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“Then you should’ve answered the first time.”
She rested her cheek on her palm with her elbow propped up on the chair. “Okay, quid pro quo. You answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.”
Arguing with her would be pointless. Faith’s rich studio executive husband owned a public relations firm in Hollywood and gave it to her as a wedding gift. But Faith was no trophy wife. She was a shark among guppy models and bottom-feeding actresses. She bullshitted people for a living. The woman could talk a celebrity client out of being caught cheating on his wife red-handed and have the media apologizing for wasting her time.
“Fine,” I conceded. “The band’s doing some publicity thing in Phoenix. Yes, I’ve taken my meds, and I went to the doctor before we left New York. Does that cover it?”
“Not even.” She smirked, crossing her arms. “What happened tonight?”
I stared at her, my humor gone. “I meant for you to answer my questions now.”
“And I meant to have Leonardo DiCaprio as a client, a husband that doesn’t fuck around on me, and a yacht by the time I turned twenty-five. What’s your point?”
I arced an eyebrow. “The point is, if you don’t answer me, I’ll scream for security and tell them you’re one of Julian’s crazy-ass fans.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
A silent dare danced in her eyes. Moving my finger over to the call nurse button, I continued to stare. With no reaction, I grinned and sank my finger deep into the groove.
Cursing, she scrambled to her feet. “Shit! I didn’t really think you’d do it.”
I motioned to her empty chair. “I’m waiting.”
She raised both palms. “Damn it, okay. Zane told me you guys were in LA. I wanted to surprise you. There, are you happy?”
“Zane?” Undeniable sparks flew between them during the surprise birthday party Julian threw for me back in the fall, but Faith was a married woman, albeit unhappily. I assumed the harmless flirting ended that night.
“We’re just friends,” she warned.
My raised hand halted her confession. “That’s exactly what I told Julian about us.”
Her mouth opened for rebuttal when the hospital room door flew open and two nurses barreled inside. One of them frantically pulled a blood pressure machine behind her, while the other slapped my arm in the cuff and shoved a thermometer into my mouth.
I yanked the thermometer from between my lips. “What the hell?”
A heavyset older nurse glanced at me nervously. “You pushed the emergency button. We, uh, well, we know who you are.”
The thinner, younger nurse interrupted with a clipped tone. “Lynn!”
The nurse glanced at her colleague unapologetically. “Oh, like she doesn’t know.” She returned attention back to me. “You aren’t our first celebrity.”
The word grated on my frayed nerves. “I’m not a celebrity.”
Her smile caught me off guard. “You are by association.” Squinting at the blood pressure results, she wrinkled her nose.
I nodded toward the machine. “Is it bad?”
“It could be better. I’ll let Dr. Thomas explain more. For the time being, try to keep it to a dull roar.” They quietly closed the door behind them.
I turned my gaze back to Faith. “So, Zane, huh?” Her cheeks flamed and she tensed. “You don’t have to answer. But I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t warn you.”
Her fingers absentmindedly trailed the fabric of the chair. “About what?”
“Life with a rock star isn’t a walk in the park. It’s hard, Faith. They’re gone a lot. You need to have trust—phenomenal trust. Thousands of screaming women beg to touch him. They dream and fantasize about him. He has to cater to them.” I shrugged. “It’s hard when they’re gorgeous. Then there’s the cameras flashing in your face every time you walk down a street, eat a meal, or go to the bathroom.”
“Are you done?”
