Rian watched as Stevie's face went from a bright smile – as fake as the plant in the corner of the room – to what could only be described as a sullen glower.
Yeah, well...serves you right, he growled silently. I've felt the same way since the second you walked off with my brother.
It wasn't a fair thought. Or even a reasonable one. It was true as all fuck though. Just like the fact that he wanted to kiss the pouty look off her face. Make her gasp like he had in the car. Hold her hand like he had upstairs. Christ. He even wanted to demand just how far she'd gone in the other make out sessions she'd declared. He'd been thinking about that, too, since the second Echo touched her. It'd taken every goddamned ounce of restraint he had to keep from tearing her away from the asshole (who he swore to god he really did love with all the brotherly love in the fucking world) and carrying her up the stairs back to his room. Then maybe locking her in.
"Rian?" She said his name in grumpy, but kind of concerned way, and after a second he clued in that maybe it was because it wasn't the first time she's said it – maybe it was more like the fourth.
Feeling like an idiot, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the valid excuse he'd had for knocking. Her cell phone. Dropped at the bottom of the stairs, probably when Echo was carrying her around like a sack of potatoes.
"Here," he said, holding it out resentfully.
Stevie stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know if I should say thank you, or if I should assume you've put a curse on it."
"If you don't want it..."
"No. I do." She grabbed it and quickly tucked it into her skirt pocket. "Thank you."
Rian knew he should just turn and go, but he felt compelled to stay. "This room work okay for you?"
Stevie took a little step back, and her eyes dragged over the décor. Rian followed her gaze. She looked startled for a second – like she was seeing it for the first time.
It was a carefully decorated space. Neutral walls, dark floors, a cream ceiling. Art that drew the eye, but didn't hold it too long. It was luxurious, too. Rich silks on the bed, handcrafted wood furniture. Rian had overseen the transformation – from guestroom to wife-to-be suite – himself.
"If you want to bring anything from home," he added, "Feel free."
Stevie shook her head. "I don't have much. My apartment came furnished, and by now...well. My landlord said if I didn't have the rent to him by three, everything else would be out in the Dumpster. It's not worth the dive, trust me."
"I can have someone get it for you."
She met his eyes, her stare clear. "It's not a pride thing, Northwest. I literally own five outfits. Three pots, a bowl and a plate...one set of cutlery...nothing superfluous and nothing I can't replace at the thrift store."
Rian's fist clenched, and he forced it loose. If she signed the contract, he could buy her a hundred damned outfits and an entire drawer full of forks. Of course, she'd just wear the former with Echo. And use the latter to eat with Echo. And...He had to stop thinking about it. Seriously.
"So, that's it then?" he made himself say. "You're out on your ass or you're here?"
"Pretty much."
He studied her face. "And that's why you're so willing to jump in and do this."
She lifted her finger to her mouth and chewed on her pinky nail for a second, then sighed. "If that's what it'll take to get you to stop trying to talk me out of it...then, yes. When I woke up this morning, I was on the brink of being homeless. Now I'm also clothes-less and jobless."
"What about your friends?"
"You mean someone to talk me off the ledge that is Marrying For Money?"
Rian smiled. "Yeah, that."
She shrugged. "You know how the North-side kids are. The good ones grow up and move on. The bad ones stick around to become pimps and drug dealers."
"And which one are you?"
"Let's just say that I'll just be selling my crack out of your swanky pad from now on."
"That would be funny. If wasn't worried that Echo might actually like the idea."
"Is that his poison?"
Rian hesitated. It wasn't his story to tell. Not his secrets to divulge. Not really.
But what are the chances that Echo's going to disclose it all? And are you willing to take the chance? Doesn't she deserve to know?
"Not street drugs," he finally said. "Do you remember a few years back, when his tour bus got hit by that trailer?"
Stevie nodded. "I watched the documentary on his recovery."
"Yeah. It was a hit. But it didn't show the shitty side of things. The constant pain in Echo's back. The bad decisions he made in order to keep up the front." Rian shook his head, remembering how subtle the downward spiral had been. "It was prescriptions that did it for him. Washed down with an unusual amount of booze, because he couldn't tell the difference anymore. Hell. None of us could tell the difference. Not the guys in the band, or the tour manager. He covered it up for two and half goddamned years."
"So how did you figure it out?"
"It was actually when I took a look at a series of news stories that I clued in. There was a show where Echo fell off the stage and into the crowd. And one where he forgot the lyrics to a song. Someone got wind of the fact that he'd been too exhausted to drive, and reported on that. I lined everything up and realized something was off. Pieced it together, confronted Echo, and he came clean. About more than I expected him to."
"Like the money he owed to Lee."
"Exactly. By then, he'd exhausted his ability to get enough pain pills legally. He'd moved on to less green pastures."
Stevie's face was serious now. Her pale eyes trained on his face, probing him from behind their thick slab of makeup.
"Do you really think this is a bad idea?" she asked. "If you were being objective, I mean, and knew nothing about me."
Rian ran a hand over his hair and considered how to respond. On the one hand, he just plain didn't want her to think Echo was a safe bet. On the other, though, was the fact that saying so would sell out his brother. Undermine his own damned investment in the TV show. And if there was a third hand...well. He wasn't sure he could be objective. Just looking at Stevie was enough make him want to lie, cheat, and steal to keep her out his brother's arms.
"Rian?"
Yeah. There was that, too. Every time she said his name he wanted to hear it again. In his ear. On his pillow.
"Fuck." He dropped the curse out loud by accident, and Stevie's eyes widened.
"Yeah, okay," she said. "Maybe this conversation is over."
She moved to close the door, and Rian slammed his hand up to stop it, then pushed past her into the room. Ignoring the way Stevie jumped back, he stalked past the bed, then past the ornate armoire, then paused at the privacy screen in the corner of the room. Then he turned and did it again, pacing as he tried to make himself think clearly. Bed to armoire to privacy screen. Privacy screen to armoire to bed. It wasn't working.
"Has anyone ever told you that you have a bit of an impulse problem?" Stevie asked.
Rian paused to shoot her a dirty look, thought better of it, and grabbed her arm instead. He pulled her by the elbow. She shook him off, so he bent down and grabbed her by the knees, then carried her to the privacy screen. Then past it. He slid open the glass door behind it, then moved out to the tiny, hidden porch. He did it all quickly enough that she barely had a chance to get a solid punch into his back, and he set her down so fast that he barely had time to acknowledge how good she smelled.
"What the hell!" she yelled as she righted herself.
"Safe space," he snapped. "Might as well get used to using it."
"What?"
"Didn't Echo show you all the – fuck. No. Of course he didn't." Rian shook his head. "In your room, the safe spaces are this area here, and the bathroom. Neither is set up with a mic, but if you're just behind the screen, I'd refrain from saying anything you don't want to share with the world."
Her glare didn't lessen. "You could've just asked me to come out here."
"Would you have agreed?"
"Yes."
"That's a lie. Besides which. I have an impulse problem."
"You really do." She crossed her arms over her chest, which of course sent her cleavage from mildly distracting to downright turn-a-sane-man-crazy territory. "Now that you have me out here...what do want?"
Rian fought an urge to show her what he really wanted, told himself he wasn't an animal, and took a step backwards. "It's more about what I don't want, sweetpea. I don't want you to do this because you think it's the only way out of whatever situation you're in. I don't want you to sell yourself short."
"I've already told you...I'm not selling myself at all," she said evenly. "This is a paid job."
"Which ends with you being married to a man you don't love."
"Yet."
He pretended that single word didn't completely piss him off. "Look. Stevie..."
"I'm guessing there's about ten million other women who would kill to be in my spot, Northwest."
"They love the idea of Echo. Not Echo himself."
"Not my point," she told him.
He threw his hands up. "Then what is your point?"
"That I'm not selling myself short. This is an upward move. Socially. Financially. Emotionally. It's a chance to know exactly what's coming and not have to worry. And that's immeasurable."
"So that's what you want?"
"Yes."
Rian stared at her for a long moment, willing her to take it back. She might not be lying, but something told him she wasn't being completely honest, either. She said nothing, though. Just rested her cool gaze on his face.
"Fine," he finally said through gritted teeth. "I'll slip the contract under your door. Then you slip it under mine when you're done with it."
Or don't, he added silently.
But she just nodded, and he slipped out of the room, a pile of raw emotion intensifying with each step.
ݠU