Idol

Very gently, almost possessively, Nick put a hand on her arm. It was a gesture of complete confidence, and Jenna caught her breath at the skin-on-skin contact.

‘I don’t wanna be greedy, but I think I’d like to monopolize you this evening,’ he said silkily, his gaze never leaving her face. Jenna felt her stomach flip-flop at the way he looked her over.

‘I guess we’ll catch up with you guys later,’ smiled Zac, as Amber slipped a wafer-thin arm around his waist.

‘Over here, baby, there’s some people I want to introduce you to. It was nice to meet you, Jenna’ Amber lied, steering Zac through the crowd as she led a chorus of exclamations and air kisses.

As Nick bent his head low to speak to her, Jenna thought she might pass out. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear, the intense contact making her skin tingle. And that accent! Phoenix were named after the band’s home city in Arizona, and all the guys spoke with a slow, sexy drawl. It was so fucking delicious, Jenna didn’t think she could ever get tired of it.

Amazingly, the crowd seemed to leave them alone. It was as though Nick Taylor’s presence acted as a barrier that no one dared penetrate. He was sending out a clear message that Jenna was his and no one else should touch her. She could barely believe that he knew who she was, let alone that he wanted to spend the evening monopolizing her, Jenna thought, a thrill of excitement shooting through her as she recalled his words.

‘So,’ Nick began, breaking into an easy smile that lit up his face and made his blue eyes sparkle. ‘Enjoyin’ the party?’

Life had always come easy to Nick. Since his school-days back in Arizona he’d had no trouble attracting the ladies, keeping the prettiest girls in class on a constant rotation. More interested in music than schoolwork, he found that being in a band sent his pulling power off the scale and he exploited it to the full. He’d even managed to juggle two girls on the night of his high-school prom, making Kacey Ann Kruger wait in line for fruit punch and hotdogs while he deflowered Tiffany Wilkinson in a dark corner of the parking lot.

‘Yeah – I mean, it looks amazing,’ Jenna gushed, ‘but I don’t seem to have had a minute to myself.’

‘Everyone’s trying to grab a piece of you, huh? I’m not surprised,’ Nick grinned, pointedly looking her over as he allowed his gaze to linger on that hand-span waist and those incredible breasts. Man, he certainly wouldn’t mind grabbing a piece of Jenna Jonsson.

‘So what are you up to at the moment?’ Nick asked casually. ‘Only me and the guys – well, you prob’ly heard what went down with Josh …’

Josh Starr was the lead singer with Phoenix and three days ago he’d quit the band. Rumours had been bubbling away in the press for months, with leaked reports that it had turned pretty nasty towards the end. Jenna was devastated.

‘You’re not splitting up, are you?’ she asked in alarm.

‘Hell, I don’t know. I don’t think so. I hope not anyway,’ finished Nick, his tone suddenly despondent. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the flurry of conversations around them. ‘We’ve talked about carrying on for a while – at least for another album – but with guest artists. A kinda collaborations project, I guess. But nothing’s official yet – it’s just an idea we’ve been throwing around.’

A thought suddenly occurred to Nick, and he began to speak before he could stop himself. ‘Why don’t you work with us on a track? It’d be awesome.’

‘Work with Phoenix?’ Jenna exclaimed, hardly able to believe what he was saying. It was her childhood dream come true! The opportunity to record with her heroes, to see the masters at work – and, of course, to spend an insane amount of time with Nick Taylor …

‘Are you sure? I mean, would the other guys want me?’

A sly grin spread across Nick’s face. ‘Yeah,’ he drawled. ‘We all want you.’ She looked so cute standing there, those huge, green, baby-doll eyes full of insecurity. On the one hand, she was a ball of energy, bristling with confidence and a mesmerizing sexuality, yet there was an air of vulnerability that couldn’t be hidden. He felt a strong urge to take her in his arms and protect her, and an equally strong urge to take her in his arms and fuck her brains out. Don’t think about that now, he warned himself, feeling himself start to get hard. He would come back to that later, when he was banging some groupie.

Jenna blushed, glancing away in embarrassment. He was ridiculously handsome, able to make her dizzy with a single look. ‘I’m such a huge fan,’ she rambled. ‘I’ve always loved your music, right since the beginning. This would just be a dream. I mean, I’d cancel everything to work with Phoenix.’

‘So is that a yes?’ Nick laughed.

‘Yes!’ Jenna exclaimed, her excitement impossible to hide as they clinked their champagne glasses to symbolically seal the deal. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

2

Sadie Laine was curled up on her sagging single bed, in the boxroom of the East London house share she rented for an extortionate fee. The walls were damp, the paint was flaking, and the mattress she was sitting on smelt faintly of mould. It was not, Sadie thought with a growing sense of frustration, the kind of place she had dreamed of living when she was a child.

The old-fashioned TV blared in the corner. No swanky flat-screen for her, just an enormous monster of a thing that was a hand-me-down from her parents and took up all the room on her tiny dressing table. Sadie squinted at the screen as she wrapped her duvet tightly around her and snuggled into it. Her long, slim legs poked out of the end, and her feet were swathed in thick, pink socks. The radiator was on the blink again, and the landlord hadn’t yet made good on his promise to fix it.

Sadie let out a sigh as she pushed a few stray tendrils of hair away from her beautiful face. Her dark, glossy hair was roughly pulled back in a messy ponytail, perfectly framing her fine, angular features, but the crease between her eyebrows gave away her anxiety.

It’s not fair, she thought miserably, as she watched the glamorous scene play out on the TV screen in front of her. Breaking off another piece of chocolate from the slab beside her, she popped it into her mouth, not caring that she’d already tripled her daily calorie allowance.

Sadie was watching the highlights of the MTV Europe Awards, where at this moment Jenna Jonsson was speaking into the camera. She looked incredible as she chattered excitedly to the interviewer about how thrilled she was to have won. She threw out some inane cliché about how all of her dreams were coming true. Sadie pursed her lips and pressed mute on the remote.

All of Jenna’s dreams might have been coming true – life wasn’t working out quite so well for Sadie.

For as long as she could remember, all Sadie had ever wanted to do with her life was dance. From the moment she had slipped on the obligatory pink leotard for her first lesson in the local church hall, she knew she had found her passion. Growing up in the London suburb of Streatham with her younger brother and sister, there wasn’t a lot of money to spare, but her parents scrimped and saved, working extra shifts to ensure their beautiful, gifted daughter could pursue her dream.

It soon became clear that she was seriously talented, and by the time she hit her teens she was already competing on the national circuit, winning prizes in every category. Jazz, Latin, hip-hop – Sadie was a natural at every style she tried. She loved the way she could get lost in the music, relishing the grind of learning the routine and putting her own interpretation on it to make it truly individual – a hair flick here, a sashay of the hips there. Most of all, she adored the adulation of being up on stage, addicted to the adrenaline rush that came with performing. It was the ultimate buzz.

Then came the big one – the National Championships, held in Manchester. The prize was life-changing: an all-expenses-paid trip to LA, to spend four weeks working with street-dance stars Ghetto Angels. Rumour had it that, if your work was good enough, you’d be invited to perform with them at their next gig.

It was an amazing opportunity. Sadie didn’t think she’d ever wanted anything so badly in all her life. Ghetto Angels were incredible, the hippest things in the dance world right now, and she knew that this could catapult her into the big league. She worked on her routine day and night, rehearsing the steps obsessively until she could do them in her sleep. She was the one to beat, the dead cert to take the prize. That was, until Jenna Jonsson and her pushy mother had shown up …

‘Knock knock,’ came a voice at the door.

‘Yeah,’ Sadie responded lazily, recognizing it as her housemate Carla.

Carla poked her head round the bedroom door. She was a petite brunette with an English rose complexion and a body she could contort into positions that made men salivate. A fellow dancer, the pair had worked together one summer at a holiday camp. The show had been terrible – they’d got through it with good humour and a lot of alcohol – but by the end of the season each knew they’d made a friend for life.

‘How’re you doing?’ Carla crossed the room and plonked herself down, cross-legged, on the corner of Sadie’s bed.

‘Shit,’ Sadie replied succinctly.

‘Well I brought something to cheer you up,’ said Carla, brandishing a bottle of Smirnoff and two glasses filled with ice. Sadie’s eyes lit up. ‘But you have to share it with me,’ Carla warned her.

Sadie poured them each a generous amount and mixed it with Diet Coke. ‘One Skinny Bitch, on the rocks,’ she grinned, passing it to Carla. She settled back against the flattened pillows and the two of them turned their attention to the television, where the EMAs were in full swing.

‘Makes you sick, doesn’t it,’ Carla observed, as they watched yet another superstar receive a gong from a fawning presenter.

‘Uh huh. All those happy, smiling, Botoxed-to-the-hilt, nauseatingly rich people,’ ranted Sadie, warming to her theme. ‘They’re just hypocritical, self-congratulatory, sycophantic wankers,’ she finished triumphantly.

‘Wish you were there?’

‘Absolutely,’ Sadie agreed instantly, as the two of them burst into laughter.

‘You probably shouldn’t be watching this,’ Carla told her, as they re-ran footage of Phoenix receiving their Ultimate Legend award. ‘It’s going to make you feel even worse.’

‘Not at all,’ Sadie shook her head, making no attempt to change the channel. ‘Looking at Nick Taylor always cheers me up.’

‘He is amazingly hot,’ agreed Carla. ‘Especially in that suit. I bet he’s a total bastard though.’

‘Just my type,’ grinned Sadie, as she raised her glass at the TV screen. ‘I wouldn’t mind trying to tame him.’

Carla smiled indulgently. Then the image changed again, and the tiny screen was filled with a full-length shot of Jenna Jonsson making her way into The Dorchester.

‘God, that dress is gorgeous,’ Carla enthused.

Sadie snorted. ‘She’s overdone it with the Fake Bake, though. I mean, no one can actually be that colour,’ she sniped, as she took another slug of vodka. She was 23, the same age as Jenna, and yet the differences between their lifestyles couldn’t have been more stark.