“Right.” I cleared my throat, every feminist bone in my body demanding I do something about it, no matter how small. “Feel free to discuss your plans about me behind closed doors, where I can’t hear you.”

“That’s the plan,” Alex deadpanned.

“Alex,” Blake warned.

“Don’t ‘Alex’ me. He’s been trying to get into her over-the-top dresses since day one. I’ve had it with this wanker.”

The elevator pinged and we all poured out, walking to our designated rooms. Lucas tagged along with Blake and Alex, with the latter refusing to acknowledge the former’s existence. Alex was pointing at things and naming songs about them. “Elevators” by U2 when we got out; “Stairway to Heaven” when we passed by the emergency staircase; and “God Only Knows” when we passed by a huge painting called Portrait of God .

“Don’t tell our old mates Paul and John I was singing the Beach Boys,” he said, cheerful all of a sudden. “Though I guess they wouldn’t give a toss. It was Brian Wilson who was all pissy with the Beatles’ success, not the other way around.”

“Stop being extra.” Blake snorted a laugh.

“I’m not being extra. I despise everyone equally. You think I don’t have any complaints about the Beatles? They inspired the Bee Gees and Oasis. That ought to be illegal in some countries.”

“Of course, you’ll be the only person on earth who has a problem with the Beatles.” Alfie gathered phlegm in his throat. “Tosser.”

When I was in front of my door, and they were in front of theirs, my instinct told me to turn around and look at them. I did, for no other reason than to see if my intuition was right. Alex peeked over his shoulder, staring me down like I was the enemy. That also meant he wasn’t wearing his usual cool façade, and what I saw on his face was raw.

And disarming.

And unbearably pure.

I blinked, swiping my electronic key and watching the small dot flash green.

For the first time since we’d met, I was the one to close a door on him.

Funny how I thought it would feel good, borderline triumphant, when the only thing I’d tasted on my tongue when the door closed behind me was defeat.

“No.” I fell into another foreign bed that smelled of a different detergent, downing an entire bottle of water. “And that’s my final answer, so you can drag your sorry arse to the other side of the floor and lick your wounds in private where I can’t see you.”

Blake and Lucas were standing over me, their faces suggesting I was being unreasonable when, in fact, reason was definitely on my side. I didn’t fault Lucas for wanting to shag Stardust. She was, as it turned out, quite shag-able. But if I could ruin something for him, I’d gladly do so. Two years ago, when I’d gone on tour and Fallon had stayed in L.A., Lucas—whom I employed and supported, whom I’d grown up with, whom I shared a flat, and a car, and sometimes a toothbrush with—was there to make sure she’d be as close as she possibly could to Will Bushell. I didn’t know why, but my guess was it had something to do with Laura. I’d slept with Laura long before she was on Lucas’ radar. Long before he’d even properly met her. I guess he’d gotten to L.A. fresh out of the ruins of his engagement, felt vindictive and bitter, and decided to take it out on yours truly.

And so, in a straight-to-cable movie villain move, Lucas had befriended Fallon, become one of her closest people, and pushed her deeper into Will Bushell’s arms every day I was away.

Lucas didn’t rest until Bushell’s claws had wrapped around her completely.

When I think about it, Waitrose had no place on my tour at all. He was a deceiving, two-faced cunt. But when Will started dating Fallon, the whole group had fallen apart and I’d needed to assimilate all our mutual friends and make sure they were on my side.

So, really, having Lucas around wasn’t about Lucas. It was about Will not having any relationship with Lucas, or anyone else we grew up with. If I could shag Will’s mum to get her to disown him, I would. But it was too much of an effort, and besides, I liked Will’s dad—save for his strange love for Manchester United. Fuck them.

Anyway, the point was, Lucas wasn’t going to screw my hanny—hot nanny.

“Why not?” Blake asked.

I looked up. Since when did Blake care about anything that wasn’t managing my career and trying to ram his knob into my agent?

“Lucas knows why,” I ground out.

Blake did, too. He constantly talked me off the ledge when the urge to fire Waitrose spontaneously struck me.

“Actually, I don’t,” Lucas said, folding his arms over his chest while resting his shoulder against the door. “Please elaborate.”

“It’s about you throwing Fallon at Will to get back at me for Laura.”

“You need to stop this bullshit. Fallon was a grown-up. She chose Will.”

“Fallon was an addict. She chose whoever was more beneficial to her at that point in time,” I retorted.

“That why you want her back? What a bloody catch. A woman who goes off with whoever would be a better opportunity to her,” Lucas growled. He looked just about as furious as I was, maybe even more so.

“You gave her his phone number, drove her to him when her car broke down, then told Will where to find her. Hell, when she OD’d in my flat, you told Will what hospital she was at while I was on tour. Who does that? Who?”

“A decent human being?” Lucas blinked, feigning innocence. “Will wanted to support a friend in need. You were on a bus heading south, states away. Look, this has nothing to do with Indie.”

I jumped from the bed, the energy coursing through me too much to maintain stillness. My body was tight from the long car ride and stretching it by beating Lucas sounded just about the most appealing thing I could do. “Save it, Saint Lucas. I don’t believe you. No, you can’t take Indie out. No, you can’t flirt with her, pursue her, or have sex with her. She’s mine.”

“You don’t even like her!” Lucas pushed me, and I pushed back. What the fuck did liking her have to do with anything?

“I’m still going to have her.” My taunting smile made an appearance. “But don’t worry, I’ll let you know how she tastes. After all, we’re mates, aren’t we?”