"DON'T," I BEGGED, snagging a slice of toast and several strips of bacon from the room service tray.
"Don't what?" Marsha asked, arching a blonde brow, eyeing me as I shoveled a generous portion of scrambled eggs onto my plate.
"Don't talk about last night. You had your fun. I had mine. Let me have my illusions. I slept with a rock god. It doesn’t have to mean anything."
"So it didn't?"
My eyes burned. I felt guilty about slipping out before Rayne woke. His tenderness had tempted me to stay. That wasn't what this was supposed to be about. What I was about. No emotional attachment. Not anymore. I scrubbed my hands over my freshly washed face. "What part about not discussing this did you not get?"
"Ah." She nodded conclusively. "So it was more than just incendiary sex, and now you're having second thoughts about continuing with the plan."
“He was incredible. And sweet. If we’re going to rate on a pass or fail scale he passed. If we are going to say do or don’t, he is a do and a do over. If we are going to do a one to ten point system, he would be a fifteen.” I stared at her for a long beat. "But get out of my head bestie. It's a tangled mess in there. This will go a whole lot better if we skip the psychoanalysis." I grabbed a piece of bacon, tore off a piece and popped it in my mouth, savoring the salty crisp morsel. "Where and who is next?" I asked, refocusing on Marsha after my stabilizing zen moment with pork fat.
"New York. The who is totally up to you. Nothing’s changed with that. But I think you need to see this,” she announced in an anonymous tone. She slid her tablet toward me.
“Whoa.” I lifted my gaze. My eyes were wide. “One hundred million views.”
“Yep. And that's not all of it.” She swiped a finger, opened her email and scrolled slowly through the inbox she had attached to her YouTube account. “Look. A&E. WMO, the premium television network. And Cinemax. Can you believe it?”
"Are all those all legit?"
“Yeah. Your idea has caught on fire. We’re talking reality show, Raven. Fucking sexy rock stars is a popular fantasy. Especially since you're the one in charge not them. It's empowering to women."
“I don't know about that. I was just shooting off my mouth. It's not like I'm breaking the glass ceiling or anything."
“Yeah, but you are busting a long established stereotypical mold. Musicians have been getting ass since the first Neanderthal figured out how to hum. Fast forward to now. What’s really changed? We still like to imagine we could be the one to catch their eye. But now it’s their turn to dream. This time you call the shots.”
I don’t know about that, I thought. I hadn’t felt that way last night when I had been in bed with Rayne.
“And you look incredible.” Marsha swiped her finger across the screen, opened up her editing software, and hit play. My face filled the screen. We both watched the replay until Rayne whisked me into his arms. “See what I mean?”
“It’s your camera work.”
She shook her head, and hit pause on the video. “It's you, Raven. You are photogenic. Beautiful. Positivity radiates from you. The camera can’t fake charisma. You either have it or you don't." She hit play again. “Watch the rest. If you approve, I'll upload it."
I didn't know how she had done it. Once I had started the routine, I hadn't even noticed her. She had gotten close ups. She had zoomed in on my hips swaying. Emphasized the length of my legs. Caught the curve of my breasts. That wayward tendril of hair, the ebony strand in stunning contrast to my pale skin. The raw hunger in Rayne’s expression made me hot all over again. The possessive way he held me as he carried me away. The passion in my eyes after he kissed me that first time in the backseat of the SUV. She faded to black only after his hand smoothed up my legs in the elevator. As the end credits rolled with the cool guitar Rock Fuck Club logo, I grabbed a glass of ice water and gulped it down to quench the fire that the video had rekindled in me. Who needed film school? My bestie had talent.
"You are amazing." I lifted my gaze.
"I am, right?" She grinned. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "So what are you going to do about all those offers?"
"We,” I corrected firmly. “What are we going to do?
WE TALKED AND made plans as we packed up Marsha's car. Two weeks. Coast to coast. Dallas to Chattanooga today, then on to New York City the next. It was the longest segment on our planned route and though we would have more time to sightsee if we drove straight through, Marsha didn't even mention the possibility. She understood why night driving wasn't an option for me.
"So, Steve..." I let the name hang, shifting my head from the open freeway briefly to look at her. In the passenger seat beside me, Marsha had her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around her knees.
"Who?" Her brow furrowed as she met my gaze.
My brows rose. "Rayne's guitarist," I reminded her.
"Oh." She unclasped her legs, put her feet back on the floorboard and glanced out the window, an evasive maneuver. There had been nothing to see for miles on the long uninteresting stretch of highway. Only a few scrub trees broke the monotony. She sighed. "He was a fail. A don't. An I-wish-I-hadn't."
"I'm sorry.” I flipped on my blinker and moved to the slower lane. Her 2000 Accord seemed to be laboring at the speed I had been going.
"My choice. Not a good one this go around. It's ok."
"Doesn't sound ok," I pressed. "Was it him? Or is it because you have feelings for Joey?"
"The bartender back home? Hardly, though it’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. The man has some definite skills." She blew out a breath. "No, it was Steve. He has ex-issues. Plus, I think we both had expectations the other couldn’t meet. Can we talk about something else?"
"Sure," I agreed readily, but my mind remained on the subject a moment longer. For a while now, I had been wondering why Marsha always seemed dismissive of the guys she hooked up with. She never dated anyone seriously. If she had been happy with the situation, that would have been one thing. But I knew better and whenever I brought the topic up she deflected. We shared nearly everything. I didn’t get it. "Did we get any replies to the counterproposals we sent out yet?"
"I don't hear any pings, but I'll check." Her finger swiped efficiently over the screen of her cell. "Actually yes." Her brow scrunched as she read silently. She shook her head and looked up. "Amazing. They doubled their offers. Well, three of them did. World Media Organization blew the rest out of the water. One hundred and fifty thousand. Plus some royalties if certain parameters are met. It’s a minuscule percentage, but over time that could potentially end up being a lot of money." Her expression turning pensive, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Mars, what is it? Talk to me. What are you leaving out? You look like they turned us down.”
"They turned me down," she returned. "We knew it was a stretch to throw me into the deal. I don’t have any real solid experience behind the camera. The directing thing…it’s a pipe dream."
"No," I stated decisively, finding her hand without taking my eyes off the road and squeezing it. "It's you and me or nothing. We agreed before we packed up the car.”
“But that was when the offers were only in the tens of thousands range. One hundred and fifty thousand. Plus residuals. You wouldn't have to work anymore at a job that stifles your creativity, at least not for a long while. You could..."
"I don't have a job anymore.”
“They fired you?” She gasped.
“Practically. Suspended pending an investigation is how they worded it. But I'm not going to appeal. We both know I wouldn't win." I sighed. "I wouldn't want to win. I really only took that position to be near my dad after Hawk died."
“I know, honey. You made a similar sacrifice when you turned down the scholarship to Julliard and went to North Texas to get your degree here locally after your mom passed.”
I nodded, though only the first of those choices really qualified as a sacrifice. Taking the teaching job was more about me trying to make amends. I swallowed with difficulty around the knot inside my throat. I would never forget the look on my dad's face at Hawk’s funeral. How lost he had seemed. And how guilty I had felt. How adrift. How much further my father had withdrawn from me after I had confessed my culpability. I gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles blanched. "You’re right about the teaching. With all the emphasis on standardized testing, there isn’t much room for creativity. It's not for me." I noticed the red light blinked on the dash. "Your engine light’s on,” I informed her. “Should I be worried?"
"I don’t think so." She shrugged a slim shoulder. "It's been coming on like that for a while. I think it's a faulty switch. It always goes off after I turn off the engine and restart it." She glanced out the window. “There’s a truck stop at the next exit.” Her blond tresses skimmed her shoulders when she looked back at me. "Why don't we pull in? Get some gas and munchies. It's my turn to drive anyway. I want you to look at the emails yourself. Maybe make some phone calls, at least to the rep at WMO," she added in a rush when I opened my mouth to protest. "I love you, Raven. I'm not going to let you toss away the opportunity of a lifetime just because they don’t want me."