Chapter 7
NOELLE
Conor’s words punched me in the gut, but I smiled and nodded at the fangirls as they squealed their approval. If I had to actually order Conley buttons, I’d vomit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my car idling at the red curb. I didn’t need a parking ticket right now, so I tugged on Conor’s sleeve. “Our ride’s here.”
Two pairs of eyes instantly landed on me, assessing. The mouthy one spoke up. “Are you...?”
Conor jumped in faster than he had to. “She’s the assistant publicist.”
Did he have to make things worse by throwing the assistant in there?
The two fans visibly relaxed—as if they actually had a chance with Conor. As if I did.
I yanked on his sleeve harder, and Conor waved at the women. “Hope you enjoy the show.”
The taller one never tucked her phone away and had it angled toward us taking surreptitious pictures.
Turning away, I swept up Ham’s flannel from the grass and shook it out as I made my way to the waiting car.
Conor caught up to me at the door. “Did I do good?”
I gave him a smile that felt like it was cracking my tight face. “You did great. Feed that rumor mill. Spill that tea.”
He opened the back door for me, and I ducked into the backseat, which I probably hadn’t seen since I bought the car. I leaned forward. “Where’s your Harley, Ham?”
“Around the corner. I didn’t want to attract too much attention, but it looks like a couple of fans made you anyway, Conor.”
Conor pushed the flannel into the front. “I made the mistake of taking off the shirt. It’s alright though. I can handle a few of them. It’s when they start chasing me down the street that it gets dodgy.”
“Can’t imagine.” Hunching over the steering wheel, Ham made a U-turn, his bulk taking up my entire front seat.
I asked, “Were you able to get the tour bus back to the lot without a fan assault?”
“Yeah, there were a couple milling around the gate, and they started going apeshit when they saw the bus, but I made it clear that Conor had vacated the premises.” He cruised up to his bike.
An older guy in khakis, a button-up shirt, and a large helmet straddled the seat, his loafers planted firmly on the asphalt.
Tapping Ham’s beefy shoulder, I asked, “Did you drag him out of accounting or what?”
“Eugene?” Ham laughed. “Pretty much, but he knows how to handle a Harley—the only one I trusted to follow me from that bunch in the studio. Half of them were high, the other half wasted.”
Ham pulled behind the bike and got out of my car, leaving the door open. “I’ll let you reset the seat. I kinda had to push it way back.”
“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate your efforts.” I hung the bag of food out the window. “These are for you and...Eugene.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed the bag with one big hand. “It was my fault for leaving the gate open.”
He scratched his beard. “Are you gonna give me a good report if my boss calls trying to ream my ass?”
Conor held up his hands. “We will put a stop to all ass reaming.”
“I like you, man.” Ham jabbed a finger at Conor before turning to his bike. “Thanks, Eugene. I’ll take it from here. You can ride on the bitch seat—not that you’re a bitch.”
Eugene climbed off the Harley without removing the helmet with the tinted face shield, so I had no idea if he appreciated Ham’s joke or not. But if he didn’t, I had my doubts that he’d complain.
Ham and Eugene roared off before I finished adjusting my seat. “Well, that was an adventure. At least we got an early dinner out of it, or a late lunch.”
“Worked out, didn’t it.” Conor tapped the back of his head. “How’s your head? We probably should’ve gotten some ice for it at In-N-Out.”
“It’s fine. Didn’t even hurt after that Advil.” I pulled away from the curb. “Next stop. Beverly Hills. Are you going to see Charlie while you’re in town?”
“He’s coming in the same day as the concert, so can’t make it to the show, but he’s having a gaff at his place in Malibu after.”
“He’s going to throw a party at his house after the concert?” How come I didn’t know about this? Charlie throwing a party for Conor after the gig would be pure PR gold.
“Okay, stop salivating over there. You know how much Charlie hates the paps. He’s not gonna make this public...” Conor tapped my hand clenched on the steering wheel “...and neither are you.”
“Okay, my lips are sealed.”
“But you are invited. I told Charlie you were working this tour, and he’s chuffed to see you again—but you have to leave the clipboard behind.”
“I think I can manage to slip out of work mode for a few hours.” Not that it wouldn’t be great to leak that party to the press. Nobody had to invite the paparazzi. It could just slip out that Charlie Beck had a party after Conor’s concert. “Any of the other boys in town?”
“I see your mind working.” Conor circled his finger in the air. “No. Ian just wound up his world tour and is decompressing on an island somewhere with his fiancée and daughter. Sam is in England working on his new album, and Jay is out there feeding his chickens.”
“I just meant it would’ve been nice to see them all. It’s been a minute.”
“Been a minute for the two of us, too.”
I felt his gaze probing my profile, but I kept my eyes on the road. No point in rehashing our relationship. Was the chemistry still there?
The way my insides turned to mush every time he looked at me...like this. The way my heart did somersaults in my chest when his hand brushed mine. The way I wet my panties when our bodies met on the bus. I’d have to deduce the chemistry was stronger than ever...at least for me.
But this was one tour. What happened when it ended? He’d ghost me just like he did when he went to Australia. I couldn’t handle that a second time. Had barely handled it the first time.
“Yeah, it’s been a while. It’ll be great to see Charlie, too. Is he still a prankster? Remember when he...”
And just like that, I snapped that unresolved tension between us as we went back and forth recounting Charlie’s jokes.
I eked out a sigh when I rolled in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel, its green awning flapping in the early evening breeze.
As a valet attendant sprinted toward my car, I waved him off. “Don’t forget. The press is going to be at the rehearsal tomorrow. I shot you, Ashley, and Ji-yoon a list of possible questions just to get you prepped.”
“I got those this morning.” Conor cracked open the car door. “Do you wanna come in for a drink at the bar? Check out my room?”
“Oh.” I clamped down on my bottom lip. Why was he doing this to me? “I really need to get back and feed Jane.”
“Jane?”
“My cat.”
“Who’s going to take care of Jane when you go on the road?”
“My bestie is allergic, so she’s out.” I drummed my fingertips on my chin. “Maybe I’ll ask my neighbor. He’s kind of a flake, but Jane seems to like him for some reason, or she likes his apartment. Maybe she thinks all the weed there is catnip.”
“Uh-oh. Sounds like Jane’s going on a trip when mom does.” Conor laughed his machine-gun laugh—a sound I absolutely loved.
A smile tugged at my lips. “Even better, my weed-loving neighbor is the brother of Ivy Chase, Ian’s fiancée.”
“What?” Conor shook his head. “How did that happen?”
“Ian’s my landlord. Turns out a corporation of his owns my apartment building in West Hollywood, and Ivy’s brother manages it for him. I think that’s how I landed the apartment. I got it through 92 West connections.”
“Well, it all makes sense. Figures Ian would do something to help out Ivy’s brother...and you, if he knew about it.”
“None of you has changed much. You’re all the same as you were on that first tour bus.”
“I don’t know. I changed. I gave up on the things I wanted too easily back then.” Conor pushed out the door. “I don’t give up that easily anymore.”
***
My tea on the kitchen counter growing tepid, I paced through my apartment as Jane jumped from couch to chair to bookshelf to keep up with me. I turned on her suddenly. “Why’d he say that, Jane? What did he mean by that comment?”
Jane had no answer and abandoned me when she heard Matt’s door across the quad. What was it with that guy?
Before the tour bus roared to life, I was just about to set Conor straight about Noelle Martine’s burning ambition. I can’t believe he accused me of dumping him for my job when I texted him several times that I was leaving Baker Street and joining him down under.
He ignored those texts. That’s not just giving up easily, that’s taking a blow torch to the entire relationship...and then kicking the ashes into the air for fun.
Reminiscing with him had scraped back a corner of the tape I’d slapped over those memories years ago.
Maybe I should just rip it off and wallow in my misery for a while.
Then each time Conor dug up another memory to dangle in front of my face, I’d be ready for it.
I could swat it away instead of allowing it to take me by surprise and niggle its way beneath my skin, awakening all those feelings I’d stuffed away.
Feel the feels in the privacy of my own space first—for practice.
The knock on my door stopped me in my tracks, and I spun around to answer it, peering through the peephole first. As if he knew I had him under scrutiny, Matt waved and held up a cat toy.
I opened the door. “Hey, Matt.”
He jiggled the mouse on a string. “I went to visit a friend today, and he lives around the corner from Tailwaggers, that pet store on Fairfax. Thought I’d pick up something for Jane.”
My mouth gaped open for a second. If Matt treated the women in his life half as well as he treated Jane, he might actually nail down a relationship. “Thanks. She must’ve known you had a treat for her because she went crazy when she heard your door.”
“That’s my main Jane.” He wiggled the mouse again, and I knew I’d have to invite him in to give it to her in person...in cat.
I widened the door. “She’s by the window.”
When Matt walked in, Jane jumped from her perch and wound her body around his bare ankles. He pinched the end of the string in his fingers and hung the mouse in front of Jane’s face. She leaped in the air and batted it.