Page 4 of Concerted Chaos

“Yep. When I was seventeen, some fool at one of the tabloids ran a whole story about Powell taking my virginity. They went fully in on the incest angle, claiming some anonymous source. Not only was it not true, but it also would have been a crime since he was twenty-one and I was under the age of consent. We sued for defamation, got a huge settlement, and the tabloid ended up folding. We Corbitts don’t back down from litigation.”

I always talk about it so flippantly, but that lawsuit marked one of the worst periods in my young life. I was still a virgin at the time and having to reveal details about my young body in a deposition was utterly humiliating. And even after we won the case there were whispers. Still are. I suppose it doesn’t help that Powell and I are super close, and he takes me to awards shows—as a guest, not a date—whenever he’s single. We’ve both heard people gossiping, and we do our best to ignore it. He may not technically be my blood relative, but he is emotionally and legally my brother. I can’t think of him any other way.

Tanner is watching me rather intently. His eyes, I can’t help but notice, are an intriguing green, the kind of color that only exists on Sci-Fi aliens or on exaggeratedly attractive love interests in romance novels. He’s probably wearing colored contacts, but I’m not going to comment on them. Zahna would have asked where he bought them, and she’d have shown up to her next runway show with emerald irises.

“That must have been rather upsetting for you,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. He’s the only person I’ve ever encountered who didn’t immediately jump on how fortunate I was to have those false rumors bring me a ginormous windfall. Lawsuit lottery, more than one jealous acquaintance called it.

“It was, but it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” I give him my fake cheerful smile, one I’ve perfected over the years. I’ve learned from the best in the business.

He tilts his head to the side and bites his lower lip. He looks like he wants to say something else, which sends off warning bells in my head. He must be an aspiring journalist. I hate them the most—the ones who slum it as paparazzi until they can break a big story. They steal our stories to use as the subjects of their unauthorized documentaries. They’re far more invasive than the usual camera jockeys.

“I guess so. You seem to have your whole life together.”

I can’t tell if he means that as a dig, so I assume he does.

“Oh, you do too, Mr. Smythe-with-a-y. A career of prowling in someone else’s bushes. How fun. But you’re new, aren’t you? They don’t send their best out to Arizona when LA is packed with opportunities.”

“I am new, in fact.” He does not rise to the bait. “But it’s working out for me so far. It’s mostly athletes out here, and they’re much more interesting than some floppy haired ex-boyband singer.”

Ouch. That is a rather dismissive description of Powell’s career. He’s done quite well for himself as a solo artist. Maybe he’s dropped down to filling arenas rather than stadiums, but he’s also achieved critical acclaim, maintains a large fan base, and more importantly, earns a significant steady income from his music.

“To be fair, you haven’t even caught a glimpse of the award-winning triple platinum musician you tried to stalk.” I will always talk my brother up to other people, especially the ones who act like they aren’t impressed with his considerable musical accomplishments.

“True. Here, take my card. Maybe you can shoot me a heads up if anything interesting is going to happen.” He gives me a cheeky grin and slides his business card across the table. I pick it up. Tanner Smythe Photography, with an area code I don’t recognize. Not that I’m likely to call anyway.

“I doubt I’ll need this anytime soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe my order is ready.” Mama Nina is carrying the bag over to me with a polite customer service smile on her face, but her eyes are filled with fury. As I leave, I hear her angrily lecturing Tanner about the importance of privacy and not harassing her diners. I suspect he’ll learn his lesson. Probably won’t be seeing him again.

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