Page 42 of Angels Are Falling

It freaked me out, and I returned to our table. I stood up, then sat down. I couldn’t sit still.

“Are you all right?” asked a female voice, claiming the seat next to mine. I didn’t look at her, mesmerized by the blinking club lights.

“I’m fine.”

“First time doing coke?”

I scoffed. “Feels like it.”

“It gets easier.”

“You make it sound like work.”

She laughed. “In my line of work, drugs is work.”

“Your line of work? Are you a doctor or a healer of sorts?” Maybe she was a shaman.

“I’m a singer. I take drugs to write songs, and at most, I heal hearts.”

That made me laugh. I forced myself to tear my gaze away from the bright colors for a proper introduction. “I’m Stefan. Stefan Noble.”

The club lights shone on her face, sobering me immediately. For hers was a face I had memorized in my teens and knew like the back of my hand.

“Hi, Stefan. I’m Ruby. Ruby Sarafina.”

Chapter

Thirteen

STEFAN

The sun was on the horizon by the time we stumbled out of the club and into a twenty-four-hour diner. Hours had passed between the dance floor and the table, between alcohol and cocaine, between day and night.

Despite the late hour—or was it early morning?—I was lucid. It was probably the cocaine, or perhaps it was meeting Ruby Sarafina, Kai’s mystery friend who wanted to pitch a work collaboration.

How was this my life? I was the president of a multimillion-dollar magazine, and I knew Ruby fucking Sarafina. Fifteen-year-old me was out there somewhere, screaming at the top of his lungs.

After the initial shock wore off, the guys welcomed Ruby into our group with open arms. They partied with her and treated her like a regular human being, while I was still starstruck. I couldn’t brush it off, even as we packed into a booth to eat and sober up.

“Should we discuss the collaboration at some point?” I asked her when she squeezed in beside me. Shop talk had slipped through the cracks between the alcohol and drugs.

Will grinned. “Look who has embraced the presidency.”

Ruby laughed. “Businessmen can never turn it off, even when drunk.”

Was I drunk? Perhaps a little, but not enough to fuck up my first task as president.

The server stopped by to pour coffee, breaking our conversation. Once she left and the boys drifted into their own discussion about their expedition, I seized the brief lull to shift my focus to business.

“We should talk about your pitch,” I pressed Ruby. “What did you have in mind?”

Ruby took a sip of her coffee. “A singing competition.”

“Like American Idol?”

“More like World Idol. I’m launching a contest where we scout twenty-five countries for the next big rock star.” She jabbed a finger at her chest. “And yours truly will be on the panel of judges.”

“That’s great, but Obsidian’s a travel mag. Wouldn’t your show do better on a reality channel like Bravo?”