Love Ignited (Hollywood Series Book 2) Read online

  I lifted a mug of water to my lips, moistening my mouth before I spoke. “Yes, please continue.”

  “There is speculation that a sex tape has surfaced involving you, Logan Mason, and several other well-known celebrities. Do you have any comment on that?”

  I laughed. Audiences had always been captivated by my laugh. “No such tape exists because no such events took place. Logan Mason wishes, right?” I played with the audience. The girls all laughed.

  Since our brief fling four years before, Logan had fallen out of the spotlight while my singing career had skyrocketed. He was a has-been, and I was a still rising star. After the way he’d treated me, I wasn’t sad for him in the slightest. Oh, sure, he was sorry now, but now, I didn’t care.

  “You know if this so-called ‘orgy’ tape exists, the good-girl image that you’ve created will be trashed, don’t you, Roxy?”

  “You know I don’t think I’ve ‘created’ any image, Leslie,” I told her with a little bite. “I just am who I am. Besides, like I said, there’s no tape. You know I hate to speak ill of my peers, but this is just another attempt for Logan to jump back into the spotlight.”

  She gave me a shocked look, raising her brows. “Wow, okay. Well, there you have it, folks. Straight from the horse’s mouth, as they say in Roxy Royce’s neck of the woods. There’s no sex tape.” She had turned from me and was talking to the audience. I was ushered off stage as she continued on about the rumor. I couldn’t believe she’d used the word orgy!

  I’d known when I had agreed to the interview that Leslie Li might ask about the rumor, but I wasn’t sure until she had. I honestly didn’t think she would be so brazen. I was there to talk about a benefit concert I was doing for the troops in the Middle East and even agreed to discuss my recent breakup with my boyfriend of the past year. She’d asked me about those things first and then cut to the sex tape questions right before I was about to leave the stage. What a witch.

  I grabbed my cell phone. “Bo, that bitch brought it up!” I yelled at my assistant. “She even took a jab at my southern roots. Yeah, don’t book her again and spread the word. I want her blackballed!” I cut off the call before stepping into the awaiting studio-provided limousine. The driver wasn’t my usual guy, and I didn’t want to chance him overhearing my conversation.

  The driver didn’t ask where I was going. He’d already been given instructions. I was going straight back to my hotel because it had been a long morning and I had an early flight the next day.

  I’d struggled with the decision to do the concert overseas. It was dangerous, and I was nervous, but with everything going on here, it was a good time for me to get away.

  My boyfriend and I had broken up because he’d slept with that little minx Mimi Vines. The girl was eighteen and fresh out of rehab. I’d seen them in Central Park a week ago, walking hand-in-hand, and I ripped him a new one in front of everyone. That video was already streaming. Everyone was a cameraman these days. If I’d learned anything since I had achieved celebrity status, it was that I was always one public tantrum away from “trending.”

  I guess if I did have a “good girl” image, that little spectacle in the park had stained it. I didn’t mind being held to a high regard—in fact, it was endearing—but I was no different than any other twenty-six-year-old woman. I don’t know why the “good girl” thing had followed me from my hometown of Loblolly, Alabama, but when I went off on Grant in Central Park, social media lit up like a Christmas tree with how hostile I “had suddenly become.”

  Of course, Mimi got the sympathy vote because of her age and her “condition.” That condition being addiction, for which she had been miraculously cured. That was great for her, but it didn’t stop her from jumping the first man she laid eyes on.

  With all that being said, I didn’t blame her. I blamed Grant. He was the twenty-eight-year-old man who was screwing a teenager.

  I was so mad about the sex tape being brought up on the morning talk show that, when I got to the hotel, I hopped out before the driver had a chance to open my door. There were always fans around, but I wasn’t expecting to be bombarded. There were reporters from every outlet sticking their microphones in my face asking about the tape. Leslie Li had opened the door, and they all ran in, asses and elbows!

  Luckily, I kept a pair of black Chanel sunglasses in my quilted handbag. I put them on to hide my anger. I could smile all day, but I couldn’t hide the anger in my eyes. Whenever unsavory situations arose, I wore my glasses, smiled, and allowed my accent to present. It seemed to charm the un-charmable.

  I wish I could say this had been my first negative experience, but I’d had a couple minor run-ins with the paparazzi. Nothing of this magnitude, though.

  When my charm didn’t faze them, I just ran into the hotel. I grabbed my phone again. “Bo, get somebody down here to handle this!”

  “Yeah, Rox, I’m on it. Just give me—”

  “I don’t want your excuses! I told you this was going to blow up! Just get it done!”

  I had a little temper sometimes, but this situation had magnified it times a million because, even though I did believe Logan had started that rumor to garner attention for himself, I also knew what we had done that night. If there really were a tape… I shook my head at the thought. I couldn’t even think of it.

  I went straight to bed when I got to my suite. It had been a long morning of being shuttled from makeup to hair to green room to stage. And I had a long flight planned for the next day, so I took a sleeping pill and went to bed.

  I lifted my eye mask around four the next morning when my alarm went off. I’d set it earlier than necessary because I didn’t like being rushed. I called for room service immediately before getting out of bed.

  I glanced in the mirror. My dark locks were a mess, my blue eyes surrounded by red webs from the over-the-counter sleeping pill I’d taken. I showered and had someone from the hotel come get my things. Bo had better have booked a private jet for this long trip. I hadn’t specified, so I really doubted he had. Bo was as sweet as pie but as dumb as a box of rocks. It wasn’t stupidity so much as the boy didn’t have any walking-around sense. But he came recommended by a friend, and I’d already trained him, so I was trying to work with him.

  Bo should know by now that I enjoyed flying private. I had come to dislike commercial flights. I knew it was cliché, tacky, and spoiled, but it didn’t change the fact. I worked hard for my money. I wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed for using it as I pleased.

  Country music wasn’t an easy game to break into. I’d put my time in at the bars and nightclubs in Nashville, just like everyone else, then up to New York, but when I had made my way out to Hollywood to work the bar scene, I’d just gotten lucky. That was the only way I could describe my fame. I’d gotten picked up by a label. Since then, I had become a country/pop crossover. It hadn’t been intentional, but it was fine with me. I loved my fans no matter which genre of music they took me for.

  I’d already eaten and gotten dressed. I was just sitting around waiting on everyone else. That was the way it always was it seemed.

  My cell phone rang eighty bazillion times a day, but I only answered the ringtones that I had set, so when “Slim Shady” sounded out from my iPhone, I smiled.

  “What’s up, big bro?” I answered.

  “Maddie, I don’t think you should go—”

  “Maximus”—I spoke in a deep joking tone—“you worry too much.”

  “For real, it’s not a good time to be out of the country. There’s too much going on in the world.”

  “Max, there’s a lot going on here too. Don’t worry. People do this all the time. In fact, if you’re so worried, come with me.” I held the phone with my shoulder so I could adjust my eye makeup. I knew there would be photographers waiting outside. I didn’t want it to look like the sex tape rumor was getting to me.

  “I can’t,” he said, sounding a bit off. Max was usually fairly upbeat.

  “Why?”

  “I
was going to wait and tell you in person but…” He paused dramatically.

  “What? Just tell me already,” I yelled, but he hesitated. He was starting to freak me out. I picked up my iPad and dialed him up on Facetime. “Click over,” I told him. I did this often, so he complied.

  When he answered, I saw him standing there with his girlfriend, Aimee. “We’re pregnant!” she yelled. Max’s smile was so wide it touched his eyes.

  “Oh my gosh, you guys! Congratulations!”

  “Congratulations to you too, Aunt Maddie!” She smiled. Tears flooded my eyes at the thought of having a little niece or nephew.

  “So blow off this trip and come celebrate with us,” Max added.

  “I wish I could, but that would be very unpatriotic of me. I can’t do it. Besides, I will only be gone a few days, and then we can all celebrate together, okay? Aimee, tell your family that they’re all invited. We’ll go wherever y’all want. This is the best news! I’m so happy for y’all!”

  I really was. I knew Max had meant to propose recently, but he hadn’t been able to afford the ring he wanted her to have. He was too proud to take my money for that. That, he’d said, was something he wanted to buy on his own. I understood and respected that. I told them I loved them and hung up, elated and overjoyed by the news.

  When there was a knock on the door, I grabbed my purse and my small Chanel carry-on tote. When I opened the door, I expected Bo, but instead, Logan Mason stood in front of me.

  “Logan,” I said. I hadn’t seen him in a while, and he looked worse for the wear.

  “Hey there, Maddison, or is it Roxy now? I never understood why you changed it. Maddie is so cute.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A million dollars and to be your boyfriend for a few weeks,” he said. I laughed.

  “Just cut to the chase, why don’t ya?” I joked.

  “Do it and the tape disappears forever.”

  “Shut up, Logan. There’s no tape.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Sure enough,” I said. “Besides, I wouldn’t be your girlfriend if I had corn stuck in my teeth for a decade and the only piece of floss in the world was between your ass cheeks. Now, get out.”

  “Come on, Maddie. You don’t have to really be my girlfriend. Just pretend. It’ll boost my image. I could probably get a gig out of it.”

  “A stack of phone books couldn’t boost your image, Logan.”

  “You’re such a selfish bitch.”

  At that, I dropped my tote and my purse and shoved him out of the threshold and into the hallway. “You are a low-down son of a bitch, you know that? I cared about you back then. I really did. I would’ve done…I did almost anything just to win your affection, but you had your fun with me and tossed me. You hung me out to dry that night, Logan. You didn’t care about me at all, so now, I don’t care about you. Piss off. I have a plane to catch.” I grabbed my bags and headed for the elevator.

  “They are going to take my house, Maddie. I have to file bankruptcy,” he called out as I stepped into the elevator.

  “Downsize,” I said as the elevator doors were closing.

  “Please!” he shouted.

  I caught the door, pushing it back with my sneaker. “Call my label this afternoon. I will have them cut you a check for fifty thousand but not because of this little sex tape rumor. Not because I give a crap about you either. Just because it’s the right thing. Think of it as a donation to charity.”

  “Thank you so much, Maddie. Can I start telling everyone that we’re together?”

  “Not a chance.” I used my middle finger to pick at my teeth as the door shut. I rubbed my eyebrow with my thumb and forefinger, leaning back against the glass wall of the elevator. Why come to me? Out of all the celebrity friends he’d had over the years, why me? Because I was the biggest sucker, that’s why. It also probably had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t been a huge star for as long as the others. I was just learning to navigate the status.

  When the elevator doors opened, Bo was standing there with a small entourage of people: my stylist, Jamie, my manager, Ashley, and a few of their people that I called “The Tagalongs.” They always had tagalongs. Not me, I kept my circle tight. My best friend lived back in Bama with her husband and two kids. I had my brother, Max, and our parents, who were happily retired.

  “Bo,” I said as we all walked through the lobby, “did you book the jet?” His silence was the answer. “If you weren’t a friend of my best friend, I would fire you!”

  “You didn’t say—”

  “I shouldn’t have to! It’s a twenty-two-hour flight, Bo!”

  “Twenty-four.”

  I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Tell me that you at least got first class.”

  “Yeah, I did that.” He nodded rapidly. “Do I get to come?”

  “You didn’t book seats for all of you?”

  “Well, no. It’s a charity concert. I didn’t know you wanted us to come.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, Bo!” I put my hands on his shoulders. “From here on out, any flights over two hours: first class. Any flights over six hours: book a jet. And if the travel isn’t personal, like if it’s not just me going to see my family or friends, you and Jamie need to come. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry, Rox.”

  “It’s going to cost a small fortune but just book you and Jamie a seat when we get to the airport.”

  “The flight was full.”

  “No way!”

  “Yeah, that’s what the lady said when I called to double check the flight info.”

  “Bo, I love you, but you’re a class A screwup, man. Now I’m going to be flying to the Middle East by myself?”

  “No, not by yourself. I told you the plane was full.”

  “Oh, Bo!” I yelled, sliding on my sunglasses and heading toward the door.

  I told my manager about the money I had promised to Logan. She wasn’t happy about it but said she would make sure he got it. I also told her to start looking for a new assistant. My record label had already arranged for my security team to go ahead of me and set up at the hotel closest to the base where I would be performing, so at least there was that. But flying twenty-some-odd hours out to the middle of nowhere alone? So not cool.

  I couldn’t fathom why a flight to the Middle East would be full. When I got to the airport, I saw why. There were men and women in uniform all over the place. I didn’t even know they took commercial flights. I went to the desk and asked the lady if I could charter a jet, and she said yes, but it would be the next day. I couldn’t wait. The show was planned, and fans were waiting. I just went to the first class lounge and sat down. I would just have to suck it up.

  When I boarded, I was pleased with the accommodations. It was actually a little pod so I could lie down and relax. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  I began putting my things where I wanted them and ordered a mimosa when I noticed a stirring in the cabin. All of the first class passengers were eagerly giving up their private pods to our military traveling companions.

  I felt my shoulders sag but knew what I had to do. I packed up my junk and stood to offer my seat to the nearest female soldier. She was so grateful that it almost made up for my having to sit in coach. Almost.

  For the first two hours of the flight, I signed autographs…one by one by one. Just when I thought I was finished, someone else would come up to me with a napkin or sky magazine. I didn’t even know there could be so many people on a plane. After that, I put on my Bose headphones and pretended to sleep.

  Thanks again for taking the time to read my books, Book 3 can be purchased by clicking Here.

  About the Author

  Avery Michaels is a novelist and college instructor. When she’s not writing she can be found chasing her son and her gigantic dogs around her hometown of Trussville, Alabama. She’s also a car dancing enthusiast
and master at can’t-carry-a-tune karaoke. You can follow her shenanigans on Twitter @averymichaels_ or visit her website: www.averymichaelsbooks.wixsite.com/averymichaels.