Page 7 of Fire

“Of course they were,” Z scoffs. “He never misses an opportunity to one-up anyone, even a friend.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“No, but you were.”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, we were, which is why I thought he’d have our backs when the recording studio started courting him and when our own fucking agent started whispering ideas about a solo career into his ear. But I guess I should have known. He’s always wanted the spotlight for himself.”

I couldn’t believe it when the record label execs called us in to announce that, moving forward, they would only be representing Edwin. Everything said after that is still somewhatof a blur, but there was a lot of bullshit about needing a new sound and pursuing a different direction.

All I knew was our dream—the one he and I had been working on since we met our freshman year at Stanford—was dead.

The rest of the guys and I were dumped by our agent less than a day later.

“I’m not going there to mend any fences, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I tell Zander. “It’s just seeing that invitation in my mail brought up a lot of old feelings. Resentment, regret, and a lot of anger. And I hate feeling this way.”

“So you gonna go egg his house or something? ’Cause I could help.”

I laugh. “No, but I was thinking about giving him a very special engagement gift.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, rumor is, his tour might be canceled after his last album tanked, so I thought he might enjoy knowing all about ours. Assuming it’s not delayed?”

He grins. “Nah, it’s not delayed.”

I throw a fist pump in the air. “Now that that’s settled. Feel like signing a T-shirt for me?”

“That’s savage.” He grins. “I’ll go get a pen.”

Chapter Three

ZARA

Standing in a long silky robe that isn’t mine, I stare into the spacious walk-in closet that also isn’t mine and sigh.

I so do not have time for this.

Down the hall, there are about four thousand boxes in my new room that need to be sorted and unpacked.You can’t unpack them, remember? You have no dresser.

I am thirty-one years old, and this morning, I had to borrow sheets from my baby sister because I no longer own any of my own. And yet, here I am, trying to find something to wear becauseheasked me to—the man responsible for my lack of sheets.

So, this is what my life has become, huh? Begging and borrowing? At least I haven’t reached the stealing part of that phrase yet.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I borrow something?” I holler over my shoulder and then wince, realizing Violet isn’t in the kitchen like she was a moment ago.

No, she’s right behind me.

Jesus, she’s like a sexy little ninja.

“It’s fine, Zara.” My sister laughs, unfazed by the number I probably just did on her eardrum. She gently pushes me aside and gives her closet a cursory once-over before choosing a tight red number that still has the tags on it.

My eyes widen at the price. I don’t think I’ll ever get over how expensive designer clothes can be. Pretty sure my first car cost less than that. “Are you crazy?”

“Relax,” she says, placing the silky fabric in my arms. Then, she steps back and assesses my dark-brown curls and makeup. It must meet the standard because she gives an approving nod. “I got it from work.”

“That’s a damn nice work perk. All I get is the occasional seasonal cold and sore feet.”

“Yeah, well, I tried to persuade you to join the dark side before you dashed off to med school, but you were allI want to help people.Blah, blah, blah…” She shrugs, then walks over and flops down on her bed. The whole room is very girly and decorated in muted tones of blush and cream. It looks like something out of a Parisian salon.