ANTI-HERO
As Ford takes off down the highway, the rumble of the engine sends a burst of electricity sliding down my legs and straight to my toes. My stomach flips when he turns and smiles at me. It’s a devilish smile. A wicked one. Like we’re in on some crazy secret.
For a moment, I relish it. The wind from the open window leaves my hair swirling around me—the night is cold, but the frigid air is cleansing. Cathartic. The loud music pulsing through the car. The scent surrounding me. The car smells like man, like masculine woodsy cologne.
He’s nothing like Paul.
That little thought causes warning bells to go off in my brain. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Ford isn’t sitting beside me because I’m out on some secret escapade. He’s here because his son fucked around on me. And because I lost my damn mind and made a scene.
He’s merely doing his job as head of the record label. He’s cleaning up the mess.
I sink into the seat, turn my head toward the window, and close my eyes.
Far too quickly, we’re pulling up in front of my hotel. The sight makes my stomach drop. There isn’t another car or person around, but the last time I was here, I was stepping out these doors with Paul.
“Paul isn’t here. And if you want, we can move your things to another room.”
Embarrassment burns at the backs of my eyes, so I keep my face turned toward the passenger window. “Thanks,” I try to whisper, but the word barely makes it past the giant lump in my throat. I tilt my face down so my hair falls around it like a curtain and reach for the door handle, but I freeze when his warm palm lands on my thigh.
The touch seers me into a trance. Still hiding behind my hair, I suck in a breath as my eyes fly to where he grips my bare skin. It’s indecent-looking, his massive hand, tan and just a little weathered with age, against the pale skin of my upper thigh.
“Don’t move,” he instructs, as if he has no idea that his touch alone has left me paralyzed.
Obviously the contact had no effect on him. Naïve little Lake, always feeling too much, thinking too much, while the men around me just take and take and take.
He removes his hand, but I keep my focus trained on the space he just touched, wondering if it will look as branded as I suddenly feel. When he opens my door and holds out his hand, I have to shake myself from the haze that’s settled over me.
He’s your boyfriend’s father.
Ex-boyfriend, the devil on my shoulder taunts. It goes without saying the relationship was over the moment I found him sucking Clay’s cock.
The thought leaves me shivering.
Ford must think I’m cold, because he wraps an arm around me and pulls me to his side. “Let’s get you warmed up in your room.”
The fight has left me. The night’s events hit me all at once, like one punch to the gut after another, so I lean against his chest and allow him to lead me through the foyer.
Like magic, a woman wearing a name tag I don’t bother to read appears, holding out two key cards. She avoids glancing in my direction as she addresses Ford. “Both rooms are available. Let us know if we can do anything else to make your stay more comfortable, Mr. Hall.”
With a quick thanks, he guides me toward the elevator, scanning our surroundings as if he’s looking for reporters or paps. Not that either is necessary for a photo leak. Every person we encountered on our way out of the bar likely has a phone. Tomorrow’s story will probably imply that I cheated on Paul with his dad.
The irony.
I let out a heavy breath once the stainless-steel doors of the elevator slide closed. We made it, sight unseen, hopefully. Pressing my back against the cool metal wall, I shuffle to one side, distancing myself from the man that is currently dominating my thoughts.
“Which room do you want?” he asks, holding up the two cards. Unlike the woman, at least he realizes this is my choice. “The second suite is almost the size of the one you’ve been staying in.”
“I’ll stay where I was. All my stuff is there.”
He holds out one card, then pockets the other. When I step off the elevator, I turn to thank him, but he’s already following me off.
“Is your room on this floor too?” As far as I know, my suite takes up most of this level.
Ford frowns and takes a step closer. “I don’t have a room.”
Right. Why would he be staying here? His house is only an hour from Boston. He’ll probably just return the key when he leaves.
I sidestep him to catch the elevator door before it closes. “You don’t have to walk me to my room. I promise I won’t go back out.”
An exasperated breath leaves him, and he puts a hand to my hip and guides me down the hall. “Just let me take care of you tonight, okay?”
Jumbled thoughts rush together again as his proximity and words leave me dizzy. He can’t possibly plan to—
Okay, yes, he is walking me to my door. As I stare stupidly at him, he takes the key I’m still holding and slaps it against the sensor above the handle. When the light flashes green, he pushes the door open and ushers me inside.
Ford doesn’t stop moving. He walks straight through the living area, passing the kitchenette and the seating area and the gorgeous view of the Boston skyline out the floor-to-ceiling windows until we’re standing outside the double doors that lead to the bedroom. He pulls them open, then spins around and steps around me. “It’s all set.”
Confused and exhausted and still slightly buzzed—okay, majorly buzzed—I take a tentative step into the room, but wobble on my heels. Ford is by my side and catching me before I can tell him I’m fine.
He grumbles and points to the couch. “Let me help you get these off.”
My clothes?
“The buckles on the heels. You’ll fall over trying to get out of them.”
Right. Of course he’s not asking me to take my clothes off in front of him. That’d be insane.
I swat at his hand, determined to deal with it myself, but stumble again as I do.
Without another word, he grasps my hips and manhandles me, practically lifting me off the ground as he steers me toward the couch. He feels so much bigger right now. Or maybe the night has made me smaller. Like my stature shrank right along with my spirit.
“You promised you’d listen,” he says with a tick of his jaw and his brow cocked up at me.
I let out a long breath. “To not going out. Not to all your orders. You’re not my father.”
“Thank god for that.”
“Excuse me?” My pulse beats wildly at his remark. Maybe this isn’t my finest moment, but he spawned the asshat who caused all of this.
Ford sighs and takes a step back. “That’s not what I meant. Just—could you please sit down so I can help you?”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I’m too tired to argue, so I obey. But as soon as I settle on the couch, I go for the clasp of one shoe.
The growl that emanates from the man in front of me makes me freeze on the spot.
“Did you just growl at me?”
Kneeling, he grasps my foot and makes quick work of the buckle. Then he switches to the other one. When he finishes, he doesn’t release my ankle. With a heavy breath and with his attention still locked on my foot, he says, “I’m trying to do the right thing. My son was a bastard, and you deserve better.” He brushes his thumb over my ankle in the gentlest caress. “Please go into your room, take off this outfit, and go to bed.”
I bite my lip and pull in an unsteady breath. What the hell is going on? He looks… tortured. Still clutching my ankle and refusing to look at me. The gravel in his tone. The way his chest rises and falls as if he’s having trouble getting enough air.
“I need my foot to do that,” I say, trying to break the tension.
He drops it immediately and shifts out of my way, but he still doesn’t look at me. As I reach the double doors, I peer over my shoulder and find he’s still kneeling on the floor beside the couch, his palm on the table as if he needs the support.
“Thank you for rescuing me. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
His shoulders rise and fall once before he pushes himself up and finally turns my way, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You were perfect, Lake. You’re always perfect.” The words are flattering, but the look in his eye is one of pure disappointment. An instant later, he turns toward the skyline, and I take that as my cue that I’m dismissed.
As I scrub off my makeup, I’m struck by just how quiet it is. The buzz in my ears from the concert is still so loud it almost drowns out my thoughts. After hours in front of a crowd, with constant shadows attending to my every need, I should relish the peace. Instead, the silence highlights how truly alone I am. Not a single person except the head of my label was around to pick up the pieces when my life fell apart. And Ford is only here because I make him a lot of money.
It’s his job to care.
His job to make sure I go back to being the perfect girl who always says the right things and acts the right way.
And it’ll be his job to find a way to spin his son’s actions.
On instinct, I suck in a harsh breath to stop the sob climbing up my throat from consuming me. Then, on second thought, I let my body take over. I lurch forward and slap my palms against the marble counter, giving my reflection a long, hard look. My red-rimmed eyes, the mascara streaking down my cheeks, my limp hair sticky with champagne. Why the hell am I trying to hold it all together? No one is here to witness my breakdown. I’m alone. Like always.
In a room of people, even when they’re screaming my name, I’m always alone. No one is ever truly there for me. They come for the singer, the entertainer. Everyone wants her and what she can provide. I’m the show, nothing more.
For once, I want someone who wants me, the woman under the makeup and far from the spotlight, with all my faults and insecurities. Shutting off the light, I take a deep breath and shuffle into the bedroom, then I climb into my bed, pull the covers over my head, and cry.
A low rumble wakes me. From the sound of the loud hissing coming from one of the rooms near mine, whoever it is must be pissed. I swipe the sleep from my eyes and crack an eye open. The light in the room is blinding, making my head pound. I pull the sheet over my head and blink a few times to wake myself up. Between the effects of the alcohol and the crying, today is going to suck.
At the sound of another angry rumble followed by a few low curses, I turn over in bed and face the opposite direction.
As I’m sliding the pillow over my head to block out the noise, I spot the aspirin and bottle of water on the bedside table.
Hmm. I don’t remember putting that there.
I snag the water, noting how cool it is. Like it hasn’t been sitting for long. Pushing that thought aside, I haul myself up against the headboard and take a sip, then pop the aspirin into my mouth too.
“This isn’t a fucking vacation,” the voice growls.
Damn, the angry man’s voice is so close it sounds like it’s coming from my suite. This is ridiculous.
I throw the comforter back and jump out of bed, stomping as I go. Maybe if I make a lot of noise, the person who broke into my room will get scared and run out. I grasp both handles and yank, pulling the double doors open so hard they slam into the walls on either side, and immediately let out a loud scream.
There’s a man sitting on my couch.
Why am I screaming? I knew I wasn’t alone. Logically I should not be freaking out right now. Okay, maybe I should be, but I should be freaking out from inside the locked bathroom while I call security. I should not have opened this damn door.
The man raises his head, and when he does, his eyes bug out and his jaw drops.
My screams finally come to a stop as I realize it’s Paul’s father, not a stranger.
Ford Hall.
Otherwise known as my boss.
Kind of.
Whoever he is to me, he’s not someone I want to be screaming at in my hotel room at eight a.m.
“Shit, I gotta go.” He hangs up the phone and stands, running a hand over the front of his rumpled pants. Pants I’m pretty sure he wore last night. The blue shirt is familiar too. The scruffy face and tired eyes are new, and his dark hair threaded with just a hint of gray has never looked this mussed.
“Did you…” I blink at him and point at the couch. “Did you sleep here?”
Ford Hall doesn’t do sheepish, so he doesn’t shrink back under my interrogation. He simply nods at the table. “Didn’t want you to be alone. Ordered breakfast. I’m sure you’re hungry after last night.”
Starving, in fact, but I’m far too embarrassed by what he witnessed last night, and now I’m stuck on what he just said.
Didn’t want me to be alone?
My manners kick in, finally, and command my next words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night and make you sleep on the couch.”
With a shake of his head, he settles back against the cushion. “Just eat. I’m fine.”
What I should do is shower before the entire PR team walks in here. “When will Samantha be here?” I ask as I play with the necklace I must have forgotten to remove last night.
Ford’s only response is a frown.
“Oh shit. Is this worse than Samantha? Is Lisa on her way?” Lisa is Ford’s number two. She’s probably working this already.
“Why would they come here?”
My stomach twists as blurry images of last night float through my mind. “I’m sure my phone is blowing up. I made a huge scene. So what are we doing to fix this?”
“Nothing,” Ford says, draping one arm along the back of the couch, as if it’s that simple.
My heart lurches at that. Why isn’t he yelling at me? “Huh?”
“My son fucked up. He’s going to own it.” His glare is back, but it’s aimed at his phone now.
“Your son doesn’t own anything unless someone buys it for him.”
He dips his chin and grumbles words I don’t understand, but my stomach chooses that moment to growl, so I give up in favor of food.
“I don’t drink coffee,” I remind him when I see the carafe in the middle of the breakfast spread. I’m being bitchy, but my patience is all used up. I’m annoyed at Paul, absolutely, but I’m also annoyed at Ford. How can he act like this isn’t a big deal? I can only imagine the field day the press is having. We should have been up and working with the PR team before dawn.
Without looking up from his phone, he says, “I had them bring chai tea and chocolate milk. Help yourself to whatever you want.”
How did he know that’s what I drink? My heart beats out an irregular rhythm at the thought that he noticed something so simple.
I pick up the cup of tea and take a sip. The hum of approval slips from me before I can stop it. It only takes a few seconds for my heart to steady, and I remember my manners. I spin and pull my shoulders back, set on fixing my otherwise bad behavior. “Thank you for the tea. And breakfast. I’m sorry for biting your head off.”
Ford blinks at his phone and taps what appears to be another angry message into it. Then he pockets it and looks up at me. This time his gaze isn’t so cold. In fact, it feels as if he’s seeing me for the first time. My skin heats under his intense scrutiny.
“Are you not wearing pants?” he asks, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.
Shit. I glance down and find that I am, in fact, not wearing pants. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” I rush out, crossing my legs and tugging at the front of my oversized T-shirt. The move makes the back rise, so I set my tea on the table and hold both sides, then I waddle sideways all the way to my room. “I’m just going to get changed.”
Ford stands up and shakes his head, smoothing out the front of his pants again. “No, it’s your hotel room. I’ll get out of your way. Mel can’t get here till tomorrow, but I can be back in an hour. Will you be all right till then?”
“Mel?”
“Melina,” he says slowly. “Your best friend, right?”
I tug on the hem of my shirt a little harder and nod. “Yes, she’s my best friend. But why is she coming here?”
Oh God, are they replacing me on my own tour? With my best friend? Mel has just as many fans as I do. In fact, I’d say the majority of my fans also love her. And she puts on a great show without all the drama that follows me.
Ford sighs, and his shoulders sag. “Figured we could announce that she’ll be joining you for the next few dates. That should take some of the heat off the break-up.”
For the first time in the last twelve hours or so, I feel a modicum of relief. “That’s brilliant.”
Ford’s face brightens like my compliment actually affects him. “Glad you think so. So I’ll just—” He points to the door. It’s a little awkward and so unlike Ford Hall. It’s kind of adorable.
“Right. Yes. You go. I’ll be here,” I say, waddling toward my room again, “not doing crazy things like dancing on bars or walking around without pants in front of my boyfriend’s father.”
“Ex,” he growls.
I stumble a bit and have to let go of my shirt with one hand to gain my balance. “Right. Yes. Excellent. Ex-boyfriend. Let’s make that clear.” With that, I spin, tug on the back of my T-shirt, and rush into the bedroom, praying Ford and I can both forget the last fifteen minutes ever happened.
