Page 11 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER FIVE

Ivy

“Um, is there something you want to tell me?” Wren asks as she picks up Freddie’s discarded clothes.

“Like what?” I say, knowing as soon as the words are out of my mouth that my attempt at nonchalance probably sounds a lot more like guilt.

“Ivy,” Wren says, clearly seeing right through me. “What was that? Is there something happening between you and Freddie?”

I roll my eyes. At least I can be honest about this part. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why are you acting so weird?”

I look down at my hands. I’ve been mindlessly shifting around a collection of water bottles on top of the mini fridge in Freddie’s dressing room, reorganizing them from five to a row to three to a row, then back to five again.

I force my hands to still and look up at Wren, who is studying me with pursed lips, her arms folded across her chest. “I’m not acting weird,” I say.

It’s her turn to roll her eyes. Wren is only a year or two older than I am, but she has a strong big sister vibe, and she often treats me and Freddie like we’re younger siblings she has to keep in line.

Having lost Daphne, it’s nice to feel like someone is looking out for me.

Especially when we’re touring. But I don’t like the way she’s looking at me right now, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Like she can tell that for the five minutes I spent cataloging Freddie’s tattoos, I completely forgot she was even in the room. My vision narrowed to him and only him.

“Don’t even try to pretend like you inspecting Freddie’s body wasn’t significant. I could feel the tension buzzing between you two, and I was on the other side of the room.”

“It wasn’t tension,” I say with a dismissive wave. “It was just a conversation, and it had everything to do with this fan we met at the meet-and-greet who’s trying to copy all of Freddie’s tattoos. I swear that’s all it was.”

She shrugs. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it,” she says, but I don’t miss her smirk when I finally leave the dressing room and head backstage.

It’s concerning that Wren picked up on something. I’m usually so careful, but I’ve been soft the last few days, first pretending to kiss Freddie in the drugstore, then letting him crawl into my bunk like it wasn’t monumentally significant to be so close to him.

I can justify my actions. Say the drugstore thing was necessary to protect Freddie, and the bunk—it’s not like he gave me a choice in the matter. But I won’t lie to myself and say I didn’t love every second of being so close to him .

The first year I worked for Freddie, I was in so far over my head, I didn’t have time to form a crush.

I was learning everything I possibly could about the industry, and he was right in the middle of an international tour.

My to-do list far outpaced my abilities and know-how, so I was too focused on my survival to notice Freddie’s charm or his good looks.

But then I learned. I figured stuff out. Got better at my job. And I started to recognize things about my boss that made him different.

Despite having to grow up in the midst of his fame—he was only fifteen when Midnight Rush made it big—Freddie is surprisingly decent.

He’s loyal and generous. He doesn’t drink or party.

He has an insatiable curiosity, and he generally starts every day believing that he’s going to be surprised or impressed by something.

It gives him this unfailing optimism that I can’t help but admire.

At the end of his last tour, he gave every single person on his payroll—from caterers to truck drivers to stagehands—an enormous bonus check and wrote handwritten thank you cards, delivering each one in person.

It took him days, but he was unflagging in his determination to shake hands with everyone who’d made even the smallest contribution to his success.

That might have been when things started to shift for me. I was the one who coordinated his efforts, made each individual connection possible.

How could I not develop feelings, helping with something like that? It started as admiration and respect, but we just spent so much time together. And let’s be honest. Freddie Ridgefield has a very handsome face.

I tried to fight it. I had to fight it. And I mostly did. I mostly have. What Freddie has in optimism, I have in determination. I made a promise to myself that my feelings would never keep me from doing my job. And they haven’t.

But I must be slacking because this is the first time anyone has ever picked up on them. Even Seth, who spends more time with me and Freddie than anyone else, has never picked up on anything.

All the more reason for me to find a new place to live as soon as possible.

Despite what my mother might think, I really don’t want to be an assistant forever. Except—if I’m honest with myself, that isn’t what this is really about. Freddie would give me a different job title if I asked for it, one more reflective of everything I do.

But moving out is a logical first step in the gradual unweaving of myself from Freddie’s life.

That’s what this is really about—preparing myself to move on.

I can’t love Freddie forever. Not if I want to find someone who will love me in return.

But as long as I work for him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.

I find Seth and Charlie standing side by side backstage, their postures similar as they watch Freddie performing “Give Me More.” It’s one of the few Midnight Rush songs he includes in his setlist because it’s such a fan favorite. Most of the chorus, the fans will do the singing for him.

I have no idea how Freddie shifts into performance mode so fast, but after so many shows with the same set list, he could probably perform this concert in his sleep.

He sounds great—his tone rich and clear, perfectly on pitch.

Sure enough, when he reaches the chorus, he points at the fans, and they sing the next few lines of the song.

Freddie presses a hand over his heart, a gesture of gratitude that makes his fans cheer even louder, then he launches into the next verse of the song.

“He’s really on tonight,” Seth says, “Better than he has been.” He looks down at me. “Did you say something to him?”

“Me? What would I say?” I shrug, hoping it’s dark enough for Seth not to notice the heat climbing my cheeks. “Probably just good crowd energy.”

I turn and walk toward the staging area at the back of the stadium, hidden by enormous black drapes hanging down from the ceiling, mostly so Seth and Charlie won’t ask me any more questions.

Usually, this area is full of stagehands waiting for the wash, rinse, repeat of taking down what they just set up this morning.

But since tonight is the first of two shows in Chicago, they won’t have anything to take down tonight.

They’re probably all out, enjoying a much-deserved night off.

I make my way over to one of the huge storage crates that houses Freddie’s set when it’s disassembled and climb on top, resting my back against the bigger crate directly behind me.

I pull out my phone and spend a few minutes scrolling through apartment listings, but I don’t see anything new.

I have three places bookmarked, but for all I know, by the time I’m in town to check the places out in person, they won’t be available anymore, and I’ll have to start all over again.

I close out the listings and pull up the text thread with my sister, sending yet another message checking in. She still hasn’t responded to the one I sent earlier, but it can’t hurt to try again.

Ivy

Hey! Everything okay? Not trying to hound you. But if you want to give me a thumbs up so I know you’re alive and well, that would be amazing.

I don’t expect a reply, so I’m not surprised when one doesn’t come through. I send a few more texts to a couple of Carina’s friends—the ones who are enough of my friends that I also have their numbers—but no one responds with anything helpful.

I make my way back to her Instagram feed, but this time, I click over to the posts she’s tagged in and not just the ones she’s posted herself.

The most recent image makes my stomach fall into my shoes.

Carina is smiling, and she looks great. Gorgeous and healthy, her eyes wide and bright. It’s the other person in the photo who concerns me.

I zoom in, pulling the woman’s face into focus just to make sure I’m not seeing things. But there’s no mistaking it. Carina’s arm is draped over Margot Valemont’s shoulders. And Margot Valemont has never been anything but bad news.

At least when it comes to Freddie.

I sigh and drop my phone into my lap, lifting my fingers to my temples.

Margot is an influencer—the daughter of a very wealthy fashion designer—and has an enormous presence on social media.

Carina met her briefly, outside of Freddie’s release party for his last album, but I had no idea they knew each other well enough for Carina to show up in Margot’s Instagram photos.

And I can’t shake the certainty that however this happened, the fact that I work for Freddie and Carina is my sister has something to do with it.

Freddie’s history with Margot is pretty straightforward.

They went out a couple of times when he was still part of Midnight Rush.

They were both teenagers and it didn’t go anywhere.

But Margot had a harder time with that than Freddie did, and since then, she’s developed a habit of dropping his name whenever it suits her purposes.

Every time they happen to be in the same place, she latches onto him like they’re long-lost friends.

She tags him in photos of parties he hasn’t attended.

She mentions him in interviews, hinting just enough to keep rumors going that they’ve been in an on-again, off-again relationship for years.

I can easily imagine Margot reaching out to Carina on purpose—a way to narrow the degrees of separation between her and Freddie just a little bit more.