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Blaze snorted, “Hell no, I told you eight o’clock, and I have the text receipts to prove it.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now. Let’s get moving,” Asher said, cutting through the bullshit for a second. The Cadillac gracefully rolled off down the street toward the main vein of traffic heading to Hollywood. Already, the cars were bunching up, getting closer together.
“How’s your week been?” Asher asked calmly.
Giselle groaned. “To be honest, it sucked. I’ve done, like, six interviews in five days and none of the questions are ever about my music.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he replied. Blaze heard the guilt in his tone.
“Yeah, well, it’s not totally you guys’ fault. Only partly,” she mumbled.
“Oh, it’s our fault?” he retorted. “Explain that one to me.”
“Come on. The fancy romantic Italian restaurant? The wine and the pleasant chit-chat? You might as well have set me up,” she huffed.
“Is that a real accusation?” Blaze rounded on her angrily. “After all this time, do you really think either one of us is here with ulterior motives?
She shrugged coldly. “How am I supposed to know? I haven’t had a say in this whole deal from the beginning. I’m a prisoner to your whims.”
“God, you’re such a drama queen. I’m sorry that day trips to the beach and fancy Italian dinners are a prison for you,” he said.
She looked a little bit contrite over that, but held her ground. “I’m just saying, there’s no way for me to know who to trust anymore.”
“What could we possibly have to gain from getting caught in a compromising position with a client—an extremely beautiful, desirable client, no less!” he growled. “Why would I feed into what people are already whispering?”
“I don’t know, publicity? Notoriety? Your thirty seconds of fame?” Giselle hurled back.
Blaze felt truly wounded by that one. On the one hand, he understood not wanting her fame to come from tabloid fodder. On the other hand, a small part of him was hurt that she was so intensely ashamed to be caught out with him. Even if it wasn’t real.
“First of all, if you think I’m in this industry for fame, you’ve got me dead wrong. Same goes for Asher, and you know it. We’re not clout-chasers. We’re not groupies,” Blaze rumbled. “We don’t work for you, Giselle. Bruce hired us, just like Bruce hired you. We’re coworkers.”
“My only coworkers are Matt and Jimmy. Never needed anyone else,” she snipped.
“We’re just trying to work together and produce something beautiful,” Asher interjected.
“I shouldn’t need you two to help me do that. I’m a professional. I’m a damn legend,” Giselle asserted defiantly from the backseat.
“Yeah, you sure look like a legend to me,” Blaze teased, with a meaningful glance at Giselle’s frumpy incognito look.
She glared at him. “I’m trying not to attract the attention of any paparazzi that might be skulking around. Besides, I figure if I dress like this, maybe you two can focus on something other than how badly you want me,” she bantered.
Blaze felt the heat rise up in his body. Anger bubbled deep within that volcano.
“Oh yeah? You really think Asher and I are interested in a brat like you?” he spat.
She nodded with a self-satisfied smile. “You talk a big game about professionalism and your dedication to the craft or whatever, but I see the way you look at me. You too, Asher.”
“Okay, traffic is getting a little intense. I’m just focusing on getting us to that recording studio in one piece,” Asher said quietly.
The cars were bumper to bumper now. People were honking, swearing, sweating in the LA heat wave. Asher was laser-focused, both hands grasping the wheel.
But Blaze was beyond caring.
“You’re so self-absorbed. You’re delusional. We’re bending over backward to do our jobs and you just push our buttons,” Blaze growled, turned around in his seat.
“Stop calling me crazy! I’m not crazy,” she hurled back.
“Oh really? Could’ve fooled me,” he replied.
