A/N: I know, I've been a while. But here is Chapter Eight, and I hope you enjoy it.
"O.K, let me in. I have a surprise for you."
My heart pounded against my ribcage even in my slumber, and it didn't take me long to stir after I heard Paul utter those words. In less than ten seconds I had clumsily swept the length of my hotel room and had my hand on the door handle, breathless. Blood rushed to my head as everything caught up to me, and I opened the door to Paul looking positively drunk.
"Celebrating already, are we?" he said as he came in, and he pretended to scan the room for any signs of booze. "Man. And I was counting on being the first one to tell you."
My brow crinkled in confusion. "What?" I asked, and pulled the bathrobe I had thrown on tighter, self-consciously. "What are you talking about, Paul?" He grinned, flashing me that million-dollar smile that never failed to send shivers down my spine. It was hard to concentrate after that.
"I'm talking about," he replied, as he fished his cell from his pocket and slid his fingers across the keys effortlessly, "about your first Billboard hit. Number 1 – Congratulations." I screamed, a real high pitch shriek, and threw my whole body at him, legs around his waist and all. I clutched him tight because he had made all my dreams come true, and he didn't push me away. Just for that moment, Kelly Prescott did not exist.
"Are you kidding me?" I hopped down from him, flushed, and he placed his cell into my palm, displaying the Billboard Chart's website. I gasped, incredulous. "Number one. Number one!"
"You made it, baby," Paul whispered, and he pulled me into another hug. "Maybe now we can get you out of this hotel room and into a real pad. The label's gotta see you were worth signing now."
"My own place," I mused, grinning. "My own Number One record…"
"Is there nothing you don't have?" Paul joked, and I had to turn my face away to hide my expression.
Because I didn't have him.
Oblivious, Paul slung the bag he held over his shoulder off his arm and handed it to me. "If everything else wasn't enough, you also have your very own fan mail." The bag was weighty in my arms, and I was surprised. I'd been a star for two seconds – I had fans?
"'Dear Suze'," I read aloud. "You're the coolest. Please come to Pennsylvania."
"All in time," Paul replied, and he picked up another letter. "'Hey Susie, I think you're just beautiful. In fact, I really want to…'". He gave a low whistle, and folded the letter back down. "Never mind about that one."
"No," I argued, and reached for the letter. "Seriously, what did it say?" Reluctantly, Paul handed the letter over to me, and I got to read it for myself. And was very freaked out.
"That's enough fan mail for today," Paul decided, and I sat light-headed onto the bed. "Suze, don't let it freak you out too much. Every great star gets at least a few weirdos writing in. You're too good to stop now."
"I'm not freaked out," I answered, but the uncertainty in my voice gave me away. Paul came to sit next to me, and placed his arm around my shoulder.
"Don't worry," he whispered into my ear. "I'll always protect you, Susie."
And it was at that moment that I knew I was falling in love with him.
"It's so neat that Paul's taking you out for dinner," Kelly said, as she curled her eyelashes in front of the dressing table mirror. But I could detect a little bit of jealousy in her voice.
Jealous! Kelly! Of me!
"Yeah," I agreed, nonchalantly, as I held two different dresses up to my chest to inspect in the mirror. "Which one, Kel?" I knew for a fact – at least according to the very expensive stylist the label had hired for me – that one was the most popular with the tabloids and runways, etc. But it would be interesting to see which one Kelly decided would be fit for me.
Kelly got to her feet, and inspected me quickly. "That one," she said, pointing at the least-fashionable one. I rolled my eyes and selected the other one. As I was stepping into it – a white babydoll number – I heard Kelly call my name.
"Are these pizza stains on my bedclothes?" My stomach did a huge somersault, and I nearly toppled head over heels into the bathtub.
"Um," I said, pulling the zipper. "Yeah, sorry. I felt really sorry for myself last night so I ordered one to myself. Nobody was else here. It was just me. Eating my pizza." I smacked a hand to my forehead. Nice going, Suze, I thought. Way to be inconspicuous.
Kelly appeared in the bathroom doorway just as I straightened up. "O.K," she said, and she looked like she believed me. Phew.
I felt bad lying. Not about lying to Kelly, but about Jesse. I did have a good time last night, but it wasn't a date. I'd purposefully left my phone off all morning in case Jesse decided to call, because I couldn't face talking to him. He was a nice guy, and I didn't want to lead him on.
"Nice dress," Kelly muttered, and this time I definitely heard acid in her tone.
"Another round for the guest of honour," Paul cheered, and he topped my glass of champagne up again. "Wow. We're gonna need another bottle."
"Paul," I whispered, bringing my face close to his, but got too giggly before I could get any words out. "Paul. I'm… drunk." I took another sip, and marvelled as the room before me swirled and all the pretty colours merged into one. I liked how I felt like I was drifting on air, and didn't have to worry about everything: my feelings for my manager, my bitchy roommate, my messed-up family or my seemingly not-so-secret admirer in Jesse. Everything was peaceful. Bliss.
"I guessed that," Paul chuckled, and he kissed my forehead gently. "You're so adorable when you're off your face, Suze."
"I," I declared, indignantly, "am adorable all of the frickin' time."
"Indeed." Paul took a careful sip of his water, and rubbed my hand. "I brought you here for more than one reason, actually, Suze," he said, and my heart flipped. He was about to declare his love for me. Kelly had just been a ruse to get me jealous, and now he was about to tell me everything…
"I mean, your latest success has really put an urgent spin on this," he continued, and I watched him with wide eyes and a beating heart. He wants to tell me now before I meet too many admirers, I thought, and I clutched his fingers desperately. He reached into his bag. A ring? He pulled out a roll of paper, and everything came crashing down.
A contract.
"We really need you to get back into touch with your family," Paul jabbered on, and I looked away from him, placing my champagne glass on the table and examining the rest of the restaurant. "It's the legal way, at least."
"No, Paul," I refused. I thought he understood how I felt about my family. He had been the one who had encouraged me to break away from them, held me tight after I had been so upset. What was going on here?
"What?" Paul demanded, like he hadn't quite heard me. "Suze, we need someone to sign this contract." A muscle leapt in his jaw, but he refrained from raising his voice.
"Paul, you know how I feel about my family," I said, and I rubbed my head. Nothing like a breaking heart to sober you up. "How can you expect me to just give them a call and ask them to support something that broke us apart?"
"Suze, it's important." He looked at me like I was being unreasonable. "You can't release any more records unless your guardian signs this contract." I stared him out, and he sighed. "Well, I guess we could get you to sign it. I mean, you're nearly 18 anyway, right?"
I shook my head, but not in response in to the question. "Paul, I don't really feel in the right mind to sign a contract right now. Can we wait until the morning when I'm sober and there's a lawyer present?"
This really wound Paul up. "God, Suze!" he cried, and a couple of people turned around wildly and twittered at us. "You really don't get it, do you? This is more important than some TV special or a new lipgloss, or whatever you stupid teenage girls care about most."
"Stupid teenage girl?" I echoed, bewildered. "Paul, some stupid teenage girl has just made your label a lot of money with this record."
"It wasn't you," Paul snarled. "It was everybody who looks after you, and cleans up after you when you make a mess out of things. Who do you think covered up the whole family drama and stopped it leaking to the press?" My brow furrowed.
"I don't understand…" I whimpered, but Paul had had enough. He got to his feet, and knocked over my fragile glass of champagne.
"Of course you don't," he said. "Because you're too busy with your tortured artist act and your rivalry with Kelly. You know what? Don't bother even signing the contract in the morning, O.K? We're through."
And before I could argue, he picked up his jacket and made his way out of the restaurant, disappearing into the distant where my beer-goggles couldn't define him from any other person that far away. "Paul," I murmured, but it was too late. And now I was stuck here without someone to pay the bill or take me home.
Except there was someone. Someone I was going to regret calling. But it was my only choice.
I picked up my phone, and found the number. Then pressed Call. He answered after three rings, and I took a deep breath.
"Hey, Jess. It's me."