“All right, I’ll talk to her,” Thea said at last.
“No.” Noah knew Kit, knew this had to come from him. “I’m going to drive over to her place. We’ll call you once we’ve sorted things out between ourselves.”
N
oah drove to Kit’s
in his Mustang, the top down. The gleaming black convertible had two silver stripes front to back and was even more distinctive a vehicle than Fox’s Aventador.
He saw the TV vans and photographers milling around her gate the instant he hit her street. Kit clearly hadn’t emerged yet because the media had that bored air to them that shouted disappointment. All that changed the instant a blond paparazzo spotted his car.
A lightning strike of camera flashes.
Taking a deep breath, he slowed down instead of blasting through the paps with his horn blaring. They actually allowed him to turn so that his car was in front of Kit’s gate, likely because that gave them a shot of him heading to see her, but then they swarmed.
He braced his arm on the door, a lazy grin on his face that he’d perfected long ago. People didn’t look too deep when they saw that grin, figuring that was who he was. “Lovely morning isn’t it?” he drawled into the microphones thrust at him.
Grins all around.
“Noah!” shouted one TV reporter. “Is it true? You and Kathleen are a couple?”
Smile deepening, he slipped off his sunglasses. “You want to get me in trouble this early in the day, Jessa?” he asked, playing the reporter like a fish on a hook.
“Come on, Noah, give us something.”
“No comment.” He laughed to take the sting out of it, slipped his sunglasses back on. “I might have one after I talk to a certain gorgeous woman, but you have to let me through first.”
They drew back, sensing juicier news to come if they gave him what he wanted. Hoping that news wouldn’t be a black eye, he roared down the drive after Butch opened the gate, the bodyguard’s flinty gaze ensuring no one dared attempt to sneak in behind Noah.
Kit threw open her front door as he brought the convertible to a stop in front of the house. Around the corner and distant from the gate, they had absolute privacy.
Stalking out to meet him as he vaulted out of the car, she put both hands on his chest and shoved. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” Her eyes sparked fire at him. “I saw you on the security cameras! You just turned this ridiculous rumor into an unkillable monster!”
“It had to be done,” he said, standing his ground. “Thea says if we—”
“Thea called you?” She gritted her teeth. “I’m going to fire her. I don’t care if she’s my friend.”
“No, you won’t. Because she’s the best in the business and she’s right.”
Ignoring his words, she stormed back into the house, her jeans-clad legs eating up the ground.
He followed, knowing where she was heading even before she used the kitchen entrance to step out into her garden. Deciding to let her stew in private, he found the green tea he knew she kept in an upper cupboard, brewed it up for her in the little ceramic pot with a metal handle. He was probably fucking it up, but it was the thought that counted right?
Putting the pot and the tiny Japanese-style handleless teacups on a tray, he grabbed a bunch of cookies from her stash and took the tray out to her. She was weeding with bare hands, her jewel-green nails bright against the weeds and her gray T-shirt as old and soft as his black one.
He put the tray on the wooden picnic table and poured her a cup. Taking it to her, he hunkered down by her side and held it out.
“You are not pacifying me with tea.”
Shrugging, he sat down with his legs stretched out in front of him and drank it himself—or tried to. “Ugh. Still just as disgusting.”
“It is not disgusting. It’s the best
sencha
you can get.” She grabbed the cup from him and took several sips of the hot liquid. “What was that? By the gate?”
“That was me being your friend.”
Putting the cup back in his hand, she continued to weed. “That was you being a troublemaker.” She went to pull something out, seemed to realize it wasn’t a weed, and patted the soil back in place. “Now everyone’s going to expect us to be a couple.”
“They already did.”
“Thea might have been able to defuse that.”
“Not fast enough.” He offered her more tea.
She emptied the cup, then sat on the earth, her eyes no longer on the garden. “You can’t keep it up, Noah.” It was a strained statement. “Playing the adoring boyfriend.”
He’d never had any fucking trouble adoring Kit. “I will. I promise you that.” When she looked away, he continued to speak. “I’ve never promised you anything before, Kit—that’s because when I make a promise, I don’t break it.” And he’d known he couldn’t give her what she needed. Not then. Nothing much had changed. He was still an asshole, but he
would
protect Kit. That was his motivation, and fuck if he’d mess it up. “I won’t let you down.”
Her gaze was raw with emotion when she finally looked at him again. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
Her pain was like knives plunging into him, slicing through his gut to leave him open and bleeding. “I can’t give you what you need in so many ways,” he said, ripping his heart open for her, “but I can help your career. I can do that. Let me, Kit. Please.” He’d never begged for anything, but he’d crawl on his hands and knees for this small chance at redemption.
Eyes stark, Kit shook her head. “How can I accept that?” A rasped whisper. “How can I use my friend?”
“You’re not using me.” He dared lay one hand against her cheek, his fingers brushing the rich silk of her hair. “I’m offering to help. That’s what friends do, right? Support each other. Let me support you in public. Let me be that guy.”
Even if I can never be good enough to be your guy.
Kit’s throat moved. Not saying a word, she dusted off her hands and got up, went to the table. “Come and drink some tea.”
He took a seat, allowed her to refill his cup. Pouring another one for herself, she sat on the other side of the table. “Harper called ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah?” Not about to drink the tea but holding the cup for its warmth, his own skin chilled, he said, “What did she say?”
“Same thing Thea did. I’m apparently on everyone’s radar all at once. She’s had multiple ‘feeling things out’ calls—no one ready to commit, but people letting her know they’re watching to see how I conduct myself in the spotlight.”
Noah put aside the tea and took a cookie. It was sugar spice and it was delicious. “Pisses you off doesn’t it?”
Renewed fire in her eyes. “Hell yes. I’m a good actress who busts her balls and barely gets a little grudging recognition, but then I go out with a random musician and boom, I’m hot property?”
“Ouch.”
“You deserved it.” She bit into a cookie, chewed. “Will you humiliate me?”
The quiet question erased the laughter, made his blood go cold. “No,” he said. “Never. I promise you that.”
He knew why she was having trouble believing his promises; he might’ve never said the words out loud when they’d been friends the first time around, but it had been implied. A promise not to hurt. A promise to care. A promise to love.
“Kit.” He wanted to reach for her hand, but she’d curled it into a fist in a silent rejection. “What I did? I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Never again will I hurt you on purpose. You have my word.”
“The groupies? Can you resist them?”
“I’ve never had a problem resisting them.” He didn’t pick up women because he was attracted to them or because he had a giant ego he needed to massage.
At Kit’s open disbelief, he thrust both hands through his hair. “Whether you want to trust me or not, you have to. There’s no other option unless you want to destroy everything you’ve spent years building.”
K
it knew he was
right. It was infuriating, but he was right. She could lose her entire career because the media and the public were fascinated by a relationship that could never be. The idea of starting from close to scratch again, of going through all the rejections and closed doors, it was hard to think about. But just as hard was remembering the pain Noah could so carelessly dish out.
He’d said he wasn’t going to humiliate her, but how could she believe him, given his track record? She couldn’t. All she could do was trust in their friendship. Because one thing she did know about Noah—he didn’t let his friends down. Come concert time, he was always onstage no matter what he’d gotten up to the night before.
“All right,” she whispered. “But only until
Redemption
is cast. Whether that’s a yes or a no for me, things should have cooled down enough that Thea can finagle a breakup that leaves us both in a good place.”
She kept on speaking before he could reply. “Everyone understands friends to lovers doesn’t always work. As long as you don’t get caught with a woman in the interim, we should be fine.”
Noah’s face was strained, and she had the feeling this was hurting him, but she couldn’t sugarcoat things. False truths would only hurt them both in the end. As it was, she wasn’t sure she could survive pretending he was hers for even a short three or four weeks. It was like being handed the most wonderful gift in the world, only to be told it wasn’t really yours. It was just on loan. You couldn’t touch, couldn’t have. Just pretend.
“Deal,” he said and took a deep breath, then released it. “If we want to keep the media on our side, we have to give them a bite.”
Kit felt her jaw muscles lock but nodded. “Let’s drive out, grab a coffee.”
“I’ve got a better idea. How about I take you to breakfast at Pierre Baudin?”
“I think you have delusions of grandeur,” she said, relieved to be back on a normal footing. “That place is booked up months in advance.” Even though it had only opened six months ago, Chef Pierre Baudin’s cafe and restaurant was quickly becoming “the” place to see and be seen.
Noah’s eyes sparkled. “Watch and learn.” Pulling out his phone, he made a call, said, “
Bonjour, mon ami
.” A pause. “Fuck you, JP, you know that’s the only French I know.” It was said with the ease of a man who knew the person on the other end wouldn’t take offense. “Yeah, yeah. So, can you fit in my girl and me today?”
My girl.
The words stabbed at her.
Kit forced herself to breathe past it. She’d have to do that in public, couldn’t afford to betray just how much the charade was hurting her. The media saw everything, and if this was going to work, she had to put on the performance of her life.
“Thanks—and oh yeah, we come with a paparazzi entourage who’ll splash your place everywhere you want it splashed.” Hanging up on a stream of what sounded like curses on his birth, Noah grinned. “And we’re in.”
“Since when do you know temperamental chefs who’ve taken restaurants to the coveted third Michelin star? And what’s with calling him JP?”
“Remember the whole boarding-school-as-networking thing? JP was there—his full name is Jean Pierre Baudin.” He scowled. “Christ, that means my father was right.”
“Ah well.” She patted his hand. “At least he need never know that you networked your way to a table at
the
hottest place in town.” Getting up, she said, “Let me change.” While Noah could turn up in disreputable jeans and a plain black T-shirt, his feet clad in heavy black boots with more than one scar and scuff, she had to be done up to the nines or the gossip blogs would immediately start printing tut-tutting stories about how it was a shame she’d let herself go.
Life really was unfair.
T
he next three days
were surreal. Kit had had no idea just how many people had secretly been hoping for a hookup between her and Noah. “It’s like this giant underground network of Noah and Kathleen shippers,” she said to Thea and Molly when she met the two women for coffee later that week. Becca hadn’t been able to make it, so Kit planned to catch up with her the following morning.
Today, she, Thea, and Molly were at a cafe down the road from Thea’s office, seated around a sunny outdoor table. The odd photographer had snapped a shot, but for the most part, they were left alone. Kathleen Devigny with girlfriends wasn’t as good a score, financially speaking, as Kathleen Devigny with Noah St. John.
“They call themselves the NoKats.”
Mouth falling open at Thea’s response, Kit shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head. “
NoKats
? Are you kidding me? We already have a nickname?”
“You always did,” Thea said, sanguine and in control as always, her sleek black hair in an elegant twist at the back of her head and her golden-skinned face expertly made up. “It was low level, nothing worth bothering about. People love shipping fantasy couples, and most of the time it doesn’t go anywhere.”
“But—”
“All these years while you hung out with Schoolboy Choir,” Thea said, slicing into her blueberry muffin, “you had to know fans were starting to imagine things.”
“Why with Noah?”
“The chemistry, babe,” Thea said after chewing and swallowing a bite of her muffin. “But it wasn’t just Noah. The AbKats are bummed. The KatiDid and DeFox groups already threw in the towel since Molly and I had the bad form to come between you and David and you and Fox.”
Eyes narrowed, Kit glared at a laughing Molly. “Your sister is making this up to screw with me, right?”
But Molly shook her head, her brown eyes teary with laughter and her creamy skin flushed. Pushing her beautiful tumble of black hair behind her ears, she spoke through her amusement. “Thea showed me one of the forums on the way here.” A hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. “I reckon the AbKats are still holding out hope you’ll dump Noah for Abe.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” Kit wished she’d ordered wine rather than iced green tea. “And who the hell came up with NoKats? At least you and Fox got Foxy.”
“Fox hates it, but I tell him at least it’s better than Folly.” Molly’s eyes danced as she reminded Kit of her suggestion. “David and Thea don’t have one though. How come?”
“Because I’m a PR specialist who doesn’t like to be in the media myself,” Thea said. “I quashed that little bug before it sprouted.”
“You couldn’t do the same for the NoKats?”
“Sorry, Kit, but the NoKats and co were good for your brand.” Thea checked an incoming e-mail. “They were just waiting to believe. Now they’re lighting up the Internet.”
Eating a bite of the carrot cake she’d split with Molly, Kit put down her fork. “This is getting out of control.” Panic beat at her—because instead of dying down, the attention only seemed to be gathering steam. “We’re never going to be able to walk away without damage.”
“It’s early days,” Thea said without the least tension in her voice. “You’re new and shiny. My spies tell me another new and shiny couple is forming in the wings as we speak—in a blatant attempt to steal some of your limelight—so you’ll get a breather soon.”
“Who?” Molly leaned forward, then winced. “Damn it, I’m supposed to stop with my celebrity-gossip addiction.”
“It’s not gossip.” Thea patted her sister’s hand. “It’s intel. And this manufactured hookup is going to be between Abigail Rutledge and Garrison Stone.”
Kit sucked in a breath. Abigail was the rumored frontrunner for the lead role in
Redemption
, and Garrison was said to be a shoo-in for lead male. Lowering her voice, she leaned toward the other women. They instinctively dipped their heads toward her.
“I didn’t want to jinx it by saying anything,” she whispered. “But Harper told me this morning that Esra might be considering me for the female lead rather than the secondary role.” Her heart thumped at even the idea of it.
“Oh my God.” Voice low but excited, Molly squeezed Kit’s hand.
Thea smiled, no hint of startled excitement on her face.
Spies, Kit reminded herself. Thea had spies everywhere. “But if Abigail’s got Garrison on her arm…”
“Pfft,” the publicist said after eating another bite of her muffin. “Garrison’s doing Abigail a favor because she once did him one, but they have no chemistry. Zero. Zilch. If I was their PR manager, I’d have nixed the idea. They’re only going to show the world—and Esra—exactly how bad they’d be as an on-screen couple.”
“Are you sure?” Kit frowned. “Abigail is an excellent actress and Garrison is brilliant.”
“I could be wrong,” Thea allowed. “It has happened once or twice in known history.” A wry smile. “Which is why it’s good you’ll be at Zenith with Noah this weekend.”
Kit’s stomach flipped. The outdoor festival was out of town, which meant everyone would expect her to share Noah’s bus. Zenith’s location made any other option impossible.
So far, she and Noah had gotten away with public “dates” and one night where he’d stayed in her guest bedroom, but there’d be no way to avoid the intimacy forced by the festival.
“Is it really worth it?” she said to both women.
Molly, who knew all about her history with Noah, touched her hand again, this time with the gentleness of a friend attempting to offer comfort. “Noah’s really happy to be able to help you. I think he’s…”
Thea sighed when Molly faded off. “Seriously you two, give it up. Information is my job. I know you”—a glance at Kit—“and Noah actually had a thing a while back, but since you kept it private, I didn’t interfere. Clearly it didn’t end well?”
Kit nodded, unable to say anything further.
But Thea was smart and she’d had her own bad breakup. “If it was caused by what I think caused it, then I give you major props for not cutting off his balls and throwing them in his face.”
“He didn’t cheat,” Kit said, because to cheat, you first had to make a commitment. Noah had never given her that.
Theirs had always been a mirage of a relationship.
S
tanding on the main
stage at Zenith on Friday morning, Noah plugged his guitar into the amplifier, checked the settings, and played a short solo—or tried to—to test the sound. A screech of feedback had him stopping with a wince. “Maxwell!” he yelled to the crew chief, who was working out in front of the stage. “You trying to blow out my eardrums?”
“If I was,” the bearded man yelled back, “they’d have gone boom!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Noah hunkered down to look at the various cables and connections, saw the problem just as one of Maxwell’s people came up and fixed it.
“Sorry, man,” he said to Noah. “Totally my screwup.”
“Forget it.” Shit happened. That was why Schoolboy Choir was out here this morning checking everything. They’d kick off the festival tonight with a big show, then do another set Saturday afternoon. The festival officially ended Sunday at midday, but Friday night and Saturday were the big events.
Zenith was one of Noah’s favorite festivals. This stage and the two smaller stages to the left and the right, open fields between them, were the only “buildings” around for what appeared to be miles. People brought their own tents to camp in, and the city supplied sanitation and medical facilities, while food trucks were plentiful.
Unlike other festivals that often descended into mud and alcohol-fueled fights that messed with the music, the organizers had done a great job of keeping Zenith wild—sometimes crazy wild—but trouble-free year after year.
Part of it had to do with the fact the festival was out in the middle of nowhere, which tended to create more of a tight atmosphere. The other factor was that it was a long haul to get here—the only people who made it this far were the true music fans. And they came in their thousands.
The grounds wouldn’t open for another four hours, but long lines had already formed at the gates as people waited to grab the perfect spot for their tents and catch some of the warm-ups.
“Yo, Noah,” Abe called out from where he stood by the keyboard. “You ready to try a run-through?”
“Yeah, let me just check this is good first.” This time it was pure, raw music that poured out of the speakers.
A cheer came from the direction of the far-off gates.
He smiled. “We got an audience boys, so let’s make it good.”
“I always make it good,” Fox said with a slow grin, cupping his hands around the microphone but keeping his head turned so his distinctively gritty voice wouldn’t carry. “Always.”
“All talk,” David said from the back, playing a quick beat that ended with a clash of the cymbals. “You know the quiet ones are the doers.”
“You white boys keep on talking.” Abe ran his fingers over the keys of his keyboard. “Meanwhile, the brother over here will smoke your asses.”
“Who you calling a white boy?” David said before bringing down the sticks in a fury of sound that cut off abruptly as he did that thing where he could simply shut down the drums.
Noah came in with his guitar right on cue, Abe flowed in, and then they all stopped and Fox’s voice roared out over the microphone.
It was like they’d never had the post-tour time off, the meld was so flawless. Over a month they’d gone without playing a proper set, and now it felt like coming home. He caught Abe’s grin, heard the sheer joy in Fox’s voice, sensed it in the flourishes David threw into the beat, felt it in the way his own fingers caressed the strings.
It was blood in his veins, the music, the energy that made his heart beat. Up here, with the music burning up the air and his closest friends in total synergy with him, there was no pain, no anger, no hopeless rage. There was just the sweet, pure beauty of music in every cell of his body, making him pure too.
Fingers moving over the strings, he let the music fill him. He used a pick occasionally when he was going to town on a seriously hard rock number, but even then, he’d been known to use his fingers. He liked the direct connection to the strings, and his fingertips had long ago become callused enough to take it.
Today he brought the song to an end with a guitar solo that had Fox grinning and calling out, “Hell yeah! Noah is in the
house
!”
Noah only became aware of the riotous cheers from the early birds when the last note faded from the air. Shoving his hand through his sweat-damp hair, he grinned a hello at Genevieve. The bass player was joining them for this concert and, having worked with Schoolboy Choir previously, had come smoothly into the mix when she arrived halfway through the song.
Happily married with three kids, Genevieve liked performing but didn’t want the pressure that came with being part of a band. Being a session musician suited her, and having her here freed Abe up from having to do double duty and lay down the bass line since Noah couldn’t play lead guitar and bass at the same time. The band had a few bass players they worked with for live performances, but Genevieve was their favorite.
“Sounds like we’re good to go,” Noah said to everyone. “We could leave now, go relax.”
Fox raised an eyebrow, David grinned, and Abe began the intro into another song while Genevieve had a rock-and-roll smile on lips she’d painted electric blue.
Laughing, Noah fell into it, and they played just for the fun of it, Genevieve working with them. Fox slung on his own guitar partway through, and the two of them dueled it out while Abe carried the song with his voice, then David challenged Noah and they had one hell of a jam session.
“Fuck, man,” Noah said afterward, his T-shirt sticking to his back. “How the hell do you keep that going?” Drumming was one of the most physically draining positions in a band.
David gave him a shit-eating grin, his teeth flashing white against the warm golden-brown tone of his skin. “I’m just in a good mood.”
“Oh, shut the hell up,” Abe growled. “Just because you’re getting laid on a regular basis doesn’t mean you have to rub our faces in it.”
David grinned harder. “Dry spell, huh? Sucks to be you.”
As the two exchanged more insults and comments while Genevieve looked on, Fox crouching down to talk to Maxwell about something to do with the mike, Noah guzzled a bottle of water and felt warmth spreading in his veins. Tonight he wouldn’t go home with some random groupie. Tonight he’d go home with his girl.
Yeah, it was pretend, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the beauty of it. Imagining Kit waiting backstage for him like Molly waited for Fox and Thea did for David on the days she could fly in to meet him, it made Noah’s insides twist into knots that didn’t hurt. They ached instead, and the ache was a good one.
Rubbing at his eyes, eyes grainy from lack of sleep, he pulled off the guitar. “I’m going to crash for a couple of hours.” At this point he was tired enough that he might actually get some sleep. “We hooking up for dinner?”
Fox nodded from where he was still crouched on the edge of the stage. “Catering truck’s coming in around four.”
They’d go onstage at six, so it was better they eat earlier. “I’ll see you then.” Taking his guitar with him because he’d fucking kill anyone who damaged the stunning instrument, he headed to the back of the stage and down. This entire area was blocked off from the public and lined neatly with equipment trucks and other behind-the-scenes stuff.
Schoolboy Choir’s tour buses were parked side by side behind all that, a buffer zone between them so the noise wouldn’t be too bad. Kind of a moot point for an outdoor concert, but the buses were insulated against noise, so it worked. He got into his bus using a thumbprint scan, and putting down his guitar soon as he was inside, kicked off his boots and socks before tugging off his sweaty T-shirt, leaving it all in a pile by the door.
His belt and jeans he tore off on his way to the back of the bus, and then he was falling flat on his face in bed, so exhausted after not sleeping in much more than short fits and starts over the past week that his mind just shut down.