Bad Girl: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Read online

  “Dad…what happened was a long time ago. Harvey probably doesn’t even work there anymore.”

  “That old con man will never quit. Guaranteed he’s still there, sucking the life out of everyone around him.”

  “Dad…”

  He fixes me with a stern stare, folding both hands over the head of his cane. “Listen to me. I was dumb enough to trust Harvey Fox once, and look where it got me.”

  I lower my eyes to the floor.

  When I was six or seven—when our world fell apart—I was too young to really understand why. Growing up, the story was one I heard over and over again.

  Dad had started a record label with his friend Harvey Fox. While Harvey networked with radio stations and music stores, Dad scouted the talent. He discovered three rising stars. He put his and my mother’s life savings into renting a studio, buying equipment, recording demos, and purchasing airtime for the artists. Then, as soon as they started to succeed, Harvey pulled the rug out from under him.

  When Harvey’ father died, he’d inherited a huge sum. He used the money to start his own label and lured away the acts my dad had been promoting. They all jumped ship. Within six months, Dad lost everything. He scrambled to find new artists to replace the ones he’d lost, but he couldn’t replicate his initial success. He took out loans to make new demos, but he didn’t have the same industry knowledge as Harvey, and without the right network, everything he tried fell flat. He lost his studio then had to sell his equipment to pay off the loans. When Mom walked out, the loss of her income was enough to push my father into bankruptcy and onto Skid Row.

  “It wasn’t Harvey who approached us.”

  “One of his vultures, then.”

  “His name was Lucas.”

  Dad looks disgusted enough to vomit. He draws his lips back in a snarl and scoffs. “That’s his son. From what I hear, he’s as cutthroat as his father. Do you remember Laurel Gables, that pop singer who was on the charts a few months back? I heard he cut her loose when she took time off to be with her sick fiancé.”

  “There’s no way you could know that.”

  He picks up a pile of celebrity magazines and throws them down on the seat beside me. “It was all over the media.”

  I frown. “I thought you said you’d stopped reading these. You know it does you no good to brood over what Harvey Fox is doing. You promised me you’d stop obsessing.”

  “What else am I supposed to do while I’m trapped in this damned apartment?”

  “How about some PT exercises?”

  He grunts. “Don’t change the subject. I don’t want you meeting with that man or anyone else from Fox Records. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

  I roll my tongue around inside my mouth to stop myself from lashing out. I take a deep breath and keep my tone calm. “I’m not a kid anymore, Dad. I’m twenty-eight. I can’t afford to be choosy when it comes to labels.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re young and talented. You’re a producer’s dream.”

  “I’ve been at this for years. I’ve been singing for as long as I could talk. I started busking when I was twelve. I’ve been doing open mic nights since they’d let me into bars. Jane and I have walked up and down these streets trying to make a name for ourselves. YouTube, SoundCloud, Vine…I’ve done charity gigs, local talent shows, and fairs. I keep hearing ‘You’re talented,’ ‘ You sound great,’ but nobody ever does anything more than offer a compliment. Lucas says he wants to make a demo.”

  “I’m sure he does. He’ll probably steal your lyrics and give them to some empty-headed pop-singer Barbie doll to butcher.”

  I twist a strand of my hair between my fingers, clenching my jaw. “A chance is a chance, Dad.”

  “Believe me, my girl, that man is not on your side. Fox Records is only in it for themselves. They’re money-grubbing traitors. The kind of people who’ll walk over anyone to get to the top. Harvey Fox would sell out his dying grandmother to make a quick buck. Hang on. I know there’ll be another opportunity around the corner for you. Please, Ivy. Promise me you’ll wait a little longer.”

  I run my hands through my hair, casting a gaze across at my dad. He’s staring at me intently, his lips pursed. His knuckles are white from gripping his cane. I know he wants to protect me.

  I hold up my hands. “I’ll think about it.”

  Lucas

  I can’t get Ivy out of my head.

  I’m used to the businessman in me obsessing over some fresh talent, but this is different. It’s not images of dollar signs keeping me up at night, it’s the image of Ivy in that floating skirt and the way her eyes caught mine. When she gave me her business card with such quiet hope, I got the impression she doesn’t realize how phenomenal she could be.

  I’ve called her a few times since the open mic night, but she hasn’t answered my calls or returned my voicemails. It makes me wonder whether the vultures in suits got to her after me and offered her a deal she couldn’t turn down.

  It’s late on Friday night. The huge, empty rooms of my Beverly Hills home seem unnaturally quiet. I can’t hear a sound from the neighboring properties. When I walk into my kitchen to draw a bottle of wine from the refrigerated wine rack, my footsteps sound loud on the marble floor.

  Renee, a French-American solo artist I was working with today, kindly offered to keep me company tonight, but I declined. I don’t mix business with pleasure.

  I’m regretting that decision now. I’ve been trapped in my own head for hours. It would be a nice change to have someone to pass the time with on an evening like this. But I know better than to sleep with the talent. It makes it hard not to make promises you can’t keep. Even harder is knowing if you’ve made a real connection with someone or you’re just their meal ticket. I try to avoid all that.

  I take a glass of fine red to my study in the back of the house. It’s a chic, modern, and minimalist room, lined with shelves filled with classic vinyl. In the center is a simple chrome desk with a huge computer screen on an adjustable stand.

  Turning the monitor toward me, I type The Row Girls into the search bar. The girls are far from the top of the list when it comes to results. I have to scroll through three pages before I even find their website.

  We’ll have to work on that.

  I open up their site. It’s really basic with an About Us page, a blog, an upcoming appearances list, and a merchandise page. I read their short bio.

  Welcome to our page! We’re Jane and Ivy, aka The Row Girls.

  Friends since high school, we bonded over our love of soft rock and folk music. From the age of fourteen, we were scribbling lyrics in our school workbooks and singing in the girls’ bathroom.

  We grew up just a few blocks away from each other in Skid Row, LA. Our songs try to capture the experience of living in a poverty-stricken area. We both used music as a way to break free of the restraints of difficult homelives and living on the breadline. We hope others will find hope and strength in our music.

  The powerful lyrics make sense now. I can picture those two young women escaping their tough lives through music.

  Listeners will relate to that.

  I go to the events page next. They don’t have a public gig until late next week. I don’t want to wait that long. If another label approached them at Alibis, I could have some competition. I don’t want to be at the end of the line.

  There’s no address on their website. However, when I start scrolling through their blog, a wedding is mentioned.

  We can’t wait to perform at the wedding of one of our oldest friends this Saturday. It will be an honor to share in their special day in one of the most beautiful venues in LA, the Gardens at Los Robles Greens. Watch this space for videos of our performance!

  I smile. Got you.

  The wedding is a small-scale affair, set outside in a garden. I arrive after the vows have been exchanged, the floral arch has been replaced with a stage, and the rows of chairs cleared to make room for dancing. I pick up a glass of cha
mpagne from a table at the side of the garden and circulate as if I were invited. I’m wearing a gray suit and tie, and I look the part of a wedding guest.

  Ivy and Jane are already playing. They’re both wearing pink chiffon dresses. I fix my eyes on Ivy. She looks angelic in the soft rose color, her blonde hair flowing free. Even more enchanting is the way she plays her guitar and sings in a voice that makes my knees go weak.

  She’s mesmerizing.

  They’re playing a different set tonight—covers of love songs more suited to a wedding than songs about Skid Row. Everyone is relaxed and enjoying themselves. Couples on the dance floor are swaying comfortably, smiling and laughing. Those guests sitting at some of the tables that remain toward the back of the garden seem content to look on and listen to Jane and Ivy singing.

  I stand to the side of the dance floor, holding my champagne flute and watching the girls perform.

  I see the exact moment Ivy spots me. Her eyes widen, her voice catches for a moment, then she quickly turns away and regains her composure. Jane immediately follows her gaze, and her lips curve into a wide smile. She turns toward me and sings in my direction.

  They perform for an hour before a DJ takes over. Jane beelines for me, Ivy following her with more reserve.

  “Lucas!” Jane beams. “It’s wonderful to see you. Are you here as a guest?”

  “Actually, I’m here to see you.” I glance at Ivy. “I’ve had trouble getting hold of you.”

  Ivy clears her throat, avoiding my eye. “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been having some problems with my cell lately.”

  I hold up a hand. “It’s fine. I enjoyed the opportunity to hear you perform again. It made me even more certain that you’re a pair to keep an eye on.”

  Jane fawns. “We’re honored you came to see us.”

  “Yes,” Ivy agrees. “It’s a pleasant surprise.”

  “Well, I didn’t come to shoot the breeze. I’m here to extend an invitation to you.”

  Jane’s eyes grow even brighter. “An invitation?”

  I reach into my breast pocket and produce two finely embossed invitations. “Next week I’m hosting a big event at Boulevard3. It’s kind of a talent showcase for emerging acts. There are going to be a couple of newly signed artists from the label playing, as well as some local acts who haven’t been signed yet. It’s not just Fox Records, either. All kinds of producers and artists will be there. It’s really a once in a lifetime opportunity. Completely exclusive, invitation only.”

  The women accept their invitations. I watch Ivy closely as her eyes run over her own name in gold print. “Is there a catch?”

  “Of course.”

  She frowns.

  I flash her my most charming smile. “You’d have to perform a song. It is a showcase, after all.”

  She glances down at the invitation again. “It says it’s black-tie.”

  “And masquerade!” Jane gasps.

  “That’s right. We’re going for a Moulin Rouge meets Romeo and Juliet sort of vibe. Everybody loves a masquerade. Plus, it lends a bit of anonymity to the artists. Gives the up-and-comers a chance to really be indistinguishable from the big acts.”

  I can see the stars in Ivy’s eyes, but she seems hesitant. She glances across at Jane, who nudges her, raising her eyebrows in irritation.

  “Of course we’ll be there,” Jane says. “We can’t wait.”

  Ivy’s expression softens, and she smiles. “Yes. Of course we’ll be there.”

  “Great!” Jane smiles widely. “I’ll go get some more champagne to celebrate.”

  As she disappears to find a waiter, I take the opportunity to talk to Ivy. She’s doing her best to avoid looking at me, glancing around the gathering as though she’s captivated by the newlyweds’ middle-aged relatives dancing badly.

  I fold my arms over my chest and stand beside her pointedly. “I get the feeling you’re avoiding me, Ivy. I have to say, I don’t understand it. Most women in your position would give their left arm to enter into talks with any record label, let alone Fox Records, one of the biggest in LA.”

  She glances up at me. “I’ll be honest, I’ve not heard great things.”

  “You mean Laurel Gables?” I guess. “The media had a field day with that one.”

  “I heard you dropped her when she had to look after her sick fiancé. I happen to have a disabled father, so…”

  I turn to her and raise my eyebrows. “You can’t believe everything you read in magazines. They twisted the story completely. Her sick fiancé? They failed to mention he got ‘sick’ after she pushed him down a flight of stairs because she suspected he was cheating. That was just the tip of the iceberg with Laurel. She was a total diva and aggressive to boot. We dropped her because she was abusive to studio staff and one fight with her fiancé away from a conviction.”

  “That’s not how the magazines wrote it.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I reply. “Fox Records is the villain of the industry. They love to find any reason to paint us in a bad light.”

  “You’re saying I should trust you, is that it?”

  I catch her eyes. Her gaze is defiant. There is a challenge in the way she holds my stare, her chin raised slightly, her arms folded across her chest. I place my empty glass down on the stage.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I point to the invitation she’s still holding in her hand. “That there is an opportunity. Don’t let it go to waste because you’re afraid of the big, bad record sharks. Eventually, you’re going to have to step out of your comfort zone if you want to make it, and anyone with any shred of understanding of the music industry knows it’s tough out there. We’re no worse than any other label. We want to promote talent, that’s it.”

  “I’m not only talking about what’s in the press.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ivy raises her eyebrows. “Maybe you should ask your father. He and my father used to be close. Gregory Evans. I’m sure your father will remember the name. They were business partners once.”

  Before I can ask her to explain, Jane returns with three glasses of champagne. She hands them around and proposes a toast. “To opportunities.”

  Ivy and I lift our glasses. I echo Jane’s toast. “To opportunities.” I look at each of them in turn. “I’m sure you both know Fox Records has signed some hugely successful artists. Right now, three of our artists are topping the charts. You should also keep in mind I’m a good person to know in the industry. I could make big things happen for both of you.”

  Jane sucks in air like an inflating balloon, curling her hands into excited fists, and trembling with anticipation. “We’ll do anything.”

  Ivy

  Jane twirls in front of the mirror in the gorgeous blue silk gown that she bought especially for the occasion. The floral lace overlay is the latest thing. I’m wearing something similar in silver, watching Jane from the edge of her bed.

  “I’m so excited,” Jane gushes. She turns to me as she fixes a dangly earring into her ear. “You don’t seem that thrilled.”

  I choose my words carefully as I reply, leaning over to tie the slinky strap of my stiletto around my ankle. “I’m simply trying to avoid any kind of naïveté. It all seems too easy.”

  Jane scoffs. “Easy?” Her eyes widen with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? How many years have we been at this, now? Seven? Eight? More? If doors are opening for us, it’s because we’ve earned it.”

  “It’s just…”

  “Your dad and his dad, blah, blah, blah. I know, Ivy, but seriously—are you really going to let all that stop us from getting where we deserve to be? Besides, we’re not going into business with the Foxes. I mean, it’s not like we’re partnering with them for the label. They’re the label, we’re the artists. It’s completely different.”

  “I know that, but my dad really doesn’t trust them.”

  “It’s not your dad’s life.”

  “You’re right,” I concede, straightening up and
fixing a portion of my hair up into a jeweled clasp. “This is our chance.”

  Jane smiles brightly. “That’s the spirit. We’re going to blow them away tonight then enjoy the spoils of our labor. Champagne, limousines…all that stuff! Jesus, it feels good to finally be getting somewhere after all this time.”

  She turns to me with a nostalgic smile. “Do you remember how we used to people-watch when we were out busking downtown, pretending that this man or that woman would be the one who spotted us and whisked us off to stardom?”

  I lean against the wall, my arms folded across my chest. “Of course I remember. I used to imagine so hard, I’d convince myself there really was a chance. I’d catch my breath every time someone gave us a second glance.”

  “This is everything we’ve ever wanted.”

  She’s right. For as long as I can remember, even before I met Jane, I’ve wanted to sing. When I was young and Dad still had his label, I was surrounded by music and captivated by the industry. I was fascinated by the sound boards, and Dad even used to let me watch through the glass as the artists recorded their demos. I thought the whole thing was glamorous and exciting. I wanted to be a part of it from the very beginning.

  As I got older, I wanted it even more. I worked on my vocals and found my own voice. Meeting Jane was the final piece of the puzzle. I had a sister to share my dream with, and we’ve been pushing each other onward ever since.

  “What do you think of my mask?” Jane asks. She holds up a glittery domino mask with soft black feathers adorning either side that fastens around the head with elastic. She flutters her lashes at me through the eyeholes. She looks alluring and sophisticated.

  “You look stunning.”

  I hold my own mask over my face. It looks like a silver butterfly with crystals across the wings.

  Jane smiles. “Beautiful.”