Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) (6 page)

Hell, my mother would probably invent new ways for my shoes to suck just so she could yank out her poison pen. The opinion of Anna Lorenz, fashion maven, had ruined the careers of more nascent designers than I could count. She was New York high fashion and, by extension, she was also the voice of
all
high fashion. And as I’d told Tucker, she liked extreme, at least when it came to my designs. Now, I designed shoes I loved, shoes that spoke to me deeply, but I also pushed the envelope beyond where my instincts told me to stop. As a result, everything in my line consisted of shoes no sane person would walk in if they wanted to keep normal feeling and circulation in their toes.

High fashion didn’t cater to sane, everyday people, it catered to designers and hipsters looking for something different. But in the end, what was the use of garnering accolades for your creativity when no one actually ever wore your stuff in the real world?

Fuck.

I suddenly craved a drink. Finding Claude’s stash, I poured myself a shot of Jack. The burn of the liquid down my throat grounded me, but also brought back memories of my partying days that I didn’t want to revisit. I’d never been out of control when it came to alcohol. A little had always gone a long way, giving me just enough of an edge to find my high in other ways. Dancing. Sex. Streaking. Hell, even fighting. It wasn’t the numbness of alcohol or drugs I’d always craved, but a heady combination of electric energy that told me that I was alive combined with the free fall afterward that made me calmer, able to handle anything life threw my way. It was that kind of adrenaline rush and subsequent let-down that wiped my mind clean, when my heart was pumping so hard I couldn’t notice anything else, even the echoes of my mother’s doubt and disdain.

Without even knowing it, Tucker’s words on the balcony had attempted to do the same thing, but now that he was gone, they were ephemeral. How could I recapture what I’d felt when he’d told me how amazing I was?

There, on the balcony, a terrible thought occurred to me. I fought it, but I felt like I was falling apart at the seams. The stakes were so high, and I just needed to get into that zen place where I knew everything would be okay. I’d done it before…

I stepped up to the balcony railing and gripped it, the smooth metal warm from the sun. My heart was pumping wildly in my chest but my breaths were even. Before I could second guess myself any more than I had, I boosted myself up until I was sitting on the railing, my legs dangling over the edge. Then I carefully stood, balancing on my bare feet. I raised my hands out wide and arched back my neck.

All of Paris was spread out below me, my new kingdom ripe for the taking. The wind was blowing just slightly and I enjoyed the feel of it on my face for several seconds before my knees wobbled underneath me. I almost pitched forward and terror zipped through me, but at the last moment, I fell back and into a waiting chair.

I sat there panting and wrapped my arms around my knees.

Tears were hot on my cheeks but I tried to ignore them. For a few seconds I’d felt exhilarated; I’d cheated death again and now nothing I faced this evening could compete.

Part of me was horrified at my thoughts. Knew I should tell someone what I’d done and ask for help. The first person I thought of telling was Tucker.

Sexy, confident, sweet Tucker, who though I was amazing, and thought he knew what I was going through because he envied his best friend’s role as leader of the band.

But no, that could never happen. No one needed to know that Nikki Lorenz, hot new shoe designer of the moment, was falling apart.

No one needed to know my secret.

Least of all Tucker Benning.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tucker

I didn’t know shit about shoes. I mean, yeah, I liked a high heel on a hot babe as much as the next guy. I knew when something looked fugly or when sneakers were rank enough to be tossed out. I’d never been a fan of girls into combat boots, and I didn’t get why, when women could wear those sexy as hell pumps, they’d go around in ballet flats. But, mostly, I didn’t think about it much.

As for me personally, I have some sneakers for if I want to hit the gym (read: when the record label makes me before publicity shoots) and a few nice shoes for award shows, but I don’t know the names of the different styles and honest to God taking them off is usually a huge relief at the end of a fancy night out. Mostly I wear motorcycle boots everywhere.

Tonight being a rare exception. Tonight I was wearing dress shoes with a pair of designer jeans and a white button down, trying to looking nice for Nikki’s show.

So, basically, I was probably the last guy on Earth to be able to tell you if shoes were awesome or not.

What I did know was that the shoes displayed in Nikki’s
Chez Lorenz
were unlike anything I’d ever seen, even when I’d Googled her. Again, that might not be saying much. If I’d been the type of rocker like Keegan was a rapper, some guy who wanted to design someday, then maybe I’d have a lot more ideas about footwear. Clearly, Nikki had gotten a license with whoever made that pink Japanese cat-thing. Was it
Hello Kitty
? I wasn’t sure but you saw that thing all over when you traveled in the East. She had some heels with pink crystals all over them and that cat’s face on the side. Cute, flirty, and a little fun. But that was the most normal shoe there.

There was a pair of heels that were at least eight inches high but the shoe part looked like someone had glued a ballet flat to a spike. I wasn’t sure you were supposed to walk in them. Hell, if some poor girl tried, she might snap an ankle. Still, they looked badass. Then there were the shoes I could barely describe. Tons of heels at least six inches high with rhinestones and Swarovski crystals added, but they also had those same toes that looked like point shoes, just rounded a bit. Then there were things that reminded me of architectural designs, wild geometric patterns that really were more art than shoe. Among them were these grey and turquoise numbers that were made of different cuts of triangular fabric. They looked more like the world’s weirdest trophies. They didn’t have heels coming out of the back but seemed to sit on platforms coming out of the middle of the shoe.

In other words, if you didn’t have amazing balance—like tightrope walker fucking phenomenal—you shouldn’t try a Nikki Lorenz special.

Again, I knew next to nothing about shoes, but I was an artist too. I knew enough to know when someone was pushing the boundaries of what people had done before. Nikki hadn’t pushed boundaries. Nope. She’d
pole vaulted
over them and that was amazing. As I sipped my complimentary champagne in one of the alcoves of her new shop
Chez Lorenz
, I tried to be patient but was plain antsy to tell her how much I admired her.

I made another lap around the boutique, and finally maneuvered my way through the crowd. It took a lot of quick turns and snaking around other people, but I managed. It was times like these I wish I’d paid attention to French in high school. I didn’t even know the word for ‘sorry,’ and as I got glares from most of the models and design community, I figured a quick “my bad” in the native language might have soothed things over more.

Finally, I saw Nikki.

And not surprisingly, she looked hot.

She had on a sleek black dress that hugged every curve, a thick diamond necklace around her throat, and heels that she’d clearly designed herself that had to be close to seven inches and covered in gold leaf. Her eyes were highlighted by smoky eye shadow and rimmed with kohl, and I could have lost myself here, in this moment, just staring at her. She had to be under a lot of stress. I had a small inclination from her weird rant earlier how much she needed to impress her mom so that the feared Anna Lorenz wouldn’t insult her. Mothers with poison pens? Ouch. However, she looked cool and calm, if a bit removed from everything around her.

Reaching out, I placed a hand on her shoulder. She startled and almost dropped her drink on the marble tile below. Then she smiled and she literally took my breath away.

I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I was just coming over to offer some support. You did an amazing job. These shoes should be in a gallery. I mean, come on, they’re like works of art.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

She said it automatically, as if she was used to blowing off compliments about her work, and I frowned. Before I could say anything, however, her eyes darted around the room, and I realized she was looking for someone.

When I took a step back, figuring I should give her some space, her gaze met mine. She licked her lips and regret filled her beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry for being distracted, Tucker. I just have a lot more people to talk to. Divine is supposed to be here as well as William Cooper. I was hoping they’d come as a show of fellow support.”

A bright light flashed, temporarily blinding me. Blinking, I got my bearings and noticed the photographer in the corner. She was clicking fast and furious, and I’d become accustomed to red carpets and even trying to eat out at lunch with my friends and having a thousand lights go off in my face.

It was annoying but it was the trade-off for being famous, just was how things were.

I looked back at Nikki to see if I could do anything to help her out, to relieve the pressure of the crowd until the other designers got here or she felt she could take a break. She wasn’t paying attention to me, though. Her gaze was fixed on the short blond woman with the huge Nikon around her neck. Nikki balled her hands up at her sides and glared at the photog and if looks could kill…

“Can you not do that right now,” she snapped, moving past me and standing nose to nose with the photographer.

The blonde huffed and set her camera aside so that it hung from its strap over her chest. “You know, your mother is so much more accommodating for the press. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re nothing like her. She’s pure class. You’re not. Even your ex-boyfriend saw that, which is why it didn't take long for him to leave your bed for hers—”

“Hey—” I began, jolted out of my malaise, just as Nikki’s hand shot out.

The slap rang out hard and fast.

Despite everything, it left my jaw on the floor. I knew from Google that Nikki had provided fodder for tabloid stories the same way other heiresses had and, okay, even certain rock bands that had trashed a hotel in Memphis. Still, she was older and a successful designer now, and our little dance aside, she hadn’t given me a glimpse of that wilder, impetuous nature.

“Say that again,” Nikki snarled. She would have lunged for the blonde again if an older man, one with a thick salt and pepper mustache, hadn’t held her back. He took control of the situation, barking out something terse and commanding in French. Then security was dragging the photographer, who was rubbing her slightly swollen cheek, out the door. No one said anything for a very long time, and I was surrounded by a room full of oppressive silence with all of us looking at Nikki as the older man led her away.

A man beside me in a suit that had red pinstripes just shook his head and leaned into my ear. “Is that your date? You’d best run,” he whispered theatrically.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, guy. I’m trying to be nice. Nikki Lorenz can barely go five minutes without making a scene. This is the same stunt she always pulls.”

Still stunned and not sure what the hell to say, I pushed past him and started toward Nikki, but the older guy with the greying mustache, the one who had held her back from doing more damage to her reputation, led her toward a room in the back. The dude was good-sized, probably about 6’3 or 6’4 and broad shouldered. He looked like he was the head of security, but with the way he had his hand on the back of her shoulders, I wasn’t sure. That could be a more intimate gesture, and I was scared that it was.

Besides, the guy was staring at me like he wanted to do the lunging and tackle me.

Whatever. After he and Nikki disappeared, I decided to hang back and wait for her. She appeared ten minutes later, all fake smiles as she worked the room. In every other direction but mine, that is. I gave her twenty minutes of this, then walked up to her as she was talking to the mustache guy.

“Hey, Nikki. Are you okay?”

She turned toward me with another smile, but wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine, Tucker. Look, I’m sorry, but I have a lot of important people to talk to. Thanks for coming, but we can catch up some other time, okay?”

She finally looked at me when she asked the question, and as I stared at her, I saw nothing of the warm and passionate woman she’d been in New York and her friend Claude’s apartment. “Nikki—” I began, my words cutting off when Grey Mustache put his arm around her waist.

And instead of pulling away, she
leaned into him
.

In fucking front of me. And it was clear by her words that she’d forgotten our plans for
afterward
.

What the fuck? There is too much drama here
.

I didn’t know who this Nikki was, but I didn’t like her. She was clearly in her element, sucking up to her sycophantic fashion zombies and with that Incredible Hulk guy beside her. I didn’t need to be treated like some kicked puppy or piece of garbage she wasn’t interested in. Disgusted, I gave her and the annoying dude one last look and took off.