Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I can’t help the smirk that forms on my face when a groveling Knox follows a furious Nicole to the front of the plane. I’m not happy they’re arguing loud enough to overtake the clicking of paparazzi cameras on the tarmac. I am pleased Nicole is standing up for herself and giving Knox some of the sass I sampled last night.
I wipe my smile off my face when I realize how disturbing I am being.
I fucked my best friend’s girl, and now I’m sitting back and watching with eagerness as their relationship crumbles.
Neither are points I should peacock about.
“What do you think he’s saying to her?” River asks, giving me an excuse for my inability to take my eyes off Nicole. “She’s calming down pretty quick.”
“She is,” I agree, disappointed. “Do you know much about their…”—nope, I can’t say relationship, either, when Nicole is part of the equation—“dynamic? Knox seems different with her.”
He was more a do-as-I-ask-or-I’ll-raise-my-hand-at-you man before I went away. He would have never chased a woman and pleaded for her to listen to him. He said there’s too many fish in the sea to worry about the feelings of one.
“He is,” River agrees this time around. “But I don’t know if it’s a good thing.”
After taking his backpack to lighten his load, I bounce my eyes between his soul-baring pair. “What do you mean?”
He waits a beat before murmuring, “He’s kinda obsessed with her.”
“I get it,” I stammer out before I can stop myself.
When that gains me River’s upmost devotion, I try to crawl out of the trench I just threw myself in. “I mean, come on, look at her. She’s gorgeous.”
“She is,” he agrees again with nothing but honesty highlighting his face. “So why doesn’t he just sleep with her instead of women who look like her?”
“What?” My shock delivers my question so ear-piercingly loud, River’s eyes aren’t the only ones boring into mine. Knox’s and Nicole’s are as well.
Incapable of tattling while being gawked at, River walks to the exit. “We should finish this later.”
“River…” I plead, desperate.
I hate cliffhanger endings.
I absolutely loathe them.
And although his expression is apologetic when he flashes me the quickest smirk, not a syllable escapes his lips as he exits the private jet to the frantic flashes of paparazzi cameras.
The crash of the paparazzi as we leave Van Nuys Airstrip is intense. Even wearing a disguise doesn’t stop Nicole from being asked a hundred questions about her connection to a band I’ve never heard of during the short walk from the jet’s stairs to a blacked-out SUV.
The West Coast paps' interview points don’t veer far from the ones asked in Florida, but since Knox helms Nicole’s walk to the awaiting car, they don’t obtain the snapback response they forever seek when hounding celebrities.
Knox’s gallantry makes it seem as if their shark-attack tenacity isn’t the publicity he’s seeking, and it has Nicole’s anger slipping from the boiling point back to a gentle simmer by the time we reach a studio theater on the outskirts of Burbank.
Sitting across from them for sixteen miles hasn’t awarded me any more knowledge than my five-hour stalk in the plane. They’re as opposite as night and day.
Cocky and sweet.
Showy and humble.
Taken and fucking taken, so stop looking and do your damn job!
With Knox’s raised brow matching the sentiments of my conscience, I jerk up my chin in farewell like I’m planning to place more than two feet of distance between the SUV and me before sliding out the back passenger door.
There are no flashing bulbs to contend with, nor a rush of heated bodies priming for the best shot. If you exclude the beggar seeking a dollar, there isn’t a single soul on the footpath separating the SUV from the old theater about to host a dress rehearsal for Nicole’s upcoming shows.
“Now do you understand why I said what I did on the plane?” Knox asks, startling me when he sneaks up on me unawares. “This studio is booked under Nikki J. The private jet was on loan from Rise Up. The two are not the same.”
Stealing my chance to reply that they could be if he loosened the reins a little, he bobs back into the SUV to assist Nicole out before once again guiding her steps by placing his hand on the small of her back.
12
NICOLE
When a frustrated sigh whizzes from my nose, the makeup artist preparing me for my first full dress rehearsal says, “It could be worse. You could be doing the makeup for the artist instead of preparing her for gigs with the who’s who of late-night broadcasts.” As I flash her an apologetic stare, Bonnie adds, “It’s fine. I’m not at all envious.” Thankfully she smiles during her reply, or I’d have no clue she is being playful. That’s how mellow her tone is. “We all pave our own road to success. Some just get lucky a little sooner than others.”