Revenge #4 (6 page)

Stephanie’s golden brown eyes stay locked on mine. “You can’t just leave us, sweetie. You signed a contract.”

“An employment contract, yes. But I didn’t sell my soul to the devil.” I pull away from her quietly powerful gaze and narrow my eyes at Nick. “Or did I?”

“I’m sure you can tinkle in a cup,” Nick says.

Their combined calmness makes me feel like maybe I’m overreacting. It’s just a drug screening, and I know they’re common at some companies.

I swipe the cup from Stephanie’s hand. “Fine. Where do I take it when I’m done?”

“Come with me,” she says, nodding to the elevator. “You can use my private washroom upstairs, and we can talk.”

“Talk?”

She’s already pressing the elevator call button.

I turn to Nick and give him a wide-eyed look. “Nick, I need to talk to you. I wasn’t able to do that thing you asked me to.”

“I know,” he says.

“How do you know?”

“Loverboy was all over YouTube last night with his new love songs. They’re not finished, but they’re clearly shit,” he says.

I step back like I’ve been slapped.

“Like you’d know good music if it bit you on the ass,” I say.

The elevator doors open and I follow Stephanie in.

The doors close, and she says, “Nick’s right. Dylan’s new songs are total shit.”

“So what? They’re rough. He can work with a producer and get them cleaned up.” The elevator travels up steadily. Stephanie doesn’t respond to me.

I look down at the plastic cup in disgust. Whatever good feelings I had about Morris Music are evaporating by the day.

“Dylan doesn’t need a music deal, anyway,” I grumble, as much to myself as to Stephanie.

“Good, because he’s not getting one.” She doesn’t take her eyes off the floor indicator above the elevator’s doors.

“Is that for sure? He has a meeting tomorrow.”

“You’re a selfish little girl. If you really cared about Dylan, you’d do as you are told.”

“Hurting someone on purpose isn’t right.”

She tucks her bright red hair behind her ear and looks over at me.

“He is talented,” Stephanie says softly. “I’m sure he’ll break through sooner or later. Everyone knows that people who dream of being a top musician
always
get their wishes. That’s why the charts are full of nobodies from nowhere, hitting number one every day.”

Her voice is so sweet that her sarcasm hits me hard.
Wow. Stephanie is so much meaner than she looks.
I wonder what made her so ruthless.

We get to the ninth floor and I follow her to a private washroom. I produce the sample, cursing Stephanie and Morris Music the whole time. When I step out and hand her the cup, I say, “Just so you know. About a week ago, I might have had my drink spiked. I was on assignment at the time, and it wasn’t intentional.”

She keeps smiling. “Maybe we don’t even test these samples. Maybe it’s just the company’s way of reminding our employees that we hold all the cards.”

Great.

A woman comes over to us. She’s the short assistant I met once before. She takes the sample, then rushes off.

“Well, that was fun,” I say. “I’ll just be off to the archives now.”

“Not so fast, my little Talent Coordinator. I have a new assignment for you. There’s another way you can help Dylan.”

I follow her over to her desk and take a seat across from her.

“Are you ready for your assignment?” she asks.

“Probably not. I can’t break Dylan’s heart. You guys will have to fire me, or do your worst. I don’t care how much money you offer me. He’s already had so many awful things happen to him. If you could just give him some time, and give him feedback, I’m sure he can deliver.” I cross my arms. “Either way, I can’t do this assignment. I won’t.”

Her golden brown eyes twinkle with amusement.

“Jessica, you haven’t even heard the assignment yet.”

I uncross my arms and lean forward. I should storm out of this office and quit, but my curiosity has got the better of me.

“Do you like convertibles?” she asks.

Sure, I like convertibles.

My new assignment involves driving one. It doesn’t sound too bad.

Stephanie waves her manicured hands daintily and explains my new Eye Candy assignment.

“Any questions?” she asks at the end.

I’m quiet for a moment. I’ve been bracing myself for the worst. I thought she’d ask me to seduce this new guy. But the job sounds simple. Easy.

Too easy.

I must be missing something.

“You want me to take this guy shopping for hats?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Or sunglasses. Your choice.”

I turn my head and give her some serious side-eye. I don’t trust her.

“Why me?” I ask.

Stephanie gets up from her chair and walks around her desk to my side. She perches on the visitor chair next to mine and gazes into my eyes.

“Because you have an amazing personal style,” she says, her voice breathy. She reaches out to straighten the collar of my plain gray jacket. Her perfume surrounds me in a cloudy embrace. She breathes, “I love the detailing on this jacket. You really have an eye for details.”

I squirm in my seat. “This old thing?”

Stephanie abruptly gets up again and circles back around to the other side of the desk.

“That jacket is terrible,” she says coldly.

I straighten up in my chair. I’m both shocked and impressed by how she manipulated me.

“Damn, you’re good,” I say. “I believed you.”

“You’ll have to stop by the boutique for something new before you go on assignment. But remember how good you felt when I flattered you. That’s how you need to make Bryce feel. Shopping for hats is just the excuse. He has a big photo shoot tomorrow. We don’t want to see him with big bags under his eyes from staying up all night crying about how misunderstood he is, or whatever the neurotic little pukebag does.”

“Pukebag?”

She flicks her hand like she’s annoyed with everything. “Fuck my life. Just do the job. Do it well and I’ll put in a good word for your boy, Dylan.”

She glances at the door, letting me know I’m dismissed.

“Do you think Dylan is a pukebag?” I ask.

She uses a fancy gold fountain pen to write notes on a sheet of pink stationery. “Dylan? I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed for eating crackers.”

She makes a purring sound, and a flare of jealousy shoots off inside me. I don’t want to share Dylan with the whole world. His music, yes, but not him.

Stephanie hands me the address where I’ll be meeting my new assignment. She also hands me the keys for a company vehicle to drive to the location.

I don’t have much time, so I rush off.

An hour later, I’m driving a sweet convertible down Rodeo Drive. I’m wearing a tight leather skirt and a designer blouse that’s mostly see-through, with a bustier that shapes me like a corset.

If my Nan could see me now, she wouldn’t even disapprove. Because she wouldn’t recognize me.

I park the car, and a second later another convertible careens into the spot in front of me. A girl jumps out and covers her face with a scarf. She hustles past three paparazzi trying to take her picture.

Wow, I’m really here, on Rodeo Drive.
I recognize the girl as an actress who’s just switched from TV to movies. As I step out of my car, the paparazzi run toward me. One snaps a picture before he realizes I’m not a star.

Gripping my new purse tightly, I walk into the hat boutique carefully. My heart is pounding. I’m actually worried about impressing this guy Bryce, who Stephanie described as a pukebag.

I spot him immediately, because he’s the only guy inside the hat store. Bryce is a new artist on the Morris label. He’s a DJ who performs with his ex-wife, who most people assume is his sister. He’s got sad blue eyes and sandy brown hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks.

His hunched shoulders are making him look like a depressed fourteen-year-old girl. He looks like he needs a whole lot more than a new hat.

I walk up to him and introduce myself as the stylist sent by Morris Music. He mumbles hello without meeting my eyes.

For the next few hours, I focus on cheering up Bryce. He brightens up when we get some food in him at a healthy smoothie place. I keep complimenting him and saying encouraging things.

It lifts my heart to finally see him smile.

By six o’clock, we’re wrapping up our purchases at one of the boutiques before it closes. Bryce is talking a mile a minute about these amps he’s getting. They have blown glass resistors inside, instead of electronics, and he swears the sound is “chunky and organic, and so much better.”

I sneak out my cell phone to check messages. There’s a long one from Dylan.

Hey, Blue Shoes. I called your desk but your friend Nick said you’re out on assignment. This is my number, but I’m turning my phone off now so I’m not distracted tonight. I can’t stop thinking about the sight of your sweet, bare thighs in my car. I wish I could taste you right now. Your skin against my cheeks is heaven. But I’m in hell for now. I’ve got the Big Fucking Meeting tomorrow. Wish me luck. Or don’t.

D.

“Who’s that?” Bryce asks.

The cashier hands him his receipt. She’s written her phone number on the bottom, but Bryce doesn’t notice.

“My boyfriend,” I say.

His whole body reverts back to the droopy state I found him in.

“Did I say boyfriend?” I slap my forehead. “I mean my best friend, who’s a boy. And also gay. His name is Nick, and he’s hilarious. Lots of face piercings. Very sarcastic.”

Bryce mumbles, “I’m sure he’s way more fun than me. I guess I’ll just go back to the hotel now. Alone.” He sighs.

I glance over at the cashier. Her lip is curling up in disgust, like she wishes she could take back her number.

“No way!” I squeal at Bryce. “The night is young and I have a convertible. We should go dancing. I could call my roommates!”

As I hear my own voice, I can’t believe how well I’m conjuring up this California party girl personae.

He agrees to give it a try.

Bryce gets into the convertible with me and starts talking about the places he can get VIP access. I clap my hands with excitement.

Once I commit to having fun, everything falls into place. I swing by the house to pick up Riley and Amanda. Riley is shy around Bryce, but Amanda pulls out her hairbrush and combs the matts out of his hair. We hit the town, with dinner and dancing.

Surrounded by his new entourage of three women, Bryce comes alive. He transforms. I blink in amazement as I realize he’s actually cute. At the club, he gets invited up into the DJ booth and performs for an excited crowd.

We dance for hours.

Nobody wants to call it a night. I have to drag everyone from the club. I insist on driving Bryce back to his hotel so he can get some sleep before the photo shoot.

When Bryce gets out of the car, Riley offers to walk him up to his room.

They’re gone a long time, and Amanda laughs at me for getting worked up.

“He can’t have bags under his eyes!” I yell at her.

Finally, after twenty minutes, Riley comes out of the hotel lobby and slides into the back seat of the car.

“Nice one,” Amanda says, giving her a high five.

Nick is in a bad mood.

When I show up for another exciting day in the archives, he’s playing angry music over his computer speakers. He doesn’t even look up to say hello.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say.

I drove the convertible home last night, so I had to return it this morning. I took a few detours on the drive in, not quite ready to give it up.

Nick grunts, his eyes still on his screen.

I hand him a coffee from the cafeteria, and a sticky bun.

He snatches up the sticky bun and starts eating it. “Is this vegan? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Did you miss me all day yesterday?”

“Yes.”

His answer surprises me. I take a seat in my chair and rub my upper thighs with both hands.

“My legs are totally sore from dancing last night,” I say.

He keeps eating, not interested in asking me about my night out with Bryce and my roommates. I really did have fun, and the whole assignment completely took my mind off Dylan’s dead wife. The one who looked exactly like me.

“Nick, are we alone down here?”

“As far as I know.”

“I’ve been thinking about the thing you told me. About your mother’s big plan to take over Morris Music.”

He glances up at me, his pale face becoming even more pale. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” he says.

“Too late, because you did. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, you’re going to answer some questions. I’ve been thinking a few things over, and stuff doesn’t add up. Or, I should say, it adds up when it shouldn’t.”

“Stay out of things that don’t concern you.”

“This does concern me. Tell me the truth. Why do I look exactly like Dylan’s dead wife?”

“How should I know?”

“That came out wrong. I mean… did I get hired here specifically because I bear a resemblance to Susan? All my friends couldn’t understand why Morris Music would hire someone from out of state instead of a local person they could meet. But I think I got hired because of the photo on my application. Ordinarily, I would never apply for a job that asked for a photo, because that’s hella creepy, but it was my best friend back home who was trying to help me out—”

Nick cuts me off. “Yes, probably that’s it.”

“So, you guys knew about Dylan’s past the whole time? You just pretended to spring it on him at the first meeting?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you suspect is probably true. My mother is a master of psychological manipulation. She has her reasons for everything she does. Everything.”

I think back to my first meeting with Maggie Clark. If she made all these careful plans, then no wonder she was pissed about me being in the Blue Shoes video. That wasn’t part of her plan.

On my first full day in LA, I really did accidentally stumble upon Dylan on my own. Even though I was brought here because of him, we still met through a twist of fate.

And now I almost understand how I fit into the whole puzzle.