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Even with a wealthy father and all the connections I grew up with, Ansell is so beyond me it’s like he’s in a different world. And yet his gaze is piercing and intelligent and probing.
I sip on a lukewarm beer and my boss, my handsome and scary boss, keeps glancing in my direction and scowling like he doesn’t know what to make of me, and that sends a shocking chill of excitement deep into my core.
I should be freaking out. My life is literally crumbling at this very moment, and yet Ansell’s presence makes me feel—steady, somehow. I don’t want to analyze that too much.
Fortunately, I’m saved by the band, as Pride dives into their first song, one of their more popular tunes from their first EP.
I can’t tell if Ansell likes it, but I spot Baptist standing up front, nodding along and dancing with the crowd, looking like he’s having the time of his life. The band sounds good, especially Kira. Her drumming is fast and frenetic and full of life. Dean’s voice is on point, and Kurt’s bass rolls along, keeping a steady rhythm. Tobias rips a solo, and they churn right into their next song without stopping.
Ansell leans toward me, lips coming close to my ear, and I shiver. “This is good,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You have a good ear too.”
I can’t help but smile at him as he leans back, still frowning. But maybe that’s a frown of approval. I like to imagine there are a thousand different frowns, like how the Eskimo have a thousand different words for different types of snow. I could become a scholar of Ansell’s glares and spend my life writing dissertations on the minute differences between them.
I let myself enjoy the set as Pride finishes the second song, pauses to banter with the crowd a bit, and begins the third. Ansell seems engaged, if unhappy, and I’m beginning to think this is going well and maybe my life isn’t fully over, or at least my work life isn’t, when I spot William coming toward me from the entrance.
I nearly scream.
His face is a twisted mask of rage. He almost doesn’t look like himself. He comes right for me and I don’t know what to do. I can’t run, not with Ansell here, and I can’t act like anything is wrong without mortifying myself in front of my boss. I stand and let William grab my arm and lean forward to shout into my ear.
“You fucked me, you little bitch,” he says, his face beet red. If anyone notices nearby, they don’t do anything. Ansell only watches, his expression unchanged.
“How did you find me here?”
“I knew your pet band was playing and guessed. We have to talk.” He starts to drag me away, but Ansell slowly stands.
“Can I help you, kid?” Ansell’s voice extends over the music and William’s grip falters.
“I’m talking to my fiancée,” he says, chin tilted up, meeting my boss’s challenge. “It’s not your business.”
Ansell murmurs something I don’t catch and William drags me along. I don’t know what to do, so I follow. I’m afraid of making a scene and getting fired right when the band I care about and believe in is so close to making it. If I screw this up, it won’t just be my job on the line—Pride might have to find a new management team and who knows how that’ll go. Drake Entertainment is the best on the East Coast and getting bigger all the time, which means signing with them can change the band’s trajectory. Ansell could make them enormous, and I don’t want to ruin their chance at success. I care about them too much for that.
I follow William out into the night. He tugs me along, fingers digging painfully into my flesh, until we reach a quiet alley, not unlike the alleys he used to drag his dates down. He shoves me ahead of him and stands there, seething, as Pride’s music drifts around us.
“How the fuck could you send all that shit to Bella Baby?” He stares at me, seething, eyes bugged out. “She’s a goddamn cheap prissy little gossip rag bitch and everyone fucking believes the fake fucking shit she writes. Do you have any idea what you did? Do you have any clue how many calls I’ve gotten since that stupid bitch posted that fucking article?”
“It’s not what I did, it’s what you did.” I stand my ground, glaring at him, trying to keep my terror in check. “You’re the one that denied everything, remember? Why not tell your friends and family that those pictures are Photoshopped?”
William releases a sharp breath and steps forward, forcing me back against the wall. I stare into his eyes and see something I’ve never noticed before—there’s a fury deep inside of him, a white-hot rage that burns and churns and boils. His cheeks turn red and his eyes are bloodshot, and I wonder if he’s on something right now.
