After her father's tragic passing, Nora Davis is forced behind the scenes, nothing more than a stepping stone for others in their journey to stardom. When an opportunity presents itself, Nora, trapped under her stepmother's heel, takes it as her cha...
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After the last bell rang, like clockwork, Eli booked it from class and sped-walked to his locker and out the doors towards his ride.
His brother Jackson had hired bodyguards to patrol the school grounds while he and his little brother Ian were in school. There was always one outside his classroom during school hours. Then, once school was done, they'd take the two of them home. Unless Jackson picked them up—which he sometimes did.
Jackson had been a pain in the ass when they'd first started at Jostlin Academy. He'd issued bodyguards to stand in the classrooms and walk him and Ian from class to class. It'd been intimidating for other students and for the first half a year, he didn't have any friends. He'd had admirers and fans, sure, but no one was brave enough to get close to the scary buff men at his shoulder.
Only after his sister Lizzie put her foot down did Jackson cave and pull back. And while people approached him now, he wasn't sure he was happier.
He had a few loose friends. But no deep connections.
People never wanted just friendship with him. They always sought something else. To meet his sister, Anonymous. To see his brother Jackson in action. To hang out in the Royal Palace that served as his home.
He wasn't a whiny person—he didn't need friends.
But he wouldn't hate having one or two.
Eli stalked out the main archway and down the snow-plowed entrance walk. He kept his slightly down, silently begging no one to spot him.
"Eli!"
Damn.
A girl with long, vibrant red hair stepped in his path. He jerked to a stop, only to avoid colliding with her.
Pasting on a polite smile—which was hard to do with the exhaustion riding him—he said, "Hey."
The girl—whose hair was too bright not to be fake—fluttered her eyes at him. "I was hoping I'd run into you..."
Run into was right—he'd almost plowed her straight over.
"...you could help me write a song."
He frowned. She wanted him to help her write a song? How the hell was he supposed to do that if he couldn't write his own damn songs? "I'm sorry..." Shit, he didn't know her name.
"Ariel."
"Ariel, right. I don't mean to be a dick, but I really can't right now."
As if she hadn't heard him, she ran her fingers down his arm. "I thought maybe we could enter Daxton Cavenaugh's contest together."
Contest? "What contest?"
She bounced once, perking up as if his question meant he'd say yes. "Daxton Cavenaugh is having a songwriting contest!"
