𝐢𝐢𝐢.
𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

For precisely an hour, Julia and I slave over our appearances with the limited time given to us by a literal God of the music industry, until driven into frantic overdrive.

Both of us ran around my apartment to the best of our ability (due to our choice of footwear for the night), collecting our belongings like chickens with their heads cut off.

We have about an hour to get to the club by eleven. Leaving now would cut our arrival time close.

We'll be several minutes late. Several, as in thirty minutes if the lines aren't too long.

Hopefully Derek's a man of patience.

But if his songs are to give any indication, he most likely isn't. And he's definitely not the forgiving type either.

Amidst the bustling nightlife of downtown Los Angeles on weekends, the streets overflow with a relentless stream of vehicles, a symphony of honking horns and flashing lights. Every inch of space, every establishment, teems with crowds; particularly the area we'll be in tonight.

Derek chose the busiest, elitist, crowded club out of dozens in the area.

This means he isn't playing around, and whatever spiel my manager fed him must've worked like a charm to persuade him to showcase our connection in such a grand venue.

Basically, the whole world will know about "us" as soon as the sun rises.

"Relax, would you? I can feel your anxiousness from over here. It's not good for my chakra." Julia says beside me inside of our Uber, legs crossed. Distress taints her angelic features.

"Sorry. My fate is kind of hanging in the balance right now. Pretty sure I'm about to fall into the fiery pits of hell for what I'm about to do, if the Crims don't push me in first. Especially the hardcore Crims. Those die-hard fans of his are insane by the way."

Julia's brows knit together, forming a deep furrow as her lips twist into a scowl, "I'll pretend you didn't just say that. Seven-teen-year-old Julia would be kicking your ass right now. Or at least, mentally, she would be."

"So glad you're done with that phase."

"It was never a phase. I still have a few of his posters in my closet." She winks, biting her lip as she does so. I smile and shake my head.

"I knew you were a freak when I met you, but I didn't know it was this bad."

"Like you didn't own at least one of his posters," When I raise my brows, she leans forward, "A shirt? One of his perfumes? An album?"

"I have Spotify for a reason." I shrug.

She gapes at me like I just kicked a sick puppy. "So why are you going through with this then?"

I stare at her, eyes wide. Julia stares back, rolling her tongue over her teeth. She wants me to admit to going through with Cady's plan. Out loud.

I flick my gaze to the driver, then back to her. Her lips purse before giving me a singular nod. She opens her expensive-looking clutch, takes out her phone, and begins typing.

Instinctively, I do the same.

I pull up our message thread without haste just in time to see her text appear on my screen.

Jules: ??

Me: One word, Julia baby.
Me: Revenge.

We both exchange devious grins. Julia even wiggles excitedly in her seat. Then, her thumbs start flying as she types a lengthy response.

Jules: I'm loving this little
conniving,treacherous version
of Elara Stewart. Where has she
been for the past four years of
our friendship?!??

Me: In hiding apparently.
Me: Cady opened my eyes
with her speech earlier.
Me: You too, ofc          
Me: I'm done letting men
walk all over me. Especially
Ryan.

Jules: I've been on the fuck
Ryan train since you met him.
Jules: So glad you're finally
hoppin' on.

Just when I'm about to reply, a text from Wilson comes through. My heart drops right through my gut, through the bottom of the car.

Wily: Scan-delish just posted a
celeb alert.

Hearing, seeing, reading that all too familiar pitiful twist on the words "scandalous" and 'delicious" seems to always be my undoing. As if my personal life is a fucking entrée free for the world's greedy consumption.

I flinch when Julia flicks my shoulder. I rotate my wrist so she, too, can react live with me.

Me: And?

Wily: Ryan and Melody were
just spotted entering Hillside
together.
Wily: Want me to send you the
article? If not, all good.

Within milliseconds of skimming his text, a car runs over my heart. The nail in my coffin.

"Oh, fuck."

Oh fuck is right.

He's at the same club I'll be at in—twenty-six minutes. Not only will I may or may not see him tonight, but I'll also see her too.

With him. They went together. As a unit. A pair. A... couple.

Then, a course-altering thought hits me. It strikes as powerful and just as fast as lightning itself, reigniting my sense of reason.

Why the fuck should I care?

Obviously he doesn't. He's made that blatantly clear.

But what I'm about to do will make him care. Or give him the same shock he so ungratefully gave me.

The longer I sit here deep in thought, the more worried Wilson will become. I know for a fact that he'll call me like a concerned father if I don't. Or at least, like I think a concerned father would.

I've always seen Wil as more of a father than my own. I trust him and his judgment. And if he signed me up for this there must be an explanation behind it. One that I'm sure he'll break down after tonight. The man loves to leave me in suspense.

Me: Thanks for the
heads-up. I'm good.

Wily: Still down for
tonight?

My best friend glares at me sidelong as if to say: Don't you dare even think about backing out, bitch. We're in way too deep to pull out now.

I cringe when I realize I'd quoted that last sentence from one of Derek's songs. A double entendre since the entire song is about sex, and instead of "we're," it's "I'm"—but that's beside the point.

Me: More than down.

Julia gives a slow nod of approval. "Who knew my girl could think such evil thoughts. I love it." She pauses and tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she studies me, "You're like Jennifer, but instead of the whole actually killing boys thing, you're killing their egos instead."

She pauses, shrugging a shoulder. "Honestly, it's kind of the same thing when you really think about it..."

A laugh slips from me, sounding more like a choked sigh. She offers me a smile of reassurance when I don't reply, which causes me to swallow.

"Jules?"

"Yeah, Ela baby?"

"I don't know if I can face him—especially if I'm using Derek to get back at him. What if he sees right through it and calls us out? Publicly? The scandal that would ensue..." My tone drops to a whisper halfway through, watery dread filling me like a reservoir.

Her hands grip my shoulders with a surprising amount of strength that stiffens the upper half of my body.

"First of all, Ryan skateboards for a living. On T.V. Who even watches T.V. anymore?"

Eyes wide, I flick them to our poor Uber driver—who thankfully has his full attention on the road. I'm sure he's had to deal with much worse than two women having a slightly aggravated pep-talk in his backseat. I'm definitely giving him a hefty tip once he drops us off.

"Second: he's a pompous, egotistical dick. I haven't forgotten how he acted on your birthday," He'd gotten drunk on purpose because we'd had a fight the hour before we all went out and made the entire night a living hell. Instead of celebrating like I should've been, I had to babysit. Not to mention his antics got us both black-listed from that bar. "That man-child deserves twenty times the amount of karma you're about to deal him. He's a leech." Julia's face twists with disgust.

I'm about to respond but she raises a finger to my lips. "Lastly, Derek will look much better on your arm than Ryan ever did. Treatment-wise—I'd say he'd treat you better but," She grimaces, "—you could try the whole relationship thing, but the man's practically a pariah when it comes to commitment. Pretty sure Melody's the only woman he's kept around for so long."

A true statement. They've been on and off for two years. Now that he's done touring, she conveniently broke things off with him, and one thing led to another...

Which could be why he wants revenge of his own.

"I'd rather drown." My response earns a raised brow. "A relationship is the last thing I want right now." I reiterate.

Even if the media's about to think otherwise when I walk into this club, meet the highest V.I.P. in the room, and do—whatever I have to do in order to make Ryan realize he made the biggest mistake of his pathetic little life.

"The only exception being the Derek Crimson himself." Her suggestive smile tells me she's trying to lighten the mood. And fuck do I appreciate her for it.

"When I see him, I'll be sure to tell him you're interested."

She takes her bottom lip between her teeth. "Would you?"

"Only for you, Julia baby."

She squeals and pulls me into her arms, planting a kiss on the top of my blonde head. "Ugh, you get me."

"I know I do."

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

For the rest of the ride through Los Angeles traffic, we finally converse with our Uber driver, who acted as if our entire conversation never happened (even though Julia and I both know he heard every single word—also impressed that he didn't ask about it either) and promptly drop us off at our destination five minutes past eleven o'clock.

It's only when we're waiting in line do we realize how royally late we'll actually be.

Another five minutes pass and we only move about seven feet up the sidewalk.

Then Julia, bless that smart-ass brain of hers, reminds me that I have a way of contacting the person we're going inside to meet—and that I need to text him.

My hands start to shake yet again as I type a message to him on Insta.

𝗗𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗸 𝗖𝗿𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗼𝗻 ✔︎
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘬𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯 • 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆
97.4𝖬 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 • 189 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌
𝖳𝖮𝖣𝖠𝖸 11:12

𝖧𝖾𝗒
𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾.
𝖬𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇
𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌.

It takes another two minutes for him to reply.

𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾?

Then he proceeds to send a ten-digit number.

"What the fuck is that?" Julia blurts almost too quickly, jabbing her pointer finger at the response on my screen as if I need help finding it.

"A—phone number."

It hits us at the same time. Though the Latina next to me, as usual, beats me to it and whips her stern eyes to mine.

"Bitch if you don't call that phone number right now, then add it to your contacts when you hang up, I will murder you."

Another message pops into the chat.

𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒.
𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾.
𝖢𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾.

"What're you waiting for?" She waves her hand, urging me on, but I'm still too busy gaping at my phone to care.

"He said... please."

Julia shifts from foot to foot, seemingly contemplating the risk of yanking my phone from my hands and calling him herself for taking too long.

With a slowness that'd revel a slug, I call the number.

"Put it on speaker!" She whines, unable to contain her bubbling excitement.

At least one of us is thoroughly enjoying this.

I'm not even sure what emotion I'm feeling right now. A mixture of at least half a dozen emotions buzz through me and makes me feel overwhelmingly sick.

Maybe I'll mellow out once I get inside and have a shot or two, or three, or five. All I know is I need something strong to get me through tonight.

I do as she says, turning the volume down so that he's not obnoxiously loud when he answers.

"Hey," I say, a bit high-pitched for my liking.

"Hey," A velvety smooth, deep voice responds through the phone that has Julia shaking my arm in the thrall of full-on fangirling, "Get out of line and hand me off to one of the bouncers up front."

We do just that.

A large guard blocks off the entrance. Bald, looking to be in his mid-forties and buff enough to bench Julia and me with an arm behind his back.

"Um, here," I say, taking Derek off speaker before I hold my phone out to him. Uninterested, he takes it, as if used to doing this kind of thing.

The man frowns, clearly skeptical as Derek presumably starts convincing him to let us in.

His eyes narrow, surveying us both. "Sure thing, boss." He says, handing the phone back to me.

"Stand aside, ladies. Next!" His yell makes us both flinch.

We listen and move to his left.

"I'm sending one of my guards to come get you. Hang tight." Derek explains, and I nod, passing the information along to Julia in a hushed whisper.

A few seconds later, a soft, "I can't wait to meet you." is whispered into my ear through the phone. I gasp inaudibly at his words, taken aback by his brazenness.

No more backing down from challenges, I remind myself. Inhaling sharply, I channel the "new" me, and answer in the same low, airy tone.

"Likewise. I'm curious to see if you're just as good-looking in person as you are in photos, or if you just know your way around face-tune."

Julia's jaw plummets to the floor in astonishment, head still glued to the opposite side of my phone, as Derek's laughter flits through the phone's speaker. "I hate to disappoint, but I don't need face-tune."

He certainly doesn't, but I won't ever admit that out loud.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Julia presses her ear against the other side of the phone out of sheer curiosity.

He hums, absorbing my words. "What's you and your friends' poison?"

We both exchange a knowing glance. I kind of insulted the man, and he wants to buy us drinks?

"Kinky Lemonade."

"Noted," He purrs, and Julia's eyes bug, "They'll be waiting for you, too."

Then, the call ends.

Neither of us have time to react as a man dressed in black from head to toe, tattoos littering his hands with brown hair slicked back, motions us to follow.

We don't utter a word as we trail behind him through dancing bodies, soaking in the Hillside club with all of is enormous, opulent glory.

A myriad of resplendent chandeliers dangle gracefully from the ceiling, strobe lights reflect off of each individual crystal, casting shimmering reflections across the vast expanse of clubbers below. Eight large pillars climb upward, forming a circle around the main floor.

A pulsating synth melody underscored by a thumping bass permeates the atmosphere, which is already buzzing, vibrating with the impending promise of night-life.

As it's drawing to an end for one person, it's only just beginning for another.

We walk right through to the back, where an elevator awaits, two guards stationed on either side of it. We enter the dimly lit space, each wall a mirror, including the floor and roof. Derek's guard presses level three.

A peek at my best friend tells me what I was thinking. A V.I.P. floor. Fitting for a big celeb like Derek Crimson, as well as Melody Wright.

Once on the third floor, he ushers us through another massive clubbing room.

The dancefloor is the centerpiece of the space, with two bars on either side, and elevated booths for onlookers on the outskirts of the room. Some who fill them I faintly recognize as B-list celebrities, along with a few models from our company's rivals.

He guides us around the large pit of dancing strangers, who must have some sort of social status to be granted access here, to the farthest booth on the right side of the club. Julia clings to my arm all the while, grip tightening with each step.

I'm about to tell her off when the guard halts and motions to continue without him.

Two more steps and my lungs refuse to accept oxygen. All my limbs fail me, locking in place as I greedily take in the man before me.

Fuck.

He's far more attractive than he is in photos.

Black hair naturally styled, a few strands drape over his sculpted brows. Adorning a black short-sleeve button-up shirt, black slacks, and black combat boots, he gives a perfect mixture between business and casual.

The first three buttons of his shirt remain free, where several tattoos peak from the fabric, climbing up the tan skin of his chest to the top of his neck. More patchwork tattoos litter each of his muscled arms down to his silver-ringed fingers, metal glinting off strobing club lights.

He practically embodies darkness, a stark contrast with the club's ethereal, carefree ambiance.

As his head turns I draw in a gulp of air, bracing myself.

His dark eyes slowly drift up the expanse of my body, reminding me of my choice of exposed clothing for the evening.

I feel practically naked. Entirety bare under his brazen, curious gaze.

He's drinking me in, but not in the way you'd think.

As if admiring a piece of artwork at a gallery, his eyes trace the contours of my features. Lingering at the curve of my jawline and arch of each brow, deciphering every stroke. Capturing the essence of my being with each glance. Like a connoisseur, he absorbs every intricate detail. Assessing and admiring.

A man has never looked at me like this before. Seeing past external beauty, down to the intricate layers of my soul.

Refreshing, but still intimate in its own way.

He then shifts his attention to my best friend, who stands in shock beside me. He does the same, though not nearly as intense, regarding her with slight interest.

Derek blinks and meets my gaze with his chin tilted downward. The man who they'd first met disappears within milliseconds, admiration long gone.

A crooked smile masks its way across his sharp, devilishly handsome features.

"Have a seat, ladies. We have business to discuss."