Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MERCURY
“Is there anything I can get you, miss?”
I look up, bleary-eyed, from my laptop to find a flight attendant standing at my side. She’s perky, blonde, stunningly beautiful, and her British accent makes her sound sophisticated and fancy.
I instantly hate her.
She looks down at me with a warm smile, and I try to remind myself it’s not her fault the sleeping pill my brother swore would knock me right out didn’t work—like at all. And now I’m stuck on a billion-hour flight, wide awake, and cranky as hell.
“I don’t suppose you have any tea, do you?” Her lips quirk, and then I remember where I’m headed. “Right. Sorry. Of course you do.”
“First time traveling to the UK?”
“First time in Scotland, but I went to London once on a family vacation when I was a kid, but I was young, and all I really remember is Big Ben and those grouchy soldiers at the palace.”
She laughs. “They’re called the King’s Guard. They do garner quite a bit of attention, don’t they? But you’ll never see them react. Stone-faced, they are.”
“Intense, for sure. My brother is an amazing actor, and I don’t think he could even keep a straight face in those circumstances.”
She tilted her head. “Is he in any films? Is he famous?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, but he will be.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “He’s that talented, then?”
“Yeah,” I answer, wishing I could have seen Myles before I left.
He’s the youngest of my three brothers, and right now, probably the busiest. Between his schedule and mine, we rarely see each other outside of family dinners, so it’s no surprise we couldn’t meet up in the short time I had before I left.
But he wished me well, sending a good luck text in our sibling group chat—currently called No Creed Left Behind, thanks to Hendrix—teasing me not to get into any trouble while I was there.
I mentally snort out a laugh. I am the last person anyone ever worries about getting into trouble. In the Creed family, I am and always was…the good kid.
I never had a bedtime or curfew growing up, and I never skipped class. I had perfect grades and would have had perfect attendance if Myles hadn’t given me the flu in fifth grade.
While others thrive in chaos, I prefer order.
I like having a schedule and a plan. I like knowing what’s going to happen and where I’m supposed to be when.
So going to Scotland on a whim?
Not my idea of fun.
Not at all.
If it had been up to me, I would have spent weeks researching every region and city, then created a detailed itinerary with perfectly selected hotels and restaurants.
But, instead, I’m just…winging it.
Ugh, I hate that word.
My hands feel clammy just thinking about all the things that could go wrong, like the fact that I don’t know exactly where I’m staying.
Why? Oh, because Asher still doesn’t know that I’m coming.
So I might be flying halfway across the world, driving through the scenic countryside, only to be turned away at the gate. My dad made reservations for me at a nice hotel in a village near Asher’s family estate, “just in case.”
I let out a sigh and then quickly realize the perky flight attendant is still standing there.
Did she ask me something? How long has she been standing there? Maybe that sleeping pill is working better than I thought.
“Just the tea, then?”
“Oh, um…yes,” I manage to say, without too much embarrassment.
She seems pleased with my answer and disappears back into the first-class galley.
I stretch my legs out, and I mean all the way out. This seat is insane. I’ve never flown first class on an international flight before, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to go back to regular coach without a few tears in my eyes. But the upgrade was a gift from Hendrix.
I think he felt a little guilty about sending his sister to retrieve his missing band member.
But either way, I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
I would probably be enjoying it more if I were sleeping.
I look out the window, but all I see is an endless black sky. We’re somewhere between Los Angeles and Heathrow, and I’ve lost track of how many hours it’s been. Six? Seven?
All I know is that little plane on my screen has a long way to go.
“Here’s your tea, miss.”
I was expecting just a disposable cup of hot water with a tea bag. Instead, I receive VIP service. A tray appears with a pot of steaming hot water, a delicate ceramic cup, and a small tray holding tea bags and sugar. She places a folded cloth napkin beside it and asks, “Milk or lemon?”
I shake my head. “No, just plain. Thank you.”
She nods and moves on to check on someone else. I flip through my tea options and choose chamomile. Maybe it will finally help me fall asleep. It’s worth a try, at least.
I pour water over the tea bag, and while it’s steeping, I open my laptop again. Thanks to my brother’s generosity and my first-class ticket, I have free Wi-Fi and decide to make the most of it.
First things first. I review my travel plans to ensure my car service is still reserved and my hotel reservation is confirmed.
Once that’s taken care of, I take a sip of tea and almost burn my tongue.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath and set the cup down to cool.
Letting out a deep breath, I stare at the search bar on my laptop. It blinks back at me impatiently.
Mockingly.
This trip is not off to a great start. I can’t fall asleep. I’m barely prepared, and now I have a burned tongue.
Why am I even doing this?
Oh right. Because my mom said the one thing that made me unable to say no.
I march into my parents’ room, hand on my hip and lungs heaving because I ran upstairs like my ass was on fire. Probably a sign I should make better use of the gym in my apartment complex.
My mom is lying in bed. Her silver-blonde hair is loose, and she’s tucked under the navy-blue comforter, reading a book about—
“Is that a romance?”
She nods. “Your sister recommended it to me. Something about vampires in kilts?”
“You’re reading a vampire romance?”
She shrugs. “Seemed kind of sexy.”
My face contorts. “Ew. No. Thanks to you, I can’t use the restroom at the bar anymore.
Please don’t ruin romance novels for me too.
They’re my only hobby.” She laughs and pats the bed, placing her book on the side table.
I silently walk over and plop down next to her but manage to steal the throw blanket she has draped over the bench at the foot of the bed before I do.
I wrap myself up in it before I say, “You don’t seem particularly surprised to see me here.”
“I’m not.”
“So you know why Daddy asked me here.”
“I do.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re usually the chatty one, Mom.”
“I’m trying to give you the opportunity to be the chatty one for a change.” She gives me a pointed stare. “Isn’t that why you came up here? To talk.”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah.”
“Okay, so talk.”
I press my lips together, trying to gather my thoughts. The sound of the waves through the open window steadies my pulse. “I don’t know why they want me to do this, Mom. I’m—” No one, I want to say. Instead, I go with, “Not a good choice.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Asher and I hardly know each other. We’ve basically had one conversation.” Two, if you count that time he rescued me at my father’s award ceremony.
I was standing in front of a thousand cameras and felt so awkward and uncomfortable. I felt all their eyes on me, and all I wanted to do was run. But then I looked up and suddenly, there he was.
Asher Knight.
He walked up to me, cool and confident, then leaned over and whispered, “The trick is to act like you don’t give a shit.”
I laughed, and that one laugh felt like letting go of a ten-pound weight. I relaxed for the first time all evening, then he wrapped an arm around my waist, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe again—but for a very different reason.
I thought for sure he would notice, but he just turned, smiled, and said, “See?” and that was it.
That was the last conversation I had with him.
You would think the press would have gone wild over those photos of us together. But the next day, the captions simply read, “Asher Knight with business manager’s daughter, Mercury Creed.”
I wondered if I should take it as an insult that no one even stopped to consider we might be together. I mean, it wasn’t that ludicrous, was it? Eight years wasn’t that big of an age gap.
But eventually, I decided it was a blessing. I didn’t want my life to be under that kind of scrutiny anyway. I can barely handle a few cameras. There’s no way I could be in the kind of spotlight Asher attracted.
“What did the boys tell you?” my mom asks, her voice even and calm.
I let out a sigh. “That they think I might be able to get through to Asher because we both like music or whatever.”
Yes, I know I sound like a sullen teenager.
An amused smile curls my mother’s lips. “I think what Asher needs more than anything right now is a friend—”
“He has plenty of friends!” I interrupt her.
She gives me a placating look, one I remember well from my childhood. “Sorry.” I wither instantly.
“Most of his friends have a vested interest in his career because it impacts theirs. And while I don’t doubt any of those men would set aside their own self-interests for Asher, I’m not sure that he trusts anything related to the band right now.”
“But won’t I just be a reminder of all that?”
She shrugs. “You could be. Or you could be exactly what he needs.”
A friend is what my mother thinks Asher needs.
Just a friend.
How could I say no to that?
Plus, if I’m being completely honest, I might need a friend right now too.
I don’t exactly have many.
My coworkers are nice, and I have a few neighbors I talk to every once in a while, but the kind of friends like Hen has? The ones you depend on like family?
No, I don’t have that kind of friend.
Does Asher?
I pull up my laptop, and before I type his name in the search bar, I make sure I close the privacy curtain. I don’t know why, but looking him up online feels wrong now that I’ve met him in real life.