Chapter Three
Paige
The engine hums beneath me as I pull onto my street, the adrenaline from the audition still filtering through my veins. It’s dulled slightly during the drive, but not enough that my hands won’t stop shaking with the aftershocks.
Maddox Knox.
Even his name sounds engineered for the spotlight. You’d think someone like that would be arrogant as hell, all loud and self-important with an air of smugness so thick it could choke. But he wasn’t. He just stared like he saw straight through me.
And if I’m being honest, that look has followed me the entire way home.
The closer I get to my apartment, the more the sensation of standing in front of the band’s frontman and being told no begins to stir. Especially as my mind replays that final moment. And by the time I reach my front door, I’m practically vibrating with leftover nerves.
“Congratulations!”
A loud pop, followed by the distinct sound of liquid spraying everywhere, fills my ears the second I step inside.
Olive wiggles her hips, leaning forward to catch the fizz sloshing over the neck of the champagne with her lips, her eyes wide as it drips onto my floor.
She laughs, shoving the bottle into my chest, wiping her hands down her jeans and tugging me inside.
“Tell me everything,” she beams as she kicks the door closed and guides the drink to my lips, tipping it upward. “What did they say? What were they like? I cannot believe you’re going to go on tour!”
“Woah, slow down.” I chuckle, my bag sliding off my shoulder to the floor with a thud. She follows me into the kitchen, watching as I set the presumptive celebration bottle on the counter and wash my hands. “I don’t even know if I got it.”
“What?” Olive says, sounding affronted on my behalf. “Why the fuck not?”
Grabbing two glasses from the cupboard, I start pouring. I might not know if they want me, but I’m not letting good champagne go to waste.
She squints at me, head tilting to the side like she’s only just noticing how tense I am. “Wait… You don’t think or you know you didn’t get it?”
I sigh, leaning against the counter. “No. I don’t know for sure, but considering the lead singer flat-out, with zero hesitation, said no, I’m not holding my breath.”
And sure, I can take rejection. I’ve gotten worse in this industry. But this felt personal. He didn’t just pass on me; he took one look and made up his mind before I even played.
“I know you don’t want to, but why don’t you ask your dad to put a word in for you?” she asks, a sympathetic frown marring her delicate features.
I shake my head, my jaw tight. “No way. It’s bad enough he’s the reason I knew about the audition in the first place.”
Olive blinks, her glass pausing halfway to her lips. “Sorry, I’m confused. I thought you just said you didn't want to use him?”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. “I mean I didn’t. Not exactly.”
Her face screws up, and I groan, lifting my own glass and downing half the contents.
“I was meeting him for lunch at his office a few weeks ago, and I overheard one of the execs talking about how Reign Cooper had just signed a mid-level band but their drummer had quit at the last minute,” I say in one breath, thinking back to the day I was standing in the lobby, trying to listen without being obvious.
You can’t make a stink about not wanting Daddy’s help if you’re eavesdropping in the one place where he holds all the cards.
“He said they were scrambling to find a new drummer before the tour.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “So you looked into it yourself?”
I nod. “Yup. Did a little digging and found out where the auditions were being held and when and emailed their manager.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I swear, it was all me.” My eyebrows practically disappear into my hairline as my voice rises an octave higher than normal. “Dad had no idea until I called him and told him I had an audition.”
Her skepticism morphs into a knowing grin. “That’s very you.”
“Erm…thanks?”
“No, I mean it,” she says and raises her glass in a toast. “That might just be the most Paige Erikson thing I’ve ever heard. You hear an opportunity and make it your own. No shortcuts.”
I smile, unable to stop the small seedling of pride starting to grow in my stomach.
“Enough about me and my potential epic fail at my first ever audition. What did you do today?”
Olive’s quiet, swiping on her phone, her lower lip clamped between her teeth.
“Hello? Are you even listening?” I ask, refilling my glass.
“Yeah, I am,” she says, but she sounds distracted. She glances up from her screen before turning it to face me. “Remind me, which one is he again?”
Rolling my eyes, I lean across and point out Maddox. Her eyes widen, her attention bouncing between me and the image before she yanks the device closer, zooming in on the photo.
“Damn. Maybe I should audition,” she teases.
I scowl, hiding the way my lips twist behind my glass, because that bothers me more than it should.
But it’s completely irrelevant.
Maddox is an ass. A broody, arrogant, unfairly talented and, fine, annoyingly attractive ass.
Every female—and let’s face it, male—fan who sees him is instantly attracted to him, but having my best friend fawn all over his picture? I don’t like it. He’s one third of a band made out of sexy-as-sin musicians, and before he opened his stupid mouth, he was very much my type.
Jesus, who am I kidding? He’s still my type.
There was just something about him, the way he stood with his guitar, playing it like it wasn’t just an instrument, but a way to let the world see into his soul.
If emotionally unavailable assholes were a dating app category, I’d have run out of swipes years ago. Wave a red flag in my direction, and I’ll sprint toward it like it’s a goddamn medal.
Shaggy dark hair, thick enough to get a good fistful. Eyes so deep they look black in the right light. That silent, brooding intensity, like he’s carrying the entire world in his pocket and refuses to share.
Sign. Me. Up.
Hi, Toxic Trait, I’m Paige Erikson.
“You’re drooling.” Olive reaches over and wipes her thumb at the corner of my mouth. I bat her off, leaving her chuckling behind me as I head into the living room and throw myself onto the couch.
“Tell me about the others,” she continues, the champagne bottle tucked under her arm, glass in one hand, phone held in front of her face with the other. “Who’s the cutie with the baby face?”
Plopping down beside me, she wriggles until she’s leaning against my arm, waving a different image at me.
In this one, Eli’s hair’s a little longer than it was today, kept out of his face with a headband, the semi-long strands sticking up on end as he leans into whatever song he was playing when this was taken.
“That’s Eli…” I flick across the screen. “And that one’s Beau.”
“Oh, hello, Adam Levine,” Olive purrs, slowly panning over the tattoos covering his arms.
“You think he looks like him?” I ask as I squint at the screen to try to see what she clearly does. I guess he has the same dark, coiffed hair and neatly trimmed beard that makes his lips pop, but that’s about it.
“Maybe it’s a good thing Maddox turned you down,” she muses, finding each of their social media pages and scrolling through their posts. “If I were you, I’d be hooking up with the whole band.”
“And that is why you keep getting fired from every temp job you’ve ever had,” I say with a lifted eyebrow, snatching her phone and tucking it in between the couch cushions.
Olive gasps, sitting up with an indignant look on her face. “First off, they all came on to me. And secondly, I can’t help that my type is an older man who just happens to be head of their department, the same way you can’t help that Maddox Knox is yours.”
As she ruffles her dark pixie-cut hairstyle, the earrings lining her right ear catch in the dying sunlight from the street outside. I smile, knowing full well that any man who’s come into contact with Olive Berner instantly becomes putty in my extremely gorgeous best friend's hands.
“Okay, so what now?” she asks, suddenly serious. “We keep finding you auditions?”
With a sigh, I tie my hair up in a messy bun on the top of my head. “They said they’d get back to me, so I kind of want to wait and see.”
Olive hums under her breath, nodding slowly. “And even if they do say no, it’s their loss.”
“I know.” I smile, even though I’m sure it doesn’t look convincing, because I actually really want this. With this band.
“Besides, you don’t need them anyway,” she says, turning to face me, taking my hands in hers. “What did I tell you back in college? You, my friend, are going to be a goddamn superstar.”
I look down, murmuring, “Your confidence might be misplaced.”
“Urgh, that is a damn lie, and you know it.” She reaches over and plucks her phone back. “Let’s look at the evidence, shall we? Your last video has almost five million views and rising. If Sip Station doesn't want you, you’re going to have so many other bands begging for you to join them.”
“No one even knows it’s me,” I say, taking the device and scrolling through the posts.
“Wasn’t that exactly the point, babe? We sat in that shitty dorm, tipsy on wine coolers, seeing if we could make you go viral just for fun. No face, no name, just hands, sticks and rhythm.”
“A way to play without being tied to my dad,” I say as the memory of fairy lights lining the ceiling and Olive’s cackle echoing off the bedroom wall tugs at something warm inside me.
“Exactly, and now look at you,” she says, tipping her glass toward me. “An account that’s growing rapidly, a spot in a band touring with the one and only Reign Cooper…”
“Maybe a spot,” I correct.
“And a gorgeous best friend who flew all the way to LA just to watch you become a rock goddess," she says, waving me off before slumping back down against me.
I smile weakly, my breaths starting to come in quick bursts as the magnitude of what I’ve done finally hits me.
“Paige?” Olive shifts to stare up at me. “I can hear you spiraling. What happened?”
“I’m going to have to tell them about the account,” I blurt, knocking her off me as I dart to my feet and start to pace. “And about everything else.”
“What—?”
“Everything I’ve tried to keep secret, Olive. They’ll need to know. It’s all going to come out eventually—my family, my writing—and then what? And it’s not like I can continue the account if I go on tour. I’ve only got so much saved and that will run out, and then—”
“Okay, chill the fuck out,” she says, tugging my hand and pulling me back onto the couch. “First off, if you need to stop the account, you stop it. And secondly, you don’t owe them a thing. Wait until you get in there, feet settled on the bass pedals, and know you actually like being in this band.”
I inhale, my stomach roiling as my thoughts continue to whirl.
“It’s just like any other job, okay? You need to give it some time to adjust, learn the ropes, decide if it’s actually for you before you start letting them in, y’know?
This is going to be your first real time performing, and you might end up hating it, and then you’ll have exposed yourself for no reason.
Like you said, it will come out eventually, but you decide when, okay? ”
Swallowing, I nod.
“You good now?” She grins as she settles back against me. “I really wish I wasn’t going home in a few days, though. I want to see how this pans out.”
“You’ll be the first to know as soon as I do,” I tell her, resting my cheek on the top of her head.
“I better.” Flashing me a grin, she turns to her screen again. “Okay, let’s order takeout. I’m starving, and we have three more bottles of champagne in the fridge to get through.”
That makes me laugh, my smile more genuine than before. “You really had that much faith in me, huh?”
Her eyes twinkle as she quickly places an order for whatever she’s in the mood for. I trust her to get me something I’d like.
“Please,” she scoffs. “You think I booked a flight as soon as you told me about all this because I didn’t believe in you? You say the word and I’m on that plane. Every damn time.”
She holds her pinky out and I link it with mine. “Ride or die, baby.”
“Hell yes,” she says, giving it a quick squeeze. “And when you’re on tour and end up in New York, I expect backstage tickets.”
“Obviously.” I laugh, clinking my glass to hers as she holds it up.
“Great, now while we wait, show me what else you’ve recorded.”