Bedded Bliss (Found in Oblivion Book 1) (15 page)

Nick’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing.

Lila’s eyes went arctic. “And now you’re moving on to greener pastures. At least it’s a step up from your previous fiancé. But I will not have you derail my son’s career.”

“I don’t
want
to be married to your son.” Chloe’s laughter sounded a little close to hysteria even to her own ears. “God, that’s even ridiculous to say. You’re barely a handful of years older than him.”

“I watched him grow up.”

“You were little more than a child when you married his father. Oh and I do believe you married the great Martin Shawcross for
his money and his status
.” Chloe lowered her face to Lila’s. “So don’t speak to me like you’re better than me. At least I did it for my child.”

Lila’s huge blue eyes went even wider. Both of them had their hands fisted.

Nick placed his hand on Lila’s shoulder. “Not that I wouldn’t like to see this play out into a fist fight—girl fights are hot—but let’s step back a minute here, huh?”

Lila shook him off and stood until she and Chloe were toe-to-toe. “You are not going to ruin his life because of one stupid moment in Vegas.”

Nick’s phone bleated out an annoying crash of notes before he must have hit ignore to cut it off.

Chloe stepped back. “Finally we can agree on one thing. You figure out a way to make this go away and I’ll sign whatever you want me to.”

“Fine.” Lila’s shoulders heaved. “At least you can be sensible about one thing.”

Nick’s phone went off again. Both women turned to him.

Chloe bunched her fists around her purse. “Are you serious right now?”

Nick shrugged. “Speak of the devil.” He answered the phone. “Not a good time, buddy. I have two women here that aren’t happy with you. One might even be contemplating putting hit on you.”

Lila held out her hand. “Is that Michael.”

Nick shook his head. “Yeah, he doesn’t want to talk to you, Li.”

“What?” Lila flipped her hair over her shoulder. Agitation showing for the first time since Chloe could remember.

Chloe reached across and plucked the phone out of Nick’s hand.

“Hey!” Nick tried to grab it back. “That’s mine.”

Chloe marched down the aisle past a shocked Harper and Deacon and a smiling Simon with a bag of M&M’s in his hand.

“Stop calling Nick, stop trying to call me. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to have anything to do with you Michael Shawcross.”

“Well that’s too bad Mrs. Shawcross. We have plenty to discuss.”

His deep voice sent a thrill down her spine. The same feeling she remembered the night before in a flash. Had he done the same over her shoulder when she’d been dancing at the Foundation Room? Smokey and sultry with a hint of playfulness.

A sudden and consuming anger burned through her. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that is never, ever my name.”

“I do love when you snarl at me. Must be the red hair.”

Her jaw literally dropped open. “This isn’t funny. Stop making jokes.”

“Of course it’s not.” His voice instantly turned serious. “That’s why we need to talk.”

“We don’t need to talk at all unless it’s across from a lawyer where I’m signing on the dotted line on annulment or divorce papers.” She hit the end button before he could talk.

She couldn’t even see through the rage blurring her vision.

“Okay, sweetie. Breathe.”

Chloe’s eyes burned as Jazz’s soft voice came from behind her. Jazz laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and dislodged Nick’s phone from Chloe’s hand. She really couldn’t handle someone being kind to her right now. She’d just burst into a million pieces and cry until she couldn’t be put back together again.

“Chloe, wait.”

But she couldn’t. She broke free and to the front of the plane where the bathrooms were. She opened the door and slammed it closed, pulling over the lock lever. No way, no how could she face anyone. Not after she’d freaked out like that. Embarrassment didn’t even cover it.

She had no idea how long she’d been in there. People walked by and voices picked up after a few minutes. She turned on the water and let the tap water flow over her wrists. Being in the service industry, and the mother to a toddler, left her rattled some days. Sometimes a little cool water over a pulse point kept her from completely losing her shit.

She really, really needed that to work right now.

The hum of the engine poured into her until she was numb.

A light knock eventually broke her trance. “Miss. We have to prepare to land.”

“I can’t come out there,” Chloe said through the door.

The attendant was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. “You can sit up with me. How’s that?”

Chloe swallowed down a lump. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Positive. I’ve got an extra seat away from the main cabin.”

She peeked out the door. The woman’s kind face held no judgement.

“Come on. Let me get you some water and we’ll get you home.”

“Thanks.” Chloe slipped out the door and through the curtain to the small space where the drink and snack cart was tucked away. A little flip down seat flanked either side of the doorway with a lap belt tucked neatly to the side.

She could definitely handle that.

“Janice, right?”

The woman smiled. “Right.” She handed Chloe a small bottle of water.

“I’m sorry if I made a scene.”

She shrugged. “That’s nothing. I’ve been taking care of these guys for years. You got nothing on the antics I’ve seen.”

Chloe’s lips twitched. “I bet.” She swallowed down most of the bottle. “I’m still going to stay back here if that’s okay.”

“More than.”

“Good.”

Landing was a lot different when it came to private planes. There was no real wait once they were on the tarmac. Everyone disembarked in record time. Chloe tapped her fingers on her purse and texted to make sure her father was outside while she waited.

“They’re gone,” Janice finally said.

Chloe slipped her strap over her shoulder. “Everyone?”

“Everyone.”

She peeked around the curtain and sure enough it was empty. Sun streaked in through the cabin windows and doorway. Her suitcase was waiting at the mouth of the stairs. She gave Janice a tight smile and escaped down the stairs.

It was a crystal clear day—well, as much as Los Angeles could be clear. But the haze wasn’t too bad that day. Along the edge of the private air strip her father’s old Toyota was parked.

Her father, a man that tended to be a little too thin no matter how much she fed him, stood with his fingers wrapped around her son’s hand. Axl was tugging to get free and pointing at a helicopter above them.

Both of them had red hair, though her father’s was definitely fading to graying goose down fluff as he headed toward fifty. Her father was wearing his usual uniform of baggy khakis and ratty sweater over a simple white T-shirt. And her kid—her sweet, perfect kid—was wearing a Cookie Monster shirt and jeans with a blob of unknown origin at the hem.

Finally, the helicopter had faded from sight enough that Axl noticed her walking across the pavement. He dragged her father behind him as they both raced to her.

Chloe dropped her purse and suitcase and crouched down for the best hug in all the world. “Hey, kiddo. Mommy missed you.” She looked up at her father. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Her dad tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

“Right now it is.” She covered the whorl of red hair that never seemed to sit right at the back of her son’s head and breathed him in. Fruit punch and baby shampoo. A damn fine combo as far as she was concerned.

Axl wiggled away. “Did you see the chopter mama?”

“Chopper,” she corrected.

“Chopter,” Axl said again.

She laughed and dragged him back in for a hug. She buried her face in her son’s sweet smelling neck. “I did see it.”

“Can I have one?”

Chloe slung her purse back over her shoulder and hauled him up, to perch on her hip. “Not today, pal. We can go home and play with your Legos though.”

“Deal. Home!”

“Home,” she agreed. This was what mattered. Not her stupid marriage to some man. That would have to work itself out. Right now she had to worry about this little monster.

A
plan
. Right. That was all he needed. Once he was conscious again.

After the mess with his failure to extract Chloe’s number from Nick, he’d conceded the field. Given up. Temporarily, of course, but a smart guy knew when to pull back and regroup.

Of course the treads on his face from Chloe’s dismissal had sped up the retreating process, but he wasn’t one to point fingers.

He dozed fitfully on the plane ride home, then went to his apartment and crawled into bed after taking a short, hot shower. He slept all day Monday, minus a few trips to piss and contemplate his shitty lot in life.

All in all, it was easier to sleep.

Tuesday, he woke up to discover the internet had exploded.

Apparently, the lead guitarist of Warning Sign getting unexpectedly married the same weekend as his band’s triumphant concert was a big fucking deal.

The Vegas part was icing.

The fact that he’d married the fiancée of “a washed-up rocker who’d sued Oblivion before he’d either committed suicide or died by misadventure” made up the sugary roses.

He wondered how long it would take them to realize his wife had ghosted on him without leaving a forwarding address. Forget address. He couldn’t even get her digits.

The one thing in their favor was they’d been in the same circles for years. Someone might ostensibly believe they’d had some kind of meaningful interaction that could lead to marriage. Instead of, oh, not having any kind of contact other than his hiring a PI to take photos she’d inadvertently been a part of and possibly eating from the same bowl of peas at Thanksgiving.

No, scratch that. He was almost positive she didn’t like peas, because there’d been a big brouhaha with her kid smearing them on the wall during the meal. See, there was one thing he knew about his wife.

Strangers,
pfft
.

He rolled out of bed and into the shower. Hard to see how he’d gotten dirty from sleeping, but his body was sheened in perspiration. Christ, the dreams he’d had. More like nightmares. Ones about his mother’s wedding, where he’d given her away and turned around to see the audience was laughing at him. Pointing too.

No wonder he’d sweated through his sheets. He hated weddings as a whole, and his mother’s were a special kind of hell.

No wonder he’d blocked out the memory of his own ceremony. Who could blame him?

He showered and was about to shave when he dropped his razor. He still had the cut on his hand from the other day, when he’d talked to Ryan after awakening to Tabitha in his bed. He’d thought his life was so difficult then.

Right. His life had been a candy apple forest compared to the bullshit of being accidentally married, yet having no contact information for his wife.

Fuck shaving. Fuck everything.

He rubbed a hand over his scruffy chin and went back into the bedroom to grab his phone. Enough of this holding his ass crap. He’d just contact Jerzee, his old PI friend, and have him find out where Chloe lived—

His gaze landed on his wallet. Shit, the license. He’d had a way to contact her all along, and he’d been too out of it to even realize.

Yeah, he was never drinking again.

He pulled out the piece of paper and scanned Chloe’s info. Then swore and pitched it aside.

She’d listed her phone number as 1-800-Don’t-Know.

“Goddammit.” He grabbed the paper again to scan the address section, knowing it was likely a futile enterprise. Everything for the past few days had been other than the concert. He couldn’t even remember if he’d managed to perform in bed.

Maybe Chloe had run from him because she recalled more than she was letting on. Had he sucked in the sack? Maybe he’d been selfish and demanded a BJ without going down on her. Or perhaps he hadn’t done the whole clit thing during making love, because evidently, most chicks couldn’t come solely from penetration. So odd. If he was penetrated by a large dick, he’d come for sure.

Yep, he was just going to leave that whole line of inquiry alone.

His gaze zeroed in on the address line and he let out a long, slow breath. Holy fuck, she’d put down an actual address. Whether it was hers, he had no idea, but at least it seemed feasible. Carson, California. Where the hell was that? He was pretty sure it was a suburb of LA, and he had a fuzzy recollection that it wasn’t the most prosperous area.

He typed the address into his phone and cross-referenced it with her name. Yep. Bingo.

So she was honest sometimes and lied at others. Then again, according to what he’d put down, his phone number was 666-666-6666, so maybe they’d thought they were being funny.

Whatever they’d had to drink should be outlawed.

But hell, he had an address. Now he just needed to convince her that being married to him was not a horrible thing. That maybe it might even be beneficial to them. Okay, maybe just beneficial to
him
, as he’d worked out in between naps on the plane ride home.

His rep was in tatters, what with the senator’s fiancée thing. What better way to seem like less of a homewrecker than to be happily married?

True, that wasn’t giving her much out of the deal. But surely they could work out an arrangement. They had chemistry in spades. The value of good sex could never be discounted.

Next time, he might even get to remember it.

After pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, he added a hoodie and a pair of aviator glasses just in case. From the state of his email and texts, his recent joyous event had broken in the news in a big way, so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume there might be a few members of the paparazzi outside.

He unlocked his door and peeked out, only to see his hallway full of people who were not the mailman or the UPS dude. No solicitors either. Just jerks with cameras and microphones and greedy expressions.

Holy shit.

He slammed the door and pressed his back to the wood. What now? And shit, was Chloe dealing with this too? If so, she must hate him.

Hate him
more
, since she hadn’t really seemed too keen on him after their lovely union.

Digging out his phone, he quickly called Josh, his neighbor down the hall.

“Jesus, Michael, is this all for you? What the heck did you do? I know the heat’s been up on you lately, but this is beyond.”

“I got married.” Michael rolled his shoulders. “Hey, is Davey home?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I need you guys to do me a favor. If you do it, I’ll give you whatever you want. Not my Viper,” he added. “Anything but my car.”

“What do you want us to do?”

Michael outlined the plan for his friend, and luckily, Josh—and Davey—were onboard. It wasn’t exactly complicated, and he wasn’t even sure it would work. But luckily, Davey had a similar build to Michael’s, and he’d given him a Warning Sign hoodie just last week.

Long shots at least had a chance, right?

Fifteen minutes later, after Davey had so considerately caused the paparazzi to chase after
him
in their misguided pursuit, Michael raced down the blissfully cleared out hallway. He headed for the service elevator that would allow him to exit in the alley behind his building.

Another fifteen minutes after that, he was in his Viper and programming the drive to Carson into his GPS.

If the paps were hassling him, that probably meant they were bothering her too. She didn’t deserve that. So he’d just have to get to her place and try to convince her that maybe she would be better off staying with him until the furor died down.

And her son. Couldn’t forget the kid. God, they’d have to babyproof his apartment. Kids liked to stick their body parts into outlets, right? Plus, they tried to drink chemicals and chew on the carpet—

“Dude, she has a baby, not a Chihuahua. Chill.” He exhaled and gripped the wheel. Yes, he’d been reduced to speaking out loud to calm himself down. Whatever it took.

If he didn’t practice some serious Zen and fast, he was probably going to lose his shit.

To soothe himself, he turned on his satellite radio and tuned it to one of the coffeehouse stations. Last thing he needed was his usual head-banging stuff. Today, he’d try something more mellow.

He’d gone less than a mile on his lengthy journey to find Chloe when “In Your Arms” came on. Confused, he stared at the station information and saw it was called the exclusive “House of Blues mix”. What the hell was that? Had Lila worked her magic to get a single out from the show? “All Night Long” had basically had its run, but still, they normally promoted their asses off for a new single, with radio interviews and articles online and lots of screen time at events. All the usual stuff that came with a big media push.

A
nd his stepmother
was no dummy. If the press was rabid over all things Warning Sign at the moment, she’d do whatever she had to in order to get the focus back on their music. Of course she’d had to select the song he would now forever associate with Chloe.

He tapped the side of his fist on the steering wheel and flicked screens back to his GPS. He still had roughly five hundred million miles to go.

Damn, where did his new wife live?

Turned out she did live in a suburb of LA, but it was pretty much on the opposite side from his own place in Malibu. He also might have understated the impoverished area consideration.

The more he drove, the more concerned he became. No one was eyeing his extremely conspicuous Viper in an alarming way, or even acknowledging his presence at all. But Christ, there were numerous boarded-up homes in Chloe’s neighborhood. She shouldn’t be in a place like this. Of course he knew people did what they had to do to get by. He’d just never really seen this kind of struggle up close.

He knew he’d been lucky financially. His father’s money had ensured his lifestyle growing up was as cushy as could be, and yes, he’d taken some of that for granted. Too much. Paying his own way while working in a rock band—even a fledgling one—didn’t compare with what people in Carson did to make ends meet.

After a weekend in Vegas, Chloe had come home to this. She dealt with this life day in and out. So much for him having problems.

He didn’t even have the right to say the word.

It was just past three when he pulled up down the block from the address she’d written on the marriage license. Way down the block, because the street directly outside her home was clogged with media trucks and cars.

Damn, he’d been too late again. As usual.

Better look fast, dude.

From what he could see at this distance, she appeared to live in a two-family house, with flowers poking up around the weeds in the yard. Hers was the only place he could see that didn’t have chipped paint or any broken-out windows, at least not in the front. He craned his neck, taking in the sagging porch and the mailbox hanging sideways on the wall.

Overall, the place was cute, if small. The houses on either side were as well, but they’d lost any redeeming features years before.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and fought the urge to turn the car around and go back home. She didn’t want him to bother her. Hadn’t she made that clear? His presence had created all this chaos. Those reporters had to be making her life hell.

Added to that, he was so out of his depth he felt like he was drowning. He’d been given all kinds of breaks in life, ones he didn’t deserve. So much had been handed to him. Sitting here in this car on her block, staring at all the houses in decline, he felt so fucking guilty he couldn’t stand himself.

How was he supposed to go see her and talk rationally about them figuring out how to proceed when all he wanted to do was grab her and take her back to his place?

Not just her. She has a little boy too.

The kid too, of course. That made it even worse. Jesus, Lila had intimated Nick was helping her financially. If so, he must not have done much or on any regular basis. How could he let her live there? She was so young and beautiful, and she was on her own with a child. It couldn’t be safe.

Maybe it was now, because no one could try anything with a camera crew outside her front door. But back before the paparazzi had flocked to her neighborhood, what had she done when she needed to run to the store for a quart of milk? She’d probably gone to that crappy place on the opposite corner that appeared to have bullet holes in some of the windows.

Fuck, fuck, fuck
.

He was still sitting there, waiting for inspiration to hit about how the hell he was going to get close enough to talk to her—and also, how to get her to leave with him—when someone rapped on his window. Swallowing hard, he rolled it down. A woman with hair like steel wool and a shopping cart full of cans stood on the other side. “Um, hi. Can I help you?”

“You’re parked on the wrong part of the street. Red on the curb means no stopping. You’re going to get towed.”

“Oh yeah, right. Sorry. Thanks for telling me. I’ll move.” And go where, he had no idea.

“You’ll want a spot that’s unpainted or gray. The other curb colors have rules.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks.”

She nodded and smiled at him with a mouthful of perfect teeth. Just as she was about to turn away, he touched her arm. “Hey, can you help me?”

“Help you?” Her laughter was rich and warm. “I’d think you wouldn’t need any help at all, fancy car like this one. What’d this set you back? One hundred grand?”

He averted his gaze. “About that, yeah.”

“Nice ride. Better keep it moving. This neighborhood, someone might try to help themselves.”

“I’m only passing through.” Maybe. He honestly wasn’t sure.

If Chloe refused to leave with him—which all indications seemed to point to—then what? He couldn’t just take off. But he had no choice. She was a grown woman, and she had every right to make her own choices.

He was a virtual stranger, and he had no business trying to take over her life. His help was self-serving anyway, wasn’t it? He wanted to save his rep, so of course he wanted his new faux missus stationed at his home to help make the story more convincing.

Except it so wasn’t about only that. Not anymore.