Page 2 of Songs for Libby

CHAPTER ONE

I tried to get control of my angry face as I paid the Uber driver and then dug into my purse for my disguise. The fact that I had a disguise at the ready should have been a clue that my life was a little out of control. I had my best friend to thank for that. The best friend whose butt I was going to kick as soon as I managed to pry him out of this club.

New York City made me crazy, probably because I was only ever here to clean up Sean’s messes. I liked my little apartment outside the city.

I slipped the wide-rimmed fashion specs on my face, put on the loose-knit bohemian hat, and wrapped a scarf around my neck before slipping through the crowd. Randy was waiting for me at the entrance, giving the bouncer the signal to let me in.

“Hey, Libby,” Randy said with a look of defeat. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“Not as sorry as he’s going to be,” I muttered, my face set in stone.

He tried to give me a commiserating smile, but it was more of a grimace. My best friend’s manager was just as sick of this situation as I was. I scanned the crowd, pegging several reporters who were sitting around with cameras resting on their tabletops, pointed in Sean’s direction. They all looked pretty bored, which was normal. Sean didn’t spiral in loud, obnoxious ways. He didn’t dance on tables or make out with girls. He just sat there on his stool, signaling to the bartender to keep them coming. The only time he made a scene was when Randy tried to get him to leave.

Enter: me.

The seats on either side of Sean were empty, no doubt thanks to Will, Sean’s security guy who stood several feet behind him. I sighed and slid past him, hoping he’d block the view of some of the cameras. I lifted myself onto the stool beside Sean, keeping my eyes straight ahead, hoping to have a somewhat incognito conversation with him.

“What are you doing here, Sean?”

He didn’t bother to look over at me. “I’m celebrating. Didn’t you hear? I’m a big star.”

So it was one of those nights. A self-pitying, nobody-loves-me-for-me night. A night of resenting his own success. “Well, big star. What do you say we get out of here before there are even more photos of you getting sloppy drunk?”

“Leave me alone, Libby.”

“You know me better than that. Let’s go.” I stood and grabbed hold of his arm, hoping he’d let me heft him. He usually did, even if he was belligerent about it.

“I said leave.” He shoved me back. Shoved me.

I blinked in shock, stupefied until I managed to shake it off. This time I grabbed hold of his wrist with one hand and his thumb with the other, locking his joint just enough that he had to move where I guided him if he didn’t want to get hurt. “You will get up and you will leave right now if you don’t want photos of you being demolished by a girl,” I hissed in his ear.

He groaned in pain but gritted his teeth and stood, turning his glassy glare on me. Moments like this made me really miss my best friend. The boy I’d known before he started “living the dream.”

Randy stepped in behind me to handle whatever bill Sean had racked up while Will escorted us to the back exit. There was an SUV with dark-tinted windows waiting for us, as usual.

Tucker, the driver, opened the door and I shoved Sean inside with more force than necessary. He fumbled the one and only step as he climbed in, falling haphazardly into the far seat as I jumped in after him. He sat in stubborn silence as I methodically removed my hat, glasses and scarf, placing each item carefully inside my bag.

Randy jumped into the front seat and we pulled away from the club just as I was zipping my purse closed. Then I released the tight hold that I’d had on my emotions and let loose. I gripped my bag with both hands, turned toward Sean, and smacked him over and over with it. “What. Is. Your. Problem?”

“Get off, Libby!” he slur-yelled as he tried to shield himself.

“You shoved me!” Smack. “You shoved me.” Smack. “Me!” Smack. “The one person who has always had your back. I don’t care how drunk or pathetic you are. If you ever do that again, I am done with you!”

“So be done with me!”

He glared and I glared back. Him with that pitiful nobody-loves-me pout, and me with my death stare, my face probably so red with anger that I looked like a bitter radish.

I turned to face front again and plopped back into my seat. “Grow up, Sean.”

The ten-minute drive to the hotel was filled with frigid silence. Randy glanced back several times, but I didn’t bother meeting his eyes. I wasn’t in the mood for apologetic, commiserating looks right now. When the car came to a stop in the parking garage, I got out and didn’t look back. Randy and Tucker could manhandle Sean out of the car and into the elevator. I stalked away, jamming my finger into the elevator button while rage roiled inside me. Getting Sean out of these situations was always a pain, but he’d never treated me so badly before.

I could hear them behind me as Sean tried to throw off their help. They came up alongside me just as the elevator doors opened. I stepped in, still refusing to even look at Sean as we rode up to the presidential suite. His stupid hotel room was three times the size of my apartment, and one night probably cost three months’ rent.

It didn’t matter. My apartment was fine, and this was just the way Sean’s life was. Money, opulence, and very little substance.

I was the first off of the lift that opened directly into the suite’s little lobby area. I waited stiffly while Randy came forward with the key that opened the french doors.Then I crossed straight to the phone, dialing the number for room service and ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. It was spiteful and pointless. The record label would pay for it. But I was hungry.

I let the receiver settle into its cradle and leaned my hands into the pretty table on which it sat as I half listened to Randy giving Sean instructions and reminders for the next day. He wouldn’t remember it, but I knew Randy would text all the info to both Sean and me after he left.