Part 85 (1/2)

verb [ with obj. ].

repeat (a piece of music or a performance). he reprises his role as the vigilante architect.

1.

RILEY.

I don't spend time around Ruby Riot anymore. Ever. Sarah has the pleasure of touring Europe with the band this winter, because there's no way in h.e.l.l I'll travel with that bunch of narcissists again. Or so I thought until today, when my supposedly reliable account manager walked out two dates before the end of the tour - no explanation. Judging by the chaos Sarah left behind, she hasn't been doing her job properly for weeks.

This leaves me to deal with all the c.r.a.p hitting the fan, and I'm forced to head up to Newcastle to take over publicity management for the last two shows. I don't know what p.i.s.ses me off the most - spending time away from London, or the famous Ruby Riot att.i.tude I'll face when I get there. Especially from Nate. After two years of avoiding the band, I'm thrown in the deep end and I'm determined to stay afloat.

Traffic clogs the motorways as I head North, and I swear as another idiot ignores the foggy traffic conditions and swerves across two lanes. By the time I arrive at the hotel, I'm two hours late due to the weather, and my nerves are frazzled. Ruby Riot plays their first of two dates at the Arena this evening; they won't be back until late, and I'm too tired to deal with anything tonight. The crew has muddled through without publicity management for a couple of days; a few more hours with the junior PR girl won't make a difference.

Beneath my decision to avoid the band tonight lies the real reason. When I first see Nate again, I need to be in a coping mood, and he needs to be sober.

As if that's likely to ever happen.

Nate Campbell. Ruby Riot drummer and a.s.shole of the decade. I toured with Ruby Riot when they supported Blue Phoenix two years ago and tangled myself with Nate. Not cool. Totally unprofessional behaviour for a PR girl trying to make a name for herself. I made a name all right just not the sort I wanted. When you're spotted leaving the bathrooms with a rock star adjusting his clothes, people jump to the obvious conclusion. Me? No. I did not have s.e.x with the guy, but I almost did.

And when I turned him down? Within an hour of telling me how I meant more to him than other girls, Nate found a new one; one who'd fall for his bulls.h.i.+t.

I refused to speak to him for a week; the hurt and anger eating away at any feelings I had for him. I told him I couldn't respect a guy who treated women like s.h.i.+t and he shrugged it off with a 'whatever' att.i.tude. I don't even think he paid proper attention to what I was saying.

The memories I've kept dampened down seethe and I mutter under my breath the choice words I keep for Nate.

Everybody who was on the tour thinks the situation is cut and dry: dumb PR girl screws rock star who rejects her and she reacts badly. The jerk never put people straight about the non-s.e.x; too big a dent to his ego, I guess. If I'd made a fuss about denying we had s.e.x, I'm sure some people would've taken it as extra evidence that I in fact did.

The only words we've exchanged since that night in Paris, in the bathrooms at Hard Rock Cafe, have been nasty and hurtful. The strength of our hostility is above and beyond how normal people would behave after a failed hook-up. But the situation was more than that. We were more than that - or Nate fooled me into thinking I was and pulled the rug away until I landed heavily on my a.s.s.

If I'd allowed myself to see what a spoiled, selfish a.s.shole he was from day one this would never have happened. This was a game to him. I was a joke. Our friendly relations.h.i.+p descended into outright nastiness and, after a couple of weeks, I left. I refuse to work with people who treat me like c.r.a.p.

Now, I'm able to step back into the Ruby Riot world and do my job; I don't care what Nate thinks. In two days time I can walk away, and hope it's another two years until we're forced to spend anytime near each other.

Does Nate know yet? I bet he's as thrilled at the prospect as I am.

I shake away my brooding on Nate and my situation, and reach for my phone. There's another person who hates me being in Newcastle as much as I do. Josh. Mum agreed to stay and look after my son at short notice, but she always has.

I said goodbye to Josh this morning before he headed to school; my heart aching at the hurt on his face. In Josh's five years, I've left him too many times while I worked away. Blinkered by my need to succeed and determined to make the best life I could, I've made mistakes. Last time this happened, I promised him I wouldn't stay away for more than a night. I've broken that promise again.

2.

RILEY.

Following a bad night in an uncomfortable hotel bed, I'm wake at 6 a.m. exhausted. It doesn't help that the moment I woke up my stomach churned at the thought of meeting Nate again. Despite my bravado, I'm worried he'll attempt to humiliate me again.

The anxiety doesn't leave as I stand in front of the mirror and check my clothes. I chose to bring my newest work clothes: a tailored, dove-grey dress, knee length, and pulled in at the waist, with a matching short jacket. I paint away the dark circles beneath my brown eyes and set about highlighting and blending my makeup. Today I look my best, no hint of anything but Riley Sawyer, SMC PR Account Manager. Poised, confident, and professional to a fault. Not the girl who fell for Nate's c.r.a.p and ended up with her heart a mess.

I've been on the edge of Ruby Riot's world since the European tour and, since that disaster, I've avoided them as much as possible. I work on their account still but at a safe distance. I ensure I have other client meetings out of the office on the rare occasions the band visit. This has been commented on, but I don't care. Isn't part of being a manager pa.s.sing responsibilities onto junior staff?

The only time I've seen Nate since the tour was a year ago, when the band was called in to run through a photo-shoot they'd taken part in.

Nate didn't see me that day, but his appearance arrested me and a wave of confused emotions crashed against my walls. I hated him. I wanted him, but I hated him. His swagger as he pa.s.sed along the hallway near the kitchen I hid in was greater than last time; his increased fame apparent in his stance. He wore new tattoos on his arm, his powerful shoulders visible beneath his tight tee. I stepped out of sight as he pa.s.sed the door, glimpsing his profile. Eyebrow still pierced, cheekbones further defined by his sullen look many mistake for smoulder.

That was a year ago; a fleeting glimpse and enough to pull Nate back into my dreams for a few days.

Today, I'll look him in the eyes for the first time since the Blue Phoenix tour and ensure mine are as unreadable as they were the day we walked away from each other.

I meet with Melissa, the merchandise coordinator, who stepped in until I could travel up here. I asked her to liaise with the list of people I gave her.

She didn't, leaving me to straighten out absolutely everything Sarah left behind.

Out of ten, my stress levels immediately skip from one to five.

Then I discover the film crew never showed last night and the recording for the concert DVD didn't happen. My stress levels climb close to ten before the morning has started properly - not what I need.

Ah, the joys of touring. When I worked on the Blue Phoenix Euro tour, my manager Tina's constant dramas annoyed me. After less than a day here as manager myself, I understand why. Aside from Melissa, I've taken part in one meeting with lead singer, Ruby, and guitarist Jax, and it's apparent their cooperation skills haven't improved.

The Campbell twins weren't at that meeting, and I've heard their att.i.tude is unchanged too. After that eventful tour, I backed off any possibility of spending time on the road with any band again. I'm not staying in this b.l.o.o.d.y hotel a minute longer than I need to.

Deep breath. Find a coffee. A good, strong coffee. I'm a.s.sured the hotel barista makes a good mochaccino, but Melissa's definition of good coffee is lower than mine. Still, a decent slice of cake will help sweeten the blow if the coffee is bad, and there's an impressive selection.

I sit in the hotel cafe, practicing my mind-calming skills. I know I stress too much, and that I take on more than I can handle, but this is my life right now. I can't imagine stopping. In the last three years, I've travelled overseas on holiday once; any time off I allow myself is spent at my home in Barnet.

So yeah, I know my uptight reputation and I own it. Arms' length is as close as I want people.

Short of time, I devour the chocolate cake, happy the coffee is half-decent. A text arrives, asking why I'm late, and I wipe my fingers before answering.

Each minute that pa.s.ses, I'm putting off the inevitable.

And as I head towards the lobby, the inevitable appears.

I didn't mean to but, unprepared, I stop in my tracks. Nate Campbell strides across the tiled floor in my direction. Dressed in dark denim and Converse, greying T-s.h.i.+rt stretched across his chest, he hasn't changed. The twins are different these days; ba.s.s player Will wears his hair longer so there's no doubt this twin with short, spiked hair is Nate.

I'm convinced Nate's about to blank me and walk past but he stops too. His green eyes fix on mine with disinterest. I'm wrong; he has changed. His eyes are creased by tiredness, his skin paler, but this doesn't detract from the deceptive attractiveness of his perfect features. I cannot believe I kissed that mouth; allowed those hands on my body. But there's nothing attractive behind his lucky genetics, unless Nate's changed on the inside too. From what I've heard, he hasn't.

”Riley,” he says in greeting.

”h.e.l.lo, Nate.”

”I heard you were coming. How long you staying?”