Nineteen-year-old, Bea Somerton, knows exactly how she wants to live. Become a doctor, remain in remission from her childhood Leukaemia and have a happy, normal, life.
The last thing she expects is to meet rising star and troubled musician, Holden P...
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It's a mansion. A fully-fledged freaking mansion.
"Damn," I mutter, the driver coming to a slow stop.
I should have expected this, really. It's Sophia Garez's house after all. But after hanging around Holden, it's as if I've totally forgotten that celebrities exist at all. He may as well be a normal guy, if not for the fact he's entirely secretive and currently rehearing for his world tour.
The driver opens the door for me and I quietly thank him as I step out, suddenly wary of my current attire. Scrubs with quite sneakers that squeak against the linoleum floors in the hospital.
I spot Sophia standing on the front steps of her house. A fountain rests in the middle of her expansive yard. Green grass and perfectly sculptured flowers beds filled with red roses line the driveway.
I've never worried much about the opinions of others, but standing here now, looking up at Sophia as I climb at least fifty steps towards her, I suddenly wonder why Holden even talked to me that first day.
I hate myself for it.
"Blake Somerton," Sophia outstretches her manicured hand and I shake it warily. "Seems you came straight from work."
"I didn't have much time to change. You seemed insistent that we meet at four," I remark.
"Yeah, well," she shrugs. "My schedule is tight enough as it is, so—"
"Baby, Chance called. He—"
A man steps out of the doorway, halting when he sees me. Sceptically, he looks to Sophia before his gaze meets mine again.
Joey Phillips. I met him at the VMAs where he almost went head-to-head with an extremely angry Holden. I doubt he remembers who I am, though.
"Blake Somerton," he nods, smiling at me. "Holden's new girl."
"I'm not— ah, I'm literally just his cleaner," I laugh, awkwardly.
"Is that what you call it?" Sophia retorts. "Come on in, I don't have long."
I suppress and eye roll, trailing after her, followed by Joey.
"So," Joey clears his throat, "Holden ever mention me?"
My gaze meets his as he tries to remain nonchalant, his jet black hair shining in the natural lighting. His hand rakes through his hair and I notice the way he's trying to pull off effortless when really it's more like I care a lot more than I want to admit.
"He doesn't talk to me about much," I answer, watching for a reaction.
A part of me wants to bring up the fact that Holden seemingly hates his guts for whatever went down between him and Sophia. But I keep my mouth shut, knowing that it's none of my business.
