Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (3 page)

“Because ‘insist’ is the only gear Malcolm knows.” I grimace over his demands, which have only continued to increase. “He insists on my wardrobe. He insists on extra rehearsals. He insists that I get on Instagram and Snap Chat.”

“He knows what he’s doing, kid.” Ella rakes a hand through her short, crimson hair before scooping up a chunk of mine. “I have to disagree with his suggestion that you go blonde, though. This hair is gorgeous just as it is.”

“Me? Blonde? I can’t even—”

The chirp of Ella’s phone interrupts.

“That’s him.” Ella rolls her eyes and digs into the pocket of her plain black smock. “I assigned him his own tone so I’ll know when he’s trying to reach me. Look in your jewelry box to see if you’ve still got those big hoop earrings. They’ll be great with this outfit.”

While she responds to Malcolm’s text, I walk over to my jewelry box tucked in the corner of the bathroom counter. A sprig of fresh mistletoe rests right on top of the earrings Ella asked me to find. It’s delivered to my dressing room at every stop.

Rhyson.

Damn that man. Using my grandfather’s habit of keeping mistletoe for my grandmother to win me back. Clever? Evil? Sweet? The typical conundrum of contradictions I face with him. Most days I want to strangle him because of the control freak stunt he pulled with
Total Package
. A tangle of emotions paralyzes me. Hurt is right in front of me, and I still ache from his betrayal. Fear to my right, I’m afraid that contacting him could trip a wire and set off that bomb of a sex tape. To my left, that persistent desire that gets stronger every day to say screw it all and take him back. And where does that leave me? With my back against the wall. Trapped, and even though I’m in a different city every day, frozen in place. Unsure of what I should do.

So I’ve done nothing.

I twist the mistletoe between my fingers, memories of Rhyson in Glory Falls for the holidays crowding out everything else. Of singing Mama’s favorite carol with him on Christmas Eve and laughing over Christmas sweaters at the dinner table. We shared our first kiss on the front porch, steam rising from our lips into the cold night air. Every day these memories erode my anger. Every time the mistletoe comes, my fury ebbs a little more. I can’t forget what he did to jeopardize the thing I’ve worked for my whole life. He lied and manipulated me. But these memories . . . they make me miss him. If he were here now, I’d smack him one second and kiss him the next.

God, if he were here now . . .

“That from him?” Ella pockets her phone and nods toward the mistletoe trapped between my fingers.

“What?” I drop the mistletoe back into my jewelry box, grab the earrings and slam the lid. “Is what from who?”

“Wow.” Ella raises her over-plucked eyebrows. “You’re real subtle. There’s two people you can’t, or shouldn’t keep secrets from. Your priest and your stylist. So ‘fess up. I’m guessing the mistletoe’s from Rhyson Gray.”

Leaning one hip against the granite counter top, I study Ella in the harsh light of my hotel bathroom and arrange my face into the mask I’ve worn since the sex tape exploded into my life. It’s not a guard I let slip. I have no idea who to trust. San is the only person I’ve told about the tape. I had to tell someone. San’s been my someone since we were kids. He’s always known what to do, and I’m praying that he can help me figure this out. He’s doing what he can on his end to unravel this web while I’m touring. Since that first text message six weeks ago, the blackmailer has been suspiciously quiet, but it hasn’t lulled me. If anything I live on high alert, braced for his next jab. I have no idea who knows about that sex tape, who’s behind it, and until I do, I’m giving nothing away to anyone. Not even sweet Ella.

“How should I know who’s sending the mistletoe?” I re-take my seat in front of the mirror, waiting for Ella to resume the makeup and hair rituals we’ve gone through together on this tour. “There’s never a card.”

“Probably because there doesn’t need to be one.” Ella goes back to scooping up my hair, but doesn’t leave this dangerous subject alone. “Everyone knows you were dating him and everyone saw things go bad on that video. You telling me he’s not trying to win you back?”

I’m telling you nothing.

A knock at the door saves me from having to avoid more questions.

“That’ll be Malcolm.” Ella heads out of the bathroom, calling back to me. “Forgot he said he was coming up.”

“For what?” I ask the girl in the mirror since Ella’s gone. The girl I’ve seen every day of my life, but sometimes barely recognize after only two months on the road. Same dark hair and tilted eyes, traces of her Asian ancestry. Same petite figure, maybe a little slimmer now. But that’s where the similarities end. Something behind those eyes has changed. Beyond the surface I’m a collection of reordered molecules making me a new creature I wouldn’t know in a crowd. I’m guarded in a fundamentally different way than when I first moved to LA. Maybe because I shared myself with Rhyson and he betrayed the trust it took me so long to give. Maybe I’m afraid to open up because I’m in an industry of takers who would usurp my place in a heartbeat if I slack off even a little. On days like today when I’d rather be cuddled in bed than putting on false eyelashes at five a.m., all I want to do is let up, but I can’t. I don’t want to gain everything I’ve dreamed of only to lose everything I am, but I feel that happening in some ways, and it all starts behind the eyes.

“You ready?” John Malcolm asks from the doorway.

Ella takes her place behind me again, swiveling me on the stool so she can apply a creamy foundation.

“I’m ready.”

“Always.” Malcolm leans his back against the wall, a smile creasing his puffy face, making him look like a happy blowfish. “Always the professional.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, barely parting the lips Ella is lining.

“This appearance is a big deal, Kai.” Malcolm watches the makeup motions Ella goes through. “
Morning Hype
isn’t just one of New York’s biggest shows. It’s one of
the
biggest shows. And even though Luke was the original draw, your performance on tour is creating enough buzz for them to ask you to come along.”

I just nod since Ella’s filling in my lips with our favorite red matte. This isn’t my first radio appearance with Luke. Yeah, it’s the biggest, but why do I get the feeling there’s more to it? Probably because Malcolm is rubbing his chin in the way that means he’s broaching a touchy subject.

“They have this segment called No Holds Barred.” Malcolm leans forward the tiniest bit, making sure he looks right into my eyes even though Ella is brushing shadow across my eyelids. “They’ll have questions about Gray.”

It takes a nanosecond to sink in. I’ve scrupulously avoided all questions and discussion of my relationship with Rhyson. Maybe it would have been smart for me to talk about it. To blast in every interview that I’m done with Rhyson Gray. That there’s no hope for us. Maybe that would have bought me some breathing room with my blackmailer. I just never could do it. Never could say we’re kaput. Every time I consider his betrayal, it’s like a fresh blow to my heart. He held me when
Total Package
turned me down. He was the one who kissed away my tears. If I fell for that, what else was a lie?

If something is built on a lie, can it still be real?

I can’t make myself believe that what Rhys and I shared wasn’t real, that it was all somehow a fabrication. He was the realest thing I’ve ever had.

And, even with the lies, I still miss him.

“I’m not talking about Rhyson.” I lower my real lashes, wishing now for the falsies to hide behind.

“It’s No Holds Barred.” Irritation pinches Malcolm’s bushy eyebrows together. “Everyone who agrees to go on the show understands that’s part of the deal.”

“Well, I didn’t agree.” I give him a steady stare. Calm resolve is the best way to handle Malcolm. “You booked this, not me, and it’s the first I’ve heard of answering questions about Rhys.”

“Kai, the public is still fascinated with that video fiasco. It’s got millions of hits.”

“That ‘video fiasco’ as you call it was my real life. A real relationship.”

“I hate to say it, but talking about it could make you an even hotter prospect.”

“No, you don’t.” I shake my head, ignoring Ella’s warning look to keep still.

“No, I don’t what?” Malcolm asks.

“You don’t hate to say it. You’ve wanted me to talk about this from day one.”

“Because I’ve always understood the public’s fascination with you and Gray. We should use it to your advantage.”

To my advantage? Or yours?

“I won’t use my relationship that way.”

Interest piques the look Malcolm gives me.

“So there’s still a relationship?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” I smile my thanks to Ella in the mirror when she pats my shoulder to signal she’s done. “It’s my private life. I’ll give it all up on the stage, you know that. But I have to keep something for myself.”

I reach for my black leather Converse with the rhinestone shell toe.

“Not those.” Malcolm runs his eyes over the wardrobe choices Ella brought in before pointing to a pair of stacked high heels. “Those work better.”

“I wasn’t aware you were a fashion designer
and
a manager.” I slip the stacked heels on instead.

Malcolm shrugs and slides his hands into his pockets.

“Image is everything.”

Another lie. Image is a conscious, deliberate projection. It’s not everything. Without substance to back it up, it’s nothing.

“Just be ready to deal with their questions.” Malcolm straightens from the wall and smoothes his already-wrinkle-free suit jacket. “I know it’s been a long two months, and you’re tired, but you’re so close to some R&R. Just knock this interview out of the park, get through these last few shows, and you get a break.”

I get a week off before we start our last month of the tour. I’ve thought about going back to Glory Falls instead of LA. Rhyson and me in the same city. I can’t imagine he’ll stay away. Not to mention Grady’s getting married next week, and I’m pretty sure Rhys is the best man. It won’t be possible to avoid him. I can only hope to resist him, and my track record with that ain’t great.

“The car’s downstairs waiting.” Malcolm turns and leaves.

I study myself in the mirror. My own Madonna t-shirt with red rhinestone lips is paired with an expensive black leather jacket that is definitely
not
my own. I search beneath the makeup and the designer jeans and the high-end leather for the girl who waited tables at The Note just months ago. There’s no sign of her. There’s this person that Malcolm is making a star, and even she looks a little lost.

“You ready?” Ella runs a brush through the hair hanging around my shoulders one last time.

A tiny spark of rebellion flares inside of me. I toe off the high heels, reaching for my Converse. As soon as I’m done tying them, I look up at Ella’s smirking face, smirking in return.

“I am now.”

LUKE AND I ARE THUMB WRESTLING
in the greenroom when the door leading to the studio opens. A girl wearing an Intern t-shirt ushers through a heavy-set man I don’t recognize and a woman I do. It’s Qwest, one of the hottest female rappers in the game. I don’t really listen to her music and have only seen her in a few videos, but she’s as compelling and beautiful in real life as she is onscreen. Black braids twist into a knot to crown her head. Her skin, the color of nutmeg, is absolutely flawless. I know the wonders of makeup. I rely on them every day. But there is a naturalness to her that I didn’t expect. She wears the same red matte shade on her lips as I do.

Our eyes catch and hold. She grabs the elbow of the heavy-set man, whom I presume is her body guard.

“Hold up, Ace.” She comes to stand in front of us, tilting her head to study me more closely. “Nice lipstick.”

I grin up at her from my seat, dropping Luke’s hand.

“Yours, too.”

“Erika.” She extends her hand to me. “Kai Pearson, right?”

It’s so odd for someone as famous as she is to know me. I’m not sure if it’s because of my relationship with Rhyson or because of my short stint on tour. Maybe a little of the latter. Probably mostly the former.