The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2) (14 page)

“Hell, no.” Ever since the first moment she’d walked into his manager’s office, Dylan had always looked at her with at least some fraction of wanting, even if veiled. Not anymore. And it broke her heart. A heart she hadn’t realized was so completely wrapped up in his—until he tore it away.

“It sounds pretty cut-and-dried, Ariel.” Jones crossed his arms.

Cam took up the interrogation. “So why’d you do it?”

“I didn’t do it.” God, she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. She’d denied it the moment Jones dropped the bomb on them, but hadn’t even known how to explain it until after talking to her boss. Though her brother asked the question, Ariel aimed her answer at Dylan. “I swear I didn’t. I was hacked.”

“You’re telling me that some random hacker happened across your private photo cache, looked through all of it and then got smart enough to release Dylan’s pic to coincide with our big show in Vegas? Because that doesn’t sound coincidental to me. Or spontaneous. That comes off as stone-cold PR strategy.”

“It was. But not
mine
,” she hastened to add. “My phone automatically backs up to a server in my office, because ninety-nine percent of the photos I take are for clients. Because it is for work, my boss was able to get our IT department to use the administrative override to get into my account.”

“Why would they? Why would they suddenly get a yen to look through your photos without asking? Something set them off, Ariel.”

Jones scowled. “You’re not telling us everything.”

True. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to do so. That they’d be as outraged by Bart’s breach of privacy as she had been when he admitted to it on the phone ten minutes ago. That it would be enough to fracture the hard line they held against her. No such luck. “I guess I accidentally might have led him to believe that such a photo existed.”

Dylan let his head roll backward slowly. The cracking noise his neck made reverberated through the charged atmosphere like a bolt of lightning. “You guess? Might have? Stop dancing around the truth. Tell me exactly when and why you decided to sell me out.”

Never. She’d never do that. Not to any client, but especially not to him. “Dylan, I didn’t. I swear. Right after we took that photo, when you were busy with the sound check, Bart called to threaten me again. Said you weren’t getting enough coverage yet. That I hadn’t pushed the limits enough with making the world see you in the reverse of your old, perfect image. And if I didn’t get you as the lead story on every entertainment show and website within a week, I’d be fired.”

His glacial gaze scanned across her face, probing to be sure she spoke the truth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

That one was easy. Embarrassment at being seen as a failure…which, come to think of it, was the same fear Dylan had just shared with her an hour ago. How come he’d been brave enough to do so, and she hadn’t? It didn’t matter now, though. With a helpless shrug, Ariel said, “What good would it have done?”

“He can’t threaten you over my good or bad behavior. You’re not my keeper.”

“He can. He did. It scared me. If I lose this job, I’m not sure anyone would go out on a limb to give me a third chance. So, out of desperation, I asked him if a naked photo of you would be enough to satisfy him. I would’ve asked you first before giving it to anyone. Cropped it, of course, to hide…things that should stay private. Once he jumped all over it, I realized that I’d made a mistake. I backpedaled. I told him it didn’t exist. I was just looking for parameters.”

It’d been the stupidest mistake she’d ever made. Why hadn’t she just deleted the photo? Well, Ariel knew
why
. She’d kept it for purely selfish reasons, to have as a reminder of their time together. As if she could ever forget a second of time spent with Dylan Royce.

Jones whistled between his teeth. “He saw right through you, didn’t he? That’s why he hacked your account.”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know it happened or that he released it.”

Dylan strode forward until he was so close that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. In a low voice, he said, “You picked your career over us.”

Us? Us implied forever. Us implied a commitment, a white picket fence, at least a shared cup on the bathroom sink with two toothbrushes in it. It had been less than a week since Dylan had convinced her that he wouldn’t dump her once they slept together. She believed him, but that was a long, long way from accepting the possibility that he was truly in it for the long term. Especially with him not even knowing what he’d be doing or where he’d be going in a month.

No. He didn’t get to lay that at her feet. “There is no official ‘us,’” she said hotly. “There’s just a right now. And I only asked the question for
your
career, to get you noticed.”

“Don’t lie. Don’t bother.”

It wasn’t a lie. She had been thinking of Dylan. Riptide’s sound check had been in the background. She’d been able to hear Dylan’s voice, watch him move sinuously across the stage. He deserved attention, notoriety, platinum album sales. He deserved it all. What if she hadn’t tried her absolute hardest?

“I worried,” she said, choosing her words with extreme caution, because it seemed this might be her last chance to have this conversation with Dylan, “that I’d held you back. That because I’m falling for you, I had been, um, proprietary about your body. Which is a huge selling point. You’re young, hot, and that makes women want to buy your music. I worried I’d gone soft.”

He strode back to the guys, huffing out a breath. “That’s what you call acting ethically? Going soft?”

“No. I mean, only for a minute. The concern crossed my mind, and that’s why I blurted out what I did. But the minute the words came out, I knew they were a mistake. I never intended for this to happen. You have to believe me.”

“Fear of being fired can’t drive every decision you make, Ariel. Your job isn’t your life.”

“Yes, it is.” She jabbed her index finger at each of them in turn. “You three, of all people, should know that. In this business, we live, sleep, eat and breathe our jobs. There’s almost zero delineation between working and the rest of life. I know I screwed up. I’m so sorry. I’ll do everything I can to make it right.”

“Millions of people have already seen my dick, Ariel. How are you going to make that right? The only thing that can be done is make damn sure that
you
never see it again.” Dylan grabbed his key card off the coffee table. “I’ll be down in the venue. I need music right now. I need to make music.”

“Go ahead.” Cam nodded.

Dylan walked out, leaving the confetti of her tattered heart in his wake. Jones grabbed the six-pack on the bar and jogged after him.

Once the door snicked shut, Cam said, “You fucked up, Ari.”

The disappointment in her brother’s voice unleashed the flood of tears she’d worked so hard to choke back. With a racking sob, she threw herself into his arms. After a long exhale, he began patting her back.

“He h-h-hates me,” she got out between sniffles.

Cam pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “Right now, for sure.”

Surprised laughter broke through the gasps and cries enough for Ariel to get herself back under control. Falling apart in front of Cam wasn’t ideal. But at least she hadn’t let loose the waterworks in front of everybody else. “You suck at cheering up.”

“Maybe that’s because I’m not done yelling at you yet. That was one hell of a bad decision, Ari.”

“Before you go back to being Riptide’s lead singer, could you just be my brother for a few more minutes? I really need that guy right now.”

“Okay.” Hands on her shoulders, Cam pushed her away to look her in the eyes. “As your brother, I gotta ask. Did you really not know?”

Ariel shook her head so violently her neck cracked. “I swear. I pinkie swear. I swear on Mom’s famous strawberry waffles.”

“Then I’m sorry—as your brother—that your boss just royally screwed you over.”

“Thanks.”

“And as much as I don’t love the idea of anyone boning my little sis, I’m sorry this split up you and Dylan. You were a good pair.”

That was too fast and far a leap for her to accept. “You really think we’re over? Just like that?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Why did Cam have to sound so sure? She burrowed back into his embrace, needing the comfort. “Doesn’t everybody get one mistake? A do-over? If I apologize enough times?”

“You broke his trust. Which was a damn special gift that he gave you in the first place. I’ll book you another room for tonight. You can’t stay here.”

“Thank you.” Ariel sniffled back the last of her tears. “And I know this reflects poorly on Riptide. I’ll call in every favor I can—just tell me what message you want to put out. I’ll spend all night on the phone fixing this.”

“That’s up to D. He gets to make that call. When he does, I’ll let you know. You’d better not come to the show tonight, either. Give him some space.”

Desperate for an excuse to see him, to talk to him, to apologize a million more times, Ariel grabbed at the only thing she could. “What about the raffle?”

“Kylie will handle it. The last thing Dylan needs right now is his ex-girlfriend handing him off to women who probably have that picture saved as the new wallpaper on their phone.”

So she couldn’t start fixing it…yet. Which left her plenty of time to either wallow, or figure out how to fix their broken relationship. Or if it’d be more caring all the way around if she left him alone. Because this decision had to be about what was best for Dylan. Not what she wanted so desperately in her heart.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Three o’clock in the morning on the Strip meant it was bright enough out on the balcony that Dylan could read the label on his beer bottle. The same bottle he’d been nursing for half an hour. Jones had encouraged him to go on a bender. He’d said it was both good sense and a time-honored tradition to drink yourself stupid when a woman let you down.

But staring out at the bright lights in his swim trunks made Dylan feel so much darker on the inside. Adding large amounts of alcohol to that melancholy didn’t seem smart. Going to bed—alone—sure as hell didn’t appeal to him. He missed Ariel. Missed her sharp wit and the smile he always teased out of her.

It’d been two days since their fight. It felt like two weeks. Two days of her creeping around, staying out of his way. She communicated with Leo, working like a dog to handle the media explosion over his dick pic. Ariel didn’t talk to him directly at all. Dylan didn’t know if that was bad or good.

Yeah, she’d apologized. Yeah, she hadn’t
actually
released the photos. It was a fine fucking line to walk, though, and Ariel definitely put her foot down on the wrong side, even if only in an effort to regain her balance.

The kicker was that he believed her. He believed that, for that split second she’d contemplated selling him out, it had been with his best interest at heart. The one thing Dylan kept telling her—after he’d gotten over his initial sulk about still having someone else pick out his damn clothes—was that he’d do anything to make his solo career take off.
Anything.

Leo’s words, that day in his office, hadn’t left much gray area. Leo said from the get-go that their goal was to make women want to fuck him. To make women see him as a grown-up. Well…showing off his package sure as shit accomplished that goal. How could he stay mad at Ariel when, even unintentionally, her actions had indeed made him trend on Twitter? On the other hand, how could he ever trust her again? Two solid days, and Dylan wasn’t any closer to settling on an answer.

“Got room for one more out there?” Cam asked, braced against the doorframe.

“I’m pretty sure there’s room for an entire baseball team out here.” Bottle hanging between two fingers, Dylan pointed at the lounger next to him beside the pool. “What’s up?”

“We did a kick-ass show tonight. I’m still a little charged from it. Need to hang out and wind down some.”

Dylan knew full well there was an extremely hot redhead waiting in Cam’s bed. And Kylie would do a perfectly fine job of winding him up and then down. He knew the older man was checking on him. But it felt nice. Friendly. God knew he’d never expected a day when rock god Cam Watson would swing by his room at three a.m. to shoot the breeze. So he’d play along.

“Yeah. We were on fire. The audience couldn’t get enough. They love Riptide’s new sound. They’re not clapping and screaming like that because of your eight Grammys. It isn’t nostalgia. You’re not playing your old stuff at all.”

Cam winced as he kicked his legs up onto the red cushion. “
Classic
, Dylan. We prefer
classic
rather than
old
.”

“The point is, they’re going wild out there for every new song we play. Maybe everyone should go on a two-week vision quest in the woods for new music. ’Cause you guys hit it out of the park.” It could be hard talking about the relative merits of your own composition without sounding like a braggadocious douchebag. Doing it with a fellow musician was the only time it felt natural to be fully honest about how much the music rocked.