Alicia Martinez is determined to keep a low profile. After a tough year, she deletes all of her social media and retreats to the small coastal town of St Andrews in the hopes of starting over - and avoiding her tumultuous past.
Oliver Hogarth is a...
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Ella's phone rang.
She waved a hand, signalling to cut the music. In the glass booth, her manager, Sarah, pulled a face. Ella didn't blame her; she didn't have time at the recording studio today before she had to leave for an interview to promote her upcoming album, Backstage Girl — and traffic was a nightmare in the afternoon.
Still, Ella always made time for Max; even if her boyfriend did have terrible timing.
She punched the button. "Hi, babe. Shouldn't you be flying?"
"Oh. Er." There was a pause. "This is Oliver, actually."
"Ollie!"
Ella ran through a number of creative words in her head. She pushed back her headphones, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. Oops. "Sorry," she said quickly. "It was a UK number, so I just assumed—"
"It's fine. I get it."
"Right." She crossed her ankles. "How are you?"
"I'm good." A pause. "Actually, that's a lie; I'm in a bit of a situation. Do you have a minute to chat?"
Ella glanced up at the booth. Sarah was now tapping her wrist with an expression that suggested she would very much like to storm into the room and strangle Ella with her headphones. She swallowed.
"Of course."
"Good." Footsteps echoed. "Great. Okay. This is a little awkward, but I need some advice." A long pause. "About a girl."
"Oh."
Ella waited for a pang of jealousy. To her relief, however, she only felt a twist of something like sympathy. She fiddled with the microphone cord. "Does this happen to be the same girl that I've seen in the tabloids?"
"Since when do you read tabloids?"
"Since my boyfriend left to go visit you," Ella said dryly. "And now I'm alone in Los Angeles. And bored."
"Right. Well, yes. That's her."
"And what's the problem?"
Oliver filled her in. He told her about Alicia's ex-boyfriend, Greg. About how he had lied to her about who he was. About the disastrous golf tournament. By the time Oliver had finished speaking, Ella had cut off all circulation to her finger with the microphone cord. How the hell could that much stuff happen in the span of a month?
Glassware clinked. "And now Alicia's not answering any of my phone calls or text messages. None of them."
"Well, maybe she's scared of confronting you."
"Oh, no," Oliver huffed. "She's not like you; Alicia wouldn't try to spare my feelings. Trust me." Something whistled. A kettle, maybe. "She once laughed in my face after I gave a dance performance.In public."
