Authors: K.L. Middleton,Cassie Alexandra,Kristen Middleton
Tiffany
“For real?” asked Felicia, staring at me from across the salon, her eyes wide.
It was the day after my audition, and we were the only people in the salon, save for our two customers seated before us.
“Yup,
and
he had his sister call me. He asked her to try and talk me out of continuing with the contest.”
She put a hand on her waist. “Did you tell them both to kiss your fucking ass?”
I glanced towards her customer, expecting a look of disapproval on her elderly face, but instead, she stared back at me with a straight face, and said, “Fucking-snot-boogers.”
It was then that I remembered, it was old Mrs. Conway who has Tourette’s Syndrome.
Trying not to laugh, I replied, “Not in those exact words,” I said, raising my customer’s chair. “But basically, yes.”
“Good, because if you would have agreed, I would have had to slap you silly.”
“And I’d deserve it.”
“So, why does he want you to drop out?”
“I’m not really sure. Maybe he thinks I suck.”
“You don’t suck. You have a great voice. Obviously, Tyrone and that other judge thought so too,” replied Felicia.
I sighed. “Still, he voted ‘No’.”
She waved her hand. “He’s obviously a real idiot.”
“Maybe, but there has to be a reason why he wants me to drop out. Maybe it’s because we know each other, and
he’s
afraid of getting kicked off the show?”
“Past tense. You
knew
each other.”
“Still, I just can’t believe he asked Remy to work on me.”
“You actually
know
Ransom?” asked the seventeen-year-old girl in my chair. I thought she’d been too involved with the magazine she was reading, until I saw a picture of Ransom on the page in front of her. Another young fan.
“Not really. I mean, I knew him before he was famous.”
She sighed dreamily. “Is he as gorgeous in real life as he is on television?”
“Cock-bite-shithead,” murmured Mrs. Conway.
Smiling, I turned back to my customer. “Well…”
Just then the front door of the salon jingled, letting us know that someone had entered. I stepped around the partition to see who it was, and nearly dropped my comb.
Ransom.
Along with two men, who I assumed were
his
bodyguards, although, at six-foot-four, he towered over the both of them.
Taking a deep breath, I set the comb down on the counter. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute, Eve.”
“Okay.”
Ransom stared at me with such intensity as I moved towards him, that I was suddenly conscious of every step I took.
Nobody had a right to look that handsome
, I thought. The fact that he was dressed in a tight, white T-shirt with low-riding jeans, and had obviously spent
some
kind of time in the gym didn’t help matters either.
“Ransom,” I said. “What an unexpected surprise.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You left out ‘pleasant’.”
I smiled coolly. “Did I?”
He let out a low, rumbly chuckle and something whirled in my stomach.
I folded my arms under my chest. “What do you want?”
He looked around. “This is a salon, right? Isn’t it obvious?” he said, running a hand through his long hair. “I need a haircut.”
“I see that. Let me check when Felicia is available,” I said, grabbing the schedule. There was no way in hell I was going to cut his hair.
He stepped closer to the counter and leaned forward. “Are you available?” he asked in a low voice. “Because you’re the only one I want touching me.”
I knew what he meant but it didn’t stop my cheeks from burning. I stared down at the schedule, petrified of looking up into those silvery eyes. “I’m busy right now,” I replied softly. “If you can come back in an hour, I might be able to fit you in.”
He tapped his fingers on the counter. “That’s fine, my afternoon is free. I’ll just wait here.”
Crap.
“Uh, are you sure? There’s a coffee shop next door, maybe you’d like to wait over there instead?” I asked, looking up. “It might be awhile.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Ms. Banks, are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Isn’t it the other way around?” I said quickly, unable to stop myself.
Our eyes held for a few seconds, and then he grinned. “Touché.”
I pointed towards a stack of magazines sitting on the coffee table over in the lounge. “Well, if you are going to stay, there are some magazines to keep you busy. We also have a soda machine in back, if you need caffeine or sugar.”
He nodded, and ran a hand through his wavy dark hair. “Thanks.”
“You bet.”
He turned back towards his security guards, murmured something, and seconds later they left the salon without him.
I put down the pen and nodded. “Um, I’ll be back at my station if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, walking over towards the magazines. He picked up one of the tabloids and snorted. “Looks like I made the cover again. Oh, and look, I’m a father of triplets.”
My eyes widened. “Triplets?”
He walked over to the garbage can, and threw the magazine away. “Fuck! The bullshit they come up with.”
“So, it’s not true?”
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“My friend told me that there is usually some truth about all of those stories,” I replied stiffly. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. As if I was gullible.
“The only thing true about that particular magazine is the month and year on the cover. Don’t believe everything you hear or see.”
“So in other words, you’re not an out-of-control rock star who drinks too much, drives like a bat out of hell, and gets tested monthly for AIDS?”
“Rolling Stone
may
have exaggerated a little. I always use a condom, and don’t need to be tested for AIDS nearly that much. I also don’t drive when I’m trashed. At least not that I can remember.”
“They had you all wrong, then,” I replied with a smirk.
He grinned and then picked up a magazine with a sexy model on the front. “Looks like Sela Royce is pregnant.”
“Do you know her?” I asked, remembering that Sela had once been engaged to Sinclair’s boyfriend.
“I only knew her one night,” he said, grinning wickedly. “At least, that’s what
she
said. I guess I was too shitfaced to recall much of anything.”
I shook my head. “You’re really messed up, you know that?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hey, she’s the one who took advantage of me when I was hammered. You tell me who’s more messed up?”
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s tough being me,” he went on, sitting down near the window. “Women are always trying to take advantage of me. I mean, hell, God not only gave me a decent voice, but he also made me irresistible. It’s damn exhausting.”
“Same old Ransom, I see. Cocky and arrogant.”
“I wish I was the same old Ransom,” he answered, his face growing serious. He opened up the magazine, and started flipping through it. “So, I guess I’ll be right here when you’re ready for me.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering if he was breaking some kind of ‘American Icon’ rule by being here, and if so, why he was risking it. I knew one thing; there was no way in hell I’d let him talk me out of dropping out of the contest. I didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but I wasn’t the young girl he once knew, nor was I easily manipulated.
Ransom
I stretched my legs out and yawned as I caught glimpses of Tiffany while she cut her client’s hair. I’d been up most of the night again, this time sober, which was rare. But, I needed to clear my head and figure out how I was going to persuade her to drop out of the competition.
Taffy.
Seeing her today only strengthened my resolve. She was still naïve and much too innocent for Hollywood. I’d witnessed firsthand how tainted the road to superstardom could be, and if she went all the way, I was convinced that, like me, she’d lose herself, and regret making the wrong choices for the rest of her life.
Our eyes met briefly again as she peeked around the partition, and I bit back a smile. From the way she’d blushed, it was obvious that she still had a little crush on me, just like when she was a teenager. But she wasn’t in junior high anymore, and the young, doe-eyed girl I remembered had grown into a beautiful, sexy young woman. One I had to remember, was off limits.
But
damn
had she blossomed.
It didn’t help that today she wore a short, yellow sundress that emphasized her toned legs, and delicate tanned shoulders. The horny bastard that I was, pictured her thighs wrapped around my waist, her blond hair fanned behind her head, and my jeans seemed to shrink.
Dammit.
I had to stop thinking of her in that way. This was Tiffany. I seriously needed to clear my fucking head.
She said something to the girl in her chair, and then they both peeked around the partition at me, giggling. It brought me back to the years when I still lived at home with my family. It seemed like yesterday that Tiffany and Remy used to play hopscotch or rollerblade on the driveway while I practiced with my old band,
Soul Bandits
, in the garage. I could usually catch a glimpse of the two of them through the window, and it always brought a smile to my face when they’d lip-sync, or dance to one of our songs. In those days
Soul Bandits
had been more of a cover band, although I usually slipped in a couple of the songs I’d written at each performance. Eventually, we were playing at parties, weddings, and local dive bars, until we’d graduated to the larger venues. Then, when I’d entered the American Icon contest on a dare four years ago, and had actually won, everything changed, including my friendship with the guys from the band. Instead of being happy and supportive, they blamed me for the band crumbling.
“Can’t you get another singer?” I’d asked Robby, the lead guitarist, and my best friend. “At least until this thing is over?”
“You just don’t get it, man,” he’d said. “We’re a team, and your voice is part of what makes us what we are. Shit, Ransom, it holds us
together
, bro. You leave, and it will
never
be the same.”
“So, what do you want me to do? Turn it all away? We’re talking about millions of dollars, Robby, and a chance to go all the way to the top. You seriously expect me to give that up? I would never lay that kind of pressure on you, man.”
Robby sighed. “No, of course not. Just… don’t forget about us. In fact, force them to sign all of us on now that you’ve won. We’re a team, for Christ’s sake.”
Unfortunately, I’d signed my life away when I’d originally entered the singing contest. Not only was I appointed a brand new band, hand-selected by the show’s sponsoring record producers, but every decision regarding my career was taken from me. I had no control of anything, and all because I’d been a cocky, arrogant punk who thought he’d known what he was doing, and hadn’t bothered to read the fine print.
“Hey.”
I’d been staring blindly at one of the magazines when the other stylist, an attractive mocha-skinned woman, with thick, false lashes and a blonde weave approached me. With her hourglass figure and round booty, she reminded me of one of the chicks in my last music video.
“Hey there,” I replied, sitting up.
“Hey, Mr. Ransom,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve got something I want to say.”
I smiled. “It’s just Ransom.”
She raised her hand, and I stared in awe at her long, blue nails, wondering how anyone could cut hair with those talons. “Whatever, just listen up, okay? I don’t know what kind of game you’re playin’, but my girl, Tiffany, she can sing. With a voice like that, she don’t need to be cutting hair, or any of this shit, so quit doing whatever it is that you’re doing, and let her be, you know what I’m saying?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Whatever it is that I’m doing?”
She glared at me. “Don’t play me, Mr. rock star, okay? I’m not twenty-one, and I’m not wet behind the ears. Stay out of Tiffany’s way in this contest. You got yours, and now it’s her turn to get hers.”
“But –”
“Na… na… na… ” she said, wagging her index finger. “No buts. Just let the girl reach for her own stars, and keep your ass planted on the ground, far away from her. You feel me?”
“Ah… I guess.”
She pursed her lips, and glared at me. “You guess? Let me tell you something –”
“Hey, what’s going on over here?” asked Tiffany, coming up behind the other stylist.
“It’s all good, I’m just welcoming Mr. Celebrity into our salon, Tiff,” said the woman, turning away. She walked back to her customer, hips swaying with attitude. “Make sure he understands a few things.”
Tiffany raised her eyebrows.
I shrugged.
“Could you do me a favor?” asked Tiffany.
“What?”
“My customer, Eve, wants your autograph, but she’s too shy to ask you herself.”
I looked over at the young girl peeking around the room divider, and winked at her, making her giggle. “Of course.”
Tiffany handed me a notepad and pen. “Thanks, Ransom.”
When I finished writing, I handed the notepad back to Tiffany, and she read it. “To Eve, dream big, and never lose sight of yourself. Ransom,” she smiled. “Oh, that’s very sweet.”
“Yep, that’s me. Sweet,” I replied dryly.
She chuckled. “So, I’m almost done with Eve. You still doing okay?”
I cracked a smile and stretched my arms behind my head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m doing just fine here.”
I was actually doing better than fine. For the first time in a while, I was doing something completely normal – waiting to get my hair cut without bodyguards or media annoying the fuck out of me.
“Well, good.”
“Just take your time,” I said, closing my eyes. “I don’t mind waiting.”