Wreck of the Day (Love Me, I'm Famous Book 3) Read online

  Harry’s eyes turn as round as saucers and I can see he’s about to cry. With trembling lips, he asks, “What did I do?”

  “You ruined everything. Like always. Go away, you stupid brat.”

  Harry turns on his heel and runs back to the house, wailing. It doesn’t take long for me to feel like dog shite. I’m a terrible brother.

  “I hope Lucy doesn’t rat us out,” Louis says.

  “I should go check on Harry.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Eddie says. “Come on, let’s go fishing.”

  I hesitate for a split second before I follow Eddie and Louis to the dock. Great dark clouds form in the sky and the light breeze changes.

  “I think a storm is coming,” I say but my voice is swallowed up by the howling wind.

  Suddenly, Louis and Eddie vanish and I’m surrounded by black smoke. I feel dizzy and disoriented before the darkness clears and I find myself back at home. I’m in the entrance foyer and from there I can hear loud sobs coming from the living room. I follow the noise and when I enter the room, I see my mother sitting on a chair, crying non-stop, while two men wearing police uniforms talk to my father. They notice my presence, and when Dad’s gaze collides with mine I know something terrible has happened.

  “Where’s Harry?”

  Mum cries harder and Dad ignores me, turning back to the police officers. I ask again and again where Harry is, each time my voice growing more desperate, but no one pays any attention to me. Finally, Mrs. Connelly pulls me to the side and answers me.

  “Dear boy, Harry is dead.”

  My eyes fly open and I sit up in my bed. My skin is clammy and my heart is going two hundred miles a minute. What. The. Fuck. I thought I was over this shit. I hadn’t dreamt about my brother in years. I get out of bed and notice the empty bottle of vodka on the floor. No wonder my head is pounding like a motherfucker. Even so, I make a beeline for the wet bar in the living room, break the seal of a brand new bottle, and pour myself a generous dose. I drink it like it’s water, but the spirit does nothing to dissipate the dream or the nauseating feeling it brought forth.

  I reach for my phone on the counter and pause when I realize what I’m doing. My finger is hovering over Saylor’s name. It’s been a week since she left me in that hotel room in Hawaii. A week without hearing her sexy voice, without seeing her beautiful face. A week of hating her and going back to loving her in the span of seconds. It has been a struggle keeping my distance from her. The craving hasn’t stopped. It will never stop.

  I give in and press the call button. It rings and rings while my heart gets stuck in my throat, while my lungs can’t draw in air. She doesn’t answer. Deep down I knew she wouldn’t. What happens next is worse. I get her voicemail instead. I get to hear the raspy voice that drives me insane, asking me to leave a message. I don’t. What would be the fucking point? I don’t have a game plan yet.

  A second later, the phone vibrates in my hand but it’s not Saylor’s name flashing on the screen. It’s my sister’s. I should answer it. I’ve been blowing her off for weeks now. I just stare at the device as if I’m in a trance. When I come to it, the call has already gone to voicemail. Shit.

  Charlotte’s usually cheery voice is stern. She wants me to attend the charity ball our parents are organizing. Mum has been on my case for months, pestering me to confirm my presence. If she’s using Charlotte as a last resort, she must really want me there. I could blow her off like I’ve done countless times before, but I could use a break from California. Plus, if I want to enlist Charlotte’s help to get Saylor back, I better plead my case in person.

  I call my travel agent as I walk back to my room. I want to be on the first flight out to London.

  I have not shaved in a week, so all I have to do to conceal my appearance is to wear a baseball cap and sunglasses as I power walk through LAX airport. I barely had time to shower and pack before I had to be at the airport. By the time I finally reach the gate, everyone is already boarded. One quick look at the sour puss expression of the check-in woman tells me she’s not happy I’m late.

  “Sorry, luv. Traffic was brutal.” I smile and I get nothing, not even a hint of recognition.

  “Have a nice flight,” she replies tersely after she scans my phone.

  Okay, then. I hope her mood is not a preview of what my trip will be like. Once inside the aircraft, the flight attendant is much more pleasant, but that’s because I’m flying first class and she has no choice in the matter. I remove my sunglasses and hat as I walk to my window seat. A mop of ginger hair catches my eye and as I sit down, I recognize the guy.

  Allan Eriksson, the most down to earth heir to a billion-dollar fortune I’ve ever met, is sitting next to me across the aisle. His father might own this very airline company. I can’t remember exactly. He has his head down, scrolling through his phone.

  “I didn’t realize I was flying with royalty tonight,” I say.

  My comment draws his attention and he looks up.

  “I’ll be damned. Oliver Best, what are you doing here?”

  “Flying back home to attend a stuffy charity ball my parents are organizing. You?”

  He shrugs and puts his phone away. “Getting away from my mother.”

  I laugh. Allan’s mother is something else. A gazillion times worse than mine. She’s a country music legend and one could say if Nashville had a court, she would be queen.

  “I’m honored to be flying with the prince of Nashville.”

  He frowns. “Don’t call me that.”

  I shake my head. “How’s that gig at ET Online working out for you?”

  The last time I met Allan for drinks he told me he had gotten a job working behind the scenes on the TV show. It was an entry level job, pretty much a glorified slave position he was able to secure without his mother’s help.

  “It’s been brutal, but I’m learning a lot. I got promoted to assistant producer.”

  Allan’s answer makes something click in my head. I don’t know why I’ve never considered the idea before, but it’s fucking brilliant.

  “Mate, no offense, but you look haggard. I bet they are working you to the bone. I understand the need to not depend on your family’s money, but you are wasting away in that job.”

  “Jeez, thanks a lot. What do you want me to do, ask Mommy Dearest to help me find a better job? Believe me, she has offered, several times. I don’t want to ride on her coattails.”

  I grin from ear to ear. “I have a better idea. Come work with me. I’m starting a music production company. I’m looking for a partner. You would be perfect.”

  Allan watches me through slits. “Why? Because of my mother’s connections?”

  “No. Because you are a decent guy who doesn’t get on my nerves.”

  My answer seems to surprise him. He keeps staring at me as if he wants to read my mind.

  “I don’t have any money,” he finally says. “I only have access to my trust fund when I turn twenty-five.”

  “Money is not a problem. You come in with the work. Something tells me you are way better at running the day-to-day operations than me.”

  He shakes his head and smiles. “That sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

  I hadn’t thought of a caveat, but now that Allan posed the question, I do have a challenge for him.

  “No catch, but a task. I’ll give you partnership if you sign a band I’ve had my eyes on for a long time.”

  “That’s it? You want me to sign a band? That sounds too easy.”

  I laugh. “Mate, you are in for a treat. Only one condition, though. Stay away from the lead singer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s mine.”

  Three

  SAYLOR

  When we told Remi that we wanted to take Wreck of the Day to the next level, starting off by finding a kickass female drummer, she was totally onboard. And when we went to Closing Time to ask for Rori’s help, Remi was prepared to offer the guy free meals at the Goulas f
or life. It didn’t come to that. Rori was more than happy to help us. He even had the brilliant idea to hold open auditions at his pub, making an event out of it.

  Today is audition day and Closing Time is packed, more crowded than usual for a Saturday night. I don’t know what magic trick Rori pulled, but we have people bursting out of the seams and the best part of it, plenty of talent to sift through.

  Unfortunately, no one qualified enough has performed yet and I’m beginning to lose motivation. Either the girls are good but don’t have the right vibe, or they aren’t good at all. My head is beginning to pound and I don’t think my condition is to blame. I rest my forehead in my hand and sigh loudly when the last unfit contender exits the stage.

  “Maybe you should let guys audition,” Remi says.

  “Hell no. I won’t have another dick pissing all over our band,” Tabatha replies.

  “Tabby is right. If we don’t find the right person tonight, we’ll keep looking.” I sit up straighter in my chair.

  You could also call him, a pesky voice in my head says. Oliver did offer to help me find a new drummer. It’s not only pride that’s keeping me from taking him up on his offer. It’s also fear. Fear I won’t be able to hide my feelings from him. Fear I won’t be able to push him away.

  Rori hops onto the stage and announces we have time for one more audition before Oreo’s band kicks off tonight’s entertainment. Right now, only Oreo himself is on stage, playing the guitar to accompany the drums. Tabatha leans back on her chair and takes the shot of tequila we just ordered.

  Remi looks around, searching the crowd. She sits up straighter and announces, “Oh, that girl has potential.”

  Tabatha and I look in the direction Remi’s gaze is trained on, and we see a young woman wearing a tank top, boyfriend-style jeans, and carrying drumsticks. Her face is hidden under the baseball cap she wears.

  “How can you tell? We can’t even see her face,” Tabatha asks.

  Remi turns to Tabatha. “I don’t know. A hunch?”

  “Well, your hunch might be completely wrong, because the girl just bailed,” I say as I witness the chick turn on her heel and bolt out of Closing Time.

  “What? No way.” Remi jumps out of her chair and starts for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Tabatha and I trade glances. “What is she going to do? Drag the girl back in by her hair?”

  I shrug. “It’s possible. You know when Remi gets one of those hunches, she can’t be dissuaded.”

  Ten minutes later, Remi comes back in with the runaway drummer in tow. I’ll be damned. Remi is good. I hope she’s not wrong about this chick. She looks like a scared mouse right now with the way her gaze is glued to the floor and how she’s holding her drumsticks as if they were her lifeline.

  On the stage, she exchanges a few words with Oreo and seems uncomfortable to be there. I shouldn’t fault the girl for being shy. This is a large crowd and everyone will be judging her. She takes her place behind the drums, but I’m surprised when Remi goes behind the keyboards.

  “What’s Remi doing?” Tabatha frowns.

  We don’t have to wait long before the first notes of Nerf Herder’s theme song for Buffy fill the room and runaway girl does her thing. I glance at Tabatha and her expression is priceless. She’s the biggest Buffy fan there ever was and it’s easy to see she’s pleased with the girl’s music choice.

  I close my eyes to properly evaluate her skills. I separate the guitar notes from the melody so I can dissect every beat of the drums. The song lasts two minutes or so, but it’s enough to tell me the last contender is the best we’ve seen tonight. The crowd seems to agree by the way they cheer on her performance. Maybe Remi’s intuition was dead on. But we won’t know for sure if she’s a fit before we talk to her.

  Remi brings the brunette to our table like a proud mama bear.

  “Ladies, meet Elisa Gutierrez. This is Tabatha, and Saylor.”

  “Hi, Elisa. Nice to meet you. You were really good out there,” I say.

  “Thanks. You can call me Sticks.”

  “Oh, I like that nickname.” Remi pulls up a chair. “Come, sit with us.”

  “Okay.” Sticks puts her drumsticks on the table and I notice the quote tattooed on her wrist. “This too shall pass.” She catches my stare and pulls her hand from the table, placing it on her lap and out of sight.

  “So, where are you from, Sticks?” I ask.

  “I’m originally from a small town in Colorado. I moved here a few months ago.”

  “How old are you?” Tabatha cuts in a little too harshly, earning a glare from Remi.

  “Uh, I’m nineteen. Is that a problem?”

  “No, of course not,” Remi replies. “I’m twenty. Tabatha and Saylor are twenty-two. So, do you go to college?”

  Sticks looks down at her hands. “No, I took a year off. I plan to start community college next year.”

  “Is going to college something that’s important to you?” I ask.

  She raises her head and looks me in the eye. “Shouldn’t it be?”

  “Yes. Of course, but what I want to know is what’s your biggest dream, a college degree or playing the drums? There’s no wrong answer here but everyone at this table is one hundred percent committed to the band. We can only bring someone on who’s on the same page as us.”

  “If I had to pick, I would choose the drums. Music is the only thing that—” She pauses abruptly and looks down again. “It’s the only thing that makes my heart sing.”

  I’m satisfied with Sticks’ answer and by looking at the rest of the band, I see they share my sentiment.

  “Alright. We would like to give this a try, Sticks. Come to my place tomorrow for practice and we’ll go from there,” Tabatha says in a much friendlier tone.

  “Really?” The girl perks up on her seat.

  “It’s a trial period, of course. We need to jam together to make sure you are a good fit for us.”

  “Yes, I totally understand. Thank you so much for the chance.”

  Excitement shines in Sticks’ eyes, illuminating her face and changing her completely. We all carry demons, but the one-eighty shift in Sticks’ demeanor reveals perhaps her inner battles are as fierce as mine. No matter what problems she has, she’s here, pursuing her dreams just like me and that makes me like her even more.

  Four

  OLIVER

  I stop in front of the luxurious Hollingsworth Hotel and it’s déjà vu. I haven’t been here since Sebastian’s surprise birthday party organized by his girlfriend at the time, Gretchen. So much has happened since then.

  The valet opens my door and I hand him my car keys, making sure to add fifty quid to that as well. I don’t need to say a word. The bloke knows he needs to take special care of my Aston Martin. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my car until I slid into its plush interior earlier. I’ll have to bring it back with me when I return to California. Sure, it would be easier to just buy another one there, but this particular car is special, it represents my declaration of independence.

  As I walk through the hallway of the pretentious hotel, I notice how many women turn their heads to have a better look at me. Yes, ladies, it’s Oliver Best. Former member of Boys Future and forever a sex god. Too bad for them I’m off the market. There’s only one woman I want.

  A man wearing a tux greets me at the double doors and asks for my name. I want to laugh, but instead I just raise an eyebrow at him.

  “The name is Best, Oliver Best.”

  Sure, I pulled a James Bond move, but I couldn’t resist. Upon hearing my family’s name, the poor sod turns whiter than the tux shirt I’m wearing.

  “Of course, sir. Welcome.”

  I walk in and stop for a moment to get a feel of the room. Upon a quick scan, I see nothing has changed. The same arrogant, highly elite people my parents love to mingle with are here. Those closest to the door turn to look in my direction. I bet my chosen profession is fodder for endless gossip among those vultures, much to m
y mother’s detriment.

  I spot her sitting at the best table right in the middle of the great ballroom, surrounded by her closest friends. Even with the distance, I notice the hard set of her shoulders and the unhappy expression on her face. She turns to my sister, angling her body over the empty chair between them, to whisper in her ear. It’s a question Charlotte responds to with a shrug. I’d bet a million pounds Mum is asking her where the hell I am. I’m late and dinner service has already begun. I move in their direction and pull out the empty seat next to Mum’s. She glances in my direction with a frown.

  “Where have you been, Oliver? You are late,” she asks under her breath. She can’t chide me too loudly in front of her friends. What would they say?

  “I lost track of time.”

  “Right,” Charlotte mumbles.

  “Hello, sis.” I raise the champagne glass in front of me in salutation before drinking the whole thing in one big gulp.

  “Your mother tells me you’re planning another trip to Africa,” one of the women at the table addresses my sister. “Is Joseph accompanying you?”

  “Joseph?” Charlotte snorts before composing herself. “No, he will not.”

  “Who the hell is Joseph?” I frown at her.

  Everyone at the table glares at me. The woman who asked the question answers with an air of disdain. “Joseph Whitman the Third, of course.”

  I give her a blank stare. Am I supposed to know who this bloke is? If I have to judge by his last name, he’s a pompous ass, member of a pretentious family.

  I turn to Charlotte. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

  “And are you surprised about that?”

  I don’t miss the jab. After what happened to Harry, I tried my best to push everyone away. I took for granted Charlotte would always be there for me when I needed her, no matter how badly I treated her. Maybe she finally got tired of her arsehole brother.

  I pull at my tie, feeling suffocated by the constraint around my neck. Not even ten minutes into this dinner from hell, I’m already jonesing for something stronger than alcohol. A waiter places a plate of salad in front of me, but I can’t eat anything right now. I stand up suddenly and all eyes are on me again.