Chapter One
Courtney
Courtney Lincoln was neverone to point fingers. Never one to be supremely philosophical either. But even she couldn’t deny that the enemy of her enemy was a mega jerk-face.
She might not care for rock star Brennan Baxter—Bax—or his perpetual asshat rocker attitude, but she never wanted him to get run over by the tour bus or anything. Though a little nudge from the fender wouldn’t hurt to deflate his ego a tad.
All that aside, she really didn’t want him to get run over by the bus of life.
Unfortunately, that’s pretty much what his ex-fiancée did to him. Figuratively, at least. According to the band manager, Hans, Bax’s heart was well and truly crushed. This was not a fender bump. Nope. His ex had crushed him like a Valentine’s Day lollipop under the heel of her Louboutin boots.
So, yeah, Bax’s ex-fiancée was a mega jerk-face. Because even Bax didn’t deserve that kind of betrayal.
“Explain to me whyIhave to go to save him. Don’t we have people for that?” Courtney balanced the cell between her ear and her shoulder and scooted to the side so a gaggle of girls could hit up the ladies’ room.
Taking her note from the Lizzo song, she flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and checked her nails.
Friday night was club night for Courtney and her friends. Thanks to her position as publicity manager for the band Dimefront—Bax’s band—and being bassist Linx Lincoln’s little sister, she’d dropped names like confetti in the ocean breeze and scored a VIP table at Pew, the latest and greatest nightclub in Los Angeles. The place where everyone who was anyone wanted to be seen.
Courtney was everyone who was anyone. Thus, here she was.
“He’s almost to the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Hans said, his deep voice clear—she was off the clubbing circuit for the night. The club and hotel were only a block apart, now the call made all kinds of sense. Blah, this stunk.
“C’mon, Court.” Her best friend, Irina, strutted toward her in three-inch high heels and a little black sheath dress that accented her curves in all the right ways. Irina gestured toward the dance floor and did a little shimmy shake. “You’re off duty tonight.”
Oh, if only that were true. The teeny tiny nerve endings in Courtney’s feet tickled, willing her forward toward Irina. Toward the dance floor and fun. Unfortunately, Hans continued yammering instructions, so she was very much on duty. That duty did not include getting her boogie on with Irina.
Courtney readjusted the phone to hear Hans better, but Irina rallied with hands on her hips and a mouth in a full pout.
“Did I lose you?” Hans asked.
“Uh-huh,” Courtney said, making big eyes at her friend and then pointing toward the phone. “I mean, nuh-uh, I’m listening.” Sort of anyway.
“You’re not off duty, are you?” Irina’s defeat was evident in the words as she folded her arms across her cleavage, bumping it up higher. Irina shook her head, so her shoulder-length blonde hair flicked against her chin. “Nope. You’re totally working tonight.”
Irina was 100 percent correct and about to be mega-disappointed, since they’d been planning this night for months.
“Hans? How did you even know where I am?” Courtney paused and glanced around the dark room where bodies on the dance floor squirmed and grooved. She shook her head. Nope, didn’t need to know how Hans found her, because it would probably only serve to piss her off. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
The Dimefront band manager seemed to know everything about everyone in the band and those who worked with the band.
Their location, latest medical checkup, preferred brand of snack food, and beverage choice.
“Beverly Hills Hotel,” he said, since that’s all he needed to say.
“Fine.” Courtney huffed, looking longingly at the leather booth with the sleek black table that her friends would get to enjoy and she would not. Hans’s marching instructions in place, she wrapped up the call and sighed.
“Which one this time?” Irina asked, her Taylor Swift red lips pinched to the side.
Courtney didn’t answer, because her nonanswer told the story for her.
“Bax?” Irina lifted her eyebrows. “Seriously?”
Courtney sighed, nodded, and shoved her phone into her purse.
“But you got dressed up.” Irina dove into full pout mode. “You cannot waste it on Bax. I forbid this.”
She wasn’t wrong that Courtney had gotten dressed up. In her own stilettos and an adorably short red dress that stopped mid-thigh, Courtney had even gotten a blowout on her hair, fresh all-over waxing, and new fingernails.
