Torn(9)

Social media isn't my thing. The negativity f*cks up my song writing so I avoid it. I pretend it doesn't exist but when another comment was made five days ago, by the same person, saying that the birthday gift for my mom was going to be sold to the highest bidder, my media manager called Daniel.

Daniel showed screenshots of the comments to me, and told me they were removed by my team seconds after they were posted. He was concerned enough to want to check it out though.

He asked me how far I wanted to take it. I wanted proof that it wasn't another baseless circus show designed to drain my wallet.

Daniel stopped by my place two days ago and showed me a picture on his phone. It was of my dad and the woman he almost married a year and a half ago. Caterina Omari used to be a second rate model. She latched onto my dad because his name is synonymous with one of the biggest fashion brands in the world.

She's only a few years older than me. Her career never took off so she sought out a new way to fund her desperate need to fit in where she never has. As soon as they started dating, my dad took her to Venice and Paris. He lavished her with gifts, and eventually a six carat diamond engagement ring that pushed him back into the spotlight. Their pictures were everywhere. They attended fashion week shows and she did interviews, branding herself as the 'Foster Fashionista.'

He loved the attention, she loved the money and when he told my older brothers that he was marrying her without a prenup, Gabriel cut her a check. She disappeared. I hadn't given her another thought until Daniel showed me that picture.

It was a picture of the two of them on their backs in bed, their cheeks touching, and thank f*cking Christ, they both were covered with a sheet. She's the only person who would have that picture. She's also the only one he's ever called 'Pumpkin.'

I called my father to ask what the f*ck she could have that would destroy our family. He told me she was blowing smoke up everyone's ass because the man she met after my dad dumped her is already her next ex-husband. She wants back in the spotlight so pulling my chain is the way to do it.

He laughed it off. I would have too except earlier today Daniel went to her apartment to verify that what she was selling was worth her asking price. It was. Every single f*cking word on that voicemail is worth the price I paid. There were some emails too, but they don't hold a candle to the recording.

I may have shut up his precious pumpkin by paying her off. It was worth every red cent to finally hear one of my parents admit the truth about who I am.





CHAPTER 7


Falon




"I'm at my studio," I whisper into my phone. "It's late. Why are you calling me now?"

There's a brief hesitation on the other end before he speaks. "Did you get the flowers? I ordered some roses for you this afternoon."

It was actually yesterday afternoon. It's near one in the morning now. I've been working on editing the shots I took of him since I arrived back at my studio after we had coffee.

Noah told me the flowers would come so I waited and once they arrived, I just wanted to bathe in their beauty for an hour or two. There are thirty-two white roses in total, all fragrant and flawless. I'd taken dozens of pictures of them as the natural light in my studio gave way to the darkness of the evening.

After that, I ordered food in and started working on Asher's promotional shots. I lost track of the time and my intention to call him to thank him for the flowers disappeared.

I'm surprised he called to check on the delivery. I'm even more taken back that it's the middle of the night. Maybe it's a rock star thing. He probably sleeps most of the day and stays up all night.

"Did you get the flowers, Falon?" His voice is more insistent now.

"They're here." I look at both vases. "They're beautiful, breathtaking actually. It wasn't necessary but thank you."

"Noah said white roses are your favorite."

I clear my throat. "I love roses. I've never seen this many together at once."

He sighs. "They sent all they had. I wanted more. I wanted enough to fill your studio."

He's either romantic or a lunatic. I can't tell yet. "I was just about to head home. Thank you again, Asher."

"Do you want to have dinner with me?"

I do. I can overlook the possible lunacy of him for a free meal where I get to stare at his handsome face for a few hours. No harm is going to come to me in a crowded restaurant in Manhattan with one of the most recognizable men in the world. "I'd like that. I'm free next…"

"I'll come by the studio to pick you up now. What do you want to eat?"

"Now?" My hand darts to my hair. "You want to have dinner now?"

"I'm starving. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," I say without thinking. Why would I say that? I should be telling him that I'm going home to bed. I shouldn't be agreeing to a date this late at night or is it this early in the morning?

"Don't move," he says quickly. "I'm on my way."

The call ends abruptly. I stand up and walk over to the full-length mirror that's near the door. My skirt is wrinkled. The white blouse I'm wearing has a stain on it from the mustard on the sandwich I ate hours ago and my hair is a nightmare.

Unless the restaurant Asher is taking me to is lit completely by candlelight, my dating experience with the world's most famous rock star may be one and done.