Singleton

My phone rings as soon as I step inside the doors of Foxhaven, and I don’t even look at it before answering. I know who it is. Fucking Sully.

“What,” I bark, putting the phone to my ear.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Heading up to my room like a good little prisoner, warden.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes. We need to get some shit straight.”

“Can’t wait.”

I disconnect the call and look into big innocent eyes. “Are you okay?” Kinley asks.

No, I’m an asshole who should never have taken you up on your offer. “Fine,” I snap. Her brows draw inward, causing a little line down the center of her forehead. She’s even cute when she’s pissed.

Without another word to her or anyone, I stalk to the stairs and take them two at a time, leaving her staring after me. It’s everything I can do not to kick open my door, but I resist.

I hate this.

I hate all of this.

The words beat in my head as I grab a bottle of bourbon and pour a glass.

I need a way to work off this frustration. I need the gym, but Sully is on his way and I’m going to have to deal with his shit first.

The alcohol has barely touched my bloodstream when Sully barges through the door.

“Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

Ignoring my sarcasm, he paces the room. “One week. You made it one week before screwing this up.”

“I had dinner on my birthday, Sully. I didn’t wave my pecker at a camera.”

“I’d rather you done that! No, you get pictures taken with the little mousy hotel owner. Do I need to remind you who you are? You are Marcus Singleton. Fucking act like it!”

Anger washes over me. “Don’t talk about Kinley like that.”

Shock renders him mute for a moment. He blinks and stares at me, his frown dissolving into a bitter smile. “A crush, great,” he mumbles. “Do I need to move you to another hotel? Tell me now because this took a great deal of trouble to set up.”

Swallowing my anger, I flop onto the couch and down my drink. “I’m not going to another hotel. I’m here for the duration. Like we agreed.”

He glares down at me, which he’s only able to do because I’m sitting. I’ve got nearly a foot in height on the guy and I could break him in half if I chose to. At the moment, it’s tempting.

“Do you want to help your brother? Because this isn’t helping!”

“Are you shitting me right now? All of this is for him!” Though I know he probably doesn’t appreciate a thing. “I spend all day at the studio, then all night in this damned room! What else do you want from me?”

Sully pauses for a moment and takes a breath. His voice lowers to a placating tone that makes me want to squeeze him until his squirrelly little head pops off. “You’re bored, I get it. And lonely. We can solve that.”

He picks up his phone and sends a quick text.

“I don’t need you to solve that. I want to visit my brother.”

His head jerks up. “You know that isn’t possible.”

He steps back as I jump to my feet. “Make it possible! You’re the miracle worker that arranges all this shit. I’m sure a visit to the rehab clinic isn’t out of your power.”

He runs a hand over his half bald head. “Be reasonable. We don’t need the paparazzi to see you going into a rehab facility. Especially now that I already have one mess to clean up.”

I refill my tumbler with bourbon and lean against the doorway. “Make it happen, Sully. You want me to play the game, act like a good little rock star. Arrange a visit with my brother.”

“Fuck,” he exclaims, pacing the room. After a few moments, he relents. “Fine, it’s located in a section of a hospital. Maybe I can arrange it like you’re visiting a children’s ward or something. You’ll have to give me some time.”

Sighing, I throw back my drink. “Well, I have a shit ton of that.”

A knock at the door brings a smile to his face as he murmurs, “That was fast.”

Clark leads in two women who have groupie written all over them. “Oh my god! He’s really here! We’re really doing this!” one of them squeals. It pierces my head like a railroad spike.

Clark hovers near the door. “Anything else you need?”

“Not at the moment, thanks,” Sully answers, though the question was directed at me. “Come in ladies. The bar is right over there. Make yourself a drink. I just need another moment with Marcus and he’ll be all yours.”

The hell I will. This is his solution? Recruit some groupies for me to fuck? Christ, they barely look old enough to drink. As if he can see my thoughts, Sully calls to Clark as he’s leaving. “Both over twenty-one, right?”

“As requested,” Clark replies, exiting the room.

The women giggle and make themselves a drink while Sully regards me again.

“I’ll be in touch about the visit, but now I need to go put out the fires you lit tonight. Do me a favor and stay the fuck here when you aren’t at the studio.” He grins at the two women who are already stripping one another’s clothes off. “And text my assistant whenever you’d like some company.”

Before I can tell him to kiss my ass, the door that Clark failed to close completely swings open. For fuck’s sake, it’s Grand Central Station in here tonight. Kinley walks in, stopping abruptly when she sees the two nearly naked women. They’re now dancing to one of my songs the brunette plays from her phone.

The blonde walks over and runs a hand up my chest, but I ignore her. “Kinley—”

She rushes in and places a bag on the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. We didn’t get to eat, so I had them deliver. Please contact the desk if you need anything.”

She’s resumed her customer service voice while talking to me, but I can hear the disappointment hiding under the fake tone.

Sully glares at me, and the brunette joins the blonde, running her hand down my back. Fuck this. She’s better off not being dragged into this anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking. Plastering a predatory smile on my face, I take a step toward her. “Stay and join us. We’re just about to have some fun.”

Her expression flattens, and she shakes her head. Without another word, she flees the room like she’s being chased by wasps.

She’s been stung, there’s no doubt about that.

Better now than later.

The look of satisfaction on Sully’s face makes me want to punch him. “I’ll just get out of your way. Try to stay out of trouble,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“Ooh, you’re all trouble, aren’t you?” the blonde groupie coos. “Did you really throw a guy off a balcony last year?”

“He did!” the brunette exclaims. “I saw the video! The guy landed in the pool though.”

“Out,” I order. They both stare at me like they may have misheard me as I grab several articles of clothing and throw it at them. “Get the fuck out. Both of you.”

“Uh,” the brunette scoffs. “You don’t have to be so rude! We came here for you.”

“You came here to ride a rock star’s dick. It’s not happening. Get the fuck out now.”

Grumbles and name calling go right over my head as they round up their stuff and rush out the door.

Finally, I’m left alone, and I flop onto the couch, rubbing my forehead. The last few hours seem to have lasted a week. My gaze travels to the bag on the table, and I reach over and open it to find two entrees, a bottle of wine, and two pieces of cake.

Happy birthday to me.

Sully is right about one thing. Within days, the tabloids have pictures of me with Kinley circulating with fantastic headlines like:

And the most infuriating.

People are such dicks. And I’m including myself in that statement because I brought this down on her. Kinley is a sweet, beautiful woman, and now she’s getting insulted by a bunch of judgmental assholes because she isn’t the typical model type the great Marcus Singleton is known to date. Not date; fuck. That’s one reason the papers are going crazy. Marcus took a woman out to dinner? Quick, take a picture. Document this rare occurrence and spend days ruminating over what it might mean while simultaneously tearing the woman to shreds.

Fucking Vultures.

Sully doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem when I call him, but he’s going to straighten this shit out whether he wants to or not. I’m not having Kinley pay the price for my stupidity.

“Have you seen this shit?” I demand, once I get him on the phone.

“I tried to warn you.”

I step out on to my balcony and perch on the edge of the railing. “You need to do something. One paper says she’s pregnant with my kid and is taking bets on whether the baby will be beautiful or look like her. What the fuck, Sully?”

I can hear the rumble of his engine as he starts his car. “It’ll blow over. Just give it another week and no one will even remember.”

“She will. You need to release a statement. Call it a business dinner or something. Give them an explanation that doesn’t put her in my bed. If you don’t, I will.”

“Whoa, okay, calm down. Don’t make any statements. I’ll take care of it. We need to keep up the story of you and Alicia anyway.”

“Today,” I insist.

He heaves a long suffering sigh, then agrees, “Today.” There’s a pause before he adds, “I’ve managed to arrange a visit with your brother. We’re going to bring you in the emergency entrance, then sneak you into a visitation area. If pictures get out, we’ll claim you had a migraine that required treatment.”

“Great. When?”

“The day after tomorrow. So behave yourself and don’t fuck it up.”

The prick hangs up on me, and I resist throwing my phone.

A silent nod is all my driver gets before I climb into my waiting car for another day at the studio. Sully warned me they want more upbeat, happier songs for the next album, but with the mood I’m in now, today’s work is not going to meet that criteria. This mood is conducive to two genres; hard rock or blues. I’m leaning toward hard rock.

We get waved through the studio gate and travel around the massive building. At least inside, the paparazzi can’t get to me. They’re stationed outside the fence, and I’m sure their cameras are clicking away as I sling my guitar over my back, grab my bag, and head inside.

“Good morning, Mr. Singleton,” the security guard working the door says.

“Morning,” I mumble, not bothering to remove my sunglasses. They provide an easy way to hide from the world, and I’m not ready to face any more people today. It’s not an issue since my routine has me by myself most of the time.

A short elevator ride later, I let myself into my workspace for the next few months, locking the door behind me.

I can feel the urge to write pulsing inside of me, the words bouncing around my brain, begging to be poured out on paper, the tune arranging itself to match the emotion I’m trying to convey. It always seems like some kind of supernatural process. Like I’m only letting these ideas escape, not creating them.

I don’t understand it. I only know not to fight it, to go along. Sometimes it turns into a song and sometimes it turns into shit. Shit or song, I never know, but there’s only one way to find out.

I lean my guitar against the couch, grab an iced coffee from the mini-fridge, and settle on the couch with a notebook and pen.

The words burst out faster than I can scribble them down and a tiny bit of frustration sneaks in when I have to stop and pick up the guitar, trying to get the music to match my vision. Back and forth. Write the words. Play the chords.

Bring something to life so I can escape from my own.

It isn’t until my stomach growls that I realize over four hours have passed and I’ve only had coffee today. Still, I need to run through this part one more time before I get some lunch.

Shit or song, I’m not quite sure. I don’t know whether I like it or not, but I know I need a break before the urge hits me again.

Part of our deal was that I work at the studio at least four days a week when I could do this just as easily at Foxhaven. I’m not going to argue. If I didn’t get a little change of scenery and conversation, I’d go crazy.

The fridge has the ingredients to make a sandwich, but I’m in the mood for something different. When I step out of my office, a rare grin jumps to my face. “Vince! What the fuck are you doing, man?”

Vince is the brother and personal assistant of an up and coming blues singer called Dante. We’ve spent plenty of time together, trapped in studios, waiting for stuff to get done. He’s one of the few people in this business I genuinely enjoy hanging out with.

“Dante is here laying some tracks. You know how it is.”

“I do, yeah,” I laugh.

“I heard you were working here this summer.” He drops his voice a little. “How is your brother?” Vince is also one of the most trustworthy people I’ve met, which is why he’s always in the loop. He’s one of only a handful of people who know where my brother is.

“I don’t know. Sully is arranging for me to visit soon.”

Vince slaps my shoulder. “Well, tell him hi for me.”

“I’ll do that. I was just heading down to see which food trucks are here today. Want to join me?”

Vince shrugs, and we step into the elevator. “I could eat. As long as it’s not the taco truck. Shit my brains out for two days last time.”

Neither of us noticed the young woman behind us until a snort of laughter draws our attention. She looks vaguely familiar. Probably one of the executive’s secretaries from upstairs. “Sorry, but it’s true,” Vince tells her. “Avoid them unless you’re a fan of e.coli.”

His flirty smile is completely lost on her, mainly because she’s gazing at me like she’s remembering me naked. Considering I don’t know her at all, this is not a situation I want to deal with. Her lips purse a little when I face the front and don’t try to talk to her, and she stalks away in a huff when the doors open.

“You don’t appear to be her favorite person,” Vince remarks.

I push open the door, leading us out into the sun baked parking lot. “I don’t even know her.”

“Ah,” he replies, understanding dawning on his face.

My desire for human contact is short lived because I’m already wishing I could go back to my office. Or Foxhaven. Or anywhere that I don’t have to interact.

“Score! Italian or Chinese?” he exclaims when we approach the trucks.

“Dude, do you even have to ask?”

We order our food and take it over to an outdoor picnic area. A few other employees give us a nod or wave, then go back to their food. At least here, fame doesn’t mean anything. There may be people outside the fence, snapping pictures of me eating a calzone, but I’m not going to get pestered for autographs.

We eat in silence until Vince speaks up. “The new Force9 game is out today.”

“Oh shit. I forgot all about it. Did you pre-order yours?”

“Nah, I’m going to Gameshop after work.”

I’m already making a mental note to send Clark to buy the game when Vince asks, “Do you have plans tonight?”

My laugh sounds bitter. “No, no plans. The resort is surrounded by paps. And you know they’re waiting outside the gates here too.”

“Why don’t I bring Force9 over and kick your ass in multiplayer? We’ll need some practice before joining the online battles. Unless we want to be called newbs by a bunch of squeakers.”

I swallow my food and dig in my pocket for some money. “Here, buy me a copy too. I have plenty of booze. We can get trashed and I’ll teach you how to play.” I pause for a moment. “Or is your chick going to want you home?”

“Darlene? I broke up with her a few weeks ago. Bitch was crazy.” He grins over his food. “Maybe I’ll just dip into the groupie pool.”

“Go for it. They’re right outside the hotel fence.”

The corner of his mouth tucks in. “That sucks. Not being able to go anywhere. It’s getting that way for Dante too, but he doesn’t seem to mind. It’d drive me batshit.”

Shrugging, I gulp down my drink. “It’s miserable, but it won’t be forever.”

My phone beeps with a message from Sully.

The “you’re welcome” makes me seethe a little since it sounds like he’s doing me some favor when it’s his damn job to handle things like that. Still, I’m glad he took care of it. Kinley doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess.

“Everything okay?” Vince asks.

“It is now.” I gather up my trash and dump it in the nearby can. “I’m going to get back to work. I’ll let security know you’re coming tonight.”

The urge to finish the song is back with a vengeance, and I spend the next five hours holed up in my office until I get it just how I want it.

When I get back to Foxhaven, paparazzi line both sides of the drive, along with fans who hold signs.

All I can do is shake my head at the messages scrawled in marker.

There’s even one woman with a sign that says.

Classy bunch. If this keeps up, they’re going to need more security in place because the crazy asses always find a way in.

We pull up at the front entrance where more guests have arrived. A very well to do family climbs out of a massive SUV. Two sullen teenagers roll their eyes at each other as if being brought to one of the top resorts in the country is a waste of their valuable time. Their father barks orders at the bellhop, who forces a smile and quickly arranges their luggage on a cart while the mother coaxes a tiny white dog into a purse.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mumble to the driver, and step out of the car.

The teenage girl’s gaze fills with interest, and I know I’m not making it inside without a hassle. The guests are instructed not to bug celebrities for autographs or pictures, but the entitled attitude rolls off these people in waves, and I know they’ll assume the rules don’t apply to them even before the teen girl starts toward me.

“Oh my god! You really are staying here! Wait until I snapchat this to Ginnie! She’s never going to believe it!”

She marches over to me and shoves her face next to mine, holding up her phone to get a picture. No hello or permission request at all. If she’d asked, I would’ve done it, but now, no way.

I sidestep her and stalk toward the entrance, slinging my guitar over my back.

“Hey!” She yells, then turns to her mother. “Did you see that? Does he not know who I am?”

No, I don’t know who she is and generally, if you have to ask that question, you aren’t as important as you think you are. Frankly, I don’t give two shits who she is. Her shrill voice fades as the doors close behind me, but I hear her say the words hotel manager. She wants a manager? What does she think will happen? They’ll force me to be her bestie?

I hate people.

Clark meets me just inside the door and falls into step with me on the way to the elevator. “Your manager called and said you might want a few fans brought to your room tonight. If this is going to be a regular request, you’ll need to ask your security team to handle it.” His disapproving tone isn’t lost on me and honestly, I can’t blame him. He’s security, not a pimp.

“Ignore that asshole. I don’t want anyone brought to my room unless I give you their name. I’m not trying to nail groupies. My friend Vince is coming tonight. He’s the only one—other than the band and my immediate family—who have permission.”

“Got it.”

Finally, the elevator stops and I get off, making a beeline for the silence of my suite. A faint citrus smell hangs in the air as it usually does when I return. The housekeeper assigned to my area does a fantastic job. It occurs to me I should start leaving her a bigger tip.

A long, hot shower helps me feel human again. It hasn’t been a bad day. The words were flowing for me, and I’m actually going to hang out with a friend tonight. Someone who knows me and doesn’t want anything from me. Sully said he handled the tabloid shit, so that’s one less thing to worry about.

I make a quick call down to the desk to make sure they know to escort Vince up when he gets here, then crank up some music. I still have an hour or so before he’s due to show up, so I fire up a joint and take a few hits.

The plush sofa seems to swallow me up as I lean back and close my eyes. Getting high and listening to music is something that never changes. From sixteen years old smoking in the basement to damn near thirty in a swanky motel room, it’s the same joy it’s always been. Sitting on the couch, stoned, and lost in the music is the real me. Not the disappointing son me, the dutiful brother me, or the second rate me. Right now, I’m just Holt. For a short, golden time, it’s enough.

I must’ve dozed off for a few minutes because the clock seems to have jumped forward, and my stomach growls.

“Dude! You got the presidential suite! That settles it. I’m living with you from now on,” Vince announces, striding in with a fifth in one hand and video games in the other.

“Fuck off. There’s one bed and you’re too hairy for me.”

“I’ll totally shave my balls,” he replies, flopping onto the couch beside me.

Clark nods from the doorway and retreats. That guy really doesn’t like me.

“I’m ordering from room service. What do you want?” I ask, grabbing the phone.

Vince shrugs. “Steak, potatoes, whatever. I’m not picky.” He puts the new game into the console and tosses me a controller. “Let’s get this slaughter started. I’ll go easy on you the first round.”

“Psh,” I scoff. “Bend over. Cause I’m going to fuck you worse than your rent boys ever do.”

“Like I’d have to pay for it with this ass.”

That’s pretty much how the rest of the night plays out. It’s the most fun I’ve had since I got here. We nearly finish the whiskey Vince brought, and he’s way past drunk, so he crashes on the sofa, and I stagger to my bed.

A pounding makes me sit up, and I blink at the sunlight pouring into the room. I can’t tell where the pounding is coming from, my head or the door, until the door flies open and Kinley charges inside.

Vince groans from his place on the couch and pulls a pillow over his face.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I glare in the direction of all the noise. “What the fuck?”

A newspaper thwacks across my head and falls in my lap. “Buying my resort?” Kinley shouts. “That’s what you told the media?”

My eyes struggle to focus on the words swimming around the page. I may still be a tiny bit drunk. The headline comes into focus, and I curse. Fucking Sully.

“My resort is not for sale! And if it was, the last person I’d sell it to is you!”

Swinging my legs out of bed, I lean forward and cradle my thumping head. “Relax, I’ll take care of it.”

“This is what I get for doing you a favor? No good deed goes unpunished,” she grumbles. “Now I have a hotel full of staff who are worried about their jobs and think I have some secret deal going to sell you the resort! And I don’t know what you said or did to Zya Day, but they’re insisting I comp their stay because I allowed you to be rude to them.”

It’s too fucking early, and I’m too hungover to deal with this right now. Zya Day, that’s who the teen girl was. She’s the newest trashy reality star to hit the scene.

All of that flits by until I focus on the most important part of her rant. “Good deed?” I snap. She went to dinner with me out of pity? Is this what rock bottom feels like because it seems pretty low. “You think you did me a favor?”

Her eyes blaze, and she crosses her arms. “You were alone on your birthday. I was trying to be nice.”

“Well, try harder because it obviously doesn’t come natural to you.”

Her jaw tightens, and her words are spoken through gritted teeth. “I am trying to accommodate your stay here and make things as pleasant as possible for you. But you cannot bother my other guests. Or make up stories about me.”

Anger bubbles up inside me. “Message received.” There’s no point in trying to defend myself or explain what happened with Zya. Kinley has clearly made her mind up about who I am. Years of tabloid headlines have done more than I can undo, and really, why bother? Why should I care what she thinks?

Vince sits up, his hair molded to his head on one side and standing wild on the other. A roach from the joint he must’ve smoked just before he passed out clings to his bare chest. At the sight of Kinley, a smile leaps to his face.

“Let me apologize for my friend. He gets a little carried away sometimes, but I can assure you I’m a perfect gentleman. And you are beautiful.”

Kinley rolls her eyes. “Are you seriously trying to hit on me right now?”

Yeah, he is, and I don’t fucking like it.

“Leave her alone, Vince.” I regard the glare that’s bouncing between me and my friend. “Anything else?”

She takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to keep herself calm. “No, you’ve done plenty.”

With that, she stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Vince’s rattling laugh bounces around the room. “Damn, maybe I should get a room here. She’s sexy as fuck, especially when she’s fired up.”

My teeth clamp into my cheek to keep me from saying something I’ll regret. Instead, I lie. “She’s got a long term boyfriend.”

“Too bad. She obviously can’t stand you, so you know she has good taste.” He dodges the empty soda can I throw at him. “What’s up with the talk about buying the resort?”

Dragging my ass out of bed, I grab some clean clothes, and head toward the shower. “I’m sure it was Sully. The paps caught us trying to have dinner and that’s his genius way of covering it up.” There’s no point in arguing about it now. What’s been done is done and if we change the story, the public will be even more sure I’m disguising some sleazy love affair. Especially since the public thinks I’m in a relationship with Alicia, who is fortunately in Europe for the next few months. One less thing to deal with.

“Get dressed, dude. The housekeeper will be here soon, and I need to get to the studio.”

He grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head. “Housekeeper huh? What’s she look like?”

“Around fifty years old with the attitude of a pit bull.”

Laughing, he pulls on his shoes. “See you at the studio.”