Page 37 of Stuck with a Billionaire Rockstar

“It’s an invasion of privacy!” I screech, the sound carrying over the crowd surrounding us, and I receive glares from most of them in response.

The photographer nods slowly, then looks over at Brent with a smirk. “Okay, but only if you pay me double what my boss would give me for it.”

When I look at Brent, I have a pleading look on my face, and his lips are pulled down into a frown. He sighs, digs into his back pocket, and throws a wad of cash at the photographer. “There, now see to it that the image never goes further than that cheap ass camera.”

By the time our little spat is over, I notice that the band is starting to go off stage, and everyone around us is heading back the way they came. It’s over already? Brent is silent beside me as we head back to the car and I study him, waiting for his emotions to be revealed, but I come up empty. “I had fun tonight. I’m sorry again about the girl, I hope everything is good with us.”

He nods curtly and keeps his gaze straight ahead. “Everything’s great.”

I’m not convinced, but I don’t say anything. Not even as we pull in front of the resort entrance or when the valet walks up to us and takes Brent’s keys. He follows me onto the elevator and presses both of our buttons, still as quiet as a mouse, and my lungs feel as though they could burst at any moment from how suffocating the silence is.

“Well,” I say, giving him a small wave as I step off the elevator. “Thank you again for tonight, it was fun.”

When I get into the suite, Mallory is already sitting on the edge of the couch while bouncing her foot impatiently against the floor. She snaps her gaze to mine and lifts up. “There you are,” Mallory mutters as she struts over to me. She sits next to me on the curb and leans on me with a frown. “What’s going on?”

“I love him,” I state. She lifts up and stares at me, waiting for more, which I give to her. “You don’t have to tell me I’m stupid. I already know that.” Her mouth parts, but she doesn’t say anything because I don’t let her. The last thing I need right now is her opinion, even if it might be necessary. “He doesn’t know, and I’m not sure I should tell him.”

“Wait,” she says, her hand falling onto my bicep. “Why wouldn’t you want to tell him? Did something happen?”

“Yes, and now,” I mumble while looking straight ahead. “I saw him with some girl, blew up over it – which is something I’ve been doing a lot of when it comes to him – and after that was all said and done, a photographer was taking pictures of us.”

The moment I saw the camera pointed at us, all I could think about were the plethora of comments that would come after the image got posted, and that’s the last thing I wanted. “Brent gave him money to keep it quiet, but it got weird after that. Maybe he sees me differently now that I freaked out. I don’t know.”

“Are you sure that he sees you differently?” I blink at her in surprise, trying to determine what she’s getting at, and she sighs. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I think you should’ve at least given him a chance to talk it out. Maybe he’s upset that you’ll start being in the spotlight more if you guys get together, so he just wants to make sure it’s something you want or don’t want.”

“I’m out of my element here, Mal. Every time I think things are going well, something tries to get in the way and prove further how different we are from each other.” I look back and shake my head. “Maybe it’s for the best, but we probably wouldn’t have worked out, right?”

It hurts to voice that so much that I physically want to lean over and puke all over the marble tile. I hold the sick feeling inside, though, breathing deeply to keep it at bay.

“That’s not it, Jules,” she says. I stare at her for a few seconds in silence and she sighs... “He likes you, too, you know?”

“No, Mal, I don’t know,” I whisper. “He’s had plenty of opportunities to tell me he does, so why hasn’t he?”

Instead of trying to figure everything out, I slip into my bed and look at Mallory curiously when she slides beneath the blankets beside me. She shrugs, giving me a small smile, and says, “What? A girl can’t comfort her best friend?”

“How are you so sure?”

She cocks her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“You said he likes me. How are you so sure about that?”

“Uh uh,” she says, shaking her head and throwing her hands up in surrender. “You can go ask him yourself.”

“Unlikely,” I mumble and throw myself back into the plush mattress, focusing all my attention on staring up at the ceiling. My phone pings, and I peek at the text, scrunching my eyebrows together when I see Brent’s name on the screen.

It’s nothing but an apology and him letting me know that he wants me to come by his room so we can talk, and my heart stutters wildly in my chest. What could he want? He could be telling me about his feelings if he even has them, and that sends me flying up on the bed breathlessly.

I lock my phone without responding and drop it into the middle of the bed. Then, I blow out a rough breath that has Mallory placing a soft hand over my thigh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She’s known me for years. I’m sure she can notice when I’m not, but I don’t want to keep crying over someone who doesn’t deserve it.

“Seriously, Jules, why don’t you go to his suite and tell him how you feel, see if he feels the same way?”

“And be rejected immediately? I’d rather not,” I mutter.

“What if he doesn’t do that, though?” She seems hopeful that maybe he will confess his undying love for me, and it makes my heart ache that she’s got so much faith in him.

I should go talk to him, especially since I didn’t let him do so when our picture was posted. It would’ve been nice to learn from my mistakes. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.” My stomach is rolling, and everything I’ve drunk or eaten is threatening to come back up, but this is for the best.

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