"Vegas baby. I swear to God, Jezzie, you should be happier. We're in Vegas!"

Jezebel Donovan tried to pull her extension—assisted hair into a ponytail, but she watched in dismay as the ponytail holder snapped in two, ricocheting around the room.

"Charlotte, I am happy. I love Vegas. Vegas is great. Awesome." There, that sounded enthusiastic right?

"Honey, I know that you're still upset about Oscar dumping you by text, but this is how you get your groove back." Charlotte did a wiggle that resembled an epileptic gazelle. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Everyone knows this."

Yes, that was Charlotte's solution to everything: just sleep with someone and she'd feel better. Unfortunately, what was bothering Jezzie wasn't her stupid ex—boyfriend, or his via text break up.

We found your sister Jezzie. I'm sorry, but she's gone.

Her lawyer's words rang over and over in her head. For the last several years she had been looking for her birth sister. They had been adopted out of the same agency by different families. Unfortunately, she hadn't seen or spoken to her in years. Jezzie should feel something other than numbness right now, but she couldn't summon any emotion at the moment.

Charlotte added, "Come on. We're done with our shoot. All we have are a couple of parties tonight and a concert that Rose Water is putting us on the VIP list for. It'll be awesome. Work trip turned into a fun trip."

Charlotte had that way about her. She could always find a way to enjoy herself. Jezzie liked to keep things calmer, less booze filled. Not that she was opposed to Vegas, but Vegas wasn't really her. "Okay, okay, I'm trying, all right." She plastered a smile on her face.

Their manager, Andy Rankins, jogged over. "Ladies, Rose Water is super excited by what you guys did today. The shoot was fantastic. And both of you are fabulous and awesome." He hugged them both, giving Charlotte a peck on the forehead, and then holding onto Jezzie a little too long.

Eventually, Jezzie was going to have to deal with him. Ever since Oscar, Andy's flirty jokes had taken a turn towards too flirty. Every time he hugged her he held on too long. Every peck on the cheek was too close to her lips. One day he was going to screw up and kiss her, and then they were going to have an awkward conversation. Which would be a real shame, because she'd been with Andy since she started her career at seventeen. He'd been a young hungry agent. Just twenty—one and dying to get his feet under him. He discovered both her and Charlotte. And neither one of them had ever looked back. Well, you'll have to look back now if he sticks his tongue down your throat. She suppressed a shudder.

"I've loved it Andy. Rose Water's awesome to work with. But remember, we talked about me getting more stuff like Girl Interrupted. The photographer on the shoot slapped my ass, swear to God, no less than three times. The last time, I had to tell him that he'd lose that hand if he touched me again."

Andy laughed. "There goes that classic Latin temper."

Jezzie clenched her jaw shut. No, her anger had nothing to do with her heritage. But more to do with she didn't like some guy groping her. But she was not going to pick that fight right now.

Charlotte pouted. "Andy, why don't I get stuff like Girl Interrupted? I mean, it's good publicity right?"

Jezzie rolled her eyes. "It's not a photo op, sweetie." Charlotte was kind of missing the point of the whole Girl Interrupted brand ambassador job. As much she loved her best friend, Charlotte loved to see and be seen. Jezzie, not so much. So while she was a brand ambassador for the group that helped young women seek their potential, she did so because she actually enjoyed the work.

"I know that. I can help people."

"Okay. I'm doing a photo shoot with them in two weeks. Wanna help out?"

Charlotte nodded. "Sure I'm happy to model."

Jezzie smirked. "I need help behind the camera."

Her friend's face fell. "Oh, oh okay."

"Okay ladies, where shall we go first?" Andy asked.

"Are you guys serious? I'm exhausted. I sort of just want to eat and crash out."

"No," Charlotte pleaded. "Remember, this is kind of like my bachelorette night. I get married in three months. We're here to celebrate."

"Isn't that what we'll do at the real bachelorette party?"

Charlotte's bee stung lips formed a pout. She blinked her long lashes at Jezzie and attempted to make her feel bad. "Yes, but we need the practice."

"Come on girls, don't fight. Here, let's have some champagne to start a celebratory evening. And then let's get down to partying."

"You guys know this stuff will just put me to sleep, right?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Live a little."

"It will help you take Oscar off your mind," Andy said as he handed her the glass. "You'll drink a little, have some fun, and relax a little. You're wound too tight Jezzie."

She wanted to scream, "This has nothing to do with Oscar. My sister is gone." But neither one of them would understand. Hell, out of the two of them, only Charlotte even knew that she had a sister she was looking for. Sure, they both knew about her family and her being adopted. But Charlotte was the only person outside her family that she'd told about Jasmine. It was private. And she wanted the time to adjust and take it all in. But you're not going to get that. "Fine, I'll have one drink, but guys honestly, I cannot have a late night. I'm just wrecked."

Charlotte clapped giddily. "Okay if we're only having one drink, I say we go to the concert of that new artist. What's his name? Cross? Last I heard he was doing a tour abroad but he's back now. And we have the VIP." She shimmied in excitement.

A concert, great. At least she wouldn't have to engage or interact with anyone at a concert, and she could get lost in her own thoughts. Hopefully the music was decent. "Okay, sure, but can I change first? Because I do not want to look like a Vegas reject at this concert." Like Charlotte, she'd been given all kinds of swag for the photo shoot and she was wearing a tank that said "Rose Water gets you Leied." Except the Leid was spelled like Lei as the company was Hawaiian. Very clever. But she was not walking around the casinos like this.

Fifteen minutes later, she was dressed appropriately in a cap sleeve black top with an open back and her skinny jeans. She'd also paired her outfit with staggering four—inch heels. With the heels on, she tipped over the six foot mark. That was usually enough to keep the gropers away. Not a lot of guys wanted to hit on a woman who was taller than they were. Even if she was a model. Granted, without all the clip in extensions, she didn't really look like a model. At least not the way that Charlotte did.

She found Charlotte and Andy in the lobby waiting for her. When Andy saw her, he grinned and held up the tickets, waving them. "Here we go ladies."

As concert venues went, the Vogue was everything you could hope for. Sleek and new, with all the best amenities. And VIP sat right front and center in a lounge set up. She almost cried with relief at the seating situation. Putting on ridiculous heels for a concert was not the smartest.

The opening act was okay. The band name wasn't recognizable to her, but she'd certainly heard their single, "Sex on the Beach." It was an earworm she couldn't get rid of. It was getting massive radio airplay and totally unavoidable. She liked music but usually kept it old—school. Thanks to having grown up in her family, the Jackson Five, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, James Brown and anything Motown were generally things that she listened to as her background music.

She'd never heard of Cross before, and she hoped he was good. Maybe she wouldn't have to sit through the entire concert. Here's hoping. Maybe Charlotte would get bored. Or maybe Jezzie could just pass out. Yeah, that was a good one. Quick and easy way out of a concert.

God, who was she? She sounded old and doddering even to herself. She was going to do this. After all, she was here, so she might as well try to have some fun.

Andy came back to their seats carrying six shots. "Okay ladies, bottoms up."

Jezzie pursed her lips. "Andy, God, is that tequila?"

"Yep, the finest tequila to be found. Don't worry; it goes down smooth. Now down the gullet girls. Time for some fun."

Jezzie didn't drink tequila thanks to a rough night in Mexico City after a photo shoot when she was nineteen. She shuddered at the memory of it. She never been so sick in her life. "I don't think so. Tequila is really not my —"

Charlotte handed her a shot. "Jezzie, you're out now. Enjoy yourself. A couple of shots aren't going to kill you. Plus, Andy and I are totally looking out for you."

"Yeah, Donovan, you need to loosen up. Have some fun," Andy added.

The main lights had dimmed and the spotlight had come on. All around her, women screamed. If she didn't know better, she'd say some boy band was about to enter stage left. The hairs on the back of Jezzie's neck tingled with awareness, and she looked up.

Holy sex on a stick. This guy was the epitome of a rock star. The swagger, the confidence, the heated sexuality— no wonder everyone was screaming their heads off. She could see the tattoos from here, winding around his arm.

So not the typical kind of guy that she was into. Had she ever even dated someone with tats before? Oh yeah, Oscar did have one. But he kept claiming that it was meant as a joke, and that he'd done it when he was wasted.

The stupid thing was on his inner thigh, pointing right at his groin parts, with the words, "you're welcome" in tiny script. She often forgot it was there and her brain usually skipped over it, marking it as a birthmark.

Look at her, all bad ass. She had dated someone with a tattoo. A completely douchebag tattoo. But still. Awesome. She really needed to start picking better guys. She turned around to face Andy and Charlotte. Charlotte still had the shot proffered. Jezzie took it. It was time to start having some fun.

Down the hatch. She grimaced. But wait it didn't burn. Oh, that was different. It warmed her quickly from the inside, the fire spreading throughout her body, making her loose and warm and languid. Yeah, she could use some of the numbness. She could use some of the relaxed heat. "Oh, that wasn't bad. Give me another one."

"That's the spirit," said Andy.

Jezzie took the shot from him and downed the other one went. As the heated numbness took over. She turned her attention to the stage and let the sounds of the strumming to guitar soothe her, calm her. For several blissful moments, she could almost forget everything weighing her down, and those awful words. We found your sister. I'm sorry Jezzie, but she's gone.

***

Logan Cross loved everything about being on stage. And it wasn't just about the "I love you Logan's" from the women, and some men, who enjoyed his music. It wasn't just about the chants of Cross, Cross, Cross. Because it had been a long time since someone chanted his name. Rock star no more. Now a struggling musician. He just loved being on the stage. He would've been happy playing for an audience of one. Or an audience of no one, as was sometimes the case.

He'd been in Europe for six fucking months. Touring, doing the festivals. Doing whatever venue would take him. Some big, some small. He loved Europe but he'd been there to work. To do everything to push the album. The album RCI refused to promote much. Damn. It felt good to be home. And for once, he was going to play what he wanted to play. The six months in Europe had been all part of his last RC1 record contract. When Halo ended, he owed them one more album. One they had full control over. And so he had to play the set list he was given. No deviation, no autonomy. But in a matter of weeks, he'd be free. His life had taken a one eighty. The amphitheaters, the fans, the big tour, it was all over.

Fine, he'd take that pill. But in a matter of weeks, he'd be twenty—five. And he would be fucking free of his father and his label.

He strummed the guitar and finished out his opening song. The crowd roared, and a smile tugged at his lips. That was the sound. He loved that sound. The sound of people genuinely enjoying his music.

That sound fueled him. That sound made him want to do more, made him want to be heard. Just a few more weeks and he'd be okay. He was so close. Just needed to hang in there.

Again he forced himself to focus. Do what you came here to do.

As welcome home concerts went, Vegas wasn't his ideal location, but he'd be back in New York in a couple of days. And then he'd play smaller venues there. The kind of music that he wanted. Put together the kind of record that he could be proud of. As long as he was free. That's all that mattered.

A blonde in the front row screamed for him. "I love you, Cross!"

And he did what he always did, gave her a grin and a wink and said "I love you too, baby."

She, along with her companions, squealed and laughed with delight. Then one of them whispered something in her ear. Oh no.

He knew what was coming. One of them was daring her to do something outrageous. It wouldn't be the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

There was once a point when he loved the outrageous antics from audiences, usually the women. Sometimes the men. It had been all part of the show. The façade. On stage, that persona loved it. In real life, he loved it too. Until it was all gone. She was front row, so he knew that she'd automatically be at the meet and greet. Great. She'd be angling for a trip to his room. He was not looking forward to that. And sure enough — her top came off. And her bra went sailing. Smack. Into his face. Fan—fucking—tastic.

"Thanks for that darling." He clenched his teeth before picking up the strap and flinging the thing to the side. One of the roadies would get it later.

He always did wonder what those women thought was going to happen after they threw their shirt or their bra at him. What? They thought he'd get so overwhelmed by the sight of their tits, that he'd stop the show and drag them backstage to fuck them against a wall? Not that you haven't done that before.

Okay, yes. He had taken a couple of groupies backstage before, and there might've been some public acts of sexcapades. But he'd never stopped a show. So now this poor chick was going to sit there in the front row, with her tits out, not that he minded the view. Eventually, her friend took pity on her and gave her shawl. At least the woman had friends.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement, and as he transitioned to the melody of his next song, his breath caught. Every word, every line, every melody flew right the hell out of his head. Fuck.

For a long, horrifying second Logan couldn't remember any of the words to his own damn song. He couldn't think, his brain went on autopilot. Was that her?

Dark, glossy, voluminous hair. Could it be her? Very likely. It's not though. And here you are on stage dick out. For all the world to see. Shit. Shit. Shit.

He had to get his shit together right the fuck now. Thanks to social media this little hiccup was going to be on TMZ in less than a minute. He forced his focus back to the guitar, and leaned into the microphone. "Shit, you guys, I forgot my own damn words. Why don't you help me along?"

The crowd cheered. Everyone more than happy to help him start the song again. As he started from the beginning, G chord strummed, his band behind him filled in with the piano, then the drums then the bass guitar. The rest of the instruments filled in, and he put himself on automatic pilot.

Do not look over there. Do not look over there. If he looked over there — his eyes automatically shifted, disobeying his brain, but this time he kept singing. Oh yeah, that's right, because the brain could do more than one thing at a time. Would've been helpful a minute ago.

The woman stood, and, holy hell she was tall. Oh shit, it could be her. Turn around. Turn around. Let me see your face. She was talking to someone. Arguing maybe?

He finished out the song. Thank fuck. And then on a whim, his fingers, strummed the chords of the song that he knew he shouldn't play. The one the song that he never played live. But still, automatically, his fingers played as if he played it every day of his life.

It was her song. The one he'd written subconsciously for her. It was stupid. It was risky. The back of his throat tickled and his hands trembled, just a little bit. But when he opened his mouth, the words rang true:

I didn't know I was looking until I found you.

Please know that every word I say is true.

There isn't a moment that you're not my heart. I've known you were mine from the very start.

Jezebel.

As he belted out her name and strummed the guitar, the women in the audience tried to follow along, and he lifted his gaze to the ravishing brunette. Their gazes locked. And he knew it was her. Jezebel. She'd come to his concert. Holy, fuck him.

He forced his gaze away from her and sang the words. The raw emotion poured into the song as he sang, everything he wasn't allowed to say to her. All the "I'm sorry's" in the world, he poured into that song. When he lifted his gaze to where she'd been sitting again, she was gone. He looked around to find her. What the hell? Did I imagine that?

Was he losing it? Was he just like Felix?

He played the rest of his set, every now and again looking back at the seats in the VIP section, but she never came back. The three seats remained empty the rest of the night. That was her, and like a fool, he'd bared his soul.

When he closed out the concert, the woman of the bra throwing incident waved at him. Note to self: avoid her at all costs. Don't do a meet and greet tonight. Make sure she doesn't make it anywhere near backstage.

As he waved and then jogged offstage, he breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could go after her. How hard would it be to find her? Jezzie was a model. That meant she had to be here for work, or pleasure. Surely her agency knew where he was staying. Yeah #desperate. Maybe next time a woman offers herself you don't act like an ass. If he did find her. Not like she'd talk to him. After all, Jezebel Donovan hated him. What was he doing try to find her? That was stupid. Because likely she would not be happy to see him.

"You killed that, man. But what was that little stutter in the middle there?"

He did not want to get into it with his manager right now.

"Leave it Drew. It happened. I covered though." No way was he telling Drew that he'd seen some girl. His friend would never let him live it down.

"Listen, I know you wanted a little relaxation time in Vegas for a bit, but we need to go back to the city tomorrow," Drew said.

"What?" Logan deftly avoided the roadies and the crew running around backstage as they headed for his dressing room. "I just got back to the States. I want to head back to the city, but I wanted to enjoy myself for minute before I see the old man."

"No avoiding it. We need to talk."

Logan froze with his hand on the dressing room door. Drew's voice was deadly serious and Logan turned to meet his gaze. "What's he done?"

Logan opened the door and let them both in before slamming the door behind them. "What the fuck, Drew? I've got two weeks to turn twenty—five. What's he done now?"

"I don't know," Drew said.

"What the hell do you mean you don't know?"

"All I know is that there's been a change made to the trust. We get notified of all of that so that means we have to get your ass back to New York so you can find out what it is. We don't want any more surprises."

Logan ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the sweaty strands, the sweat dripping off the ends. "Let me grab a shower. Then we'll grab a flight out of here."

He shook his head. "Nah, man. Get yourself cooled down. Get some rest tonight. We fly out in the morning. Then we'll go see him. It'll be fine. But remember, you can't let him push your buttons like this. You can't let him shove you down into that spiral."

Logan hated the fact that Drew had seen him at his worst. After his brother died, he'd been in no kind of shape for anything. It was only because of Drew that he still had any kind of career at all. His friend kept him afloat at the worst time in his life, when all he wanted to do was sit at the bottom of a bottle and smoke himself into oblivion. Drew dealt with the old man to make sure Logan could still perform. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Look, after Halo, and that year, we're still trying to rebuild your career."

Logan kept his mouth shut. He knew Drew had a point. For a year, he barely lived in the light. Fucked with the one woman that you've always wanted. He didn't need to think about that right now. He wasn't that guy anymore. "Look, whatever it takes. I can stay out of trouble. I'll keep a squeaky clean image. I just want to play music I believe in."

"And we'll make it happen, man. Just leave it to me. When you get back to New York, we'll go see the old man, we'll get things in motion. Just don't do anything stupid tonight, okay? Have a drink, go to bed."

He might just skip the drink. Logan rarely drank anymore. And if he was honest, he never really liked it much. It had been more about a way to drown out the pain of Felix being gone. He didn't do that anymore. "Sure, I got you. Stay out of trouble, keep my nose clean. No random girls. I can do that."

The random girls were more likely going to be the problem. He didn't drink himself into a stupor anymore. Or spend days at a time stoned, but women, he'd had more than a few in and out of his bed, sometimes more than one in the same night. But he understood what Drew was saying. The fucked up bad boy was not going to get a record deal. So he needed to keep shit under wraps. He could do that. "Don't worry about me, I'm tight."

"That's what I like to hear."

So much for trying to hunt Jezebel down. If that was even her. And he was in no mood for some random groupie shit tonight. There was nothing more unsettling than finding a random naked woman in your bed that you didn't put there. Granted, it happened less now than with his band, Halo. Maybe he would just grab a quick drink and hit the sack. If he had to deal with his father, then he better be on his A game. His freedom was so close. No way he was screwing it up now.