Chapter 12

Colt turned over in the bed for the zillionth time in the last two hours. It was about 5:30 a.m., and he should be checking what was happening, but he didn’t want to see her. She was completely messing with his mind. He knew it wasn’t deliberate. At first, he thought it was just an act. However, something about her was pure.

He had never feared anything in his life … not as an adult anyway. But today, he feared facing her. This kiss. He’d spent the last two hours trying to rid his mind of it. He needed sleep, but to no avail. Her lush breasts pressed into his chest, her soft, pliant lips beneath his; she felt damn good in his arms. So what the hell was he afraid of?

He opened his eyes and lifted the sheet. It was still there. It seemed like a permanent fixture now. His damn hard on, and it was all her. He knew it. This was distracting, to say the least.

“She’s like fire in my brain,” he started singing under his breath. The words were coming to him, and he started humming to a melody. The light bulb going off made him sit up abruptly. He flung the sheet aside and grabbed his music notebook, where he started scribbling.

The last time he wrote a song completely on a whim was nearly ten years ago. All the other songs he’d written took some thought, some brain work. Now, the words flowed as a gushing river that broke its banks. Three pages of lyrics and the notes to boot. He wrote the keyboard notes and the guitar chords. He titled it: She’s Fire.

* * * *

By 7 o’clock, several newspapers were sending out press releases apologizing for the misprint. Chelsea was at Reid’s desk when she heard a noise from outside. They were on the 23rd floor, so she was surprised that any activity on the hotel grounds would be loud enough to disturb the guests. She walked to the window, taking a look down at the street.

Her mouth hung open at the placards she saw and the crowd, which seemed to be split in two. There was a demonstration of sorts going on. She pulled the curtain apart to get a closer look. It was no use. She moved to the music room and out on the balcony. This was her first time venturing beyond the living room of the suite.

When she reached the balcony, she shaded her eyes from the early morning sun as she peered into the throng. One of the signs read, “Purple Crush is No Junkie.” Another one said, “We love you Colt Purple Crush Montgomery!”

Her eyes darted to the other set of people who seemed irate. There were a few signs as well. “The Purple Crush Crushes Ice”. There was one sign that looked weird, “Purple Ice Crush.”

It was apparent that the two groups consisted of fans and anti-fans. She retreated to the desk and brought up the browser on the laptop. She went to the official fan site to see what was happening there. It wasn’t good. Some former fans were bashing the star, leaving hateful comments about his drug habit.

He hadn’t come out since he went back in; she wondered what he was doing and if he got any sleep. It was time for breakfast, but he was so picky that she didn’t want to order without his approval. She would have knocked on his door if she wasn’t afraid of what he might appear in when he opened the door … his birthday suit.

She continued her perusal of the fan site. After a few minutes, an idea struck her. She created several accounts under different names and started posting Colt’s achievements, his last performance, along with photos. Under her assistant account, she made an announcement that the articles were false and that the papers were all retracting their articles.

One anti-fan started bashing her announcement, claiming that the photo was legitimate. She replied by asking him to show her where on the photo Colt was seen taking drugs. Then he mentioned that the original blog wouldn’t be taken down. It was strange the way he was ripping into Colt, also mentioning past shenanigans, like the last photos. When she checked the IP address, it was the same for the admin on the blog where the article originated. The guy was Carl Benson, the reporter with the attitude.

Chelsea didn’t bother wasting time with him. She filed a complaint with the search engine citing slander. The search engine told her to present proof.

“Argh!” she growled angrily.

When Colt pulled the door opened and walked out with his hair in a man bun, beard clipped low and freshly dressed in tight tank and jean, her heart stopped. She stared at the gorgeousness of a man standing before her.

“I’m hungry, get me food, loads of it.” He grinned, and her knees weakened.

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, fumbling for the phone.

At that moment, Reid burst through the door. He was waving a piece of paper. “Let’s go,” he said to Colt, and then his eyes settled on her. “Aren’t you dressed yet? You have 15 minutes!”

The cordless was in midair. Should she order the food or get dressed? Colt was looking at her, and so was Reid. She looked at them both, and when her eyes locked with Colt’s, she remembered their moment.

“I’ll just order Colt’s breakfast before I go,” she said.

“No time to eat, we’ve got to go see Judge Moody now. I hear he’s going on vacation today.”

Colt looked disappointed. “Let it be Chelsea; we’ll grab a bite on the road.”

Her stomach was fluttering all over the place as she replaced the receiver on the phone and brushed past them to the door. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her knees wobble. As she closed the suite door, she realized she’d been holding her breath. She expelled it, hurrying to her room.

Things were getting weird. First, she thought Colt hated her, now he kissed her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did he kiss her? Was he still drunk from the party or was he looking for some action? As she showered and dressed, Chelsea made a vow never to be affected by him again. She was sure he only wanted what he probably did not get at the party. There was no way he liked her in that way. It made her a little bit angry that he used her.

When she returned to the suite, Reid was pacing impatiently. There was some tension between the two men, but she pretended not to notice. She tried to ignore Colt, but it was hard, given that she could feel his eyes on her at every turn. They headed out immediately in a Lincoln MKZ, which was a rental. Colt took the front passenger seat while she slid into the back, with Reid at the wheel

At one time, she glanced at him through the side view mirror. He was wearing a scowl with his brows tightly knitted together. More than that, he was staring at her through the mirror. She looked away, sliding into the middle seat where she was certain that he could not see her.

His hatred of her hadn’t changed. Of that, she was certain. With the way he’d looked at her just now, anger sparked within her, and she felt it bubble inside her. She wanted to scream at him. How dare he kiss her? Yes, she liked it, but that gave him no right.

“Why are you frowning so much?” Reid’s voice made her jump.

He was looking at her in the rearview mirror. It annoyed her. Why were both men looking at her? She raised her eyes, planted a thin smile on her lips and relaxed her face. Reid narrowed his eyes in contemplation, maybe trying to figure out her mood. She decided not to meet his gaze, but instead, sent daggers to the back of Colt’s head. She was sure that by the time they reached their destination, he would feel the pain of her stare.

The Lincoln rolled to a stop in front of the county courthouse building, a monument that represented the justice system. She came out over on Reid’s side and walked beside him up the steps with Colt on his other side.

“Colt, you don’t say anything in there, and look innocent, will you?”

“I’m always innocent,” he said grinning.

Reid scoffed. “That look you wear most for the time doesn’t say innocent. It makes you look angry all the time. Right Chelsea?”

“I …” she started, glancing his way. He was looking at her with that dark look she was used to seeing. “Yes.”

“See, even Chelsea said so. Look less angry. Judge Moody is a bit snarky, so he may just decide you are as guilty as they make you out to be.”

Colt grunted and held his head straight. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but she was upset with Reid for putting her on the spot. They reached inside and found the judge’s chamber on the third floor. Apparently, he was waiting for them, looking impatiently at his watch as they entered.

“I was about to leave; make it quick,” Judge Moody stated in a robust voice.

He was a tall man about six feet, chocolate colored complexion with sharp brown eyes. He sported a mustache that was sprinkled with bits of gray hair, as was the low-cropped hair on his head. Chelsea was certain he was about fifty something, but when she glanced at the diploma on the wall, she estimated he was twenty years older.

“Sorry we’re late, Your Honor,” Reid apologized.

“Let me have the complaint,” the judge said, taking his seat behind a mahogany desk.

Reid handed him the complaint written by Colt’s lawyer. The lawyer would have dealt with it himself, but he was due in court. Moody scanned the sheet of paper and then looked over at Colt who had taken a chair in front of the desk. Chelsea sat in a chair over by the left wall. She didn’t see the reason for her being there, so she observed in silence.

“What proof do you have that your client has not taken drugs?” The judge asked.

“Your honor, the article in question …” Reid said, but the judge held up his hand.

“I can’t issue a court order to stop this blogger from posting articles about your client without proof that he is clean. What happens when I issue the order, and he is found to be guilty? What will happen?” He paused a moment to pull a pad from a drawer in his desk. “I’m asking you to take a drug test today and bring the results back here in three hours. The government lab should accommodate you.” He scribbled on the pad, stamped it and tore off the top sheet.

“Thanks, Your Honor,” Reid took the paper, but he clearly wasn’t pleased.

Colt’s face tightened, his eyes shooting bullets at the judge, but he said nothing. Judge Moody stood, picking up his jacket and a briefcase, which indicated that they were dismissed. They headed out after thanking him.

“Let’s head over to the lab,” Reid suggested as they walked to their parked car.

“I’m not doing it. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Colt said. His tone low, but hard.

“Damn it, Colt, do you want to see your career go down the drain?” Reid bellowed. A few people turned to look in their direction. “If you don’t do this, I’m done.”

“I’m not taking that test,” he insisted.

Reid glowered at him before he yanked the car door open and got in behind the wheel. Colt got in the front passenger side. The set up was the same except she got in behind Reid this time. The tension on the way back to the suite was so thick that she could feel it stifling her. Except for her growling stomach, there was complete silence in the car. She cleared her throat a few times to break the deadly silence. It was still the same as they returned to the suite. It was clear that Reid was upset with Colt, and he was being pigheaded.

She did not understand why he refused the blood test unless he had something to hide. Did he do drugs? As they entered the suite, she looked at his grim expression and knew his bad mood had returned full force. Was he hiding something? There were many questions now crawling all over her mind. Why was he so adamantly refusing the test?

Colt retreated to his room without a word. She so wanted to ask him why he was refusing, but she was scared to even speak to him in the mood he was in. Reid went to his favorite spot by the window and jammed his hands in his pocket. She knew he was trying to figure a way out. She walked over to the desk and stood awkwardly while waiting for her next instructions. What was she to do now?

“Get some rest, Chelsea,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked, inching closer to him.

Reid turned to face her, and she halted a few feet away. “Nothing, I’m just going to ride this one out, and you will get some sleep. I had you up at three,” he sounded weary.

“I’m not tired,” she replied, inching closer.

She knew that if something weren’t done to remove that blog, Carl Benson would win. It never occurred to her until now that what was happening with Colt and Benson was some sort of war.

From her investigation, the journalist had written more than three dozen articles on Colt, none of which was good. When Colt hit the Billboard top one hundred chart, Carl never wrote about it, though it made headlines across the country. When Colt went platinum and sold over a million copies of one of his hits songs, he never covered that story either. When Colt signed with Make it Big Records, one of the biggest deals of his career, that was also never covered by Benson.

“I’ll do it,” she blurted out. It just popped out of her mouth.

“Do what?” Reid narrowed his eyes.

Her palms were now sweating and her heart racing like a Ferrari on the racetrack. “I’ll do the blood test for him.”

His eyes widened, staring at her with his icy titanium eyes. “What the f …?” he trailed off, raking his hand through this hair. “Why would you even do that?”

She looked away, not having an answer. Her offer baffled even her. Reid let out a long breath and turned his back to her. She returned to the desk to check the website and the band’s social media accounts. Things were looking bad. There was speculation that Colt had something to hide why he paid to have the papers retract their stories. The main instigator … Carl Benson.

What was it about this guy that rubbed her the wrong way? It wasn’t just about him writing trash about Colt, that didn’t matter to her. There must be something between them, some vendetta, and she set out to figure it all out.

“You may be on to something.” Reid’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “It would solve a host of problems. The promoters for the LA show have been hounding me all morning.”

The sound of the bedroom door opening caused her to turn her head in that direction. Colt came out, walked to the kitchenette, and pulled a bottle of water from the cooler. Shortly after, there was a knock at the door, and he went to answer it. It was a food delivery. He came back with three containers neatly packaged. Her stomach growled as she realized they hadn’t eaten all morning.

She looked at the lower right-hand corner of the laptop screen and noticed it was 10:30. It had been a long morning. They were supposed to have gotten food on the road, but the high tension in the car on the way back caused that idea to fly out the window.

Colt handed her one of the packages and held one out for Reid.

“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile.

“Let’s eat, and then we talk,” Reid told Colt.

Colt met his eyes, “I’m not doing it.”

“You don’t need to,” the manager replied with a grin.