Page 15 of One More Made Up Love Song (Midnight Rush #2)

Ivy won’t look at me as she gathers up her stuff, slinging her bag over her shoulder, then retrieving her lanyard and crew badge from the coffee table where she left them. She mumbles something about getting some sleep, then she heads for the door without looking back.

“Good night!” I call to her retreating form, but I’m smiling as I sink back onto the couch. Ivy only squirms like that when she doesn’t want to talk about her feelings. And if she doesn’t want to talk about these feelings, it could mean she actually has some.

It could also mean she doesn’t, and she wants to avoid an awkward conversation in which she lets me down gently.

I think back to the first conversation I ever had with Ivy.

She was a senior at Belmont and an intern at New Groove Records, my previous label, when I ran into her in a women’s bathroom just down the hall from the conference room where I’d been reviewing the terms of my recording contract.

I needed a minute to breathe without my agent hovering over me, and I was banking on the fact that Kevin was exactly the kind of guy who wouldn’t follow me into the ladies room.

“Sorry,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to where Ivy was washing her hands. “Just need to hide from my agent for a minute.”

She lifted an eyebrow, her entire demeanor cool and comfortable. “You must really like the guy.”

I grinned before nudging the door open to peek into the hallway. “His intentions are mostly good.”

“But they aren’t good right now?” she asked.

I let the door fall closed, then turned to face her, truly taking her in for the first time.

Young, beautiful, wild curly hair that hung halfway down her back.

Her glasses were bright red, the same color as her sneakers, but the thing I noticed most was that she really didn’t seem to care who I was.

“Not at the moment, no,” I finally answered.

She finished drying her hands and threw away her paper towel. “Well, good luck with that,” she said, before crossing to where I stood with my back against the door. She pushed her hands into her pockets. “Is it necessary that I hide from your agent too?”

“Oh! Absolutely not,” I said, stepping to the side. “Sorry.”

She took a step forward, but then I called her back, chasing a sudden impulse to not let her go.

“Hey, wait. ”

She turned around.

“What’s your name?”

“Ivy Conway.”

“Nice to meet you, Ivy. I’m Freddie.”

A question passed over her expression before she finally said, “I know. I know who you are.”

“Ah,” I said. “I wondered, but I didn’t want to assume. You didn’t seem to.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m an intern for your record label. I think I’d be a pretty terrible one if I didn’t.”

I rubbed a hand over my jaw even as an idea popped into my head. “Fair enough. Okay, how about this? If you had to, could you name the four members of Midnight Rush?”

“Midnight—wait, is that the boyband you were in? When you first started in music?”

I nodded. “That’s the one.”

She offered me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I remember the band, and I’d probably recognize a few songs, but I was never the kind of fan to learn names.”

“So you don’t know my middle name.”

“Definitely not.”

“Or where I grew up.”

“No—I’m sorry, are these things I’m supposed to know? Am I being tested somehow?”

“No and yes,” I said. “Okay, last question.” I propped my hands on my hips and looked at her for a long moment, already hoping she would forgive me for how truly ridiculous our entire conversation had been so far. “Can you promise you are not in danger of falling in love with me?”

She scoffed. “What?”

“Take a minute,” I said. “Am I your type? ”

“You’re a musician,” she said, “which means, by default, you aren’t my type.”

I liked her answer, even if it wasn’t one I expected. “You don’t date musicians?”

“I mean, I’ve never had the opportunity, but I’d like to be taken seriously in the industry, so no. I don’t.”

“Okay. Good. That’s great,” I said.

And then I offered her a job.

I’d been looking for an assistant for weeks, and she was perfect. Unaffected by my fame. Smart. Career-driven. And not a fan.

She told me she didn’t graduate for another six weeks.

I told her I wasn’t in a hurry.

She told me her goal was to work for a record label as an artist relations manager.

I suggested what better way to learn about the life of an artist than by working with one directly?

Then I mentioned the salary I was willing to pay her, and she ran out of arguments.

That was five years ago—when she said without hesitation that I wasn’t her type. But she didn’t really know me then. She only said it because I’m a musician and she wanted to be taken seriously in the industry. But does that truly matter if she’s working for me?

I don’t have a lot of experience with love, despite how much I sing about it. But it still feels like something is shifting between us.

Ivy must pass Wayne at the door, because he walks in seconds later, and I don’t hear the latch click more than once.

“What’s up with you?” he says, eyebrows pulled together.

I sit up a little taller. “What? Nothing. Why? ”

He motions to his face. “Because you’ve got this weird goofy grin on your face.”

I reach a hand up and wipe it over my mouth. “It’s nothing. Ivy was—never mind. It’s not important. How’s everything out there?”

His jaw tenses, but then he nods. “Good. Everything is good.”

Wayne isn’t exactly emotive, but I can still tell he’s lying. “What happened? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” he says. “There was a minor issue with some hotel staff, but we figured it out before anything could happen. Everything is good.”

“Wayne,” I say. “Just tell me what it was.”

He sits down in the armchair perpendicular to me and breathes out a sigh.

“A guy who works the front desk loaned his employee badge to a friend. Or at least someone he claims is a friend. I’m more inclined to think it was someone willing to pay him a lot of cash to get her inside the hotel.

We caught her in a maids’ uniform with a load of sheets in her arms, on her way up to refresh your linens.

” He adds air quotes to the last part of his sentence, and I frown.

“He gave her my room number?”

Wayne nods. “And he was fired for it.” He leans back and runs a palm over his shaved head, the light catching in his pale blue eyes. “They both swore they didn’t have any malicious intent. She just wanted to meet you.”

I choke out a laugh. “It’s never malicious, is it? All in good fun.”

When I’m traveling on my own, I can usually stay in hotels under a pseudonym, and most hotel staff don’t even know it’s me.

But that’s harder to do with an entire tour.

Even when we use fake names, concert schedules are public.

And tour buses are pretty conspicuous. If you’re looking, it isn’t hard to figure out where we are.

Wayne leans forward and props his elbows on his knees. “I’ll be extra vigilant through our last tour stops. You know it’s why I’m here. I won’t let anything happen.”

“Grateful for you, man,” I say. “Thank you.”

I mean the words, but on the heels of my conversation with Ivy, it’s hard not to wonder if I’m inching toward a place where this kind of attention isn’t worth it.

It’s not so much that I want to stop performing. Stop making music. I just don’t want to do it at the expense of having any other kind of life. And when stuff like this happens, it’s hard to imagine having a real relationship when so much of my life is so completely unreal. Or at least unrelatable.

I think of Adam, my former bandmate who left Midnight Rush after his mom died. He often comes to mind when I’m feeling reflective, mostly because he had the same life I do, then he walked away, and now, everything is different for him.

When I crashed with him in North Carolina, I was fascinated by the simplicity of his life. With his freedom to just live and do what he wants.

When he first met his girlfriend, Laney, she didn’t even know who he was. She fell for a simple guy running a dog rescue. Maybe that’s the thing I’m most envious of. His ability to control when and how much his past with Midnight Rush plays into his current relationships.

Wayne stands, pushing himself up off his thighs. “You need anything else before I go to bed? Jason is posted outside your room. Just as an extra precaution after what happened. ”

“Tell him to get some sleep. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Wayne doesn’t answer, just looks at me, his expression patient. He will not, under any circumstances, tell Jason to get some sleep just because I tell him to. No matter how much I hate the idea of him staying up all night for me.

“Actually, there is one thing you can help me with,” I say.

Wayne nods. “Okay.”

“Any chance you can get Margot Valemont’s cell number for me? You know one of the guys on her security team, right?”

Wayne frowns. “No.”

“No, you don’t know the guy?”

“No, I won’t get you her number.”

“Not for me, Wayne. Chill. Ivy’s sister is hanging out with her, and she’s not answering her phone. I’m just trying to help Ivy track her down.”

“You don’t need Margot’s number for that,” he says. “She’s always telling the internet where she is.”

“Not anymore. She’s on a beach somewhere, but she isn’t tagging her locations like she used to.”

“Hmm,” Wayne grumbles. “Maybe she’s finally getting smart.”

“I don’t want to see Margot,” I say. “Or even talk to her. I just want to reach out so I can connect with Carina. Maybe find out where they are.”

Wayne rubs a hand across his jaw, eyes cast skyward like he’s considering his options. “I won’t get you her number,” he finally says. “But I will find out where she is.”

His confidence takes me by surprise. “How? Is there some underground security guard network I don’t know about? ”

Wayne doesn’t respond, his face perfectly impassive.

“Seriously?” I ask. “For real? Do you compare stories? What’s the weirdest one? Who is it? Musician? Actor? I’ve always thought musicians have to be weirder. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

Wayne blows out a patient breath. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Then stop asking questions.”

I hold my hands up. “Fine. I’ll leave it to you.”

He turns and takes a few steps toward his bedroom on the other side of the suite. I’d rather have the place all to myself, but it’s incidents like the one that happened tonight that make it easier to have someone inside the suite with me.

“What about Flint Hawthorne?” I call after him. “Is it true what they say about him only drinking water bottled in North Carolina?”

Wayne turns around. “Aren’t you friends with Flint Hawthorne? Ask him yourself.”

I grin. “Just testing your secret network.”

“Go to bed, Freddie.”

Ten minutes later, I climb into my bed and reach for my phone one last time before turning off the light. I key out a quick message to Ivy and hit send.

Freddie

Honestly, I’d be lucky to wind up with someone like you. And not just because you don’t care about my fame.