Revenge #5 Read online

  “I work at Morris Music.”

  She nods. “Have fun while you can. Get paid, and don’t take any promises. Get everything in writing.”

  “You mean with Morris?”

  She leans over and looks at the guys on stage for a moment. When she turns back, she’s smiling.

  “They’re not gods,” she says.

  Someone comes over and taps her on the shoulder.

  Parker Hayes gets up and politely excuses herself. I stay where I am while she goes off to some other business.

  Dylan and Tex finish the song, thank the crowd, and return to backstage.

  I stay where I am as Dylan makes the rounds, talking to people. Someone brings me another beer, so I drink it.

  Finally, Dylan comes over and tells me it’s time to go.

  We get in his car, and he drives us to my house. The whole way, he talks about what a great crowd it was, and how he wants to write something with Tex.

  “I can’t believe I met Parker Hayes,” I tell him.

  He reaches over and pats my knee.

  “We’re living the dream,” he says, laughing.

  “Parker is amazing.”

  He keeps his eyes on the road ahead. “She flashed bright and burned out,” he says. “I want to have a career that lasts, but if it doesn’t, I’d still be happy if I can write one thing that lasts.”

  “It must be hard to write when you’re going on TV shows and traveling around.”

  He’s quiet.

  “I had fun tonight,” I say.

  He reaches for my hand and squeezes it in his. “Hearing that you had fun is music to my ears.”

  I laugh. “Don’t be so cheesy!”

  “Ouch.” He laughs. “Now I’m cheesy?”

  I look at the bright lights of the city around us.

  “No, you’re perfect,” I say. “Everything is perfect.”

  Chapter 8

  Dylan sleeps over at my house Friday night.

  I wake up at noon. He’s at the foot of the bed, getting dressed.

  “Sorry, am I being noisy?” he asks.

  My head is groggy. We were up so late.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask.

  He scrunches his shoulders up near his ears.

  “Just busy,” he says.

  “You’re leaving?”

  He winces. “Am I in trouble?”

  I sit up in bed. “Trouble?”

  He makes the face again, like he’s a little kid who just got caught. And he’s really leaving.

  My temper flares up.

  “No, you’re not in trouble,” I say.

  He pretends to wipe his brow. “Phew.”

  I keep my thoughts to myself. I don’t want to seem like some needy chick who tries to control all his free time. I thought we had the full weekend together, but I guess we don’t.

  He pulls on his shirt and smoothes it over his lean stomach.

  “This is why I came back yesterday. I’ve got something else to do today. I’m mentoring on one of those TV shows that’s shooting now.”

  “Seriously? I thought that was just famous people.”

  He makes a face and pretends I’ve just shot him in the chest.

  I correct myself. “People with tons of industry experience.”

  “These episodes won’t air for a few months, so it should all line up. It’s crazy how busy I am.” He tosses his dark hair out of his eyes. “I feel like a ten-dicked cowboy in a whorehouse.”

  “WHAT?”

  He grins. “Something my grandfather used to say. He used to say a lot worse, but not in English. I used to spend summers with him, in France.”

  “Oh, right.” I look up at the ceiling, thinking for a moment. “I think you told a story about that, when you were on that one talk show. It’s hard sometimes, to put the two of you together.”

  “The two of who?”

  “Real Dylan and… you know. The one who kisses me while crowds of adoring fans scream his name. That guy.”

  He looks down and ruffles his hand through his hair.

  “I’m just me.”

  “I know. You’re still that street busker, singing a song to a pretty girl, just to flirt with her.”

  He grins and ruffles his hair again. “Your smile was better payment than anything people were throwing in my guitar case.”

  “You are… so romantic! You’d better get out of here fast, before I drag you back into bed.”

  He pretends to hurry and opens my bedroom door.

  “This taping might take two days,” he says, looking apologetic.

  “I guess it takes as long as it takes.”

  “Cool.” He walks back over to me, gives me a quick peck on the lips, then leaves.

  I sit and listen as he walks down the hallway, then out the front door.

  A few minutes later, Amanda taps on the door and comes in. Her pale blonde hair is sticking out all over, like she just got up.

  “I had a nightmare,” she says.

  I pull the covers open and pat the bed next to me.

  She climbs in next to me.

  “You got in late,” she says. “Why’s Dylan gone already? I thought you had him for the weekend. Is he coming back for dinner Sunday? Don’t tell Riley I told you, but she’s trying to write a song. She wants Dylan to look at it.”

  I snort. “He’d probably like that.”

  “Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise.”

  “Not really. But I thought we were spending the weekend together. I guess it was just Friday night. Is it selfish of me that I feel disappointed?”

  Amanda reaches over and pats my stomach through the blankets.

  “Oh, sweet, naive little Jessica.”

  I roll onto my side to look into her blue eyes. The bright afternoon light really highlights the little wedge of green in one iris.

  “How am I naive?” I ask. “Do you know what’s going on with him?”

  She makes a jerking motion with her hand, then says, “Pop.”

  “What?”

  “Guys have two modes. Before Coming, and After Coming. Before Coming, they can’t get enough of you. You’re a princess, you’re everything. It’s all please and thank you, and let me pay for your stuff. And then… ” She does the jerking gesture again. “Pop. And then it’s all, hey, lock the door on your way out.”

  “But that’s just sex. What about love?”

  Amanda’s forehead wrinkles, like she’s genuinely confused.

  “They still come when they’re in love.”

  “You’re oversimplifying.”

  “You’re overthinking.”

  I study her face for a moment.

  “Amanda, why do you have a little bit of green in one eye?”

  “Genetics. Same reason I’m left-handed.”

  “Oh.”

  She flutters her eyelashes. “And also because I’m a gypsy.”

  “Really?”

  “No, but that would be cool.” She smiles. “What were you and Dylan doing last night?”

  “We went to a club and he sang with this other guy, Tex. But before that, he took me to his new house that he just bought. The whole thing was super weird.”

  “Did he ask you to move in with him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was implied? He kept talking about having parties, with you and Riley there.”

  “Even better. We’ll all move in with Dylan and have rock star lives. I’ll quit my job and be the official bartender for all his parties.”

  I smile at the thought. It’s crazy, but not that crazy. Famous people do have entourages. I’m sure they hire people to do plenty of things for them.

  “We’ll see,” I tell her. “Don’t put in your notice just yet. I haven’t exactly quit my job, you know? Even though Dylan makes about a million times more money than me.”

  “Awkward.”

  I groan and roll onto my back. “This situation is just so fucked up. Some of the stuff he does is so crazy. He drives like he’s leaving a bank heist. He sh
owed up last night without warning and climbed in my window. And he tells me what underwear to wear.”

  “That’s kinda fun.”

  “Sure, but I don’t think I’d put up with some of this stuff if he was just a regular guy. I’m acting like some dumb groupie. I came to LA to have a career, not for this.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? Just hang on tight and see how interesting things get. The career stuff isn’t exactly happening.”

  “Jess, I’m scared for you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Riley loves you, and I do, too.”

  I scrunch up my face. “Amanda, don’t make me cry. I love you too, girl. Hey, how are things with Caleb?”

  “Good. We’re totally exclusive now. It’s nice.”

  “Wow.”

  She gives me a dirty look. “What’s that all about?”

  “I’m sorry, Amanda, but when I first met you, I thought you were skanky. I was grossed out by some of the things you did. All the guys.”

  She raises one eyebrow.

  “But I’m glad you have more experience,” I quickly add.

  “Thanks,” she says grumpily.

  “No, I really appreciate your insight.”

  She sits up and wriggles her way off my bed.

  “I’m so glad I could be your skanky advisor.”

  Great. Now I’ve upset her.

  “Don’t go,” I beg.

  “Wash your sheets. Your bed smells like Dylan.”

  She walks out of my room, in a huff.

  Chapter 9

  I stand in front of the glass doors to Morris Music.

  Some people shuffle by me, muttering about it being Monday.

  I haven’t seen Dylan since he left my house Saturday morning. His text messages have been brief, and worry me.

  Could my life get worse?

  My roommate, Amanda, is mad at me because I accidentally called her a skank. And now I’m going to walk into this building and either die from boredom, or get fired.

  I also feel awful that I’ve been avoiding Nan. She’s having a tough time adjusting to life in town, away from the farm. She says her independence is gone. She makes it sound like she’s in prison. I feel bad for her, but there’s so little I can do from LA.

  She doesn’t know yet that I’m living with Riley. I’ve been avoiding her because I hate lying to her. But she only knows the old Riley, who stole from her to get drugs.

  I walk into the building and pass through security. The guards look grim, but resigned to their fate.

  “What’s the word from upstairs?” I ask one of them.

  “You tell me,” he says. “I’ve got bills. If it’s between me and you, I hope they let go of you.”

  “Wow. Thanks a lot.” I stomp toward the elevator.

  Nick is right behind me, and gets into the elevator with me.

  “Basement, please,” he says.

  I turn and look at his calm face. The elevator starts moving.

  “You’re making a joke?” I ask. “You seem happy. Is shit going down today? Are your mother and David Ambler making the big move to take over the Morris empire?”

  His eyes widen, and his pale face goes even whiter. His mouth moves, but nothing comes out. He looks like a fish in an aquarium.

  The doors open on the archives floor, and we walk out.

  “Well?” I ask.

  As soon as the elevator doors close, he wheels around.

  “NEVER talk in the ELEVATOR!” he yells.

  “Holy fuck, Nick. Calm down. I didn’t say anything.”

  His face is twitching. We stand face to face, and he looks like he wants to punch me.

  “Yes, you did,” he says through gritted teeth. “You said everything. Don’t you know about Carter Morris and the elevators? They should have told you that on your first day.”

  “Excuse me for living, Nick, but you’re my supervisor. And you didn’t tell me shit on my first day.”

  He looks around the dark floor, his light blue eyes wild. He walks to the light switches and flicks them on. The fluorescent tubes buzz and crackle on.

  I go to my desk and sit down while he does a full circuit of the floor, making sure we’re alone. He returns and sits across from me, arms crossed.

  “You blew it,” he says.

  “This is on you,” I reply. “And don’t worry so much. Mr. Morris doesn’t have time to sit around all day watching the elevator camera and reading lips. You’re just paranoid, because that’s the kind of creepy thing you’d do, if you were him.”

  “There’s audio,” he says flatly. “He doesn’t need to read lips.”

  “Paranoia, Nick. Look it up on Wikipedia. There’s a picture of you.”

  Nick narrows his eyes at me. “His favorite game is to override the controls and bring people up to his office, then ask about what they were saying in the elevator. It’s not like he tries to keep it a secret. Everyone knows.”

  I groan, because I know it’s true. I was trying to leave the building once, and Mr. Morris had the elevator take me up to his office.

  “I hate this company,” I grumble.

  “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

  “What’s happening today? You were definitely happy in the elevator.”

  He picks up the phone on his desk and makes a call. He turns his back to me, but he doesn’t lower his voice.

  “Jessica Rivera just blew everything out her stupid mouth in the elevator.” He pauses, listening for a moment. “Yes. Five minutes ago… I know… Yes… Do it.”

  He turns around and hangs up the phone.

  I’m afraid to ask, but I do. “Now what do I do?”

  “You take the stairs.”

  “That’s it?”

  “This is so bad,” he says.

  “What can I do to fix it?”

  The phone on the desk rings, and Nick lets out a sharp cry.

  It keeps ringing.

  Nick’s nostrils flare, and he pushes the phone over to my side.

  I pick up. “Jessica Rivera, Archives. How may I help you?”

  There’s the sound of someone inhaling, then comes the charming, yet terrifying voice of Mr. Carter Morris: “Miss Rivera.”

  I look up at Nick for guidance. He’s frozen.

  “May I help you?” I ask sweetly.

  “You’re a young, smart girl,” he says lightly. “I need your eyes on some promotional artwork. I’d like a second opinion. I think the marketing department is trying to pull one over on me. Imagine that. My own people, and they think they’re smarter than me.”

  I stammer, “A-a-artwork? Sure, I can take a look at that.”

  He tells me to come straight up, and ends the call.

  I place the phone back carefully.

  “Nick, what do I do? Mr. Morris asked me to look at some marketing stuff.”

  He glances over to the fire escape door, then back to me. “You can’t use the stairwell. He’ll know for sure you’re hiding something.”

  I can’t think of anything else to do, so I just sit there and swear for a full minute.

  Once I’m calmed down, Nick says, “David Ambler is opening a restaurant. It’s a competitor to the Hard Rock Cafe. My mother is investing.”

  “Is that true? Or is that a cover story?”

  Nick blinks. “It’s both. That’s how they’re raising the money from investors. They might even open the restaurant, too. I don’t know. Misinformation, Jess. Mix the truth and the lie.”

  I get up from my chair and stride toward the elevator.

  “I can do this,” I tell Nick. There’s more confidence in my voice than seems possible.

  I step into the elevator and reach for the button for the tenth floor. It’s already lit.

  Great.

  Chapter 10

  The elevator ride up is smooth, with no stops.

  My body feels shaky. I did eat breakfast, but I feel like my blood sugar’s low.

  And I’m
sweaty.

  I started to sweat the second the phone rang downstairs. I’m wearing a blazer over my shirt, so I button it up. I’m practically soaked underneath the blue jacket.

  As the doors open on the sunny tenth floor, a calm washes over me.

  I take a breath.

  Whatever happens next is not going to kill me.

  If I manage not to blow Maggie Clark’s secret plan, I’ll get a promotion under the new regime. If I do blow it, then maybe that’s okay, too. Dylan will get all the money he’s been promised, so he can play for the expensive mansion he just bought.

  I step out, and my calm immediately disappears.

  Maggie Clark is walking out of her Vice President’s office, toward me. Now that I know Nick is her son, I can see the family resemblance in her cold eyes and colder expression.

  Her platinum hair is perfectly styled. She’s wearing a tailored suit on her compact frame, over a leopard-print blouse. The woman reminds me of a jungle cat, ready to pounce.

  She bares her teeth in a smile.

  I bare my teeth back.

  She reaches out to shake my hand.

  “Jessica, I hear you’re doing a great job in the archives.” Her eyes don’t match the smile on her lips. They seem to flash a warning at me. “You hang in there, Jessica, and you won’t be an intern forever.”

  I really don’t like the sound of my name on her lips. I especially don’t like her saying my name twice.

  “Thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Clark.” I glance over in the direction of the other office. “I’m just up here to look over some marketing materials, I think.”

  Her thin, perfectly drawn-in eyebrows raise. “You think?” She nods for me to get walking.

  Maggie follows me into the office of the president and owner, Mr. Carter Morris.

  The white-haired man has posters and CD box cover art spread across his massive wooden desk. He sits in a tall-backed burgundy leather chair. His snowy white eyebrows bunch together as he looks up at me.

  “Wal-Mart,” he says, shaking his head.

  Maggie and I take seats across the desk from him.

  Maggie says, “I hope you don’t mind me joining in, but I need you for a few minutes to go over scheduling.” She looks over the artwork on the desk. “These are certainly… edgy.”

  Mr. Carter turns his glimmering emerald eyes on me. The artwork is just an excuse, and I know it. He sent that message to my sister as either a promise, or a threat. He was cryptic, but he did say that loyalty to the company would be rewarded.