Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (80 page)

“It’s so…” she sighed, her embarrassment with the conversation obvious, “…too much. Too intimate. I’ve never let anyone.”

Their lips were still touching, and he locked his eyes to hers. “Are you going to let me?” If the soft question came out in the same wheedle he’d used on her as kids, it was because he suddenly felt as desperate for her to agree, as he had for her to split that last ice cream sandwich she’d been about to bite into when they were ten.

He hadn’t wanted the ice cream as much as he had wanted her to give it to him. Her handing it over held a deeper meaning. It had demonstrated feelings between them left unsaid. Back then, she hadn’t hesitated—she’d even offered the slightly larger half.

Tonight, it seemed like the world stopped while he waited the few seconds for her answer. A response he felt would reveal everything about where they were right now in this crazy relationship.

“Yes.” Her gaze never wavered, and before she’d finished nodding, he ground his lips to hers in a kiss of gratitude, servitude, and passion.

The queue of texts continued to roll in after Scarla unblocked her mother’s number. Now she questioned the sanity of doing so.

The twentieth anniversary of Tyler Conterra’s death had dawned a clear hot day in L.A. Gazing at the city in the distance, she wondered if a cloud of smog had hung over it the day her father had died. Not long ago, Gage had driven her by the modest house in the hills with a similar view where her father had resided and passed away.

“Who’s blowing up your phone?” Gage paused his playing and rested the guitar against his chest.

“I was going to call my mom. Today’s always been hard on her.”

He scowled but said nothing. She knew what he was thinking. Henni Smythe had been about to trash the idealistic image of her ex-lover for millions of his adoring fans. If the date was sentimental to her, she had a strange way of showing it. Scarla knew though. She’d seen her mother do many unscrupulous things over the years in the name of money. These things were more often a con—not what she personally felt.

“Give me some warning if you call. I need to be far away.” Gage’s look inferred he needed the distance to keep from throwing her phone over the wall into the canyon if that happened.

“I guess this is your warning. I don’t want to be caught off-guard by her at the screening tonight.”

Scarla was going to the documentary screening in several hours. Not that she wanted to. If she had to see it at all, she’d prefer to do so in private. And of course, a coming out in public was the last thing she had wanted. But publicity pictures with Willard Ackard, the producers, and other suits behind the film was in her part of the legal jargon that had ensured her mother was completely removed from any connection with the film. Her mother’s invitation to the screening had even been revoked, to guarantee she didn’t show up in a press picture. Somehow, though, Scarla didn’t think things would go off without a hitch. Although her mom had been paid, she had now been betrayed by her own daughter, and the woman seemed to relish public scenes.

Wasting no time, Gage carried his guitar, retreating into the house, and he didn’t look happy about it. She loved him a little bit more for that—for letting her do what she felt she needed to do despite his disagreement.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed speed dial.

“Scarlette! Honey! Finally! What in the flipping fuck is going on with you?”

“Me? I’m just trying to clean up your mess. What were you thinking?”

“Every word was true.”

“No. No it wasn’t!”

“Scarlette. Listen to me―”

“No. I don’t care what’s true and what isn’t. You don’t fuck with a man’s memory like that. And just forgetting about the public humiliation you were about to bring on our family—did you ever think about what you were doing to me? What would make you screw up your daughter’s already messed up image of a father she never had the privilege of knowing?”

“You’re an adult now. Act like one. You can’t think―”

“No. YOU act like one.” Scarla brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Don’t try to be there tonight. There’ll be security on the lookout for you. And I’m going to have security around me. We won’t be talking there. In fact, I don’t know when we’ll be talking again.”

“Scarlette! Calm down. You need to―”

“If you’re worried about money, don’t be. You may be cold and greedy, but I’m not.”

“What are you saying?”

Scarla’s mouth twitched, a quirk of a disappointed smile. A crazy smile because there was nothing amusing about this. It wasn’t surprising her mom had ignored an attack on her character. The upcoming fortune was front and center in Henni’s mind, even with the five figures she’d very recently been paid for her traitorous interview.

“That you’re my mother. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

“This is Gage, isn’t it? And his father. That man still has a vendetta against me. You and I need to talk alone. Soon.”

“Before my birthday?” She felt her lips curve again in delirious amusement. “Okay. We’ll talk before my birthday.”

“Alone. Just you and me.”

Ignoring that, she lifted her face to the barest brush of a breeze and eyed the smog cloud. “Mom? Take care of yourself today. Okay?” Her throat burned with emotion and the words were hoarse.

Jabbing her thumb at the screen, she hit ‘End Call.’

Twenty years ago today, the world had lost an icon. Her mother had lost a man she loved. And she had lost a father she’d never remember.

“I thought you went in.” She murmured when a sound alerted her that she was no longer alone.

“You looked like you didn’t need to be alone.” Arms wrapped her from behind, and she fell back against Gage’s familiar frame, inhaling the scent that was him.

T
he dark limousine tint cast an unreal spell on everything beyond the windows. Music thumped through the speakers at a low volume. Gage and Colt kept up a steady conversation above the beat. Scarlette’s fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap until Gage took one of her hands, twining his fingers with hers.

“You okay?”

He spoke low, for her ears alone, but Colt heard and interceded.

“Of course she’s okay. She was born for this.”

Gage ignored the other man and continued his concerned perusal, but she curved a bright smile.

“Sure. I’m fine. Like he said, it’s in the blood, right?” She loosely referred to publicity. “…And step-blood.”

The moment he was back to conversing with Colt, she let her facial muscles relax. No. She wasn’t fine. A quarter of an hour from now, she’d no longer be Scarla Smythe. She would again be Scarlette Conterra.

A block ahead was the destination of the documentary premiere and party. Traffic had already slowed to a crawl.

The public’s fascination with her might last barely beyond tonight and the several promotional appearances she had contracted to. Or she might never know another day of obscurity.

Gage squeezed her hand. The car was crawling to another stop, falling into queue. Up ahead, the strobe of camera flashes accompanied a passenger alighting. The car pulled away, and another rolled into its place.

Colt had been playing limo bartender, but he’d ceased mixing drinks. After tipping a black bottle of wine directly to his lips, he held it toward them. Gage waved it away, but she snatched it and ignored their surprised eyes as she swallowed several swigs.

She had been wary when the plan of both Gage and Colt escorting her tonight had hatched between the three of them. So far, the two were on their best behavior. However, things would get interesting when she had one on either side of her.

The headlines tomorrow could very well be ‘Fire Flight’s Frontmen Brawl at Famed Musician’s Daughter’s Feet During Memorial Anniversary.’ Instead of ‘Scarlette Conterra Daughter of Tyler Conterra Resurfaces at His Memorial Anniversary.’

“Sirs and ma’am?” The intercom came alive when the driver apprised them they were nearing the head of the line.

Too soon, the limo door was opened. Gage gave her a nudge when she didn’t immediately move. Aware of her propensity to trip when nervous, she took an extra few seconds to balance her weight on the short heels of the metallic Myslides encasing her feet.

Her first few steps were met with hesitant flashes and then the murmurs crescendoed into chaos when she was recognized. The strobes flashed so fast they almost blended into one blinding light. Standing straighter, she angled her chin higher.

Gage and Colt both hung a half step back. Up ahead, she was motioned to the left. Immediately, perfect gentlemen in synchronicity, they closed in, each holding one of her arms. She was grateful of the support when she looked ahead and got her first glimpse of the step and repeat backdrop.

Tyler Conterra’s larger than life face filled several identical film posters. Each was spaced out along a logo backdrop. A velvet rope separated the hyper crowd, and she blinked in the brightness of the lighting.

The guys again paused to let her go ahead. When she found herself positioned in front of one of the posters, her shaky legs steadied as if her father was sending her strength.

“Scarlette!” The yells came from everywhere. “Beautiful dress, Scarlette!” The bids for her attention continued, and she turned with a smile, basking in the honor of who she was to the faces in the crowd.

Colt squeezed her elbow as they came to the end of the walk, and Gage grabbed her hand. She dropped her eyes, lest a camera flash catch her churning emotions, and it took a moment for the afterimage caused by the flashes to fade.

To those yelling her name, she was a link to an icon of their past. An afterimage. Gage’s thumb subtly caressed her palm, and she squeezed his hand tighter. To him, this man from her past, she was a present. Together, they would embrace whatever the future brought.

They were the lucky ones.

Lucky in love.

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Scarlette and Gage know they can’t hide their relationship from public eyes forever, but it should be easy enough to fly under the radar while they are separated by Gage’s rehab stay.

Or not…

When a viral sex video outs them as lovers, their very new and now long distance relationship is tested.

I could have been any rock star’s kid. My mom dated dozens of famous musicians over a decade and a half, and I use the word dating very loosely. Any one of them could’ve been the one.

But I hit the rock star daddy lottery.

That’s what people are acting like anyway. It’s sickening.

I’m Scarlette Conterra daughter of Tyler Conterra, rock icon who fatally overdosed three weeks shy of joining the twenty-seven club. His millions multiplied into billions over twenty years, and I’m days away from reaching trust fund age.

I’m not going to lie and say it won’t give me a thrill never again to worry about paying my bills. Being offered my own onyx charge plate and invited into elite social sites is also a strange kick. But I’d give it all up and go back to bartending my way through college to have one real memory of my dad—one little clip in my head or fuzzy image that I know for certain is not part of a YouTube video or a Google Image.

I can’t imagine anyone will believe that. But it’s true.

Achy eyes and blurred vision kept her from continuing. Her thumb rested on the keypad of her phone while she squinted the almost tears away and read what she’d typed.