Rockstar (8 page)

"Mr. Phoenix,” Spencer cried as he pressed his palm to his eye.

Anthony turned toward Summer, who was still sprawled out on the floor. “I trusted you.” His words cut with a raw bitter edge.

"I...” Summer stammered out as the tears welled painfully in her eyes.

"I can't believe you did this. You gave me your word. And to think that I was actually falling...” His words trailed off as he dragged a hand through his dark hair. He turned away as though he couldn't bear to look at her anymore.

"Tony,” she pleaded, lifting a hand out to him.

"Don't,” he growled, not bothering to turn to look at her. “Don't fucking call me that again.” Without another word he stormed out of Spencer's office, leaving her to stare blankly after him.

Spencer shot out his chair. Scrambled over Summer as he called out after Anthony, chasing him down the hall.

Summer fell back. Her head slammed painfully against the floor as she closed her eyes and silently wept.

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KISS AND TELL: The Summer Strait Story.
The bold headline was splashed across the front page of one of the leading gossip magazines. Summer clutched the copy of
FAME
with a white-knuckled fist. She'd read the cover story at least a dozen times. They'd interviewed her ex-boyfriends, her childhood friends. Hell, even that asshole Spencer had given them a quote. He'd called her a “story-whore", willing to do whatever it took to get the details. Summer groaned aloud at that. Damn him—her mother would read that.

She'd finally flipped off her cell phone. In the three days since the
Stripped
article had dropped her phone rang non-stop. The callers ranged from nosey reporters fishing for a quote, to old friends she hadn't seen or spoken to in ten years wanting to know if she had really slept with
the
Anthony Phoenix. That story, that fucking story that should have never left the privacy of her mind, had made her a celebrity overnight—and a prisoner in her own home.

If she dared to step foot outside her apartment building she was bombarded by reporters. They pressed up against her and shoved microphones in her face. They screamed questions at her as they climbed over each other trying to inch closer. Flashes from the cameras blinded her. The world spun about her and she was forced to retreat back into the sanctuary of her apartment building.

It was unnerving. It was as if she'd been stripped naked and shoved out into a crowd. Everyone turned to stare and point and laugh. Snapping pictures, spinning falsehoods, exposing every secret she had ever held within the glossy pages of their magazines. She hated it. Hated feeling like her life was not her own.

Was that how Anthony had felt? Was that what he thought of her? It was certainly what she thought of herself now. She huffed out a breath and took some small comfort in knowing that he at least was used to it. He could use this to drive record sales, feed his shows. But for Summer it had ruined her career.

Stripped
had printed a retraction. A note of apology to Anthony, his family and fans declaring that Summer and Spencer had exploited the star for their own personal gain and that the magazine had no prior knowledge, thus sealing her fate and making sure no other media outlet would touch either of them again.

"Anthony Phoenix has cancelled the rest of his fall tour,” a television host declared, drawing Summer's attention to the screen. She grabbed for the remote and turned up the volume as she watched pictures of Anthony snapped by an invading paparazzi flicker across the screen. “Representatives have stated that the singer has fallen ill and will be unable to finish out the tour which still had several dates to run including British Columbia, Las Vegas and Los Angeles."

Summer ran her fingers over the buttons on the remote as she watched the correspondent shuffle papers on her desk. In the upper right corner of the screen they showed video of Anthony trying to push his way past a mob and slip into an awaiting car. Strangely, her heart went out to him.

"But insider sources say,” the correspondent continued, “that the tour was cancelled for more personal reasons directly related to the article that appeared in
Stripped Magazine
earlier this week. The very personal article written by former
Stripped
journalist, Summer Staite, shocked the entertainment industry with its erotic bedtime story. The scandal came to a head in a skirmish between Phoenix and magazine personnel."

In the upper right hand corner the imagery flickered, shifting from the video clip of Anthony to a photo of herself. It had been taken outside her apartment the day before. She was turned away from the camera. Her hair fell down to shield her face as she pressed her hand outward as if the simple gesture could stop the invading cameras.

Summer's stomach churned as she stared at the picture of her on the television. “Sources say the article's author seduced Phoenix to get the story even after he'd refused to be interviewed for the magazine.” Much to her horror the correspondent continued. “Phoenix's representatives will neither deny nor confirm the allegations about the controversial story, but one member of his road crew said she expressly heard Phoenix tell Staite that he would not give her the interview she was after."

Summer let out an irritated huff. She could damn well take a guess at who that source was. There had only been one person there when Anthony had pinned her against the wall and refused to offer her the story. Jenny had to have been the source that fueled their stories.

"The lawsuit filed by Phoenix has been dropped. Sources state that the brooding rocker wasn't interested in pursuing the scandal, much to his manager's dismay."

Lawsuit.
Fucking media, she thought then laughed at herself over the irony of it all.

She needed a new line of work. And a change of scenery certainly couldn't hurt.

She heard the key slip into the door and it jarred her from the heartbreaking news splattered across the television. She punched at the remote, turning the damn thing off.

Summer turned as her door creaked open. Her breath drew inward and held as she watched the dark figure step over the threshold.

Delight bubbled inside her and had her drawing up from the sofa and crossing the distance to her brother. She threw her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder. “Timmy."

He pulled back and dropped the flight bag at his feet. He held her out at arm's length and searched her upturned face. Tears trickled down her cheek as she met her brother's gaze.

Timothy touched a hand to her face and wiped the tears away with the loving trace of his thumb. “I'm sorry I'm late. I should have been here days ago."

"You're here now.” She took him by the hand and led him to the sofa. She sat next to him, keeping her hands clasped over his, needing the comfort of his touch more than she cared to admit.

"You look tired,” he noted, cocking a concerned brotherly brow. “Not sleeping?"

"Not really."

He'd cut his hair since she'd last seen him. It was shorter now, expertly manicured. He was dressed in a dark flight suit, tailored and pressed. He'd certainly pulled himself together after the messy divorce that had caused him to spend nearly four months moping on her couch.

She'd been there for him, helped him lick his wounds and get on with his life. Now she was counting on him to do the same for her. She needed someone to lean on. Someone with strength and courage because she had nothing left.

"How're Mom and Dad?” he asked, finally breaking the silence between them.

"Good.” A wave of guilt washed over her. Another damn regret. She'd been so wrapped up in work that she hadn't seen them in nearly three months. It wasn't that she was avoiding them, she'd just been so extremely busy. She simply hadn't had time to make the seven-hour trip to Red Bluff. She supposed she'd have plenty of time for visiting now, what with being jobless and all.

"So you want to tell me what's going on?"

"No.” She didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to relive it anymore. She just wanted him to be there for her. To tell her everything was going to be okay. To lie to her.

"You want to grab some pizza?"

"No.” Summer reached for a tissue from the box resting on the side table. She blotted her eyes then blew her nose. Damn, she hated crying. Hated the weakness.

"Come on,” he urged as he drew her up to her feet. “Get out of those sweats and get dressed."

How could she resist those big doe eyes of his? If there was one thing Tim knew, it was how to bat his eyes at a woman and get exactly what he wanted. As a child she had hated him for it but as an adult she had grown to adore it. “All right,” she said softly. “But just a pizza."

"And a beer,” he chimed in, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"And a beer,” she repeated. “Give me a minute.” She headed to grab a quick shower.

Alone in the bathroom, Summer studied herself in the mirror and nearly groaned aloud. Her blonde locks, usually so carefully arranged, were tangled and sticking out from her loose ponytail. There were dark circles under her eyes. A tale-tale sign that she'd been unable to sleep. It wasn't so much the lack of a job or the absence of any career potential so much as the dreams that plagued her and the loneliness she felt when she awoke from them. She missed him. She could make the concentrated effort to forget him during the day, but the nights, those long, lonely nights, her subconscious centered solely on him.

Sadly when she woke drenched in her own sweat, her heart pounding fiercely, the only thing she had to turn to was a tattered old bear. That used to be enough. But now, as much as she loved that bear, she found he was a poor substitute for the solid warmth of a man.

Summer turned away from her reflection in the mirror and flipped on the shower. Stripping out of the faded old sweats, she stepped under a stream of warm water. She nearly moaned aloud as the water beat down in massaging pulses against her neck and back. The warmth of the water wasn't nearly enough to touch the cold emptiness dawning within, but at least it warmed her chilled skin.

After her shower she made her way into her adjoining bedroom and headed for her closet. She yanked on a pair of faded jeans and grabbed Anthony's navy T-shirt she'd accidentally taken when she'd left his hotel room. It was pathetic, and she knew it, but she just couldn't help herself. It was two sizes too big for her and still carried the smell of him because she had refused to wash it. She lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled. Yeah, she was sad, but it was only thing she had left of him, the only thing that was solely hers. They'd stolen her words, exposed her heart, at least they didn't know about this. They couldn't take that away from her.

She pulled on her tennis shoes and headed back for the living room.

A warm smile, the first honest smile she'd given since the whole article ordeal, spread on her face. Tim had been busy. He had straightened her living room, cleaned the kitchen and stacked her mail on the table in the breakfast nook. “Mom would die if she saw you."

"Why?” he asked, a bewildered smile curved on his lips.

"Do you remember what your room looked like when you were in high school?"

A slow, guilty grin formed on his lips. “Yeah, well, people grow. Ready?"

"If I must.” She turned down the hall.

Summer threw open the apartment building's door and stepped out into a flood of flashing lights. People shouted questions at her from every direction, shoving microphones and recorders beneath her nose.

"Miss Staite, can you tell us about your torrid love affair with Anthony Phoenix?"

"Have you seen him since the article was published?"

"Can you confirm that you are carrying his love child?"

Summer stood silently. Shock drained the color from her cheeks and widened her eyes. How could she have forgotten? She turned ready to make her hasty retreat back inside but Tim wrapped his arm about her shoulders drawing her against him. Instinctually she turned her face into his chest. Let him shield her from the paparazzi as he drew her through the crowds.

He settled her into the passenger seat of his car and slammed the door shut. He fought his way through the crowds to round the front of the car. Summer kept her gaze locked forward, her expression blank as the flash of lights exploded around her, blinding her.

Summer barley noticed as Tim slipped behind the wheel and pulled away, leaving the frenzied crowd to trail off behind them. When she hadn't spoken for several long minutes he finally reached over and took her hand in his. He squeezed, offering her a momentary comfort. “Don't worry. You'll soon be yesterday's news."

Summer said nothing as they merged onto the 101 heading north. For several long moments she stared quietly out the window and let her gaze drift across the coastal waters whipping by. She stared until her vision blurred and the world beyond the window was nothing more than an obscure smear of tepid blues, dark grays and white lights streaking by in the opposite direction. The sky grew dark and gray around them, matching Summer's mood.

Tim had flipped on the radio. Soft music filtered through the car and drowned out the drum of the tires turning on the pavement, but Summer didn't hear any of it. A soft rain began to fall, pattering against the window, further distorting her view beyond. That was how she felt—distorted, blurred, while life whizzed dangerously by.

Giving in to the exhaustion that plagued her, Summer let her eyes fall closed. Her head fell back against the headrest as the gentle vibrations of the car lulled her. And as her thoughts faded away and sleep overtook her, she dreamt of being in Anthony's arms.

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The laughter of children filtered in through the kitchen window as they played in a pile of raked leaves. Anthony's gaze was drawn to the children and their frolicking. They burst through the pile, kicking up a shower of brittle amber leaves to rain down on them. He smiled as he watched them play. God help him, he wanted that for himself.