Chapter 16
One thing Raine could say about Quentin Russo—he was a brave motherfucker.
This was by far one of the most ridiculous things the label had asked her to do…
but, when she gave it more thought, she also realized it really could work.
What probably stung the most was how Quentin had been trying to draw out her authentic self in her music…
and this act felt like it was making a mockery of their progress.
After they’d both agreed, the label got busy setting the stage.
The very next day, they had a crew of people at Quentin’s house—but Quentin had insisted on it all being outside on the property and not inside his home.
Strangely enough, Raine appreciated that.
It helped his house feel like more of a sanctuary where they could escape when it was all done.
The few people here to run the show had rented a house for two days just half a mile down the road, and the hope was that it would all be done by noon.
After all, this was cutting into their work time.
But it was hard not to feel exposed right now, because both she and Quentin were under a big tent that had been set up for the event, letting these people move them around and tell them what to do.
Although the makeup woman had touched Quentin’s face with powder, she was going crazy with Raine.
“I want to capture your aesthetic…but just soften it a bit. Are you okay with that?”
Raine agreed because, in this regard, at least, she felt like she had no control over it.
In fact, like so many times since working on her first album, she felt like a product rather than a person.
It was by design and something she’d accepted, especially because the label had worked inside Raine’s boundaries.
This, though, was a completely different animal.
Quentin had barely said a word since they’d begun this part of the process, although he did work with the photographer and his assistant to choose the exact location.
They’d invited Quentin and Raine to take the pictures at the rental, but Quentin seemed to want the ability to tell them to get the fuck out.
Here he had some modicum of control. But ever since they’d chosen the spot next to a giant boulder surrounded by yucca and other native bushes with the house behind the photographer, Quentin had clammed up.
Raine figured he either regretted all this or wanted to just get it the fuck over with.
Probably both.
And she felt the same way.
But the woman blending color into Raine’s face kept saying how much she wanted her to look “stunning” and “fabulous,” and apparently that took an inordinate amount of time.
At one point, she painted Raine’s lips with something that felt like gloss, but then it firmed up, and the makeup artist peeled it off. When she had Raine look in the mirror, she said, “That’ll stay for twelve hours. You can’t kiss this stain off.”
Did this dumb woman think she and Quentin were actually dating? She wasn’t going to have to test the staying power of the lip stain. But maybe that meant she wouldn’t have to do touchups in the middle of the photo shoot.
When Raine’s eyes were closed so the woman could glue fake eyelashes on Raine’s upper lid, Raine heard the sound of an engine coming up the drive—which meant it was probably Russ, the PR guy for Crushed Velvet, his assistant, and Mal.
They’d left half an hour ago to “fetch coffee” for everyone from downtown Joshua Tree while everything got set up.
It was a relief having Mal out of her hair for a bit while they did something halfway useful.
Raine herself had finally been on the main drag once or twice while she and Quentin shopped for groceries, and she was shocked to find that there was a Dollar General Store in town.
There was a Walmart, a Home Depot, plenty of restaurants whose names she was familiar with, and other amenities in nearby Yucca Valley, but Quentin wanted to keep his money in Joshua Tree. “It’s home,” he’d said more than once.
Finally, the woman was done with Raine’s face and removing the hot rollers she’d put in her hair.
For a brief second, Raine was glad they were doing all this bullshit, because her fans would likely figure out right away that it was all a sham—if Raine didn’t look like her usual self, they’d know this was nothing more than a stunt.
Wouldn’t they?
Russ, Hunter, and Mal placed the drink holders on a table under the tent, having already given out two lattes to the photographer and assistant. Hunter handed both Raine and the makeup woman the drinks they’d requested—but Quentin had said he didn’t want anything.
And yet Russ was walking several yards to where Quentin was pacing under the sun.
Raine could sense his agitation but felt grateful that, no matter how dumb they both thought this was, he was willing to put up with it for her sake.
Mal had come over to the makeup table, but Raine hoped he got the message that she didn’t want to talk and kept her eyes focused on the makeup woman’s necklace while the woman manipulated Raine’s hair.
Russ’s voice carried. “I know you said you didn’t want anything, but we brought a cup of black coffee for you.”
Raine didn’t move her head but shot her eyes that way. Quentin didn’t say a single word but just shook his head. These people had to realize that it didn’t matter how much they made nice; she and Quentin were being coerced and they didn’t like it. How hard was that to understand?
Russ said, “Suit yourself. Anyone want a plain coffee?”
There were a lot of negative responses and Raine found she was amused by Russ’s disappointment despite her general emotional state at the moment.
Russ stood near Mal right behind the makeup woman with Hunter not far off, ready to respond to his boss’s beck and call. “We about ready?”
“Close,” said the woman, spraying a bit of product on Raine’s hair.
“This is going to work beautifully,” Mal said to her. Raine shot him a quick look but wasn’t about to agree with him.
When the woman stood back, she declared Raine to be “perfect.”
“Let’s get this done, people,” Russ said, snapping the thumb and finger of his right hand twice.
Raine glanced over at Quentin whose reluctance was hard to miss. He squared his shoulders before walking over with an air of obligation, and Raine immediately regretted that they had to do any of this. When he got close, she whispered, “We can still tell them to fuck off.”
Without a word, Quentin barely shook his head, telling her he was going to do it, regardless of what he thought.
They moved to the spot where they’d wanted it to take place—just past the driveway near a huge boulder that Raine could have climbed up and sat on had she wanted to.
She kept her eyes on the ground, paranoid of the spiders and scorpions Quentin had warned her about, but all she’d seen was a light green lizard darting past the smaller rocks, hoping to get away from the human element.
The backdrop for the photo would be a hill and the cloudless blue sky, the environment being the only real thing about it—because even their clothing had been chosen for them.
At least Quentin’s clothes looked a lot like what he wore from day to day but Raine’s was “toned down” and soft.
Again…she prayed her fans would notice this bullshit as soon as they saw it—but if it kept the label happy and her album on track, it would be worth it.
When Raine and Quentin took their places, the photographer said, “Good. Now…” he said to Russ, “we want this to look natural, correct?”
“Exactly. So maybe the two of you can just talk to each other and maybe look like we’re all discussing this wonderful news. So there should be a lot of smiling and looking adoringly at each other. Can you do that?”
Quentin tried. But his smile looked so fake that Raine burst into laughter—and that caused Quentin to let out a chuckle as well. She said, “I’m not a plate of liver, you know.”
This time his smile was genuine, but his words were soft. “Yeah, I do.”
The photographer said, “Why don’t you touch her hair at her temple, as if brushing it back from her face, getting lost in her eyes?”
Quentin didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, he said to Raine, “Are you okay with that?”
She gave a quick nod. Out of all the people here, Quentin was the only one she trusted to actually do the right thing.
So when he lifted his hand and touched her forehead, she smiled again, but this time it was subtler—because this all felt so strange.
Had they been a real couple and this moment hadn’t been staged, this might not have made her feel so off.
The camera continued snapping and Raine tried hard to keep that smile going. The photographer again barked out an order. “Why don’t you hug? It would seem like such a sweet moment.”
Quentin shook his head ever so slightly. “You still okay with this?”
In response, she nodded and wrapped her arms around his torso and flashed the biggest, phoniest smile she could muster at the camera. But Quentin felt solid underneath her arms and the way he wrapped his around her in response made her feel something.
Something like being protected inside a cocoon. In his arms—even surrounded by all the Hollywood pomp and drama—she felt…safe.
So fucking strange.
In that position, she saw Mal and Russ whispering, and Mal didn’t seem to like where the conversation was going—but Russ clearly had the upper hand. Mal’s client had fucked up so royally that the label now had all the power—and they were going to ramrod through anything they desired.
So what Russ said next shouldn’t have come as a surprise. As he stepped away from her manager, he said, “This is all cute, but I’m not buying it—which means your fans and the press won’t either. You need to sell this shit if you want it to work.”
Raine just flashed him an exasperated look. After all, she knew her expression had been facetious, but hadn’t everything else been okay?
“What? We’re doing our best here.”
“It’s not enough.” Russ frowned and then added, “We need to see you kiss.”
Quentin’s jaw tightened and Raine suspected it was a line he wouldn’t cross. But the bottom line was they needed to do whatever the fuck these assholes wanted and just get it over with. If they did that, then they’d all leave…and then she and Quentin could get back to the real work.
So she let out a heavy sigh. “Just do it.” When Quentin raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Raine felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head in exasperation. “Do it.”
While this entire act might not be easy, Raine wasn’t too worried about it.
After all, she’d faked enjoying kissing Mal all the time back when she was sleeping with him—and he’d bought it, especially the couple of times she’d moaned in his mouth just so he’d shut the fuck up.
Once or twice since releasing her first album, she’d engaged in real kissing, but she’d been too drunk or high to really remember much about them.
And the one or two kisses she’d had before real fame were only memorable because they’d been firsts.
In other words, this would be easy enough to do and then be done with it all.
Quentin’s eyes said it all: I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this.
But he touched her cheek, slowly sliding his hand toward the back of her head.
In response, Raine tilted her face up to his as her lips parted just slightly.
As his face got closer to hers, she closed her eyes, already feeling herself slipping away to a place in her mind she’d always disappeared to where she composed music while Mal did whatever he’d wanted to her body.
But when Quentin’s tongue touched her lips, it brought her back to the present. And, although she could hear the camera snapping and a few words said by the people watching them, they faded into the background of her mind.
Was he really kissing her?
Oh, yes, he was, and Raine’s entire fucking body reacted like it never had before.
Her mouth watered and every nerve in her body seemed to wake up, as if every tiny hair follicle was alert, every muscle awake, while her heart thudded in her chest. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe while her knees grew weak.
It might have been over eighty degrees Fahrenheit out there, but she suddenly felt like she was on fire.
What the hell was happening?
She couldn’t help responding, her hands tightening against his back, her tongue dancing with his as she lost herself for just a few seconds.
When he finished, Quentin pulled back—and she could see it in his dark eyes too.
Holy fuck. It had been real. And, just after that, his expression changed—and she’d never seen his face so full of regret.
Russ was practically cheering. “Perfect. This will sell it.” And the photographer continued to document every second there in the desert.
And Raine realized something.
Jesus Christ. She wanted Quentin—all of him. Not just for pretend but for real. That kiss had woken her up to every single desire that had been dormant just under the surface of her skin.
But wanting didn’t mean a goddamn thing…because she already knew how the world worked. The world would rip him away from her without a second thought…and there wouldn’t be a thing she could do about it.