Page 37 of Crimson Desires

JACK,

TALK TO ME WHEN YOU WAKE UP. I’LL BE IN THE CREW BUS.

— AVA

I bit the inside of my cheek. There was no doubt in my mind that Ava knew about Aster sleeping in my bunk.

I was partly grateful that we didn’t have sex. Justifying everything to Ava would be much easier knowing that Aster and I had been mostly innocent last night.

Changing into a white shirt, black jeans, and my signature Cartier aviators, I finished my Red Bull and headed outside.

The summer air was warm, but not muggy. The sun beat down on my shoulders. I took a moment to enjoy the heat on my skin. I inherited my love of warm weather from Mom. Sometimes, I suspected that she had only tolerated living in LA because it was warm year-round.

I found my way to the crew bus and popped inside. Thankfully, it seemed that Ava was able to get the AC repaired.

Ava was sitting in the first set of chairs behind the driver’s seat. She had her laptop propped up on her legs and a song session open. Her trusty Audio-Technica headphones covered her ears. She bobbed her head to the music.

I sat down next to her.

Ava took off her headphones. She placed them over my ears. Then, she played the song—a thumping EDM track.

Even though I didn’t like the manufactured pop that had defined my early career, I still had a deep appreciation for the genre. I liked that it was scientific; designed to worm its way into your brain and stick there like a flashbulb memory. For that reason, Ava often enjoyed showing me the personal projects that she worked on. I’d even been a featured vocalist on several of her singles.

Dad had been confused when I’d agreed to lend my voice to Ava’s compositions. Didn’t I want to get away from being a pop vocalist?

I did. But more specifically, I wanted to get away from the meaningless music that had been written for me by Dad’s songwriters. I wanted to get away from how fucking trivial it all was. The saccharine, wholesome love songs. The way that my music was engineered for radio-friendliness, female projection, and mass enjoyment. All of it sold well, but none of it was me.

Maybe if Ava had produced my music, I would’ve stayed in the pop game longer.

After the track was done, I pulled the headphones off and passed them back to Ava.

“Sounds great,” I said. “Good choice with the strings.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Nah. It makes the bridge pop.”

Ava smiled. “Good to hear. Now I just need to lay down some vocals. The artist I’m working with told me that she was sending over the stems today, but I don’t know if she’ll actually come through.”

Ava sipped her energy drink.

“I don’t know why you don’t just use your vocals. Your temp tracks sound fine.”

She shrugged. “I like other people’s voices more.”

“So,” I said, lacing my fingers together. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“When Aster didn’t return to the crew bus last night, I thought the worst.” Ava’s smile ironed out into a grimace. “I thought that she’d been kidnapped. Or that she was hurt somehow. But then Kane told me that she was sleeping with you on your bunk—and I had to be worried for a whole different reason.”

I opened my mouth to speak. Ava stopped me.

“Aster already told me that you two didn’t have sex,” Ava said. “Jack. I get that you like her. But just this once, I’d like you to get your head out of your ass and be smart about this. I don’t need you doing something dumb and ruining your career before it even starts.”

I winced. Deep down, I knew that Ava was right.

I spent most of my formative years around the rich and famous. My father was an industry giant. My mother had worked in public relations. All of this had taught me one invaluable lesson: reputation was everything.

And reputation also happened to be the one thing you couldn’t fix once you ruined it.