Page 13 of Fame & Obsession

I still have no idea why the hell I’m out here. Logic has taken a backseat to carnality.

But a few steps away, I’m knocked off path by a pair of open palms reaching toward something that doesn’t belong to him.

Five

Phoebe

“This is bullshit,”I mutter, folding my arms across my chest.

Fresh air isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

A sensation of being watched sends a shiver down my spine. Leaning forward, I eye a super-sized bouncer who sits beside a five-foot high brick railing, staring everyone down.

Friendly guy.

Sighing, I tip my head back and stare up at the cloudless sky. I’d hoped being outside would clear the fog in muddling up my head.

Unfortunately, that hasn’t happened.

Frustrated, I rake both palms down my face. I didn’t have delusions of grandeur when I interviewed atVinylmagazine, but I anticipated more than working for a shitty boss, praising the shitty careers of shitty entertainers.

I can’t be good at a job I hate.

Vinylis owned by Ralston Media, the company which also houses MetroGroup Publishing. Taking this job meant being near people who could make things happen. It was a step forward in writing my story,my way.

A story no one has ever heard.

In taking control, I can hide behind a disclaimer that everything is a product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Which is total bullshit. The actual events are more intentional than a written confession.

A breeze whips across my face as my life’s upheaval weighs heavily on my mind.

“It’s like fate just keeps putting us together, doesn’t it?”

I don’t bother turning around. “Fate. Is that what we’re calling karma these days?”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot before,” he slurs.

“Oh? Was that before or after you tried using my hair as a leash?”

He chuckles and moves closer. A lethal mix of gin and cheap cologne mixes with the breeze, causing my stomach to somersault. “I never got your name.”

“You’re right,” I say flatly, still staring straight ahead.

“I’m Heath.” His palm moves over my bare shoulder and slides down to my elbow.

Every muscle stiffens. I don’t want to blow my second chance at the interview, but Heath Vaughn pushes every one of my trigger buttons.

I can do this.

I force the sarcasm out of my voice. “It’s nice to—”

“You’re right, it’ll beverynice.” His breath heats my skin as he shuffles his feet between mine.

Nope. I was wrong. I can’t do this.

How in the hell am I going spin this in my favor tomorrow?