Seduction by Song (9 page)

“
They got pictures of you going to that hotel with him,” Maddie says excitedly. “I mean, most people probably wouldn’t know it was
you
—the pictures weren’t very clear—but we knew! We recognized your new dress, and
God
does it look beautiful on you or
what
.”

I blink, shaking my head in confusion. “They got—who do you mean by
they
?”

“Paparazzi,” April says, rolling her eyes. “Bastards. They were probably following you around all night.”

I groan again, finally hugging Maddie back before moving to drop down onto the unoccupied armchair in our living room. “Oh,
God
. What if
Logan
sees.”

“Who
cares
?” Juliet says, just as bright-eyed and excited as Maddie was. “You had a
date
with Romeo
Ortiz
! Tell us
everything
!”

I blink, peering out at them through the hand I had slapped over my face in exasperation. “You guys are—mad?”

“Ugh,
no
!” Maddie laughs as she sits down again, too. “I can’t believe you thought you had to keep it a secret from us. Now dish! We want to know everything!”

I pause for a second, smiling hesitantly and launching into an animated—well, as animated as I could manage for so early in the morning—story about last night’s date. I tell them about the theater, about how he found that film I’d been looking for when I couldn’t find it
anywhere
. I tell them about dinner, recounting every delicious bite of food and sip of wine, and I tell them about the hotel, making it
very
clear that we absolutely did
not
get a room there.

The girls sigh dreamily, telling me I’m the luckiest girl in the world and telling me they wished they were in—but in the friendly type of jealousy, not the claw your eyes out in rage type of jealousy.

I laugh, finally, and feel the stress of the night before easing out of my body as I enjoy a few jokes about it with the girls. It isn’t until after Maddie and Juliet take off, apparently
needing
to catch some sale at the mall, that April takes a seat next to me and frowns.

“Was it really that amazing?”

Riding on the high of the recent conversation that had been full of giddiness and glee, I almost nod—but I catch myself when I realize that it would be, at least in part, a lie. I sigh and shake my head, slumping again as I suddenly feel myself getting tired once more.

“It was—I mean, all of that
happened
, but—it didn’t mean anything, you know? He proved me right about everything, basically. He thinks he can get anything he wants with some money and some charm.”

April nods grimly and offers to fill up my cup of tea, which I had finished earlier over an impromptu brunch with the girls to wake myself up. “You’re disappointed?”

“No!” I shake my head, quickly. “No, of course not. I’m not even surprised, really. I mean,
duh
. Of
course
he’s that sort of guy.”

I try to laugh it off, because I’m really
not
disappointed, but April still looks at me a bit sympathetically before patting me on the back and moving to clear away some plates we used.

“It’s okay to be disappointed,” she says. “If you are, I mean. It’s natural to hope that a guy could be different for you, y’know?”

I nod, understanding perfectly—but I’m really
not
disappointed. That realization surprises me when it strikes. Based on April’s reasoning, which isn’t wrong, I
should
be disappointed that I wasn’t as special as Romeo claimed, that he
didn’t
act differently around me. I couldn’t feel a single ounce of disappointment in my body, though.

Perhaps I knew it wasn’t over, as much as I wanted it to be. Perhaps I knew I would have to see him again, have to give him another chance—and perhaps I knew he would take that chance.

I sigh, thinking back to the bracelet in my room. He had obviously set that up as the perfect opportunity to force me into giving him another chance, and I couldn’t even bother being too disappointed that I would have to see him again. After all, it couldn’t be so bad. I survived one night with them, didn’t I?

Despite this, I have no intention of seeing him alone.
He had written his cell number down on the business card he gave me with the details of the music video shoot, but meeting him alone would probably give him all the wrong ideas. No, a public meeting would be much better—and at the music video shoot would be perfect. Maybe I would participate. It would be an experience, I was sure, to be involved in such a project.

And just because Romeo was the way he was, it didn’t mean his
crew
would be horrible to work with. I might even have fun!

With my mind made up, I putter around the apartment, helping April clean up, for a while longer before scheduling another appointment with my professor for midweek next week—just before a shooting period for the music video. It would be good to have something to do in case I changed my mind about going after I got on campus, something to cite as a reason for being there
other
than the music video.

And it would be good to have something to look forward to.

I blink as I finish setting up the appointment, that last thought surprising me. Was I really looking forward to this?

And if I was, was it
really
all that bad?

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the professor I needed to meet with had to take a sick day when our appointment came up. She hadn’t been able to leave me a message about it, so I was already on campus when I saw the note on her door letting me know we would have to reschedule. I consider taking the bus home, not having intended on visiting the music video shoot for another hour or two, but decide it’s not worth the fare or the trouble. Romeo’s crew was already setting up when I passed their set on my way to the professor’s office, and I was sure I could lend a hand.

Surprisingly, Romeo is nowhere to be seen when I wander onto the set where some students are mingling with the crew setting up the equipment for the shoot. I help a few roadies move some dry ice machines and chat with a few stagehands, one of whom I actually recognize from that show I went to with the girls, as the set starts to come together.

“We’re just waiting for light now,” one of the crew says after we’ve gotten most of the equipment into place. “The sun’s a bit bright for the shot we want.”

“Thanks for showing me the ropes,” I say, smiling. “It’s been really fun getting to see how this stuff works.”

“Hey, we’re just glad you’re interested!” he says. “It’s great to have some help around here.”

Still smiling, I gesture to the last set of speakers that are still sitting by the stage and ask if I can help them move those into place as well. They nod, although they tell me that I’m more than welcome to just hang out and
not
help, and gesture for me to pick one of the larger speakers up with help from a stagehand, pointing to the spot next to the stage where it’s supposed to go.

We’re halfway there, on our way down a few steps, when a bellowing voice screams out, “What in the
hell
do you think you’re
doing
!”

I freeze, instantly, and blink when the stagehand helping me freezes as well.

“Oh god,” he says quietly under his breath, a look a fear passing his eyes. “That’s our producer. He
hates
me.”

I turn my head to look at the man charging towards us. He’s striking in the same way a Hollywood actor might be, wearing a sharp suit and expensive-looking sunglasses just above an angry frown.

“So what the fuck is this, then?” he says, his voice loud and crisp as he scowls down at us. “You’re letting a
civilian
move band equipment?”

The stagehand stammers out a mumbled reply and shoots me an apologetic look as he bows his head to keep from having to look at the producer. “Sorry, I—she just wanted to help.”

“You think this is some sort of playground, kid?” the producer snaps as he turns to me, glaring at me over the rim of his sunglasses.

I blink at him a few times before frowning myself. “I wasn’t aware being a Good Samaritan was illegal these days.”

The producer practically
snarls
, crossing his arms across his chest. “It is when you look like you’re about to steal our equipment.”

I gasp, if only because I hadn’t thought someone could
be
so rude, and startle when the stagehand speaks up again.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “I’ll take all the responsibility for this.”

“You’re damn fucking right you will,” the producer says. “What’s your name? You’re
fired
.”

I gasp once more, opening my mouth and getting ready to tell him that he can’t
do
that, even if he
is
some bigwig producer, because this poor kid didn’t do anything wrong—he’d just wanted to let me help, and only because I asked. I couldn’t just let him get fired for something
I
did, for no good reason!

I don’t get the chance to speak, though, because a familiar voice is cracking out behind me, saying, “The hell are you talking about, Harris?”

Romeo is there all of a suddenly as I spin around to face him, as much as I can without letting go for the speaker we’re still carrying. Romeo’s got this grin on his face, total confidence in the face of this producer that had been so intimidating just seconds ago. When I turn back to look at him, the producer seems to have shrunk in size, shifting back a step like he’s actually
scared
of Romeo.

I wouldn’t ever admit that I felt awed of Romeo in this moment, but that’s exactly what I was feeling all of a sudden. If Romeo could stand up to a guy like this and even make him cower at the sight of him, maybe he
did
deserve to be as confident as he was.

“Mr. Ortiz,” the man, Harris, says. “My apologies. If you wanted to take disciplinary actions yourself—.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Romeo says, waving him off. “Though I
will
be taking disciplinary actions against you if I ever catch you tormenting the crew again. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” Harris says quickly, backing away as fast as he can.

Romeo looks back to us after a second, confident smile still in place. It turns softer, though, like he isn’t trying to be mean or difficult about it. “Need a hand with that, then?”

“No, sir!” the stagehand says, smiling wide. “Thank you for that. I really—.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” Romeo says, patting him on the back before turning to look at me. “Erin. You came.”

“And I’m glad I did,” I say before I can stop myself. Figuring that the compliment was halfway out there already, I force myself to smile, trying not to feel too self-conscious, and continue, “So you’ve got a soft side, huh.”

“Is that your way of telling me I need to lose some weight?” he teases.

I can’t help laughing, just a bit, as I shake my head. “Let me just get this to where it belongs—.”

“Oh, no! It’s fine,” the stagehand says quickly, taking the speaker into his own arms and away from mine. “I didn’t realize you were Miss Gouchet. I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Mr. Ortiz probably wants to talk to you.”

I blink after him as he scuttles off, smiling over his shoulder at us before disappearing. I turn to Romeo after a second, for once relaxed in his presence.

“So are your entrances usually this exciting?” I ask as he gestures for us to move away from the crew as they move about, getting the last preparations finished now that Romeo had arrived.

He laughs, shaking his head as he leads us over to one of the buildings nearby where his team had apparently repurposed a hall of classrooms into a series of dressing rooms. “This? This is mundane. Come—this way.”

I follow without complaint for once and take a look around the room he leads me into. It’s just a regular classroom with the desks all pushed out of the way to make room for some trunks and stage costumes, but the clutter makes it feel rather cramped and claustrophobic in there.

Romeo turns to me after a moment, a red box in his hands. “I thought you might be coming. This is for you—the entrance I
really
prepared.”

I stare at it for a moment before reaching out hesitantly to take it. It’s a bit too large to be jewelry, but the box is smooth and tied together with a beautiful ribbon that’s a shade or two darker. “What is it?” I ask as I thumb the ribbon carefully.

“You’ll have to open it and see,” he says, grinning as he settles back against one of the desks to watch me.