A roar erupted from the dance floor, along with a few high-pitched squeals. I guessed there were a few people who were fans, though from what I’d seen they weren’t his immediate family members. His older brother, in particular, seemed to give him a frosty reception earlier.
“Hello, hello.” Ash took the mic and strut front and center, clearly in his element. He unbuttoned his jacket. I swallowed in anticipation. “This one goes out to my favorite girls. You know who you are.” He pointed over to his grandmother and me, and I think we both glowed a bit at the dedication.
Turning to the band, he snapped his fingers and gave them, “and a one, a two.” The band magically came to life, playing out the opening chords. A brass section set the tone, a few guys on trumpets swaying from side to side. My toes set to tapping.
With an understated nod of his head, Ash began. “I’ve got you under my skin.” He was looking straight at me. “I’ve got you deep in the heart of me.”
Oh no. I loved this song. I was pretty sure my older parents had played me Frank Sinatra in utero, then over and over growing up until it was part of my DNA.
Ash closed his eyes, getting into the music, moving to the swing beat. “I’ve tried so, not to give in. I’ve said to myself this affair, it ain’t gonna go so well. But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well.” Looking at me again, he broke into a devastatingly sexy smile. “That I’ve got you under my skin.”
“He’s quite good, isn’t he?” his grandmother observed.
“Wow,” was all I could manage. I knew if you looked up ‘star struck’ in the dictionary you’d see a big old picture of me and I should pull myself together and all that, but not now. Now when Ash Black strutted around on stage in a tux crooning straight at me. What a voice! His songs were much harder-driving, with much more snarl and bite. He was famous for how he could belt it out, then pull it back into a restrained whisper, but here he just let it all pour out of him, honey gold and full, relishing every note. He had such presence, such charisma and swagger up there, owning the spotlight with his lean hips and long legs, his hand out to point at the crowd or gesture to the band. Wow.
“I would sacrifice anything come what might for the sake of having you near,” Ash sang to me, the band crescendoing behind him.
Uh oh. I was in trouble. Big trouble. I knew right then and there, I’d have to avoid seeing him on stage. Like kryptonite with a mic in his hand, his voice working magic, his whole persona larger than life and sexy as hell. Those smoldering eyes, that lean, muscular frame, he was already dangerous enough. But once he became the lead singer? Forget about it.
I literally could not shut my mouth. I had to bring my hand up to it, covering my parted lips as I watched him perform. My heart beat, my hands shook, and my panties practically melted right off of me. The only way I stood a chance at keeping my cool this month was if I completely and totally avoided seeing him on stage ever again.
§
“Tuesday, he’s got a show in L.A. Thursday, Santa Clara.” The next day, 8 a.m., Lola woke me with a call to discuss my itinerary. I’d made it back to my apartment the night before. Ash had been surprisingly gentlemanly, insisting on a limo taking me all the way home. Not back with him. Slightly disappointed, I’d still slept like a rock.
“He’s flying out today and you’re heading out Monday. You’ll have dinner in Malibu.”
“Monday, Malibu.” My head pounded in my hands. I hadn’t gotten super drunk last night, but I did feel hung over. The fourth glass of bubbly that had me feeling so light and giggly last night now sat like a lead weight on the back of my skull. I needed some water.
“They went for it, you know. They love you.”
“Good, good.” Who was she talking about, exactly?
“Great job last night. Lay low today. They’ll probably be outside your apartment.”
“Outside my apartment?” I realized she meant paparazzi, waiting with cameras to try to photograph me. That sounded creepy and implausible. “Are you sure?”
“We released your information to all interested parties, so, yes, I’m guessing they’ve staked you out.”
“Like a press release?” What would the headline on that be? Boring, average girl exactly as boring and average as she looks?
“Something like that. Now remember, you don’t want to talk to them.”
“I don’t.” I didn’t need to be coached on that point. Those guys barreling in after Ash into the library had resembled a pack of hyenas.
“You don’t want to seem too eager or it’ll look fake. Today, Ana, the most important thing is you’ve got to stick to the script. Everyone you’ve ever met is going to get in touch and ask what’s going on.”
I sank down into the bed. This was going to be complicated.
“You have to remember to stick to the script. Keep it brief. You’ve met a great guy and you’re falling hard for him. That’s all anyone gets from you.”
“OK.” Truthfully, that storyline wouldn’t be too hard to manufacture. Ash had pretty much knocked me over last night. I hadn’t had to fake a thing. Every smile, every flutter had been real for me. That was the problem. It wasn’t supposed to be.
“I’ll send a car around for you tomorrow morning eight o’clock. Don’t worry about packing anything, we’ll take care of all that.”
“When will I come back?” I’d let my boss know I’d be gone this week and she’d sounded relieved more than anything else due to the financial squeeze, but I had to tell my roommates, my parents. Oh my, my parents. They were going to be a challenge.
“Friday. You’ll have the week of Christmas in the city, tons of opportunities for exposure. This is off to a great start.”
I groaned, sinking back into my pillows. She’d told me to lay low today. My head still killed. That wouldn’t be a problem.
Several hours later, I stirred again, this time due to Jillian’s knocking at my door.
“Ana!” Her voice finally broke through my fog. “You’ve got to see this.” She thrust her phone under my nose and snapped on my lamp. Wincing at the intrusion, I blinked and tried to focus. On her screen, I saw a limo and a glittering silver gown. Ash Black looked devastatingly handsome as he took the hand of a lovely lady. Me.
“You’re everywhere!” Jillian sounded hushed with awe. “There are photos of you guys kissing under mistletoe. Video of him singing Frank Sinatra.”
Oh man, that had been staged as well? I mean, of course it was. It was my problem if I listened to him sing Cole Porter’s lyrics and felt them deep in my soul as a personal expression of affection just for me.
“Look at his face when he sees you!” Jillian clicked replay and a video clip started again, the blinding flash of camera bulbs, the jostling and calling out. But someone had captured Ash at exactly the right angle. When he first saw me stepping out of the limo, he looked gobsmacked, his eyes wide with admiration and amazement at my beauty.
“God, I hope someday some guy looks at me like that,” Jillian sighed.
I wanted to tell her it was all an act. She shouldn’t feel bad. None of this was real. But I couldn’t, I’d signed a NDA. And part of me wanted to believe the fairy tale for a minute, too. She clicked play again and it was like a drug, watching his reaction. He was so good at it, so practiced and coached he really looked like he was honestly thrilled, struck with wonderment at the sight of me. I was really going to have to watch myself.
And stop watching Ash fake it so good. I rolled over back under the covers. “I’m hungover,” I groaned. “Let me sleep.”
I managed to spend most of the rest of the day in bed, sipping water, heating up a can of chicken noodle soup around four p.m. I ignored my phone and fielded questions from Jillian and Liv with more ease than I’d feared. A pounding headache and no good sense of what I could honestly say helped me stay super evasive. And my parents, thank goodness, were completely unplugged from social media or pop culture in general. I’d already begged out of our weekly Sunday night di
nner, guessing correctly that I wouldn’t be up for it, so I got off easy with a phone call. They’d never heard of Ash Black and at least when we spoke late that afternoon they hadn’t heard a word about their daughter dating a celebrity. But I had to lay some groundwork.
“I did have a nice date last night.”
“You did? Tell me! Was it that boy you just met? What kind of a family is he from?”