Sure.”

We played and sang until the pizza came. He jumped up from his position on the couch and paid the pimply-faced teenager at the door. I made sure to stay turned so the boy couldn’t see me. I didn’t want the tabloids having a field day.

The door closed and he returned with our pizza. “Eat some, please,” he asked, offering me a soda and a paper plate.

I nodded, opening the box and taking a gooey slice of cheese pizza. The first bite was heaven. “Mmm, so good,” I moaned.

“You’re killing me,” Logan teased.

Blushing, I finished my slice. “So, what have you been up to? I’m so sorry to hear about the cancer. I feel like a shitty person not keeping up with you.”

“You’re a shooting star, babe. It’s hard to keep up with the people on the ground when you’re flying high.” He shrugged and sipped his soda. “The cancer has been cancer. No big deal. I am beating it. The guys and I are still making music, our next EP will be out next month. I’m content with my life. How are you?”

Turning my can of soda in between my palms, I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Hell yeah you are, but let’s not state the obvious. How are you really?” He leaned close and squeezed my knee. “Talk to me, kid.”

Suddenly, like word vomit, everything poured out. “I’m miserable,” I started. “I hate what I’m doing and I don’t know how to get out. Patrick, the record exec follows me around all the time...he’s at almost every show, and he makes me have sex with him and I hate it and it makes me feel disgusting. I want to sing, really sing. I want to make real music and be happy, and I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Category five hurricanes don’t get to have happy endings, Logan. That’s what I am. I destroy everything.”

Looking down at himself, he blinked. “I’m still here.”

“Just wait, I’ll destroy you too.” I sipped my drink morosely. “I’m in love with a man I’ll never have.”

“You can have me, babe,” he chuckled.

“I wish it was you, Logan. God, I do. It’d be so easy. I could see myself being with you, but I’d never be fully in love with you. Not when someone else holds my heart.”

He sighed. “Still hung up on the guy you were when you first moved to Seattle?”

Nodding, I glanced up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, babe. You can’t make your heart do something it doesn’t want to.”

“That’s the problem. My body wants to. My brain wants to. But I have no heart to feel with. It wouldn’t be fair to you. You’re too nice to get mixed up with me.”