“I’m not an alcoholic. Or an addict.” I glared at Roisin.
“But the media said…”
“The media says a lot of things. Who was the wannabe rocker you were seen with?”
She shrugged. “Some singer my dad signed. Evan Pepper.”
“What’s his band called?”
“Seven Sins. They said you were one of their biggest influences.” The beam was back.
“Lovely.”
“You don’t have to be such an arrogant dick, you know. This could be amazing, working together. I don’t see what’s wrong with the songs I’ve done though. I want to get this awesome message…”
“Stop saying awesome.”
She frowned. “But it’s an awesome word.”
It was times like this when I wished I smoked.
“Graham cheated on you.”
Her mouth dropped open into a perfect little O.
“I had no idea he had a girlfriend. I saw him about half a dozen times at parties in the last six years or so and he always ended up with someone who was desperate to hook up with a musician.”
“You’re lying.”
“Really not.” I picked my phone up off the table and opened the photos. It was quick to find the picture I was thinking of as it was taken at the last after show party I’d attended. Graham O’Leary was seated on a leather chair, a girl on her knees before him, his hand in her hair and her head blocking his dick. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone get a blow job, but I’d decided it was the last. He’d been coked up and even more of a tosser than usual and at that moment, I’d decided that I’d had enough.
We’d finished the tour. Done another we’d been contracted to. Other shit had happened and I realised I’d had enough.
I passed Roisin the phone. She held a hand up to her mouth and froze. For a second I felt like the shit I was, knowing that I’d just helped tear her heart out, but a little suffering and heartbreak didn’t do a singer any harm.
“I think I need to go to my room.”
“Sure.” I took my phone out of her hand. “Let’s meet tomorrow. Have a think about some angsty lyrics.”
She didn’t say anything as she left.
* * *
Maxwell Callaghan and his brother Jackson were in the gym when I got there, other than that it was empty. I’d planned on staying in the lounge, playing about with some lyrics and had even brought my guitar down, but Sophie had stayed outside, moving between the pools and the lagoon and she’d caught me staring.
I don’t know who hated me more.
After an hour of playing with words and a refrain stuck in my head that wasn’t going anywhere fast, lifting some iron seemed the best distraction.
“We were worried Sophie had buried your body somewhere.” Maxwell spoke loudly, enough so I could tell he was speaking through my earbuds.
I pulled them out and stood up. “I think she’s probably still planning it.”
“Probably,” Jackson said. “You serious about this wedding thing?”
I choked. It sounded so ridiculous, about as ridiculous as the idea of me getting married in the first place. “It solves a problem. I guess we’d have to ask you guys to keep quiet about it though else I’m pretty sure the little old lady who owns the place won’t sell it.”
Jackson shrugged. “Heard of worse things being done for business. Get Seph to do your contracts. He will see that Sophie doesn’t pull a fast one.”
