A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (8 page)

His eyes twinkle. “Of Veronica Pryce.”

Yeah, here we go. He’s in mockery mode again. I bat my eyes, all innocence. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you were gay. I thought all those girls were getting mad at you because—”

“I am definitely not gay.”

“You just like excuses to wear pink?”

“Very funny.”

“I’ve got leftover pink sweatshirts from my last tour—”

In a flash, his smile gives way to an angry glare. “Pass.”

“Okay, sorry,” I backpedal. “I was just joking around.”

“Whatever.” He’s offended now.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Thanks for being nice. I kind of needed that.”

“Yeah, sure. You want ice cream or not?”

“Do you have some you’re really desperate to get rid of or something?”

“Yes. Kyra brought it by.”

Understanding snaps me to attention. “It’s Pie Pops, isn’t it?”

He nods. “She is an evil, evil woman.”

“Tell me about it.”

Pie Pops aren’t really ice cream. The ice cream is just the adhesive to hold together cinnamon-sugar crumble and apple chunks and way more calories than any person should be able to eat in one sitting and still have the sleek, slender figure Kyra has. She’s always waving them in my face.

“They’re chocolate silk,” he elaborates.

“You must’ve really made her mad or something.”

“Or something. Please. I’m gonna eat the whole box if I don’t get help.”

“And by help, you mean some innocent bystander to ingest some of the calories for you.”

“Yes.”

“Now you’re just being evil.”

“Come on. You’re depressed. You can help me out here.”

“Fine,” I relent. “Where are they?”

We end up in a corner of the parking garage, out of sight of the door, where he parks his beat-up old Honda. He plops two boxes of Pie Pops on the hood between us.

“No way,” I tell him. “One box.”

“There are two. Deal with it.”

“Put one away.”

“We don’t have to eat both.” He tears one open and tosses me a Pie Pop.

I scowl at him as I tug the wrapper off, and he scowls right back as he does the same to his.

“Kyra will pay?” I ask. “You’ll make her do the same workout we’ll need to do to burn these off?”

“Yeah, okay. In that case, we should eat both boxes and really make her suffer.” Each box holds two Pie Pops.

“That’s a pretty good justification,” I say.

“I know, right?” he says, biting into his ice cream.

“Since we were going to eat both boxes anyway.”

His eyes twinkle as he chews.

I take a deep breath and bite into mine. Creamy chocolate fills my mouth, and it’s so intense that I shut my eyes. Kyra is
evil
. I made the mistake of eating one of these when she first moved in and now I have cravings for them. I suppose if there’s a day to give in, now is a good one though. And if I have to give in to Devon, this is the safest way possible.

We eat our calorie-laden popsicles in silence then lick the wooden sticks and give each other a challenging glare.

“We don’t have to open the second box,” I say.

“That the best you can come up with?”

“Oh, so it’s my job to save us from what we’re about to do?” I fire back.

“Hey, I’ve got no one else right now, so yeah, it’s all on you.”

I pull a Pie Pop out of the second box and slide it across the hood to him like a barkeep in a Western movie sliding a mug of beer.

He catches it in one hand and shakes his head at me, disgusted. “I thought you’d be tougher.”

“You thought wrong. I have to live with these in my freezer at all times.”

“Wow.” He peels the wrapper off his second Pie Pop while I fish mine out of the second box, which is now blessedly empty. The temptation is about to be gone—until I go home, but I refuse to think about that.

Together, we eat as he raises his eyebrows at me like I’ve just forced him to shoot up with heroin.

I scowl. I have no sympathy. He deserves this and he’s taking me down with him.

When we finish and lick every trace of ice cream off our popsicle sticks, our gazes lock again.

“Do you feel dirty now?” I chide.

“I should, I guess.” He starts laughing. “You know you’ve got no trouble with the whole feisty-seductress thing, right? You’ve got the look, the timing, all of it.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah.” His tone is serious now. “You do. You’re gonna be just fine in your show.”

I tap the popsicle stick against the hood of the car and shrug. “My costar and I don’t even really get along.”

“So go for the love/hate vibe.”

“How does that work?”

Devon lifts an eyebrow and places his hands flat on the hood of his car. “People…mocking each other because…one of them doesn’t want to leave the other alone?”

“Like the way you and Kyra mock each other?”

He hunches his shoulders like I just jabbed him in the stomach. “Okay, if Kyra weren’t in a relationship, maybe.
Maybe
that’d be flirtation, but it’s not.” His sour expression tells me that I’ve missed something, but he changes the subject. “You’re used to being the best at what you do, aren’t you? Like, when you were a teenager, you were the most experienced actress and singer you’d ever met?”

“I’m still a teenager.”

“So are you scared of having to fake it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Nobody’s gonna see anything you don’t want them to see if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

I chew that over a moment. “I guess that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. They’ll see that I can’t act.”

He shrugs. “Obviously you can.”

“And I really don’t want to kiss Kevin.”

“Well, when you want practice kissing someone repulsive to you, you know where to find me. You can practice your game face.”

I shake my head.

“I was kidding,” he says.

I back away from his car. “Listen, thanks. I’ll figure this out.”

He straightens up and grabs the empty boxes and discarded popsicle sticks. “If Kyra ever brings Pie Pops into this gym again, I am canceling her membership. Word is, these things are going to come three to a box soon.”

“So you’d leave me alone to deal with her and them?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I think I understand how it is.”

“Good.”

With mock solemnity, we say our goodbyes, and I make my escape. When I glance back, I see that he is watching after me.

“S
O,”
I
SAY
, sitting in Delia’s office with Julian next to me, “I’ve got five songs here I’d be willing to record, but do I have a record deal and/or any shot at getting these songs?”

“Maybe not all of them,” she admits. “But we should try.”

“This one’s my first choice,” I say, pointing to the song that Devon said was his favorite—
Waiting To Get Over You
. “I really want this one.” Kyra didn’t like it, so I know I’m being irrational.

“Oh, well, you should be able to get that one,” says Delia. “I don’t think there’s any competition there.”

Great
, I think.
Everyone in the business knows it’s not a great song, and I’m going on the opinion of a random personal trainer
. I bite my lip.

“As for getting you a record deal, of course we can get you a deal. It’s just that I’ve been trying to get you the best deal possible.”

I nod.

“And, sweetie, I’m sorry, but the best I can do is a hundred-thousand-dollar advance from a little boutique label willing to take a gamble. It’s owned by two women who I guess would mortgage their houses to get you on board.”

No
, I think. The last thing I need is more people overinvesting in me. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone losing her house. “Then accept a lower advance.”

“Lizzie,” says Julian.

I hold up a hand. “Please. I’m stressed out enough as it is with how much the network’s put into
Clues
. I don’t know if I can sustain a music career if I’m not singing as Veronica Pryce. I’m willing to try, I will work as hard as you need, but I’m not going to risk people’s homes over it.”

“Your home is at risk,” Julian points out.

“Not right at the moment. My building is underwater,” I admit. “But the rent it takes in does cover the mortgage payments.”

“Sweetie, we’d really like to get you out of that whole situation,” says Delia.

“Fine, but not by putting other people in the same boat. Accept a lower advance, way lower if you have to. I want them to have a publicity budget for me.”

Julian and Delia exchange a look. “All right, dear,” she says. “I see your point.” It’s nicer than saying, “You’re the boss and I have to do whatever you say whether I agree with it or not.”

“So I’ve got a record deal?”

“Yes, I’ll get the paperwork done.”

“I guess I’ll be recording evenings and weekends?”

“Whenever you can fit it in,” she says.

“Okay.” I nod. Working I can do. It’s all the planning about
what
work to do that’s driving me insane.

That afternoon, Julian and I report to wardrobe for
Clues
, which is back at the warehouse where the set is. The first thing I try on is a skirt that goes barely past my hips.

“There is no way I can lean over in this thing,” I say.

“Obviously, that’ll be taken into consideration,” is all the costume designer tells me. She’s a very slender, blonde woman with sharp features, like a rodent, and fine wrinkles all over her face and hands. Her hair is styled to perfection, and her makeup looks like she touches it up every five minutes.

“How am I supposed to sit down and type?” I ask. “My butt will be in direct contact with the chair.”

“It’s stretchy material. It’ll be fine.”

I feel practically naked though. Or like I’m in a swimsuit. I give Julian a pleading look.

He shakes his head. “I really don’t think this is the direction you want to go,” he tells the costume designer. “It’s too far. You don’t want to dress her like a streetwalker.”

“Fine. How about this?” The costume designer shoves another outfit at me.

I take it and duck into the changing room. The shirt is so tight that it might as well be spray-painted onto my skin. The skirt goes halfway to my knees. It’s less than I usually wear, but it’s not extreme. I exit and present myself to Julian, who looks me up and down and gives a noncommittal shrug.