Page 50 of Fake Fiancé for the Billionaire Rockstar

Where could she have gone?

Maybe she decided to get a shower when she woke up, after the events of last night, so I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and rub a little sleep from my eyes before rising up to make my way toward the small bathroom across the hall. There’s no obvious noise coming from inside the house, only the cars down below outside the window as they honk annoyingly, and my brows furrow at the unusual quiet.

The bathroom door is pushed open and I can tell she’s not in there because the light is off, so I make my way down the short hallway and come out into the living room. The hope that was blooming in my chest disappears when I take note of the bare room, which also gives a good view of the empty kitchen ahead.

She left. Of course she did.

A knot tightens in my chest, and for a moment, I can’t tell if it’s disappointment or frustration. Maybe both. Part of me knew this would happen—knew Carmen would bolt at the first sign of closeness. But another part of me, the one that won’t shut up, hoped she’d stay. For us.

I walk through the living room into the kitchen, grabbing my boxers that are crumpled into a pile on the floor as I do, and I quickly tug them on while keeping my attention on my surroundings. Sure enough, there’s a small piece of paper sitting on top of the counter by the fridge with her handwriting scrawled on it, letting me know she went into the office.

Apparently, there’s a lot of work to do and she needs to prepare for another tour around the surrounding cities, even though our charity concert only finished last night.

Does this woman ever take a break?

I can’t shake the feeling that she’s running away. From me, from us, from what happened last night. The memory of her in my arms makes my heart race. I need to see her, to make sure this wasn’t just a dream we’re both trying to forget.

Instead of worrying about it, I glide through the room and find the rest of my belongings before snagging my phone from the counter where I left it last night. If there’s anyone that can help me through these emotions, it will be the guys, and I’d love nothing more than to tell them everything.

They’re probably dying to know what’s been happening between me and Carmen since they found out about the fake engagement, so it’s about time I give them a little of information. I need them to know where my feelings lie because it affects them as much as it does me, so it’s only fair.

I text Brent, then Evan and Jace, asking them to meet at the old VIP club. It’s been ages since we’ve all gathered there, back when none of us had settled down. It feels strange, like a glimpse into another lifetime, one where everything was simpler. Now, things are complicated. Messy.

They each respond almost immediately, agreeing to the outing later tonight, and I carefully pocket the device before heading toward the front door.

If it weren’t for me knowing what Carmen’s like when she works, I would gladly wait up for her. There’s no telling how long she’ll be gone, and I’m not willing to ruin whatever flow she’s got going right now. I take one last look around the apartment, double checking that I’ve gathered all my things, then push out of the place.

I lock the bottom lock on my way out, securing it as best I can without the key for the deadbolt. The soft click settles somethingin me, even though I know it’s not perfect. She never gave me a key—and I’m not dumb enough to ask for one. We’ve only just started getting closer, and bringing up something like that would send her running.

I’m also not going to admit that I’ve thought one too many times about how nice it would be to walk through my own front door and find her there, rummaging around my penthouse like she belonged.

Thank goodness I got in touch with the guys. I’m desperate to see what their thoughts are on the situation and what they think I should do next.

***

The bass hums through the floor, lights flickering over the crowd moving below. The air is warm and buzzing with energy, as the security guard leads me through the swaying bodies toward the stairs to our reserved VIP station. As we near the familiar velvet rope, I catch the faint scent of spilled drinks and laughter rising from the dance floor.

Once, this scene felt like home, but now? I don’t miss it. Not with everything that's been changing.

I blink in surprise when I see that Brent is already here and nursing a glass of whiskey, his finger rolling over the rim as he stares at the amber liquid curiously. “Didn’t expect you to be the first one here.”

He jumps, surprised by my presence, and clears his throat. “You said you needed to talk, so I came as early as I could. Evan and Jace should be here soon.”

I wave a bartender over, ordering a beer, even though I know I won’t drink much of it. My nerves are shot, tension buzzing beneath my skin like a live wire. I just need something to hold, something to distract me from the swirling thoughts I can’t seem to shake.

When she hurries over to me with it, a sultry look in her eyes, I skim my gaze over her with a frown and turn toward the crowd below.

A trio of women linger near the edge of the dance floor, eyes glinting in the dim light as they exchange whispered words and sly grins, their gaze tracking my every move like hunters circling prey. Their dresses shimmer in the pulsing light, and it’s painfully obvious what they’re hoping for.

It’s the same thing that happens every time we come here. The women think that just because they’ve got skin tight clothes on, curves for days, and a flirty smile that we are going to fall over for it and invite them up. They want to be able to brag to their friends that members of Raising Havoc allowed them to gain entry into our inner circle, but they’re going to be deeply disappointed.

As if on cue, the security guard who brought me to the VIP section comes upstairs with a look of determination on his features that have me feeling more at ease. There’s only beena handful of times when the security managed to let some of the patrons sneak up here with us, and I’m happy to say that I haven’t seen them around since.

“Mr. Steger,” he says while looking into my eyes, his lips formed into a thin line like this is the last thing he wants to be dealing with. “I’ve got a couple of women waiting to be let up, claiming that you told them they were invited to join you. What should I do?”

“They’re fucking vultures,” Evan mutters as he ascends the stares and glares back at the bottom of the stairs, where I’m sure the women are waiting patiently. “My relationship has been more than evident in the media, yet they act like I’m going to be desperate for their company.”

I smirk and take a small sip of my beer, the nerves I had a few moments ago already simmering down. “They get ahold of you?”

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