Page 43 of Fame & Chaos

Years of tutoring, gigs, and saving every cent I could gave me enough to finally afford it.

Well, that and the money I’d originally saved to move in with Indi. That thought punches me in the ribs a little.

I ignore it.

That future never happened, so instead I poured every dollar into something that stayed.

And honestly? This car is fucking perfect.

I hit the central locking button and slide into the driver’s seat, slamming the door harder than necessary behind me. The silence inside the car settles around me instantly.

Indi still didn’t answer.

Again.

And once again, I didn’t delete her number.

“Pathetic bastard,” I mutter to myself while starting the engine.

The roar instantly vibrates through the car and straight into my chest, pulling a grin from me despite everything. Cars have always done that for me. The noise, power, control, and for a few seconds, it drowns out whatever crap’s going on in my head.

I check myself in the rear-view mirror quickly, adjusting my hair with my fingers.

Definitely my best feature.

No question.

Once I’m satisfied, I pull out onto the street and head toward the hotel.

The drive isn’t long, which is ideal because London traffic can absolutely get fucked at this time of night. By the time I pull into the underground parking area behind the hotel, the place is already packed.

Music pulses faintly from somewhere inside while security guards swarm the entrances like the bloody royal family’s attending.

Typical Colt behavior.

I grab Annie’s present and head toward the back entrance instead of the front because I genuinely cannot be bothered dealing with photographers or paparazzi tonight.

A massive bouncer blocks the door and looks me up and down. “Name?” he asks gruffly.

I nearly laugh at how serious he is.

“Caleb McCormack-Slade.”

He checks his clipboard quickly before nodding once. “Right. Through you go.”

I smirk while walking past him.

The security around Annie and Ella is sometimes absolutely ridiculous. However, growing up around Colt has made me realize there are far worse things than having an overprotective family.

I step into the party and get hit with noise, lights, and about five hundred overdressed rich people pretending they’re interesting.

Celebrities used to impress me when I was younger.

Now they look exhausted.

Or drunk.

Usually both.