Chapter Eight
Victory
I’ve been in the studio in Los Angeles for most of the afternoon listening to the Tuck Wilder Band record their first album.
They sound incredible, just as I knew they would.
Tuck and two of his bandmates gained a following when the band they previously played with, Surge, opened for Johnny Bad’s final concert tour.
That was a favor for Jillian. Surge was fantastic, and I tried to sign them, but the lead singer had only done the tour so her bandmates could gain exposure.
She and the keyboardist, who’s married with small children, wanted nothing to do with stardom.
I don’t blame them. Celebrity life isn’t for everyone, and once you’re in it, it’s very hard to reclaim your privacy.
But signing Tuck and his bandmates was a no-brainer for me.
They were a small-town band without the means to go farther, and I have loved every second of helping them soar.
These guys are young and attractive, and they know how to put on a show.
Tuck, the lead guitarist and singer, is a soulful twentysomething with rich light brown skin, longish dark hair, and an air of mystery that fans can’t get enough of.
They’re going to blow this album out of the water.
If only I could concentrate on that , instead of the lyrics he’s singing.
As he sings about a woman who tastes like tequila living rent-free in his head and being unable to forget the feel of her skin and the sound of her voice, all I can think about is Wells.
I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to remember how he tastes or the way he seduced me with little more than words, much less the way he made me laugh and feel more than I’ve felt in years. But the lyrics don’t lie.
I close my eyes
Push you away
But you keep showing up
Like a song on replay
My phone vibrates in my skirt pocket, startling me. I pull it out and see Leni’s calling. I’ve been avoiding her calls for two days, which isn’t fair. It’s not like she knows I hooked up with Wells, but I still feel funny for sleeping with a guy she went out with—even though it was a lifetime ago.
I leave the studio and answer the call as I walk down the hall, heading for the exit. “Hi, Leni. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you. I’m in LA, and it’s been a little chaotic.”
“That’s okay. You told me you’d be traveling when we had drinks last Thursday.”
“Oh, right.” Why does it feel like that was a month ago?
“Has the band started recording yet?”
“Yes, and they’re amazing. With the marketing and PR Shea has lined up, these guys are going to shoot straight to the top.”
“Let’s hope so. How are you doing?”
The way she asked, like she knows I have a secret, makes me a little nervous, and I walk farther away from the building. “Fine. Good. You know, busy. How about you?”
“I’m doing well, thanks, but I’m curious about a call I got on Friday.”
“From who?”
“Wells Silver.”
Shitshitshit.
“He asked me to get him into Cage’s party,” Leni says.
“He said he wanted to network, and I didn’t think much of it at the time, since he’s looking at opening a restaurant in the city, and the restaurant is the one thing he takes seriously.
But then I saw pictures of you guys together at the party, and it got me thinking.
Wells has never asked me for that kind of favor before, and I remember the way he hit on you when you were on the island.
I don’t know if he knew you were going to be at the party or not, so I could be way off base, but…
Actually, now that I’m saying it out loud, it sounds really far-fetched.
He couldn’t have known you’d be there. Never mind. ”
My stomach clenches. I could just let it go, but one of the things that drew me into a friendship with Leni was her no-bullshit approach to work and life.
I value honesty above all else, and when it comes to the people I let in my inner circle, that’s nonnegotiable.
It would be hypocritical of me to expect it and not give it in return.
Hoping it won’t interfere with our working relationship, I say, “It’s not as far-fetched as you might think. ”
“Really? Go on,” she urges.
“Wells knew I was going to be there. Last week, after you and Shea left the bar, he walked in, and we got to talking. I don’t know what kind of spell he put me under, Leni, but he was funny and charming, and we were drinking whiskey, and dancing, and…”
“ Victory. Did you hook up with Wells?” She sounds as shocked as she does excited.
“Yes, but please keep that between us. Everyone kept telling me to get out there , and rip off the Band-Aid .”
“You go, girl. There’s no shame in that. Shea and I have been telling you to rip that particular Band-Aid off for a long time. I know it wasn’t easy for you to take that step, and I’m really proud of you for putting yourself out there.”
I’m so relieved she understands. “It wasn’t easy, but I swear that man could charm the panties off a nun.”
“That’s our Wells.” Leni laughs. “Did you have fun?”
“ Yes , but that’s all it was.” Or rather, all it was supposed to be. I shouldn’t still be thinking about him three days later.
“Wells is the perfect guy for a no-strings-attached fling. He’s always up for a good time, and he doesn’t do long-term relationships.”
I cling to that red flag like a lifeline and use it to shore up my resolve to stop thinking about him.
“But, Vic, if you wanted him to go to the party, you could’ve just taken him with you.”
I almost forget that was why she called.
“I didn’t want him there. He showed up at my office Friday and asked me to dinner.
I told him I had a party to go to, and I told him I wasn’t that into him.
” Which still feels like a lie. “We agreed to be friends, and the next thing I knew, he was at the party, acting just as charming and fun as he was the night before.” Only this time, he was also protective and attentive in a different way, and interested in hearing what I had to say.
“Wow. That’s new. Wells doesn’t chase women. Did you set him straight?”
I tell myself not to overthink the fact that what she said doesn’t fit the man who showed up at my office and at the party. “Of course.” Then, softer, “After we hooked up again.”
“Victory.” Leni laughs.
“I know . But it’s been a long time since I’ve done that, and you know how Wells is.
He’s charming and persistent and funny.” And way too good in bed, which led to another guilt-ridden night.
“But it’s over. I severed those ties, and I haven’t heard from him since.
” I’m not about to tell her that I kind of miss our banter or that being with him wasn’t just fun.
It was invigorating. He made me feel sexy and alive, instead of like a widow stuck in the past.
I swallow hard against the fresh wave of guilt that brings.
“Maybe he got the message.”
“I hope so,” I say, wondering if she can tell the words feel like double-edged swords.
It’s after six when I finally get back to my hotel room. I take a hot shower to decompress, put on comfortable shorts and a T-shirt, and snag the room-service menu on my way out to the patio.
My unconventional childhood left me with a longing to be near nature, which is why I spoil myself when I come to LA by staying in a suite at the Hotel Bel-Air, with a private garden patio surrounded by lush greenery.
It isn’t exactly nature’s paradise, but I’ve gotten good at pretending.
The trouble is, lately I feel like my whole existence is pretend.
As I try to escape those thoughts, I realize pretending not to have them is in and of itself part of the problem. I add that to the stacks of other unwanted thoughts hiding in the recesses of my mind.
Annoyed with myself, I toss the room-service menu on the table beside the lounge chair and begin flipping through playlists on my phone, looking for one that doesn’t have songs that will remind me of Wells.
When I find one, I hit play, silently chiding myself, because now Wells, and my conversation with Leni, are at the forefront of my mind.
I still can’t reconcile that Leni has known Wells all her life and she thinks he doesn’t chase women. It just doesn’t make sense. I set my phone on the table, tuck my feet beside me on the lounge chair, and close my eyes, letting the music wash over me.
When my phone vibrates a little while later, I snag it and see an invitation to play WordLink, an online Scrabble-type app, from WellsSpells.
A smile stretches across my face. My heart beats faster as I click the link and download the app.
After a quick skim of the directions, I join the game with the username Victorious.
A message pops up in the chat feature.
WellsSpells: Hey, friend! Thanks for accepting the challenge. If you’re busy, we can play later.
Me: We can play. I’m at my hotel for the night.
WellsSpells: Where are you staying? The Waldorf Astoria?
Me: No. I like the Hotel Bel-Air better. It’s less concrete jungleish.
WellsSpells: Jungleish? I see you won’t be living up to your username.
I send a laughing emoji.
Me: Watch me take you down.
WellsSpells: I’d like to watch you all night long.
A thrill skitters through me.
Me: Do you send dirty messages to all your friends?
WellsSpells: ??
WellsSpells: I was talking about watching you play the game.
An angel emoji pops up.
WellsSpells: What were you talking about?
I send a deadpan emoji.
WellsSpells: You can go first. Like I said, I like to watch.
A heart-eyed emoji appears.
As I ponder my tiles, I can’t stop smiling or thinking about those sexy dark eyes watching me come, as they had several times the night of the party. My body flames, and I try my best not to think about it as I play the word SHIFTY .
WellsSpells: Nice .
Me: I was thinking of you.
WellsSpells: That’s funny, because I’m thinking of you, too.
He plays the word TEMPTING and sends a winking emoji.
I laugh and play SECRET . He plays HIDE .
Me: I think you need to read more to build your vocabulary.
I play EAT , and he plays EGGPLANT .
Me: Seriously? Tempting, hide, eggplant? Did you rig this game?
WellsSpells: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Another angel emoji pops up.
I shake my head, that silly smile still plastered on my face.
We’re about half an hour into our game when there’s a knock at my door.
I carry my phone with me and look through the peephole.
I see a male hotel staff member and open the door.
He’s standing by a cart that has four silver serving dishes, a bottle of wine, and a wineglass on it. “Hi, can I help you?”
“Good evening. I have your room service.”
“I think you have the wrong suite. I didn’t order any food.”
He consults the receipt. “It was ordered by Wellington Silver. Is this not his room?”
My heart skips. “It’s not, but you have the right room after all. Thank you.” I step aside, and he rolls the cart in. I grab cash from my purse, thank him, and tip him on his way out.
I hurry back to the cart. The wine is Riesling, and as I uncover three dishes, I find a variety of sashimi, sushi, and rolls.
Sushi and Scrabble? He must have listened to every little thing I said when we were together.
I lift the cover off the last dish, and there in the middle of the plate is a delicious-looking pink-frosted cupcake.
Wells doesn’t chase women, huh?