Louisa George - Backstage with Her Ex

‘Once was funny, now it’s just irritating. Stop calling me that.’ Hearing the pet name she’d loved hit her hard in the gut. After ten years of honing her career into shape she was so far from being a sweet thing it was laughable. So, occasionally she allowed the pupils to think they’d got the better of her just so they’d see her as human and approachable. But she was always in control. Always.

But there was her body reacting all by itself again. The drumming developed into full-on bongos in her chest, her hands grew sticky and her peripheral vision fuzzied.

But her head was in full control. ‘I thought you were on a date? What’s the problem—couldn’t she keep up with your ego, or the delightful twins’ bimbo competition?’

A deep rumble permeated down the phone. ‘Date? Oh, yes. That. It was great.’

‘Didn’t last long. Don’t tell me, you peaked too soon.’

‘Sweet thing, believe me, I haven’t even started.’ His voice lowered to a growl that sounded a lot like sex, and he knew damned well he was winding her up. ‘You know, you show way more spirit over the phone than in person. Easy when you can’t see me, eh? But don’t forget I know how easy it is to make you blush.’

Too right. On cue heat swept across her cheeks and down her neck as if proving his point. Maybe her cocky attitude would ruin their chances, but somehow she didn’t think so. She guessed he had his fair share of yes-people in his life. But Nate wouldn’t like that. He liked down-to-earth honesty and playfulness rather than false praise. At least he used to. ‘And you called because?’ She crossed her fingers and prayed.

‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Gosh, well done.’

‘See? Spirit. I’d forgotten that.’ His laugh was gentle and surprising. ‘About your project. You want to give me more details? Dates, times...’

Hope rose as the drumming beat faster in off-beat demi-semi quavers. That hurt. ‘So you’ll do it? You’ll do the concert?’

In answer to Sasha’s thumbs-up sign and broad grin, Cassie gyrated across the floor, wiggling her skinny backside in an attempt to mimic Nate’s very sexy stage performance.

Sasha held her breath and tried to control the relieved laughter. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much—you don’t know how much this means to the choir—’

‘Hold on, Sasha, I’m not making any promises. I need to check my schedule. Text your address to this number and I’ll send a car for you tomorrow at seven p.m. You can come to my hotel and we’ll talk more.’

‘Not that it doesn’t sound fancy, and I’m very grateful, but I’ve been making my own way around London for years.’ She didn’t need any more reasons to be beholden to him. ‘Just tell me where you’re staying. I’ll get there.’

‘No.’ He clearly didn’t trust her with that kind of information. Not surprising really after she’d turned her back on him. At the time she’d called it self-preservation but, in hindsight, he’d probably seen it as betrayal. ‘My car will be there at seven. Be ready.’

‘But...’

‘Sasha, this works better for me. I don’t want anyone getting wind of this yet, okay? And the press have a way of finding things out.’

‘And being nice interferes with your bad-boy image?’

‘Really? You think I care what the press think? It’s way too late for that. I don’t want to get the kids’ hopes up and then not be able to follow through. And it’s my private cellphone, so don’t ever give this number to anyone.’

Normally she didn’t take kindly to being bossed around, but the guy had just given her an opening. The choir would be thrilled, their financial problems solved, if she could pull it off. And keep her jumping heart out of it. ‘Okay. Seven p.m. tomorrow, then.’

‘Oh, and one last thing, Sasha. This is just for Marshall, okay?’

* * *

‘Mr Munro will see you now.’ The bear appeared in the reception of the Grand Riverview Hotel, complete with earpiece and grimace. ‘This way.’

‘Nice to see a familiar face,’ Sasha breathed as she struggled to keep up along the elegant corridor.

Velvet-embossed wallpaper in golden hues served as a backdrop to nineteen-twenties-style furniture. Petite bronze statuettes of dancers flanked the walls. The price of one of those would pay for the whole choir to fly to Manchester, first class. She was so out of her league, and then some. But, fingers clutching her briefcase, she determined to meet Nathan face to face as a music professional.

‘We get a lot of familiar faces here, sweetheart, for a day or two.’ Giving her just enough time to process the ramifications of that statement, the bear opened the door.

You’re nothing special, his feigned smile said as he looked her up and down. Standing aside to let her in, he bowed lightly, muttering, ‘Don’t get too comfortable.’

Like that would happen. Especially with Mr Warm and Fuzzy here.

She blinked once, twice, not knowing what was more impressive: the expansive suite with panoramic views across London, or the fact that Nate was in it, looking extremely comfortable, standing by the bar. Looking extremely gorgeous too. Relaxed and confident. In control of everything: his staff, his surroundings, his emotions.

He’d grown in a way she hadn’t. At least she didn’t see herself like that—uber confident and all grown-up—even though she tried to be. He’d probably honed it from absorbing the adoration of thousands of fans, from years of live performances where self-belief was mandatory.

But regardless of the man he was now she knew his essence, where he’d come from, what he was truly like—the good, the bad and the downright ugly.

And yet, despite knowing what he was capable of, he was still strangely compelling to be with. Walking leisurely towards her, he smiled. Slim black jeans hung from slender hips, a black faded T-shirt hugged his toned frame.

She didn’t have to guess what was under that T because she’d seen it over the years in the music press, smoky black and white images of Nate in various stages of undress, on CD covers that bordered on X-rated. She knew all about the sun-kissed carved abs, the thin line of dark hair... Her mouth dried.

She jerked her head upwards. Big mistake.

The moment she met his caramel-coated gaze her courage faltered. Why did he have to be so beautiful?

Was it appropriate to walk over and kiss him on the cheek? Shake hands? But he saved her the worry by stepping into her space and placing a warm cheek against hers. His lips grazed her skin sending ripples of heat through her veins.

‘Sasha. Thanks for coming.’

‘Thank you...too.’ Excellent. Excellent start. Not.

And then the room seemed to press in as his familiar scent washed over her. This was the kind of place he was used to now. So far from the tiny council-flat bedroom he’d shared with Marshall, littered with guitars and sheet music, posters on the wall of his favourite damaged rock heroes. And a photograph of her by his bed.

Her throat filled. So many things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, or had simply forgotten. The honest sweetness of their first date. Their innocent journey to first love.

And now this. Such abject luxury, no wonder he’d offered to write her a cheque without missing a heartbeat. But could high living change a man? Could it tame him?

She’d read about his wild parties in Ibiza, the spats with paparazzi, riding his motorbike through a hotel reception. She guessed that really he was still the same man underneath the wealth.

Leading her to a couch that would never fit into the whole of her flat, even if she knocked the walls down, he held a glass of beer and offered her a flute of champagne. ‘Drink?’

‘Thanks. Nice place.’ She raised her eyebrows and gestured to the door. ‘Shame about the company you keep, though. Do you pay him to be rude?’