"No. I guess not." I twist the napkin in my lap, realizing I'd never actually considered that part before.
"He had no idea I was coming to visit. Steve didn’t either. Nobody did."
"Did Rio try to explain what happened?" Antoine asks quietly.
"Yes. He said that ever since he made a name for himself as a singer, girls were always slipping into his bed. He said it happened all the time."
I can still see Rio's face as he explained it to me, his eyes bloodshot from drinking.
"He told me sometimes he took advantage of this kind of situation, and sometimes he didn't. Like it was just a normal thing for him."
"But you said the RA let you into Steven's dorm room, not Rio’s," says Antoine.
"I didn't realize Rio had moved in with Steven a few weeks earlier. Steven never mentioned it in our calls."
"Well, it sounds like it could have been an unfortunate mistake," says Antoine, his tone gentle but matter-of-fact. "Did Rio physically hurt you that night?"
For a moment, I play out that fateful night in my mind. The weight of his body. The smell of whiskey. The darkness.
"No. But once I recovered, I couldn't even listen to his ridiculous excuses. And at that point, I lost all respect for him. Even if a groupiewasin my place, how dare he take advantage of a woman like that?"
I must have said something that sounded unbelievably naïve, because Antoine doesn't exactly smile. But his expression lightens slightly.
"Rio is a red-blooded man," Antoine says carefully. "He is accustomed to having women approach him for sex. That was also four years ago, when he was younger and perhaps had less control."
"You approve of his behavior?" I look at Antoine, astonished.
"Not at all. A gentleman would have escorted the woman out of the room and called her a taxi. But from what you say, it was a complete misunderstanding. Why do you still hold it against him?"
Good question, I think to myself.
WhydoI still hold that night against Rio?
Maybe this weekend will reveal the answer.
CHAPTER 10
RIO
"Hey, Ringo, eyes off my fiancée," I snap at Keith, wiping sweat from my brow under the blinding stage lights.
Maddie and Antoine have just walked into the studio. And I don't like the way Keith's looking at my fake fiancée.
We’ve been running the setlist for three hours straight. Every note must be perfect for Derek Ward. Assuming the president of Midnight Records will really show up for the concert, like Prince Michael said.
"Possessive already? Didn't peg you for the jealous type, Wilder."
Keith figured me wrong.
But I don't give the Manchester-born drummer the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, I hop off the stage to greet them.
But Maddie's not the same girl who walked into the conference room this morning. She walks toward me wearing skin-tight jeans, and stilettos like she's auditioning to be a billionaire's arm candy.
Nothing close to the 'schoolmarm' of just a few hours ago.
She reveals curves I never noticed before. Dangerous curves. Her eyes flick to mine, widening slightly as she takes in my sweaty state.
“Okay, you two, let’s meet in the conference room for our briefing.”
