Risky Rockstar: A Hero Club Novel, стр. 74
Benji places a hand on my shoulder, and I stand, shrugging his clammy paw off me. “You’re a slimy piece of shit, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. But I’m a rich slimy piece of shit, and you’re going to see to it that I get richer. Let’s call Kade and give him the good news, shall we?”
My stomach twists. Kade is not going to forgive me for this.
Benji presses a button on his phone, and the secretary answers.
“Yes, Mr. Pike?”
“Virginia, get Kade Tennick on the line.”
My heart bashes against my rib cage eight times before Kade answers.
“Kade, you’re on speaker with the lovely Ms. Stephens.”
My stomach turns.
“I just wanted to tell you Ms. Stephens has agreed to do the interview. So it’s on. I’ll have a car come and fetch you. You two can leave the interview together in my car. Better for the publicity.”
“Hayley’s with you?” Kade’s voice snaps like a whip.
“She is.”
“And she wants to do the interview?”
“She’s excited about it. Aren’t you, Ms. Stephens?”
“I am.” My heart constricts, and the words choke me.
Kade is so silent that I assume the call has been cut until he answers. His voice is cold and distant, not at all like the way I’m used to hearing it.
“I guess I don’t have a choice, then.”
Benji leans back and smirks. “I love it when the talent gets with the program.”
I stand and walk to the door. I need to get some air.
Chapter 38
Hayley
Andy Kline, the producer, steps aside and ushers me and Benji’s driver into the room. My heart starts crashing against my chest the minute I see Kade gazing out the window. God, he’s gorgeous in ripped skinny jeans and a plain black T-shirt, his hands thrust deep into his pockets and a storm brewing on his face as he nods a brief hello.
Andy leaves and closes the door, and Kade looks out the window again. I knew when I agreed to do this interview that I’d essentially driven another nail into our relationship’s coffin, but seeing Kade standing there, so closed off and distant, has my stomach twisting violently.
“Are you okay?” My voice cracks with nerves as I take a step toward Kade.
He turns to look at me, then out the window. He doesn’t say anything, and I’m almost positive he’s just going to ignore me when he turns back to face me. Pulling his hands out his pockets, he crosses his arms over his chest. His mouth pulls in a taught line seconds before he opens it to speak.
“Can you clue me in on the plan here?”
I flick my gaze over to Benji’s guy, then look down at the floor.
“I mean, do I get to know how we’re gonna pull this off?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t, not with my personal watchman standing three feet away and staring right at me. I look up, willing Kade to understand with my eyes, but he just shakes his head.
“You won’t talk to me, but you want to go on the air and wax lyrical about our relationship to millions of listeners when I don’t have any idea what’s going on with you right now? Do we even have a relationship to talk about?”
My throat constricts, and my eyes sting with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”
Kade looks at me expectantly, but my tongue is paralyzed. He raises his eyebrows, then looks away. “Yeah, so am I.”
I take another step forward. I don’t know what I’m going to do to make this right, but I have to try.
The door opens and Andy is back. “Marissa’s ready for you now.”
I shoot Kade another pleading gaze, but he doesn’t see it—he’s staring at the floor.
♫♫♫
We sit opposite Marissa Sanders, 94.7’s rush-hour DJ, her full-figured form elegant in a dark blue pinstriped pantsuit. Blonde hair styled in soft curls frame her round face from under her headphones, and her green eyes glow with enthusiasm and warmth. As she sweeps her bangs out of her eyes and beams at us, I briefly muse that she’d be better off as an anchor on TV where everyone can see how gorgeous she is, instead of hidden behind a mic in a glass studio the size of my kitchen. I like Marissa—she’s so unabashedly bubbly and quirky, and the unapologetic way in which she asks questions gives me the impression of a best friend trying to squeeze you for juicy details at Sunday brunch. It helps with what I’m going to do next.
I’m seated next to Kade, our chairs as close as the producer could get them, with our fingers interlaced and resting on his lap. That was my doing. As much as I knew it was wrong and selfish and all kinds of stupid, I just needed the comfort of his touch today. To his credit, Kade hadn’t even blinked when I’d reached for his hand, which surprises me after how things went down earlier. By all appearances we look chill. Kade’s other arm rests on the back of my chair, his signature panty-igniting smile firmly in place. Neither Marissa nor the handful of competition winners waiting to hear the interview would believe the five minutes we were together in the greenroom was teeming with tension as thick as molasses.
My stomach is still in knots over our exchange earlier, and I don’t blame Kade one bit for being pissed at me. All he wanted were answers, and I couldn’t give them to him. I wanted to so badly, but that was impossible without privacy. I also need to apologize for completely freezing him out. I’m still hurt and beyond humiliated, but with everything else going on now, suddenly, that doesn’t seem so important.
God, this is a mess. Kade’s thumb strokes over my hand in what looks like an unconscious gesture that cuts me to the bone because I know better. Everything about today is staged. Every word, every gesture being acted out. This time last week everything was so natural. His touch, my touch, as autonomic as breathing.