Chapter 4
Ryleigh
I’m sitting in front of the TV with my laptop open when there’s a knock on the door. I look up in surprise since I’m not expecting anyone and pad over to the door curiously, peering out of the peephole.
What the hell does Angus want?
I look down at the little sleep shorts I’m wearing, but it should be fine. I’m more covered up than I would be at the beach, and my top is loose and baggy.
“Hey. What’s up?” I ask politely.
He holds out a bag. “I brought you dinner.”
“What?” I blink in confusion. “Why would you do that?”
“I felt bad that you were the one who wanted steak and then I picked a place you couldn’t afford.”
I sigh. “Kirsten shouldn’t have told you that.”
“But she did. So I’m sorry if it’s overcooked, but I chose to be safe and got the steak medium.”
“I generally eat it medium rare, but I’ll be gracious and not complain. You didn’t have to bring me anything, though.” I reach for the bag and realize I should be polite. “Do you, uh, want to come in?”
I really don’t want him to.
Well, maybe a little. I hate eating alone.
“I guess for a few minutes. I’ll keep you company while you eat.”
I move aside so he can come in, and I put the bag on the desk against the wall. It smells amazing, and I see he went all out. I unpack a baked potato with everything on it, mixed vegetables, a salad, bread, and even dessert.
“Wow… you really didn’t have to—” I turn to him. “It’s a lot of food. I don’t think I can eat all of this… it was very thoughtful.”
“I apologize if my restaurant suggestion made you uncomfortable because you couldn’t afford it,” he says. “It never occurred to me that you didn’t have some kind of expense account.”
I snort. “Well, I do, but it’s twenty-five dollars a day.”
“Twenty-five…” He stares at me like I just spoke in Swahili. “Who the hell can eat three meals a day on that?”
“They assume the band will feed me sometimes and I can save up the rest of the time.” I shrug. “There’s an assumption that if I was at home, I would be buying groceries, so I’m supposed to take my grocery money into account. It’s a whole complicated formula that made no sense to me, but they weren’t willing to compromise. I asked for fifty, they gave me half.”
“It seems unfair.”
“Everything about this business is unfair. You of all people should know that. You can’t be making much money yet.”
Something flickers in his eyes that’s hard to read, but whatever it is disappears before I can decipher it.
“Sure, but we don’t starve.”
“Well, I also believe my boss is testing me. Because I’m new and because he only hired me as a favor to my dad. Who asked him right before he died.”
Angus grimaces. “I’m sorry for your loss, but that’s between the two of them, isn’t it? He shouldn’t make you suffer because your dad was no longer going to be around to help you.”
“My dad never helped me professionally,” I say. “But even if he did, Rich marches to the beat of his own drum. I’m okay with paying my dues since I managed to get in the door of Rock Harder . It’s a pretty big deal. I just didn’t think it would mean sacrificing meals. Luckily, I’m still able to do my social media stuff, which means there will be money?—”
“Social media stuff?” He stares at me blankly.
I’d been up front with Sasha about Rockin’ with Ryleigh, and she said it was fine as long as I got permission before I recorded videos of or with the band. I assumed she’d spoken to them about it.
I take a bite of the steak and sigh happily before continuing. “Sasha didn’t tell you? I run a channel called Rockin’ with Ryleigh. I go to concerts and livestream… not the show itself, but I talk to fans before and after, sometimes I get invited backstage and do interviews. I review albums and promote merch. It’s always different. I did that for spending-money while I was in college. Then, when my dad got sick, he was suddenly obsessed with me becoming a legitimate journalist. That’s how this all started.” I shrug, popping another piece of steak in my mouth and chewing slowly.
“That’s a lot of pressure,” he says in a quiet voice.
As if he understands pressure.
Maybe he does.
I imagine being in a band like Crimson Edge—who has a new record deal, a new album, and is on tour with a group of legends like Nobody’s Fool—is demanding.
“How old are you?” he asks when I don’t respond right away.
“Twenty-four.”
“So you’re still young,” he murmurs. “That explains why your dad wanted to help you in some way before he died.”
“I miss and respect my dad,” I say after a moment. “And I want to honor his memory. I don’t know if I’m doing it the way he would have liked, but I’m trying. I’m not sure it’s enough, though.”
“You have to live your life for you,” he says. “Your dad lived his life the way he wanted to, right? So why would he want anything less for you?”
“I guess because he was never there for me when I was growing up. He was always gone. On tour, photo shoots, whatever it took to get ahead. I mean, he sent money and stuff. He wasn’t a deadbeat. And I got to go on tour with him in the summer, so that was fun. But he wasn’t a traditional dad, and our relationship was difficult once I got old enough to see him for who he really was.”
“Believe me, I know about that.” His face changes as he says it, his eyes darkening as if whatever he’s thinking about is painful.
“It boils down to a few key points for me,” I continue thoughtfully. “The whole purpose of journalism is digging up secrets. They frame it as keeping people informed about the news going on in the world, empowering the masses with information and communication. And while I think there are times when that’s important—like in politics and healthcare and such—I don’t know that celebrities fall into that category. Like, why is it any of our business who such-and-such movie star sleeps with? Or if he cheats on his wife? The only people who matter are the people involved, right? Now, if he was embezzling money from his production company, that would be different. But generally speaking, I’m never sure what’s anyone’s business.”
Why is he so easy to talk to?
Maybe he just buttered me up with this incredible steak that probably cost sixty bucks. But I genuinely like talking to him.
His face is thoughtful. “Is that why you’re here? To find out all of our secrets?”
I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“And what if there aren’t any secrets? Then what?”
I meet his gaze. “Then I guess I’m going to have to fake it. At the end of the day, you can fake anything and everything if you try hard enough.”
“Not everything, sweetheart.” His eyes gleam, and I nearly choke on the bite of food I just put in my mouth.
Well, that escalated quickly.
Why is it suddenly hard to breathe?
He’s too good-looking for his own good.
And it feels dangerous having him here in my room with me.
Not because I think he’ll hurt me—it’s the opposite, in fact.
There’s a much bigger chance that I’ll just throw myself at him and beg him to make me scream his name.
Obviously, it’s been a while since I’ve had sex.
This kind of close proximity could get me into trouble, so it’s past time to change direction.
“I was talking about social media,” I say dryly, hoping my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels.
I don’t blush easily, but there’s something about Angus Jeffries that sets me on fire. Especially when he’s sitting so close to me.
It really needs to stop.
“So Rockin’ with Ryleigh is fake?” he asks.
That snaps me out of my lusty reverie.
“Of course not! I would never lie. Sometimes you have to embellish, though. People want to be informed and entertained. That’s why social media is so popular.”
“But you would fake it if it meant keeping your job.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” I say, scowling. “I’m not a liar. And I happen to have integrity.”
“You just said you can fake anything.” He slowly gets to his feet. “How does integrity fit into that?”
“It was a figure of speech.”
Jesus, how did we go from mild flirting to questioning my integrity in the blink of an eye?
“When people show you who they are, you should believe them.” He paraphrases Maya Angelou, which might impress me if I wasn’t so annoyed.
“Whatever veiled insult you have going on with that statement is bullshit,” I snap. “To be honest, I’m offended.”
“Maybe you should think about why that is.”
Our eyes meet and the sparks are so intense I can practically see them.
I just can’t tell if he wants to insult me some more or kiss me.
And I don’t like the disparity.
Right now, I don’t like him.
“Thanks for the steak, but I think it’s time for you to go.” I put down my fork with a thump.
There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence before he starts to walk away.
He pauses at the door and then turns back to look at me. “If you’re here looking for information that’s going to hurt us, trust me when I say I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.”
I glare at him. “If you don’t want me to write things that will hurt the band, then maybe you shouldn’t do them in the first place.”
He opens his mouth but snaps it shut.
Then he opens the door and walks out, letting it close softly behind him.
What the fuck just happened?