And when she turned to talk with a woman who stood behind the table next to her, perky and bubbly with her red hair and equally red dress, she somehow glanced up. Saw me. As if she knew I was here.
Her eyes widened. Her smile slipped. The pen slipped from her fingers. Those blue fucking eyes held mine and I knew. Like a fucking sucker punch to the gut, she was going to be mine again. I'd walked away once. Ten years ago, I’d had nothing to offer her. I’d let her go.
I couldn’t do it again.
Chapter 2
Crystal
I had no idea so many people would show up. Vi had said it was going to be big, but this? This was almost a mob. And all to see me? God, I wasn't sure if I could smile anymore. No, I wasn't being a bitch about my success. My book had done so much better than I ever imagined. I never expected to get an agent, an agent who sold it to a New York publisher. Hell, an agent who sold the movie rights to one of the top producers in Hollywood. I’d never expected to be sitting on the late show circuit next to one of the hottest actors in the world. The movie was set to be a blockbuster. A stunning, too beautiful to be real, Academy Award winning actress was playing the female lead. My book!
Yeah, I'd wanted to be a writer, but this? This was crazy. I wanted to just get back to my hotel room and take a shower, put on my yoga pants and t-shirt and chill with a good book and a glass of wine. No noise. No smiling. Hell, no contact with anyone. I needed some peace and quiet. The energy of the crowds was overwhelming. The attention literally made me sick to my stomach. And that was one thing that had never changed. Yes, I’d grown up, learned how to deal with public appearances, but that only meant I needed a bubble bath and bottle of wine to save my sanity afterward.
As part of a three-month press tour, all I could do was smile and sign. Make small talk. Smile for selfies. Hug. Touch. Shake hands. My publicist, Vivian, had it all worked out. Thank god. I wouldn't want her job, but she loved taking care of all the crazy details. Of me. Sure, she was on payroll, but she was also my friend. Except for right now, when she handed me another book to sign.
“Almost done,” she whispered. I was about to nod and turn back to the next person in the line when I saw him.
Him.
Holy fuck. Kit Kaswell.
I swear my heart leapt out of my chest. He was looking at me. No, staring so intently I swear I felt it to my core. Kit was here… for me. He wasn't in line, just watching.
Then he gave a slight nod. Nothing more. His dark hair slipped over his forehead. It was longer than when we were in high school, but I'd seen him since then on cover after cover of the gossip magazines. While I'd hit it big with my book, Kit had turned his rock star dreams into reality. From what I'd read in magazines, he'd worked his ass off with his band mates, playing small gigs for years. Then they'd written a song, Angel, the type of song that brought around the major record labels. They signed. Hit the big time. Platinum albums, awards, concerts around the world.
Women. Women in every city, a different one on his arm every night. Wild parties, fucking. It was all described in article after article about the famous Kit Kaswell. I read every word, gobbled it all up, even using a Google search notification to feed the images to me like a junkie. Evidently, I was a masochist. Every image hurt. Every smile, every groupie hanging on his arm. He’d been linked to models and Broadway starlets, fashion designers and other musicians. Every one of them looked up at him the way I used to. He was a god, a fucking sex god. And now, the famous lead singer of Nightbird had made the list of fifty most beautiful people in the world.
Which was just stupid. There wasn’t a man alive sexier than Kit.
I shouldn't have cared. He'd ripped my heart out. God, it started with Lindsay Mack during the summer after graduation and he hadn't stopped fucking since. No, he'd started with me, then dumped me for bigger boobs, shorter skirts, looser morals. In the ten years since I'd seen him last, he'd gone through hundreds of women while I could count my sexual experiences on one hand, with a few fingers still folded down.
No man had every measured up to Kit. God, we'd been fumbling teenagers that first time in the back of his truck. It had hurt like hell, but he'd made it good, been patient and gentle even though I knew he'd wanted to just fuck. And after that, we'd gone at it like rabbits, always making sure I came first. He knew just how to set me off. It had been hot, but it had been special. He'd made me feel pretty. Wanted. Protected. Loved.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
But then it all came crashing down. I hadn't been enough for him. He'd ripped my heart out with a ruthless precision I’d come to expect from my most vicious female classmates. No one could do cruel like the rich bitches at our prep school. I'd fallen in love with him because he'd been different, but no. In the end, he’d followed in the family footsteps after all. Fuck all for money, fame and success.