Trust (London Love #5)

He was right about that. Something I didn’t want to really acknowledge. My balls were small. And he was…The Dieter.

“Well, I could have. Except someone stole your phone.”

“Management got me a replacement. Nice new shiny phone. Same number, though.”

“Whatever. Talk,” I said sternly, ripping Mr Snuggles from his grip and shoving him behind my back as I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Bash is leaving. His baby is due in few weeks, and he told Lauren to shove the contract up her arse. Best thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Okay.” I had no idea what he was on about.

“We haven’t seen Cork.”

“Was he the one in rehab? I thought you were all clean living and underage babysat spoilt brats.”

“Yes. And yes, we are babysat spoilt brats, but the rest is all bullshit. We have a very good press team with ample social media expertise to rein in any adverse stories.” He grimaced as he said it, then grimaced again when I yawned. I was so bloody tired.

“Sorry. Go on.” I lay down on my side, so I wouldn’t fall off the sliver of bed he’d left me with, and tugged the duvet up over myself.

“Of course they push any stories that make great headlines. It doesn’t matter who gets fucked over in the process.”

“Yet here you are, telling me all the juicy gossip. I could have a nice fat pay cheque from one of the tabloid sites…like tomorrow.” I wouldn’t. I was just being pissy with him and for no real reason because he was right. I could’ve rung him. I had no idea why I was even pissy in the first place. It wasn’t like we were…friends.

“But you wouldn’t do that,” he said softly, turning so his nose was almost touching mine. I remembered this. Such a flirt. And then I smiled. Just a little smile.

“No, because I am a decent human being.”

Now he smiled too. “Which is why I like you. And, you know, I—”

“Trust me,” I said as if it was a reflex.

“Shut up. I’m trying to grovel here. Tell you about my day. You know. All that shit?”

I was going to say something snarky back, but the words got stuck in my throat.

I wanted him here. Which was one of the most fucked-up things about all this. In a strange way…

Oh, fuck off, brain!!

“Okay, since you won’t tell me about your day, I’ll tell you about mine. So Bash and Cork are gone, which leaves Me, Lee, Josh and Musa. Musa spent the last month eating his mum’s home cooking and hiding from his personal trainer. He’s put on two stone, and Lauren was crying, and now his personal trainer has taken sick leave due to stress.”

“So? It’s his life. His body.”

“No. Our bodies belong to Blitz, and Musa couldn’t care less.”

“Okay. Sounds…normal.”

“Nothing is normal. Not anymore. So Josh and I were pushed into the studio whilst everyone else held emergency meetings. You’ve never heard so much screaming. Security were actually shitting themselves, and the producer ended up walking out with his team.”

“Blimey.”

“Yeah. Josh and I have written six songs and already laid down vocals for two. They’re not bad, but they sound nothing like Blitz. Lauren went ballistic.”

“Typical.” I took a breath on his behalf. Fuck, it was late. I needed sleep. Or a cup of tea.

“Which ended up with us being kicked out of the studio for the weekend, and I got my driver to bring me here, because I couldn’t bear it anymore. Unless we get a whole new team in with a whole different mindset ready to get cool with a bunch of things real quick, it’s never going to work.”

“Right.” What else could I say to that? I knew nothing about the recording industry. About music. Whatever he was up to, wherever he’d been.