Actually, Quentin could. In Japan. The Japanese preferred Erin and Owen’s ballads of unrequited love. But he saw where Sarah was coming from. And he understood now that the rest of the band had been right. The record company was terrified. He’d pushed too far.
“Owen has co-written all his songs with Erin,” Sarah was saying, “which would give the band a stronger leg to stand on if you had to sue him for the right to perform them.”
This all would make such perfect sense if it were true that Quentin, head throbbing, was almost starting to believe it. “What if I promised that we’ll finish the album on time? Not that I’m trying to get rid of you. But we really don’t like being watched. What if I gave you my word that everything’s okay?”
“Your word?” she repeated. “Your word ? Quentin, everything is not okay. Martin’s addicted to heroin. You overdosed on cocaine, you fired your manager, and Erin cheated on you with Owen, all in the space of a month. And your album is due in six days, Quentin, six days, and the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Event in support of said nonexistent album is three days after that.”
“The tele—What?”
“Your Fourth of July concert at the statue of Vulcan.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, stretching again. “We’ve recorded albums before. We play concerts all the time.”
“That’s not good enough.” She tucked her pink locks behind her ears and leaned toward him. “Let me explain something to you. Nine months ago, I volunteered for a job overseas. I thought that if I threw myself into it, I might finally get a promotion out of it. Instead, I botched it. Manhattan Music got Nine Lives’ album, but I lost Nine Lives for them. He’s in prison.
“My supervisor at Stargazer told me there was talk of firing me over this. She thought if I took another job for Manhattan Music and did well this time, it might salvage my rep and save my job. You give me my album, you have a nice Fourth of July concert, you make it look like you and Erin are on the mend, and I’ll get my job security back. And then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Quentin closed his eyes. His head hurt.
“You do want Erin back, don’t you?” she asked.
“Of course I do!” He was alarmed at the thought that she might suspect the deceit. He sure hoped his alarm sounded more like desperation. “I’m just not sure it’s possible.”
“The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior,” Sarah said. “You and Erin belong together. You’ve shown that over the years. Naturally you’ll make up. The only reason things are different this time is that the balance of power has changed. You always had your manager to run to when you and Erin broke up. Erin didn’t have anybody. Now that you’ve fired your manager, you don’t have anybody, and Erin has Owen. I know that makes your blood boil.”
The thought of Erin and Owen together did make his blood boil, but not because he was jealous. He didn’t want Owen taking advantage of Erin, and he didn’t want a breakup fight between the two of them tearing the band apart. That’s what Rule Two was for. He hoped again their playacting was as innocent as they claimed.
He had half a mind to tell Sarah all of this, to get rid of her. But he understood now she wouldn’t go. Not until she got her album and they played the concert. And he was terrified she would drive Martin to rehab before he was willing, breaking up the band in the process. For good.
If her price for staying quiet was getting him back together with Erin, he would pay it.
“Right.” He sat up despite his headache. “What’s the plan?”
“We should let Erin think that we slept together last night, and that we’re continuing to sleep together while I’m here. You’ll feel like you’ve gotten some of your usual power back. She’ll get more jealous as time goes on. I’ll bet once you’ve gotten through this rough patch, you’ll make up and your relationship will be better than ever. But my concern is that the band is stabilized long enough to record your album and play your concert. Stick with me until then. Can you do that?”
“I can do that.”
He exchanged a long look with Sarah. After all that had transpired in the last hour, not to mention last night, she was as cool as ever, and as beautiful. Her hair was different now, glowing in the morning light and tousled in new directions. More blond than pink. With her face scrubbed clean of makeup, she looked younger, innocent, despite the crazy hair. Her soft brown eyes were the same.
He went to his dresser to pull out some clothes, then looked over his shoulder at her. She lay on her stomach on the bed with her elbows propped up and her chin in her hands, watching the show, one foot kicked up and swaying lazily in the air behind her.
“You had this planned all along,” he said casually as he got dressed.
“Pretty much,” he heard her say.
“Were you going to do me?” He hated to put it to her the way he put it to his friends, but he had to stay in character. He looked over his shoulder again for her reaction.
Even without his glasses, he could see well enough to tell that she didn’t flinch. “I had a good idea you’d pass out,” she said. “I have some experience with this.”
“You wanted me to pass out,” he accused her. “You suggested the shots.”
She shrugged, refusing to deny it.
“What if I hadn’t passed out, and we’d been awake, locked in the sound booth together, all night long?”
“Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to sleep together,” she said sagely. “We agree on this now that we’re sober, right? We are trying to get you back with Erin.”
“Fair enough,” he said, glad for this excuse not to have sex with her. He couldn’t explain Rule Three to her, that he couldn’t have sex with record company spies, because that might give away Rule Two, that band members didn’t sleep together. And he couldn’t give her that. Then all his leverage to protect Martin would be gone.
“But you like to sidestep my questions.” He crossed the room, knelt in front of her, and looked into her soft brown eyes. “Were you going to do me?”
Her eyes turned hard. He saw strong desire there, and frustration.
She looked down and away as she said, “Don’t be cute, Quentin. You can tell how I feel about you.”
He wanted more than anything to lean in and kiss those soft lips, kiss them into a smile again. But if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He stood, pulled his glasses off the bedside table, and left the room in a hurry.