I raise a hand, calling out, “I need another round. Stat.”

Ty’s frown lines grow deeper. Fuck, he’s not in charge of me. The booze comes in a steady, unceasing stream. I can feel myself loosening up.

What do I have to be uptight about anyway? There are girls here of every variety. It’s like a candy store. I’ll take a redhead, a brunette and two blondes. Package them all up and send them over to the Marmont. One of the Garden Cottages would do nicely. Private entrance. We don’t want my image to be tarnished.

I laugh sourly.

“What’s so funny?” someone near my feet asks.

Since when did it get so crowded in here? There are people everywhere. I swear there are more people inside this VIP lounge than there are out in the main club. Having run out of chairs, the girls have settled for sitting on the dingy floor that people have likely spit on, puked on, pissed on. But they’d sit in a pit of snakes if it meant touching my leg.

“Nothing’s funny.” That’s the honest truth. One of the boys passes me a joint. I take a hit and exhale a cloud of smoke. I wait for it to lighten my mood, take the weight off my chest, but nothing happens. I take another hit and then drag on the herb until it’s a stub.

“Dude, that was some quality hash there.”

“He’s good for it,” Luke assures them.

I’m good for it? Oh, yeah, I’m good for the money, the status, the girls. What I’m not good for is actually dating a real person. Not good enough for her to pine over.

Suddenly this whole scene looks gross and if I stay here another minute, my head’s going to explode.

“I’m bailing.”

Luke protests. “I thought we were going back to your place.”

He has one arm slung around a chick with a low-cut top and even lower-cut jeans. I can see the straps of her thong poking out. And if she’s legal, I’ll eat my frickin’ hat.

“Another time.”

Luke protests until Ty pulls out a wallet and throws some cash on the table. That shuts up Luke real fast. He’ll start up the moment I’m gone. Telling everyone there about how I can’t function without him and that he’s the glue that holds the band together.

Ty hustles me out the back door of the club, but several photogs are there. I feel like he moves slower than normal, as punishment for coming here. Passive-aggressive, are ya, Ty?

The paps shout questions at me. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“Is it over?”

“Is she tired of you?”

The questions tumble over each other, mixing up in my head, pounding at the edges, pushing words out before I can think twice.

I’m not completely sure of how I answer, but it must be satisfactory since everyone stops for a moment, a blessed sliver of silence. Then I dive into the SUV and Ty speeds away.

I wake up the next morning to find seven missed calls from Claudia. Shit. That’s never a good sign.

When I sit up, the pain that shoots through my temples is so strong that I collapse onto the mattress again. I groan loudly, but that just makes my head hurt worse. Man, what’s with this migraine? I didn’t drink that much at the club last night, so I’m not sure why my head is so foggy—

The hash. I forgot about the hash.

My stomach churns as I stare at Claudia’s name on my phone. I must have done something last night. Something bad.

But what? Did I whip off my clothes? Mack on some random chick? Oh, crap, did I real-cheat on my fake girlfriend?—no, that couldn’t have happened. Ty was with me. There’s no way he would’ve let me touch another girl.

Instead of calling Claudia back, I open the web browser on my phone, wondering what I’m going to find. Maybe I threw up on some fan’s shoes? That wouldn’t be too damaging to my image.

I wait for the home page to load and then click on the entertainment news tab.

My stomach drops. The headline on the page reads:

Oakley Ford disses new girlfriend’s ex!

Damn it.

I quickly scan the article, but I don’t remember saying any of that shit. I must have, though. Nope, not must have—I definitely did. There’s a video link to the TMI site. I click on it, press Play and promptly see my high, drunken self stumbling out of The Head. Flashbulbs go off, highlighting my bloodshot eyes. Paps shout out at me, but I keep walking with my head ducked down and my hand shielding my face.

Except then one of them asks, “Is she tired of you?” and I do the most boneheaded thing on the planet.

I stop, turn toward the microphone and I say:

“Tired? You kidding me? Her ex is a total waste. She’s got a real man now—you think she’d tire of that?”

Cringing, I shut off the video and whip my phone across the room. It slams against the wall, but luckily I’ve got a heavy-duty case for occasions such as this. This isn’t the first time I’ve thrown my phone over something stupid I did, which then became national news.

There’s a sharp knock on the door, followed by, “Everything okay in there?”

I guess Ty heard my phone greeting the wall. “It’s fine,” I bark.

He opens the door anyway. Nosy bastard. He scans the room, spots my phone on the floor and says, “I guess Claudia called.”

“Yup.” I glower at him. “Why the hell did you let me speak to them last night, Ty? You know I wasn’t in the right state of mind.”

“Let you?” he echoes. In a rare occurrence, Tyrese actually looks pissed off at me. “Brother, you were out of control last night. Snapping at peeps, smoking all that shit you shouldn’t have been smoking. I tried to haul you away from the vultures. Watch the video again. Closer, this time. I’m sure you’ll see your punk-ass arm shoving me away when I tried to step in. Spoiled brat.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “This spoiled brat pays your bills,” I say tightly.

He looks wounded, and I immediately feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just…hungover and mad. But I’m not mad at you, okay? You did what you could.”

I don’t know if he fully accepts my apology. He simply nods and then ducks out without another word.

Look at me, alienating another person in my life. Awesome.

I call Claudia back. After she yells at me for five minutes, we discuss the statement I need to make. The public apology to Vaughn’s douche bag boyfriend. I can’t believe he was over at her place last night. Why is she still with him?

And why is he still with her? The whole world thinks she’s my girlfriend—how can he stand that?

Bitterness lodges in my throat. I guess it doesn’t matter what the world thinks. It only matters what Vaughn thinks. What Vaughn wants.

And it’s not me.

But I still need to make things right with her, and when Claudia mentions the charity benefit I supposedly agreed to attend tonight and had forgotten all about, I realize it’s the perfect place to apologize to Vaughn—a public event where she can’t slap me. She can wear a pretty dress, listen to some good music, eat some good food. The CF Society always puts on a great spread.

Claudia packs as many of these fund-raisers into my schedule as possible, as if giving money away offsets my asshole behavior. Wonder if Vaughn will see it that way.

Except when I bring it up to Claudia, asking what time I should send a car for Vaughn, she’s quick to say, “No, Vaughn’s not coming with you tonight.”

I clench my jaw. “Why not?”

“Why do you think, Oak? Because she’s furious with you.”

My stomach sinks. “You spoke to her already?”

“No. She’s not answering her phone. Neither is Paisley.” Claudia’s voice tightens. “So, yes, I’m taking that to mean that she’s not happy about you belittling her boyfriend’s masculinity.”

“Well, goodie for her. She still works for me. She can’t bail on an important event just because I insulted her stupid boyfriend.”

“Normally I would agree with you, but Vaughn can be unpredictable. I’m not sending a pissed-off fake girlfriend to this event with you. Who knows what she’ll do.”

Claudia has a point. “Fine. So when can I see her again?”