Break It Up (15 page)

I’m hollow inside with fear, and this isn’t even really my problem. I take a moment to calm my racing pulse. Maybe this is too much for me, but I can at least bluff a little. “First things first. You call your lawyer. Call them right now. It’s evening in the US.”

“I don’t have their number.”

“Who would have it?”

“Rick who’ll be asleep right now.”

“And your mother.”

“I’m not gonna make her violate her restraining order over this.” He pulled out his cell phone. “Yes, this is me being an obnoxious celebrity.”

“I won’t film it,” I deadpan.

“Thank you.” He puts his phone to his ear, waits, then taps the screen to dial the number again. “Hey, it’s Zach…I do know what time it is. I need something…The number of the lawyer we use for our contracts…Never mind why. I need their number and I need it now. Uh-huh. Uh huh. Thanks.” He hangs up then stares at his phone until it chimes.

“Text?” I say.

“Yep. I have the number now.” He taps the screen a few more times and puts the phone back to his ear. “Hello? Hi, I’d like to speak to Mark Wilcox please? This is Zach Wechsler. I’m one of his clients. The singer, yeah. Uh-huh. Triple Cross.”

Judging from Zach’s smug smile, whoever’s on the other end of the line has scrambled to put him through. I glance at my watch and do the math. It’s approaching five o’clock in California, so the lawyer should still be in the office.

“Mr. Wilcox, hi. I was wondering if you could review a contract for me? Yeah. A week is too long…Well it’s already signed. I just need to know—”

He winces as a voice shouts loud enough for me to hear, “What do you mean it’s signed? By whom? By you?”

“Yeah, I—”

“You signed a contract without consulting me?”

Zach gives me a helpless look.

“Just tell him to review it,” I say. “You’re the boss. You pay him. He works for you.”

He sits up a little straighter. “Just review the contract and tell me your thoughts on it. You can lecture me then, all right? If I have to pay extra to have you do it by tomorrow, then fine. Three days?”

That is clearly longer than Zach wants to wait.

“You’re Zach Wechsler,” I press, “of Triple Cross.”

He nods to himself. “I’m going to have to insist on tomorrow. Impossible?” The knuckles of his hand holding the phone turn white.

“Hang on,” I say. “Just let him take the three days.”

“Why?” Zach mouths to me.

“Because anyone who can say no to Triple Cross has some serious clout.” That theory is a shot in the dark, but it sounds credible to me.

“Okay, three days,” he says. “I’ll wait for your call.” He hangs up, looks at me, and says, “I still need to find a copy of the contract.”

Oh, right. This being-an-adult business is no fun at all. Right now I
really
wish my dad or a teacher or someone would step forward, wave the contract in our faces, and make some snide comment about how we should be better prepared. I’d give anything for that.

Rick is
not
happy to be woken up for the second time in the middle of the night. He flings his door open and stands in one of the hotel’s luxurious bathrobes, his hands on his hips. His room’s on the same level as the band members’ and I wonder if that’s normal. “What?” he snaps.

He doesn’t notice me. I’m down the hall, trying to stay inconspicuous because in order to stand where I can see him, I’m standing where he could also see me if I called attention to myself, so I don’t even dare move.

“I want a copy of our contract with Aidan. I just need to get clear on some stuff,” Zach says.

Rick looks him up and down. “Why would I have a copy of that?”

“Well, who would?”

“Ask Aidan.”

“Okay, fine,” says Zach.

It’s shocking to see how quickly he backs down. This is not the hyper-confident Zach Wechsler I know. This is a whole new side to him.

Rick slams his door and leaves us standing in the hallway. Zach heads over to me, his head down.

“Ask Amy,” I suggest.

“I guess I could. She’s back downstairs.”

Well, at least I’m getting good exercise tonight.

Amy opens
her door in a nightgown, looking bewildered. She sees Zach and then cranes her neck and sees me. I wave, unsure how to react.

“Hey,” says Zach. “Do you have a copy of our contract with Aidan?”

“Mmm? Yeah. I have a scan of it.”

My heart lifts.

“You do?” says Zach. “Can you email it to Mark Wilcox?”

“Mmm-hmm. You want me to do that now?”

“Please. You are the
best
. Thanks for keeping a copy of that.”

She blinks, shrugs, and says, “Okay, I’ll go do that.” Unlike Rick, she waits until Zach turns away before she shuts the door.

By now, it’s past two in the morning and even the floor is looking like a comfortable place to crash. All the drama has worn me out. “So, that’s about all we can do tonight, right?” I say.

Zach nods and I turn to head for my room. I’m glad he found the contract and all that, but now that that’s all cleared up, I’m still mad at him.

He jogs to catch up with me. “Hey,” he says, touching my wrist. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Kyra, wait.”

I stop and turn, and hope this isn’t the start of another confrontation.

He catches me under the chin with his crooked finger and makes me look him in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Insulting Chloe is off limits, okay? Doesn’t matter who you are. She’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“What’s she like?”

I fold my arms. I should have known better than to bring up this argument again. While I do want to make my position on Chloe clear, I also want to get some sleep tonight. “She doesn’t have to smile for the cameras. She doesn’t owe it to the world to be photogenic. Seriously. You try saving the life of a child, failing, and then explaining to the rest of the planet how this happened. You’re all stressed out over one contract over one film depicting one stinking band. It isn’t a life or death situation.”

His eyes, looking into mine, widen slightly.

“Yeah,” I dig. “You were mocking someone who’s just dealt with a death. A traumatic death. Of an innocent
child
. She felt responsible. You have no idea what that’s like.”

“Okay, okay. Yes. You’ve made me feel completely shallow.”

I shrug, not backing down. It’s what Chloe would do. If the choice is her or Zach, it’s no choice at all.

“Kyra, I’m sorry.”

Not what I expected. “Now you’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“But earlier you were showing me videos of her and mocking her and when I defend her—”

“I was out of line.”

Huh? I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Listen… Okay. Thanks for saying that. I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Hey, no.” He grabs my wrist. “Really, I’m sorry.”

“I heard you.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m just tired. I’m going to bed now.”

“Can I walk you to your door?”

I’m far too tired and fed up to argue.

Once back
in my room, I shut myself in the bathroom without even bothering to tell Zach goodbye. I slide my clothes off and hose myself down in the shower. The warm water is liquid comfort, sluicing over me.

I towel my hair dry, give my body a once-over, and then clutch the towel to my front as I open the door. I’m too tired to put on pajamas tonight.

Zach is seated on my bed, fully clothed, his shoes still on, and when he looks up and sees me, he’s startled. “Oh, sorry. I, uh, I should’ve let you know I was still here. I…”

I hastily wrap the towel around myself. “No, it’s my fault.” Why is he still here?

“Well, okay, I’m not
actually
sorry. But I’m pretending to be sorry that I saw that much skin.” He’s trying to lighten the mood.

Not. Funny. At. All. I am in no mood for stupid games, or jokes, or whatever it is he’s doing.

“My pajamas are under the pill—”

He gets to his feet and pulls his shirt off. “No, it’s all good.”

O
kay
, I think.
What the hell?
His chest and abs are chiseled perfection.

Zach walks towards me, the air steamy thanks to my hot shower. I readjust the grip on my towel.

With a fluid motion, he holds up his shirt and slips the neck hole over my head.

Chivalrous
, I think.
And messed up.

I fumble around, not sure what I’m doing as he guides first one arm and then the other through the armholes. Then he smoothes the cotton fabric down my back. The shirt’s big enough to hang to my mid thighs. I’m able to shimmy out of my towel without flashing him. It’s too late at night, and this is all too weird and I can’t help but feel my distinct lack of underwear. I turn around to hang the towel on its hook.

No sooner do I turn, though, than Zach hugs me from behind and presses his lips to the nape of my neck. I drop my towel and reach back and grasp his bare shoulder while he proceeds to run his hands over my stomach, his fingers taking note of my curves. I gasp and lean my head back as his kisses become more fervent. My eyelids flutter shut and my breathing is labored now. “Zach,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”

“I’m tired of being your friend, okay? It’s killing me.”

I turn and his lips find mine immediately. The kiss is everything I dreamed of—literally. His hands press me firmly against his body, and the skin of his neck and chest is soft and smooth under my fingertips.

His fingers dig into the thin fabric of his shirt I’m wearing, and I break off the kiss before this goes too far. For a long moment we just stand there, our foreheads together, our breathing heavy. His fingers trace along my hairline as he pushes stray strands back from my face. It’s obvious he’s stressed and not entirely in his right mind.

I could have him tonight. That much is obvious. I could unfasten his jeans, slide them off, and lead him over to my bed, and he’d go with it. We’d keep each other up until all hours, burning off all the stress and frustration between us, and I bet he’d still talk to me in the morning.

But I also know enough about bad ways to hook up to recognize this for what it is. A distraction. Confusion. Him feeling all alone in the world with no one to turn to. Our fight clearly rattled his foundations, and this is his way of trying to bind me to him so that he doesn’t feel so isolated.

Those eyes of his search mine, trying to read me and coming up blank.

I exhale and press my lips to his again, gently this time. His arms tighten around me at once, but I don’t escalate. Instead, I lead him over to the bed, climb in, and tuck the covers around me before I pull him to lie down next to me. This is a pretty pathetic way to avoid having sex or feeling each other up, but that isn’t what he needs right now—or what he really wants.

He settles himself beside me and leans in for more hungry kisses, which I return with equal fervor, stroking my fingers along his shoulders to help him relax. “I’m here, okay?” I whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Kyra,” he whispers. “I’ve wanted to be with you ever since we met.”

“When I acted all awkward and stupid in the restaurant?”

“No, I got it. Your friends were trying to seduce the three of us, and you… You’re not like that.”

Yeah, he really doesn’t know me at all.

“So I don’t ever want to push you further than you want to go. We’ll take this at your pace. Just be with me.”

I shut my eyes. How to get out of
this
mess? He’s the one being coddled here, but he hasn’t got a clue.

I’m too tired to figure out how to fix this. I just kiss and hold him and tell him over and over that it’ll be all right and that I’m here for him until he falls asleep in my arms. Only then do I let myself cry. How did I screw this up so badly? The moment he learns who I really am, he’ll ditch me and not look back. Hours ago, that would have hurt. Now, after this? It’ll feel like having my still-beating heart ripped out of my chest.

From this angle, all I can see is his shoulder and the line of his jaw and his back rising and falling. I run my fingers over his cheekbone. At least for this moment, he’s mine. I try to be content with that.