Page 14 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

CHAPTER SIX

Freddie

I stare at Ivy’s phone, my dinner suddenly feeling like lead in my stomach.

Margot Valemont’s plastic face smiles up at me, and I can’t help but feel responsible. I’m the reason Carina met Margot. The reason Ivy’s admittedly impulsive and sometimes stupid sister was pulled into her toxic orbit.

“Where are they?” I offer Ivy the rest of my cheese curds, and she takes them, sinking back into her chair with a sigh.

“No clue,” she says. “Carina still hasn’t responded to any of my text messages.

There’s no location attached to any of the pictures on Instagram, and Mom says the tracking app she uses says Carina is offline.

Margot has posted a few other photos, and it looks like they’re at the beach, but that’s all I know.

I can’t even tell if it’s east or west coast.”

“Or Hawaii,” I add. “Or Jamaica or Costa Rica or anywhere else in the world. Margot loves to travel with a party. ”

Ivy frowns, and I realize too late that probably isn’t a worry she needs right now. Worrying about her sister is one thing. Worrying about her sister in a foreign country with only Margot Valemont as a chaperone is something else altogether.

“Kevin probably has her number,” I say, but Ivy only groans.

“Oh, gross,” she says. “I’m definitely not calling Kevin.”

I grin. There is no love lost between my former agent and my assistant. And rightly so.

“I can text him,” I say. “Or I can ask Sloane. She probably knows someone who could track down Margot.”

“Don’t.” Ivy sits up a little taller. “I don’t trust Kevin not to leak that you’re looking for her, and that’s not news your reputation can handle right now. And Sloane shouldn’t have to deal with my family drama. That’s not her job.”

“ I’m her job,” I say. “And I don’t mind asking. This is my fault. You should let me help.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s Carina’s fault.

And I’m not letting you get anywhere near Margot Valemont just because my sister is making questionable choices.

It’s not worth it.” She breathes out a frustrated sigh.

“I just wish Carina would answer my freaking messages. She’s never ignored me for this long before. ”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Multiple times,” Ivy says. “She’s not answering those either.”

I drain the last of my water bottle and gather up the trash from my dinner. “Could something be up with her phone?”

“I don’t think so. If it were dead or broken or lost or whatever, it would just go straight to voicemail.

But it’s still ringing when I call, and my messages are marked as delivered.

” She stands and takes the trash out of my hands, carrying it across the hotel room to throw it away.

“I might worry less if I didn’t know she was with Margot.

But I’ve just got this feeling in my gut, you know? She’s never ignored me like this.”

Ivy is always telling me I’m too trusting, but if I had a sister, I wouldn’t want her hanging out with Margot Valemont either. And it is suspicious that Carina is ignoring all of Ivy’s attempts to reach out.

“You have to trust that feeling,” I say. “I don’t like that she’s ignoring you either.”

“So what do I do?” she asks.

“Let me ask around,” I say. “I’ll talk to Sloane. Or even ask Wayne. He knows a lot of people. Someone will know someone who knows where they are and could help us get a message to Carina.”

“I’m already getting messages to Carina, and she’s ignoring me,” Ivy says.

“Then we’ll find out where she is and go confront her.”

Ivy quickly shakes her head. “Absolutely not. We won’t do anything. You cannot afford contact with Margot. Besides, this is probably just Carina being Carina.”

I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees. “Maybe. But with the way Margot parties, I’d still be worried about Carina spending so much time with her. Just let me make a few phone calls. I could at least find out if she’s okay. Safe.”

She bites her lip, narrowing her gaze the slightest bit. “Why are you so worried about this?”

I shrug. “Carina only knows Margot because of me.”

“That’s a false equivalency,” Ivy says, shaking her head.

“Margot showed up to your release party uninvited. The fact that she ran into Carina outside was terrible luck, but it wasn’t your fault.

There’s no reason for you to play the hero here.

” She reaches for her phone. “I’ll just message Carina again.

If I threaten to go searching for her, she might respond just to keep me from doing it. ”

Ivy’s probably right, but I’d still feel better if we had a way to make sure. I don’t want any contact with Margot, but I’m pretty sure Wayne knows someone working on her security staff. It can’t hurt to at least ask.

Ivy stands and lifts her arms over her head, arching her back as she stretches. My eyes drop to the subtle curve of her hips before I force them upward again. The woman knows how to wear a pair of jeans, but somehow, I’ve never really noticed until now.

How have I not noticed?

And how am I going to stop noticing?

“Oh, hey,” she says. “I forgot to mention I got a text from Mira Stapleton this morning.”

I lift my eyebrows. “You did?”

“Are you ignoring her, Freddie? It’s the only reason she would text me. She asked if your number changed.”

I breathe out a sigh. “She wants to see me when we’re in LA next week.”

Ivy folds her arms across her chest. “How do you feel about that?”

“Like if I wanted to see her, I probably would have texted her back by now.”

“Then tell her that,” Ivy says. “Put the poor woman out of her misery.”

“She isn’t miserable,” I argue. “She wants a photo op. That’s not the same thing.”

Ivy frowns. “Is that really what you think? ”

I shift on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of Ivy’s scrutiny.

“Freddie.” Ivy moves closer and sits down beside me, turning sideways and tucking one leg under her so she’s facing me. “I know you’ve been burned before, but there are women capable of liking you for you. It isn’t always about your fame.”

I turn to face her. There are faint circles under her dark brown eyes, and I’m suddenly aware of how late it is. She got up as early as I did this morning, and she’s been working ever since. Without the three-hour nap I took before the show.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say, and Ivy rolls her eyes.

“Is that the only reason you aren’t calling Mira? Because of the fame thing? If you just randomly met her on the street somewhere, would she interest you? If neither one of you was famous, would she catch your eye?”

“That’s a stupid question,” I say. “We are both famous. You can’t separate that out of the equation.”

“Sure you can,” Ivy says. “Your fame won’t always matter as much as it does now.” She nudges my leg with her foot. “Just think about it. Think about Mira in a vacuum. Just her. Her personality. Her vibe. Does she interest you?”

“I still don’t think?—”

“Humor me,” Ivy says, cutting me off.

I frown and grab a pillow from the opposite end of the couch, tucking it against my chest. “Why are you being so mean to me?”

Ivy rolls her eyes. “Asking you to be honest is mean? Come on. Think.”

I’ve gotten very good at following Ivy’s instructions over the years, so I force myself to think about the last interaction I had with Mira.

But it only takes a moment to come to the same conclusion I did when her last text came in.

Mira’s fame is overwhelming, but it’s not the only problem. We don’t have the sparks I want.

“She’s not the one for me,” I finally say. “And not just because of the fame thing.”

Ivy nods. “Okay, good,” she says. “Was that so hard?”

For a split second, it sounds like there’s relief in her tone, but I can’t be sure it isn’t wishful thinking. That I only want Ivy to be relieved because I’ve suddenly, inexplicably started noticing her in ways I never have before.

“Is it good?” I ask.

“It’s decisive,” Ivy says, “which is always good. But you have to tell her, Freddie. Tell her you aren’t feeling it, and you don’t want to lead her on.”

I groan out a protest, but I know Ivy’s right. Mira deserves the truth. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll respond to her text.”

“Good,” Ivy says. “You should.”

Silence stretches for a beat before I ask, “Do you really think I can have a relationship with someone who doesn’t care about my fame?”

It’s a pointed question, and I realize, as soon as it’s out of my mouth, that I’m baiting her. Luring her into a conversation about my love life to see how she’ll respond. To see if I can guess whether she’s picked up on any of the shifting vibes between us or if it’s all inside my head.

“Of course you can,” Ivy says. “You’re more than your fame, Freddie. You always have been.”

Warmth spreads across my chest. Ivy is too real a person to blow smoke, which means I can only take her words at face value. “Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t remember the last time I met a woman who didn’t already know who I was. That’s a weird feeling.”

Ivy bites her lip. “I barely knew who you were when we met.” Her eyes widen.

“Not that I’m saying—I mean, I know I don’t count.

I’m just saying generally. I exist. There have to be more women out there like me.

” She closes her eyes, visibly wincing as her face scrunches up.

“Not that you need a woman like me. I just mean like me in the sense that she wouldn’t be a fan. ”

I can’t decide if Ivy’s obvious discomfort with this subject is a good sign or not. There’s a blush climbing up her cheeks bright enough to hide her freckles, and that’s saying something, because Ivy has a lot of freckles.

“I get what you mean,” I say, but I’m not all that sure I agree with her. I’m beginning to think someone like Ivy is exactly who I need.

“Good,” she says as she hops off the couch. “Definitely text Mira then.”