Slow Burn (Feverish #4) Read online

  Despite his inner turmoil, Brian grinned. “Little?”

  The way one corner of her mouth turned down was adorable. “That’s fair. Whatever you call it, though, I was in the wrong. When I read that quote from you, I was in a pretty bad place. I hadn’t gotten a shoot that I’d been planning on and rent was due. I was searching online trying to see if there was something else I could do to help myself, because it felt like I was doing everything wrong.”

  There it was, the crack in her armor. “I thought you said modeling was a lucrative gig. Were you lying about giving up law school for modeling?”

  Her nostrils flared ever so slightly. “It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.” That was a blow off if Brian had ever heard one, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. He decided to let her continue talking so he could get this shit over with. “Anyway, in my search, I came across the things you said about Cookie Brown and I, um, I took them personally.”

  “Obviously.”

  Ha. He loved the way her nostrils flared again, telling him his barbs were doing exactly what he’d intended. While he should have been quiet and just let her make her apology, he didn’t want it to be easy.

  Then she ran her tongue along her teeth, once more putting his mind in a place it shouldn’t go. It didn’t help that his cock remembered how expertly he’d imagined she would have lapped at it.

  Fuck. He had to stop this shit right now. Gritting his teeth, he tried to relax his jaw so it wouldn’t be evident to her that he had some inner turmoil.

  “Let’s just say I was in a bad place in my head—and the things you said weren’t nice. So I took my shit out on you and…I’m sorry.” With her words, Brian drew a breath in through his nose, ready to accept it and leave. But she had other ideas—and kept talking. “Until last month, I’d never met Cookie in person. I had a modeling gig with her a few weeks ago…and now I know exactly what you meant.” Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to him, so close he got a whiff of that heady fragrance again. “Cookie Brown is not only a bitch, but you were right in every regard. She’s vain and utterly stupid.”

  Unable to help it, Brian burst out laughing. “That’s what I said.”

  “Well, you were right. I was wrong. Completely wrong. And that’s why I wanted to apologize. I’m a proud woman, but I can admit when I’m way off base—and I was.”

  Now Brian had her exactly where he wanted her. Something he hadn’t told her—or anyone else, for that matter—was that he’d done some research after her so-called little stunt. When he couldn’t let any of it go, he’d gone online and searched for her, trying to figure out who the hell she was. It had actually turned out to be pretty simple. He’d searched for models named Sophia and then scrolled the pictures until he found her. It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out she hadn’t hit supermodel status like Cookie—but she was beautiful enough to make it.

  That much he’d never say to her.

  But after looking her up and even checking out her social media profiles, he’d determined she was peanuts, and he was ready to let it go—but she was bound and determined to not let him. So he was going to get in one last dig.

  “I just have one question for you.”

  “I owe you that much.”

  “Damn right you do.” Goddammit. The way she cocked her eyebrow was going to drive him fucking crazy with lust. How the hell did she have that kind of control over him? But he sucked down another deep breath and then assessed her coolly, leaning back in the chair, finally crossing his arms like he’d wanted to earlier. “Just how smart are you, Sophia Buckley, that you’d go all crazy and do the shit you did?”

  Finally, she had no words. Speechless.

  “Seriously, crazy—like insane asylum level shit. Did you have a shitty childhood? Were you bullied? What the hell was that all about? Going undercover, watching my band, drawing me out. You are seriously demented. I bet you don’t even like our band.” He stood then, aware that his voice was on the verge of getting too loud for this crowd of business people spending an hour away from their offices. “But…apology accepted, Ms. Buckley. You obviously need the help of a professional. So,” he said, leaning over, close enough to see the actual glare hidden behind her sweet expression, “I bid you adieu, and I hope you find the help you so desperately need.” After taking a step away, he turned back quickly and said, “One more thing. You might consider going back to school. I think you missed the critical thinking portion of college.”

  With a smile, he bowed as a final insult and then made his way through the restaurant. He caught some eyes on him, but he didn’t know if it was because of his appearance—because, even with the short hair, his fully tatted arms were on display—or if he’d maybe been a little louder than he’d intended.

  And even though the place was carpeted, he imagined he could hear her heels pounding behind him. Oh, yes, he knew he’d made her angry—and that made a fire burn deep in his belly. How would he ever quench it?

  Did he really want to?

  By the time he got to the lobby, she grabbed him by the elbow, so he turned slightly, and she started jabbing him in the chest with her blood-red fingernail to punctuate her every word.

  “Hold on, Brian. You don’t get to say a bunch of stuff like that and then just walk off. I humbled myself to you to apologize and you’re not even taking it seriously.” Goddamn, she was gorgeous and, in that moment, he could actually see her as a lawyer, fighting for a client who was guilty as hell but almost convincing the jury to not believe anything they’d heard. “What if I was a supermodel—not like Cookie but the likes of Elle Macpherson or Naomi Campbell—and what if I said all metal bands sucked? That all of you were dumb and evil Satan worshippers?”

  This was almost fun, pulling her strings and watching her anger escalate. “You’re entitled to your opinion, Sophia, and I’d hope that my fans wouldn’t give a shit what a dumb supermodel thought.”

  If there had been a temperature gauge over her head indicating how heated she was feeling, the mercury would have been at the top—and he loved it. Already, Brian could tell this woman was the type to keep it all bottled up inside and, somehow, he’d been the catalyst allowing her to release it all. Well, better him than a kid or the little old lady who lived next to her—or anyone else. He’d seen how Cookie treated people she thought of as lesser than herself. This woman was probably the same way.

  So why the hell did he find her so fucking attractive?

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

  “More times than I could count.”

  Suddenly, their faces were closer to each other’s than they should have been, making Brian wonder if she, too, felt that fire burning inside. But her mouth was pinched tightly as she fought to figure out what to say next. At least, that was what Brian assumed was going through her head. Just as she opened her mouth, there was a bright flash. Without even turning his head to look, he knew what that meant.

  Paparazzi.

  He hadn’t had much experience with them in general, because the guys of Last Five Seconds were pretty approachable as far as the media who actually wanted to talk to a metal band was concerned. Even when he and Kyle got married, they weren’t constantly hounded and sought after. But when Brian had been dating Cookie, he’d had a taste of it. These fuckers were far and above what music media was like. These folks were relentless vultures, willing to seriously invade people’s privacy and get in their faces just to snap a pic.

  And maybe that would be the way he could get Sophia Buckley out of his face.

  Glancing back at her, he said, “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”

  Turning her head, she glared at him before turning and facing the door. Underneath her fury, though, Brian could see that those people were no more her friends than they were his. She smoothed her blouse and tilted her chin, mustering as much dignity and poise as she could. As she walked to the glass door and touched the knob, she looked very much l
ike the model she was paid to be. Brian watched as she drew a deep breath into her lungs and turned to face him once more. “That haircut looks good on you. Have a good life, Mr. Zimmer.”

  Then, with the coolness of an ice cube, she exited the restaurant.

  Once Brian picked his jaw up off the floor, he followed suit. He had no fucking idea where his friends were, but he’d swear that every fucking photographer in New York City had descended upon this goddamned restaurant. “Excuse me,” he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket while trying to get past the mass of bodies all snapping pictures and shouting questions.

  How the hell had the model made it out so effortlessly?

  “What’s the point of contention between you and Ms. Buckley?” asked one person in the mob. The entire swarm of people was shouting questions and demands at him, wanting a short statement or at least a glance their way for a better picture.

  But, as Brian made his way through their bodies, he caught a glimpse of a limo on the street, Mark standing outside the open door next to the driver. “Get in here!”

  The guys in the limo felt a bit like the people he’d just escaped, asking him all manner of questions. “Guys, I just need a bit to process. Give me five.”

  Or a drink. Maybe he needed a stiff one or two—because he was starting to think he was the crazy one, now unable to stop thinking about that hot blonde with a tight ass and fiery temper that he loved to ignite…

  Chapter Six

  Shit.

  Although she’d managed to ditch a lot of them, two determined photogs were pursuing Sophie relentlessly, asking questions and snapping pictures the whole time, and she suspected they wouldn’t give up. She’d planned on taking the subway as usual, but what would stop them from getting right next to her?

  Nothing.

  Even though she didn’t want to spend the money on it, she flagged down a cab and jumped in, suddenly relieved for the space to breathe. After giving the driver her address, she sat back against the seat and watched the people with cameras left on the sidewalk, snapping one last photo of her through the window.

  What the hell was all that? Sophie was used to having her picture shot—after all, it was her job—but that back there had been unmitigated chaos, a free for all. Was that what Brian and his band had to deal with all the time?

  When the cabbie dropped her off and she paid far more for transportation than she cared to, she glanced around before hurrying toward her apartment building. The last thing she needed was one of those photographers following her here.

  By the time she got inside her place, though, she was feeling so much better. For perhaps the first time in her adult life, she understood how her home could feel like a haven.

  “Do I hear Princess Sophie?” rang Rory’s voice from his bedroom.

  “Yes, it’s me.” After taking her cell phone out of her purse, she plopped the bag on the bench by the front door.

  “Have I got some news for you.”

  “That makes two of us,” she said, reaching in the refrigerator for a Diet Coke.

  When Rory entered the kitchen, his dark curly hair sported streaks of hot pink. He turned around, almost as if he were a ballerina, slightly up on his tiptoes, arms slightly out from his sides palms down, fingers pointing outward. “What do you think?”

  “It’s bold. A better question might be what does your director think?”

  “It’s for the role, Soph. They were going to spray it in every night, but I told ‘em if they wanted to pay for it, I could have it professionally done. They agreed!” Rory giggled as if he’d gotten away with murder.

  “Well, I like it.” Sophie popped the lid of the can and then grabbed her cell before moving into the small living room, sitting on the loveseat.

  Rory rushed in and sat next to her. “Oh, my God. How was your day? I’m guessing not so good, considering…” he said, pointing to the can in her hand.

  It was, after all, her one indulgence, the one comfort “food” she allowed herself. One Diet Coke per week. Other than that, her calories, carbs, and types of foods were strictly monitored and counted—and, sometimes, she’d even deny herself her usual meals if she hadn’t met her workout goal.

  But Sophie hadn’t realized her roomie had noticed that much. Maybe she’d told him at one time?

  There was no sense in being tight-lipped, though. Rory was probably the only friend she felt close enough with to let inside. And, although she kept most things buried deep, this was too recent and too much. “It was crazy, Ror. You know I met that band and their manager for lunch today.”

  “Yes. Ill-advised but, yes, I remember.”

  “I apologized, just like I’d planned—but, even though he said he accepted it, he sure didn’t act that way.”

  “Did you expect him to?”

  “I don’t know. But that wasn’t what’s got me, um, rattled.”

  Rory tilted his head, his brown eyes demanding an answer. He took a sip from his bottled water and then asked, “So what is it? Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

  “There were all these photographers surrounding the restaurant when we left. The rest of the band and their manager had already gone so we’d have a little time alone to talk.”

  “Just like he’d promised…” Rory said with an air of impatience. He was swirling his hand just above his lap, urging her to get to the point.

  “It was so weird, Ror. They were like a swarm of flies around the doors, taking pictures of us while we argued.”

  “Wait, what? You were arguing? I thought you were apologizing.”

  “Well, yes, that was the idea—but the man is so infuriating.”

  “Gee, I wonder why.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rory pursed his lips together as if he’d said too much—but the way he touched her hand told her he was going to be gentle.

  That, however, was when her phone rang. Glancing down at it, she saw that it was her agent. “Sorry. I have to take this.” A call from her agent usually meant a job, so there was no letting it go to voicemail—because there were hundreds of other models she represented, and no way was Sophie going to let her jobs go to them.

  When she answered the phone, the voice on the other end of the line said, “Eva will be on the line with you in just a moment.”

  It was more than a moment, long enough for Rory to mouth the words good luck before patting her on the hand and scurrying back to his room. But then Eva’s voice, one that could fill an auditorium, woke her up. “Sophie, you’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you?”

  “Not nearly busy enough. Do you have work for me?”

  “That’s my point, love. My phone lines are on fire. What have you been doing out there to grab people’s attention?”

  “Um—”

  “No matter. You’re stirring up business. Whatever you’re doing is working, so keep it up. Speaking of which, I have some offers to run past you.”

  Holy shit. That could mean only one thing. The lunch. The argument. The press. How had it happened that quickly? Or was this just more traffic from the Instagram viral post, followed by satisfied customers?

  It didn’t really matter. Whatever was happening, this was Sophie’s one shot at getting to the top—and she wasn’t about to let it slip away.

  * * *

  “Beer?” Sam asked.

  Dane replied, a twelve-pack in hand. “Check.”

  “All right, man,” the vocalist said, looking Brian square in the eyes. “It’s just us, man. You don’t wanna talk? That’s cool. We’ll just hang with you. But—”

  Clay shook his head. “No fuckin’ way. I could be in my room right now getting my gal undressed, but I gave that up for my brothers. So you’re gonna talk, Bri.”

  “Fuck off,” Brian said.

  Mostly joking.

  “You fuck off. There’s obviously something between you and this model—and if you’d rather I make up a story, I can do that.”

  Brian took the can
of beer Dane offered him, popping the top before guzzling half its contents. It went down smoothly, but as he made eye contact with Clay, the bubbles expanded his belly. Just for the hell of it, he sneered at his friend.

  “Fair enough,” Clay said, pointing at Brian with his can. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman named Sophia…something. She was looking for her charming prince. When she met Brian Zimmer, bassist for the world-renowned Last Five Seconds, she decided to settle. Brian was good enough, at least for a mediocre mamba between the sheets. One evening after a concert—”

  “All right, all right.” Brian chuckled, setting his beer on the table.

  Sam’s face was contorted in a grimace. “That was painful.”

  “Yeah, don’t give up your day job.” When Clay shrugged, grinning from ear to ear, Brian sighed, leaning back into the chair. “When we hooked up after the concert, things didn’t go as planned. She’s actually kind of a bitch—and if I’d known Mark had set up this lunch with her, I never would have gone.”

  “Sorry, man. We had no idea, either,” Sam said.

  “We all thought it was weird,” Clay said, taking a drink. “So what did she say to you after we left?”

  “Let me preface it by saying that woman is the mayor of Crazy Town. She sought me out after she read some interview. I don’t remember who it was with, but the dumb asses were asking if I was going to get back with Cookie now that Kyle and I got a divorce.”

  Clay burst out laughing. “I remember that.”

  Dane said, “I didn’t hear about that one.”

  “I wasn’t exactly nice. I told them I’d never date a model again because they’re vapid, self-obsessed, and dumber than a pile of shit.” Brian picked up his beer. “Or something like that.”

  “And you wonder why she’s Crazy Town?”

  “But I was talking about Cookie.” Still…maybe, just maybe he could see how something like that could hurt someone already feeling sensitive about her job. Especially if it was true that she’d been studying to be a lawyer before, she probably felt like she was trading in her brains to sell her body.