“What the hell is he doing here?” the asshole behind Vaughn growls. “Did you invite him over?”

I look from Vaughn to the asshole, wondering the same damn thing. What’s he doing here, and did she invite him over?

“No, I didn’t invite him,” she says.

Her words are like a knife to the gut. To think I came over tonight to apologize to her.

“And this isn’t a good time,” Vaughn adds, turning back to me. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

I bet she is. I swallow a dose of anger, but I’m not sure why I’m so pissed. I knew going into this that she had a boyfriend. I’ve made fun of the douche bag on more than one occasion. But knowing and seeing are two very different things.

This frat boy loser is in her house. They were probably having a romantic evening before I showed up. Maybe I even interrupted them having sex.

Another rush of bitterness coats my throat. Fuck this. I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I should’ve just ignored the guilt that was gnawing at me all day, ever since I hung up on Vaughn. But it had been impossible to ignore. My mom called a few hours after her lunch with Vaughn, and I’ve never heard her rave about someone so much. Listening to Mom gush about how smart and sweet and wonderful Vaughn is only twisted the guilt knife deeper, made me feel even worse about the way I taunted her outside the club yesterday.

I came here armed with an apology, but now, as Vaughn’s boyfriend and I stare each other down, I feel like I’m the one who deserves a fucking apology.

“Do you have a hearing problem?” W asks frostily. “She said we’re in the middle of something.”

For some reason, I stay rooted in place. “Maybe I’ll wait until you’re done.” Jesus. What am I saying? I don’t want to do that at all. But something about this jerk brings out my hostile side.

“No, you’re gonna turn around and get back in your limo or whatever the hell you drove here. She’s off the clock, asshole.”

“W!” Vaughn chides.

“Wait, are you paying her salary now?” I give him a cool smile despite the fact that his arrow actually stung.

“I don’t have to. Vaughn doesn’t need to be paid to be with me.”

“W!” Vaughn nearly shouts. She takes a breath and addresses me again. “You need to go,” she says in a trembly voice that cuts right through me.

“Yeah. Whatever. I’m gone.” I jerk open the door but try to get one last dig in. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Looks like you’ve got a real keeper there, babe.”

Then I stomp out, ignoring Vaughn’s protests and W’s sputtered threats, and march back to the Escalade.

Ty’s face is a picture of concern, and even that makes me snarl. “Everything okay?”

“She’s busy,” I mutter. “Let’s go.”

“Where we going?”

I’m already reaching for my phone. I scroll down until I find the perfect companion for tonight. “Feel like getting wasted?” I ask Luke.

“Always.” If he’s surprised to hear from me, it doesn’t show in his voice.

“How about The Head and we’ll go back to my place after.”

“Solid plan, my brother. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Ty shakes his head in disapproval but changes directions immediately because he’s paid to protect me, not to argue. I don’t know why that makes me feel worse, but it does. Is there anyone in my life who isn’t on my payroll?

“Women are complicated,” he says.

“You’re single, Ty,” I remind him.

“Because women are complicated.”

And the ones you like are employed by your boss, I nearly retort, but after shooting off my mouth to Vaughn, I don’t feel real talkative anymore. I slink down in my seat, replaying the disaster that just happened.

I don’t know what I’m angrier about—that Vaughn was on a date with that douche or that she didn’t correct him when he said I was only her job. What the hell is the matter with her? Does she realize how many chicks would kill to be with me? If I wanted to, I could give out the address of The Head and a few thousand girls would raze the club to the ground trying to gain access to me.

I work myself into a self-righteous rage by the time we reach The Head. Ty pulls up and puts the SUV in Neutral.

“I’ll go in and tell the manager you’re here.”

“No. I’m walking the line,” I insist. I need…something. A hit off the adulation stick.

Ty frowns. “That’s way too dangerous.”

But like a good employee, he knows his limits. He doesn’t tell me no because that’s not his place. I hop out and slam the door. The tail end of a string of curses is cut off before Ty joins me on the street. At first no one notices me as I walk toward the entrance.

But as I pass more people, the whispering swells until it’s a wave of noise. Is that Oakley Ford? Holy crap, I think that’s Oakley Ford. Ask him for a picture! A picture. Oakley! Oakley! Oakley!

Hands reach for me. The bouncer at the door is on his feet, holding the line back. Girls are jumping over the ropebound barricades.

What the hell was I thinking?

I quicken my stride and then realize I’m not going to make it unless I do something. I halt, turn toward the crowd and raise my hand. “I’m going inside and hope to see you there.”

The crowd pushes forward. Ty grabs my arm and drags me inside.

“Okay, not my best moment,” I admit, brushing a hand through my hair.

Ty avoids my gaze, likely trying to hide his irritation at having to babysit my punk-ass self.

I wonder if I should warn him that his babysitting duties are only getting started, because I plan on fucking shit up tonight.

But nah. I’ll let him find that out on his own.

HER

“So he’s just showing up at your house for booty calls now?”

W is livid as we face off in the living room two minutes after Oakley’s angry departure. His cheeks are a scary shade of purple, and the vein in his forehead looks like it’s going to burst any second.

I want to tell him to keep his voice down because my sister and brothers are right upstairs, but I can’t get any words out. I’m still in a stunned stupor over what just happened. Why was Oakley here? Why did I let him and W get into it like that?

“Answer me!”

I jolt at the violent command. Taking a breath, I meet my boyfriend’s eyes. “It wasn’t a booty call.”

“Then why did he come here? How often do you have him over?” W asks bitterly.

“Never. He’s never been here—no, once. He’s been here once, but that was a PR meeting. All his publicists were here, too. Other than that, I’ve never had him over.” I exhale in a rush. “Look, I don’t know why Oak showed up, but—”

“Oh, you’re calling him Oak now? Is that in your contract?”

I hadn’t even realized I’d done it. “No, it’s just…” God, what do I even say? “Everyone calls him that.”

“Is this is a game to you?” W snaps.

“No, of course not—”

“What are you telling him about me?”

The question confuses me. “Nothing. We don’t talk about you.”

W’s eyes blaze. “So you pretend you don’t have a boyfriend? That I don’t exist? Is that what you do when no cameras are around? What, are you embarrassed of me?”

Argh! I just want to scream until my lungs are sore. Everything I say is being twisted. If I don’t talk about him, I’m forgetting him; if I do, I’m betraying him.

“What do you talk about, then?” W demands.

I swallow. “Stuff. Stupid stuff.”

“Like what?” he insists.

“I don’t know. Music. My parents. His parents.”

“So stuff we used to talk about. Couple stuff.” He snarls. “And you’re telling me that it’s all fake and you still love me, right?”

I rub my forehead. Every word that comes out of W’s mouth is an accusation of wrongdoing. Angry words fill my mouth. Things like at least Oakley doesn’t pressure me for sex. At least he doesn’t view this as a competition. At least he doesn’t kiss other girls. But I don’t say those things, because unlike W, I don’t say the first spiteful thing that comes into my mind.