Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(63)
Which was great.
I could, I know, become rather strung out at times. Overthink things a little. Though with the gene pool Anne and I came from, it was probably a wonder we hadn’t both become crazy cat ladies at the age of eighteen or something. Not that I was making excuses or suggesting that passing on blame for a person’s personal behavior was a go. But for me, I think Ben’s aura of calm and direct was a good thing. People with low self-esteem fear love. (Yep. Psychology degree rears its head again.) They doubt another person’s ability to appreciate them, because they don’t see the worth in themselves. I knew I deserved good things. Or at the very least, I wouldn’t settle for less than a good thing.
In my rolled-down yoga pants, tank top slightly too small to contain the boobs and belly, and sweaty ponytail, I wandered back into our suite. Charcoal gray with features of slate this time. Awesome view of Manhattan. Very nice.
What was waiting inside for me, not so much.
“You are f*cking kidding me,” the stranger snarled, glaring at my baby belly.
I put a hand to my middle, stopping cold.
The woman was tall, brunette, slick beyond belief. Around thirty maybe. It was hard to tell, the way her sneer warped her model-like face and cherry red lips. Guess she was Ben’s hookup in New York or something. How awkward. Also, how the hell had she gotten in here?
“And you would be?” I asked, with an edge to my voice.
“If you think you’re getting a f*cking dime out of him without a paternity test you are dreaming. And even then, he will fight you for custody.”
Interesting. She seemed to believe she knew a hell of a lot about my boyfriend without actually knowing anything at all.
“Your name, please?” I asked.
“You’re not the first little cunt to try this shit with one of them, and you sure as hell won’t be the last.” The woman, henceforth known as “the bitch,” stared down at me from her stiletto-aided superior height. “Why Adrian didn’t let me know I have no idea.”
She was pals with Adrian? Not a good sign. Everything I’d seen and heard about the band’s manager led me to believe he was one of the great douches of our time.
“Was Ben expecting you?” He sure as hell hadn’t mentioned any visitors to me.
“I’m welcome here.”
“Yeah? How did you get in, just out of interest?”
“Security knows me.” A defiant flip of the hair. Christ, the woman was just like every mean girl I had ever encountered in high school. Amazing how some people just stopped developing beyond a certain age and got stuck.
Outside I did my best to look calm and cool, but inside I was one riled-up, unhappy camper. What the hell was she doing in our room? I guess Ben hadn’t had a chance to break it off with this chick. Awesome. “Would you like a juice? I’m dying for a juice.”
“Let me guess: you’re some trailer trash little gold-digging whore who thought getting backstage and sucking one of the guys’ dicks would get you somewhere.”
Guess she didn’t want a drink. But also, “You don’t get pregnant by sucking dick. I’m not majoring in biology or anything, but pretty damn sure of that one.”
The bitch just stared at me. Okay, so this was really not going well.
“Sorry,” I said. Not sorry. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your righteous rant. Please keep going. I honestly can’t wait to hear what you have to say next.”
Beautiful face scrunched up all cat-asslike, the woman actually had the audacity to stalk toward me, her hands curled into fists. The girl was out of her god damn head. My heart beat double time, every protective instinct in me rising up in alarm. Do violence on me and my Bean? I think not. Happily, the bar had a wide assortment of weapons at the ready. My personal favorite being a bottle of Chivas. I hefted it from one hand to the other. Three quarters full. It was weighty enough. No way was I playing nice with this piece of work.
“Martha,” shouted Sam the security man, saving the day. Don’t know when he’d snuck in, but I was mighty damn glad to see him. Given half the chance, I’d cover his craggy face in kisses. “Lay one f*cking hand on her and your brother will never forgive you. I guarantee it.”
The bitch froze.
“Hey, Sam. You want some Chivas?” I asked, offering the black-suited muscle man the bottle.
“Perfect. I’ll take that, shall I, Miss Rollins?” He set the bottle back in its place among the fine selection of booze.
“So you’re Ben’s sister,” I said, sucking down my apple juice once more. “Interesting.”
Sam put his cell to his ear, eyes looking somewhat worried for once. The bulky bodyguard had never shown the slightest hint of fear before that I’d seen. What a turn for the bizarre my day had taken. And what an almighty bitch on wheels Ben’s sister was. I sent up a quick prayer that those particular genes skipped a generation or three. No wonder Dave had traded up for Ev. Yikes.
“No way can he be swallowing whatever shit she’s peddling,” spat Martha.
“Mr. Nicholson,” said Sam into the cell. “Your sister has come to visit.”
“Let me talk to him.” Martha stuck out her hand.
The look Sam gave her. Whoa. It even made Martha pause again. Whatever the history was, there, I bet it was one hell of a tale.