Famously Mine: A Contemporary Romance Box Set Read online

  Forget a pinup calendar. I’ve got enough shots of Finn to storyboard a romantic comedy.

  They finish the song with an electric crash that sounds like the guitar and drums are having hate-sex, and the crowd cheers. I go to take another picture and realize my SD card is out of memory.

  Shit. My back up card is in my camera bag just off stage.

  I ease off stage and hurry to my bag. This is what mind blowing sex with your boss does. It makes you forget to check your photography equipment.

  I’m digging for the card when Karmine swoops down on me.

  “Oh thank God,” she says, shoving her phone in my face. “It’s some man who says it’s an emergency. He’s been trying to get in contact with you, there’s been some kind of accident with your parents—”

  My heart plummets, and I grab the phone with shaky hands, “Yes? Who is this? What’s going on?”

  “Oh, so you are alive,” a man drawls, and I’m so disoriented it takes me a few moments to place the voice.

  “When someone signs a contact with me for twenty grand, I expect them to answer the phone when I call.”

  Oh hell. It’s Shaun. Relief and anger is replaced by a different sort of panic. Karmine is standing right there watching me, worry and sympathy in her eyes.

  I lower the phone, “Could I have a moment of privacy? It’s not as bad as he was making it sound. Everyone’s fine. But I do need to take this call.”

  “Sure, honey!”

  Karmine backs far enough away that she can’t hear my conversation. Which, given that we’re backstage at a rock concert, isn’t actually that far.

  And now that she knows everyone is all right, her worry has turned to blatant curiosity.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I hiss. “Are you trying to let them know I’m working for you?”

  “Well I don’t know, are you?”

  “Of course I’m still working for you!” I say. “But I can’t exactly answer the phone when someone’s right there next to me.”

  “Someone’s next to you at midnight? Because that’s the last time I called you.”

  I swallow. Either answer I give him is bad. If I tell him I’m with someone from the tour, it’s only a matter of time before he figures out it’s Finn. Shaun’s a little slimy, but he’s not stupid. And once he figures it out, he’ll absolutely put it in the story.

  But the alternative is to admit I’m dodging his calls.

  “I was sleeping,” I lie. “It was after midnight.”

  “Oh give me a fucking break—”

  “What did you need to talk to me about? Because I’m supposed to be onstage with my camera right this second.”

  There’s a moment of silence. Finally he says, “Our source is back in touch again. He says Ryan hasn’t written a damn thing for an album that’s due in less than a month. It’s not as juicy as I was hoping for, so see if you can dig up anything else. Maybe he didn’t really write the songs on his first album. Or maybe he’s behind on this one because of a drug problem.”

  I roll my eyes, “Trust me, Finn doesn’t have time to have a drug problem.”

  “Are you really that naive? Everyone has time for a drug problem. Unless you’re with him all day long and watching him sleep, there’s always a possibility …”

  “I’ll look for something juicy. Got it.” But I can’t resist adding, “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  “De Luca. You do want to expose him, don’t you?”

  “I’ll do the job I was hired to do.”

  “Come on! How about a little enthusiasm? This is the man who dumped you. He’s a rich, selfish, talentless hack,” Shaun says. “What was it you said, about taking him down? You called it ‘a bonus.’”

  I don’t say anything.

  Shaun’s voice hardens, “Ok, I was trying to do this the nice way. Because I like you, Charlie. I really do. But you signed a contract saying you would do this job, and you’d do it discreetly. If you refuse to do the job you’ve been hired to do to my satisfaction, I will tell every editor and marketer I know not to work with you. And if you think that’s an empty threat, I want you to think about how long I’ve been working in this industry, in this city. And how long you’ve been here. How long do you think you can survive in New York once I cut off most of your sources of income?”

  “You wouldn’t,” I say, and it feels like my heart has literally stopped.

  “Don’t try me,” Shaun says.

  Finn and the band are finishing the third verse. I’ve missed almost a whole song. Apart from everything else, I need to get out there or Finn will ask me where I went tonight.

  Oh God. The thought of lying to Finn about this twists my stomach.

  On the other end of the phone, Shaun sighs. “Look Charlie, you’re a good kid. I don’t wanna be your bad guy. Just think of it like this: if I win, you win. It’s as simple as that. If you make me lose …” he trails off, the threat hanging in the air, rancid as a stink bomb.

  “I understand you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Ten o’clock sharp,” Shaun says and hangs up.

  I lower the phone and realize my hand is shaking.

  Karmine’s by me in an instant, taking the phone back, “Oh honey. Are you sure everything’s fine? You look horrible.”

  “It’s fine. Just a misinformed man sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  I fish out my memory card and escape onstage.

  I aim the camera at Finn, shifting the depth of the picture until he comes into focus. Checking the way the light and shadows fall across his face helps calm me. Finn starts to introduce the next song, and I’m staring through the camera at him, waiting for my next shot, when Finn looks straight at me and winks.

  It catches me off-guard, and my stomach leaps, like I’m the nerd getting noticed by the cool guy in class.

  That’s when my brain catches up with what he’s saying.

  Finn’s introducing a new song.

  He’s introducing one of our new songs.

  And suddenly my heart is racing. I’ve been telling Finn Relax, and Just write, and Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be perfect, but what do I know? What if I’ve set him up for failure in front of thousands of people?

  Between this and the call from Shaun, I want to run off stage and go hide back in my hotel room. It feels like mine and Finn’s happy bubble is cracking, and the world is rushing in, drowning us.

  But all I can do is be here with Finn if it goes horribly. And do the goddamn job he hired me to do.

  Finn starts playing, and now that the song has a bass, and drums, and Mariana on backup vocals, I almost don’t recognize the first song Finn and I wrote together, about a girl who’s like writer’s block.

  Finn’s polished it. It’s still got that messy, what-the-hell energy, but Finn’s tightened the lyrics and shifted something in the chorus so that it flows perfectly. Like something you’d hear on the radio. My heart is still beating fast, but now it’s because I’m watching the world premiere of something brilliant.

  And a world premiere deserves to be documented.

  I widen the frame so I’m getting the whole stage and start shooting like a mad woman. Once I’m sure I’ve gotten the big stage picture, I start zooming in on the details, trying to catch the feeling of the moment. Finn’s magical fingers on the guitar neck. Mariana’s head thrown back as she sings. The look of awe on a fan’s face.

  And of course, Finn. Although it’s hard to get a good photo of him, because instead of ignoring me, like he normally does onstage, like he’s supposed to do, he keeps looking at me, checking to see my reaction when there’s a part he’s changed, smirking at me when he gets to the part where he took my shirt off.

  He hasn’t touched the verse I wrote at all, although he’s given it to Mariana, so she’s singing lead while he sings harmony underneath. I think it might be the first time Finn has let someone else sing lead anywhere on one of his songs. The effect is rough, swoony magic that feels o
ddly romantic when compared to the rest of his catalogue, and the crowd is loving it. Everything about this song is fun and sassy on the surface, but the way he’s arranged it makes it feel like it’s built on something good and real.

  If I hadn’t picked the song topic myself at random, I’d think it was about a real woman, who was a perfect match for him, and as hard to catch as a difficult song.

  Finn takes the song back from Mariana on the bridge, and his voice feels even stronger, more charismatic, when it’s set against hers.

  “Did I say too much/ Did I leave us exposed/ Cause I put it all out there but your smile says no/ So if I’m going too fast/ Honey take my shirt/ Write this fucked up song with me/ Darling just say the word,” Finn sings. “I’m half a rhyme without you/ and it’s been ten years/ so darlin’ give me your word.”

  My finger freezes on the button. Ten years? That’s how long it’s been since we … is this song about me? I assumed the take my shirt line was just something he thought of in the moment since I was literally wearing his shirt, but the ten years line is something he added when he was honing the song. When he was intentionally shaping it.

  I shake the thought off and go back to photographing. So what if the song’s about me? And so what if it’s not? It’s just a song. A song he was hired to write. It doesn’t mean anything more than the pictures I’m snapping of him.

  I can tell myself that all I want, but when Finn looks straight at me, and sings the last line, I want you so bad/ It’s un-fucking my life/ But cards on the table/ You’re the song I never get right, my pulse pounds like Mariana’s drums.

  Does it mean he knows we’re a long shot, but he wants to keep trying to get it right anyway? Or does it mean the opposite, that he already knows he won’t get it right, so why try?

  I realize the song has come to an end, and I’m not breathing. The crowd’s whooping and roaring, and Mariana and Owen are smiling like kids who just got A+ ’s on their papers.

  But Finn’s focused on me. Waiting. And I don’t think he’s breathing either.

  I lower my camera and give him an unguarded smile, because whatever else is going on between us, the man just broke through his writer’s block in a hell of a way. I’m so proud of him, I can feel it in my chest.

  As soon as I smile, he relaxes and turns back to the crowd, slipping back into his rockstar persona so smoothly I’m not sure anyone else noticed he took it off.

  The rest of the concert goes off without a hitch, which is unfortunate, because I need something to distract me from the words chasing themselves around in my head.

  I want you so bad.

  Give me your word.

  How long do you think you can survive in New York once I cut off your income?

  If you win, I win. But if you make me lose …

  And finally, You’re the song I never get right.

  When the concert ends, Finn walks backstage and kisses me hard on the mouth. For a moment everyone backstage freezes. And then they loosen up and start catcalling us.

  It’s the first time he’s kissed me in public, and I can feel any remainders of the happy secret bubble we were in being swept away.

  For better or worse, we’re out in the real world now.

  Finn’s on cloud nine as we take a taxi back to the hotel, his arm slung casually over my shoulders. He’s damp with sweat after being under the stage lights, and I know I’m pretty far gone because even that smells good. Fresh and clean and masculine.

  I hesitantly let myself lean in to him, settling against the warm strength of his chest. Maybe the real world isn’t as close as I think it is. Maybe when we go back to the hotel, and it’s just us, it will feel like nothing has changed after all.

  “God, that was amazing,” Finn says, rolling down the window so that the cool night air whips through the cab, bringing the scent of the city to us—street-food and exhaust and crisp fall air.

  “I played a new song, and they liked it. I feel like I can breathe again,” Finn says.

  I smile against his chest, “They should like it. You wrote a damn good song.”

  “You wrote it too,” he says. And then he kisses me.

  My emotions are so tangled. I don’t know whether to shove him away for making our relationship public without consulting me, or cling to him with everything I have, for as long as I possibly can. And then under all of that is the simple fact that kissing him feels good. He’s warm and strong and there and fun, and he wakes me up like no one else can.

  I curl my fingers into his t-shirt, and let him pull me deeper into the kiss.

  The driver clears his throat, “It looks like we got traffic. It’s going to take a while to get you to your hotel.”

  “That’s fine,” I say, at the same time Finn says, “Then let’s go get dinner.”

  I blink up at him, “Why? We can just order in. Like we always do.”

  “Always,” Finn scoffs. “It’s been a week. And I haven’t taken you out.”

  “What do you call New Orleans?” I point out.

  “A poorly conceived campaign of emotional manipulation,” Finn says. “And I’m not talking about wandering the city. I’m talking about going somewhere nice for dinner. Sitting down. Talking. Like adults.”

  Like a couple. That’s what he means.

  I feel the panic rising inside of me. Why does Finn have to do this? We’ve got something good, despite the odds. And now he wants to change it. It’s like he’s inviting the odds to come in and take their shots.

  Because if we go out like that, someone will take a photo. And that photo will make its way back to Shaun. And then Shaun will run it in a story that mentions I was hired to betray Finn.

  I imagine the hurt and anger on Finn’s face as he reads that story and feel sick.

  “I’m tired,” I lie. I move over to the other side of the car. “Some other night.”

  “Come on, we’re both wired after the concert, we might as well go out and celebrate—”

  “Just drop it, Finn.”

  There’s a moment of tense silence, and I think he’s going to press it.

  “So am I taking you to the hotel or a restaurant?” the driver asks. “Because I know some great restaurants around here …”

  “Just the hotel,” Finn bites off.

  We drive the rest of the way in silence. And as we pull up in front of the hotel, I finally hit on one of the things that’s been niggling at the back of my brain.

  Nobody knew Finn hadn’t written the stuff for his new album but me. Unless someone else on Finn’s tour figured it out?

  Who the hell is Shaun’s source?

  And did they already see Finn kissing me?

  11

  Finn

  I half expect Charlie to ditch me as soon as we get back to the hotel. If she’s as tired as she claims, that would make the most sense.

  But I don’t think she’s really tired. She taps her foot while we wait for the elevator and fiddles with the straps on her camera bag. Like she’s full of nervous energy.

  “Is there something bothering you?” I ask, my voice quiet in the luxurious hotel lobby.

  “What? No. NO. Why would you think that?” Charlie punches the elevator button a few more times.

  “So you’re just jumping out of your skin because you’re tired?” I ask.

  “What are you talking about?” Charlie asks absently. The elevator dings, and we wait for the elevator to empty before getting on.

  “In the cab. You said you were too tired to go out.”

  “Oh. Um. Yeah.” She runs her hands nervously along the waist-height bar running along the wall of the elevator and avoids eye contact.

  With a sinking heart, I realize why she’s lying.

  Charlie doesn’t want to be seen in public with me. I don’t know why I didn’t put it together sooner. She froze when I kissed her backstage. Which isn’t the sort of reaction you expect from a woman who’s spent hours fucking in your bed over the last week. But I’m realizing now it was
the first time I kissed her in front of anyone. And she’s happy to come back to my room for dinner but doesn’t want to go out where someone might see us together.

  “Finn? What’s wrong? You look like you want to kill someone.”

  This time I’m the one who looks away. Because I don’t have the balls to say I just realized I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to date. So yes, I’m pissed.

  The elevator dings, and more people get on. Charlie backs over toward me, close enough I can smell the jasmine scent she wears. It’s a heavenly stab to the gut. When a drunk guy stumbles sideways, Charlie presses into me.

  “Is he bothering you?” I murmur into her ear. Charlie gives a tiny shake of her head but stays where she is.

  We get off on our floor and head to my room. Charlie jangles her leg restlessly while I swipe us inside.

  “You know, you can tell me when something’s bothering you,” I say, holding the door open, and I’m not really talking about the drunk guy. You can tell me why you don’t want to be seen in public with me. I can take it, whatever it is. Just tell me so I can fix it.

  So I can be good enough for you.

  Charlie strides past me into the room, “I told you he wasn’t bothering me.”

  I let the door slam behind me, as I follow her, “Then why did you—”

  “Because I feel better when I’m close to you!” Charlie whirls to face me. “I’m used to having to be tough, ok? When a drunk guy makes a pass, or someone’s following me too close on the sidewalk, I handle it by myself. And that’s fine. I’m good at it. But it gets tiring, having to be on guard, and after today, I just wanted to …” She runs a hand through her hair. “I just feel better when I’m next to you, and I gave in to that for two floors on an elevator. So sue me.”

  Charlie turns her back to me and starts putting her camera gear back in its spot.