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Write or Wrong (paperback)

Write or Wrong (paperback)

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SYNOPSIS

Zara Lorna is kind of a big deal. After winning Artist of the Year (again), having a public argument with her boyfriend (again), and being whisked away by a man she barely knows (that’s new), it feels like she can’t go anywhere without drawing attention. It’s taking a toll on her and she could use a break.

Deciding to spend some time out of the public eye, she moves to Chicago to be close to Nikki. Hoping that being around her creative friend will cure her blues.

Asa Young was a rock star (almost). His dreams of traveling the world with his band came true (almost). These days, he’s content making commercial jingles at XY Records and staying as far away from the limelight as he can (that’s new). And he definitely doesn’t write music anymore.

Which means he should definitely stay away from Zara, no matter how much fun they have and how easy their connection. Being around her attracts too much unwanted attention.
Except that being around her is all he wants to do.
She reignites a flame inside Asa he thought had died long ago. And he is everything her heart has been looking for.
Is the connection they share strong enough to make them more than friends?
Or are there too many obstacles to make it work?

‘Write or Wrong’ is a full-length contemporary romance and can be read as a standalone. Book #9 in the Common Threads series, Seduction in the City World, Penny Reid Book Universe.

NEW RELEASE!!

Zara Lorna is kind of a big deal. After winning Artist of the Year (again), having a public argument with her boyfriend (again), and being whisked away by a man she barely knows (that’s new), it feels like she can’t go anywhere without drawing attention. It’s taking a toll on her and she could use a break.

Deciding to spend some time out of the public eye, she moves to Chicago to be close to Nikki. Hoping that being around her creative friend will cure her blues.

Asa Young was a rock star (almost). His dreams of traveling the world with his band came true (almost). These days, he’s content making commercial jingles at XY Records and staying as far away from the limelight as he can (that’s new). And he definitely doesn’t write music anymore.

Which means he should definitely stay away from Zara, no matter how much fun they have and how easy their connection. Being around her attracts too much unwanted attention.
Except that being around her is all he wants to do.
She reignites a flame inside Asa he thought had died long ago. And he is everything her heart has been looking for.
Is the connection they share strong enough to make them more than friends?
Or are there too many obstacles to make it work?

‘Write or Wrong’ is a full-length contemporary romance and can be read as a standalone. Book #9 in the Common Threads series, Seduction in the City World, Penny Reid Book Universe.

*paperbacks will be signed but not personalized

**ebooks and audio can be found on Amazon

Chapter 1 Look Inside

PROLOGUE


CELEBX

SORE WINNER
Zara Lorna may have won big with Album of the Year and Artist of the Year, but her night went downhill fast.
Anonymous sources say Zara got into a spat with her longtime boyfriend Logan Black.
Black, the recording artist who penned hits like “One for Me” and “When Can I Love You,” wasn’t nominated for any awards but attended to support his girlfriend of seven years.
The couple has been together since their teens when Black was still with the boyband “Newark Newsies” and Zara had one single on the radio. They met on the set of a music video and close friends say it was “love at first sight.”
Black transitioned from music to acting and back again, while Lorna maintained her meteoric rise to fame as a pop music sensation.
Their seven-year relationship hasn’t been without its hardships. Zara’s intense recording and touring schedule has been the source of tension for several years, not to mention Black’s alleged affairs with his co-stars, which he has always vehemently denied.
Insiders claim Zara was the one with the wandering eye in the relationship. Photos surfaced of her last year sharing an intimate moment with an unknown companion, and then again having dinner with a Hollywood hunk.
Allegedly, things between the two have been even rockier of late due to Zara’s apparent refusal to take a break and make time for their relationship. Black has expressed in recent interviews his desire to get married and start a family.
After Zara’s big win, the two were seen arguing backstage. The quarrel continued at the afterparty where friends of the two tried to intervene.
Zara was allegedly drunk and stormed off. Black followed her outside where witnesses captured video of them yelling at one another before Asa Young, Zara’s co-producer on her latest album, put her in a car and they left together.
Neither Lorna nor Black’s people have been contactable for comment.
Stay tuned to CELEBX for updates.


CHAPTER 1

Absolution Calling

ASA

“Fuck,” Asa hissed under his breath when the call went straight to voicemail. Again.
He’d called Nikki three times. She hadn’t answered. She always answered.
He stared at his phone without really seeing it.
The sound of retching filled the hotel suite again. He grimaced and scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell was he going to do?
Of all the dumbass dumbest shit he had ever done, this was by far the worst.
He raked unsteady fingers through his hair and looked at his phone again, willing it to give him a new idea.
He’d even tried to call André and he never called André. That was how desperate he was.
Why wasn’t Nikki answering? She always answered. What could be more important…and then it clicked.
Nikki was having her baby.
Shit!
His best friend was having a baby!
And instead of being there, like a best friend should be, he was two thousand miles away in a hotel suite in Los Angeles with the most famous woman in the world puking her guts out.
It only helped drive the point home that he shouldn’t even be here!
Nothing about this night made sense.
He knew he should have argued harder with Nikki about going in her stead.
“I won’t win. You’ll just have to fill a seat. Maybe shake some hands. It’s no big deal.”
But she should have picked someone else. It wasn’t his place. This wasn’t his world anymore.
But he’d gone because Nikki had asked him to. And he’d do pretty much anything for Nikki. Even when it was obvious she’d only picked him because she thought he needed to dip his toe back into the industry he had basically shunned for almost four years.
Nikki’s nomination for producer of the year had left him feeling prouder than hell for his bestie. She’d worked her ass off making this album and it showed. He wasn’t even a little bit surprised when her name was called and he had to walk up to the podium to accept her award.
Not surprised, no.
But overwhelmed? Yes.
His hands had started tingling the moment he’d hit the NMA red carpet. By the time Nikki’s name had been called, the tingling had spread up his arms to his shoulders and settled somewhere at the base of his skull.
While he’d smiled and joked into the blinding lights and had felt a measure of satisfaction at the ripple of laughs in front of him, his insides had turned into a murder of crows. Black wings and loud caws echoed through his tired, stiff body.
The next bit had been a blur. Going backstage, short interviews, photographs, people he recognized but didn’t actually know. The entire place had been like a hazy, well-dressed hallucination.
He hadn’t planned it. He’d meant to go back to the hotel. He had a book waiting for him and he’d wanted to read before trying to sleep and then getting to the airport early.
But somewhere between him accepting the award and now, he’d been talked into “stopping by the afterparty.”
Talked into it by the very person now hurling in his hotel bathroom.
Zara Lorna had also won big that night—Album of the Year, Artist of the Year, Single of the Year…probably others.
She’d been so hype…he’d got caught up in the energy of it all.
And he knew better. He knew better.
This life, this world, it wasn’t for him. He didn’t belong, he didn’t fit. He never had and he never would.
But fuck him, right?
Because he’d gone to the stupid afterparty.
It was as if he’d forgotten every painful lesson that music had taught him.
If one thing happened—good or bad—that was out of the ordinary, then a whole avalanche of “what the fuck” was sure to follow.
He really couldn’t blame Zara—well, he could, but he knew, he freaking knew it was a bad idea. And he wasn’t that guy. He owned his choices. No matter how gorgeous the siren asking him to please play lemon mouth with her at the bar was.
He closed his eyes against the memory of her bright smile and amber eyes that seemed to sparkle with some otherworldly glow as she’d grabbed his hand and begged him to come to the afterparty. To do shots. To celebrate their win.
Her energy was contagious. He’d experienced it secondhand in the studio while watching Zara and Nikki work together months and months ago. He’d only been there to flip switches and push buttons under Nikki’s direction. But Zara had been the one who’d commanded the room.
In every room.
He thought she’d had no idea who he even was until he’d nearly tripped over her backstage.
She’d grabbed hold of his lapels to catch her balance and her face had lit with recognition.
He couldn’t remember the exact conversation that followed but it didn’t matter. He’d been a goner the moment she’d aimed that brilliant smile at him. He’d have agreed to drive her to Mordor if she’d have asked.
It wasn’t like he was a sucker for every beautiful woman that he met—he wasn’t. Really.
Zara had this magnetism about her. He’d been powerless and he hadn’t even cared.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.
He reached up to loosen his tie but it wasn’t there; he’d already taken it off. He undid the top two buttons and made another pass across the room.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Was he going to get in trouble for taking Zara? Was the FBI closing in on him? Where the hell were her people? No one had even tried to stop him! Shouldn’t there be bodyguards and assistants and…and…an entourage?
Not one person around them had tried to step in. Logan Black had yelled at the most beautiful woman in the world and everyone...took a big step back. Punk ass bitches.
“Hey,” came a hoarse voice from the other side of the bathroom door.
His body locked up even as he sprinted that direction. “Do you need anything?” he asked, licking his dry lips.
“Yeah…” She cleared her throat. “Do you, uh, have anything I can wear?” she asked.
Wear?
He frowned. She was dressed when she’d gone in there. In a dark red evening gown that went to the floor. Long sleeved with a high neckline.
What had happened to that?
Oh, right. The vomiting.
“Uhh…” He rubbed the back of his head as he thought. He had his clothes he’d worn on the flight yesterday, his increasingly sweaty tux, and a clean shirt he’d been planning on wearing tomorrow. And a clean pair of boxer briefs that had holes in them.
He could let her wear the clean shirt, but he was not letting her see the holey boxers.
He went to his duffel, happy to have something to do for a second to maybe (hopefully) stop him from freaking out. He dug out the shirt and paced back to the bathroom door.
“I have this,” he said, setting the shirt on the floor. “And I’ll be back with pants.” He didn’t wait for her reply before he left the room.
He was down the hall and in the elevator before he’d taken his next full breath.
You know what hadn’t been on his NMA bingo card? Kidnapping a pop star. The idea had never entered his mind.
And yet.
He had been trying to avoid any and all things that would result in press coverage. He knew that accepting Nikki’s award would probably get him a consolatory mention in the bottom of an article or two.
But rescuing Zara Lorna from a public breakup with her idiot boyfriend?
Leaving with her?
Those were things that brought the exact kind of attention he loathed.
What the hell had he been thinking? He couldn’t remember. He must’ve blacked out or something. Nothing that involved self-preservation, that was for sure. But as all his regrets tumbled around in his head, jacking up his internal body temperature, he knew he’d do it again.
He had a distinct memory of Zara’s happy face crumbling in confusion and hurt. After that, it was sort of a blur. He’d just gotten her as far away from Logan Black as he could. Moving completely on instincts he didn’t even know he had.
Instincts that were probably going to get him arrested.
Or at the very least, ripped apart online.
He was going to throw up.
But no one else was going to do anything! He circled back to the fact that everyone had done nothing. They’d heard it. They’d seen it. And they’d just watched, with little smirks and calculating eyes.
So yeah, maybe rescuing her had been the worst choice for him. He was a nobody from nowhere. But no matter how many times he went over it, he knew his actions would be the same.
Taking a deep breath, he scanned the hotel gift shop. He found some gray sweatpants with Los Angeles written down the leg in pink.
What size did she wear? Probably small? He closed his eyes for a beat and tried to picture her.
She was five-five or so, slender, athletic. Fucking out of this world, couldn’t look away gorgeous. He grabbed a medium and held it up next to the small.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
He just needed to pick one.
She’d been throwing up for a while. Something oversized would probably be more comfortable. That’s what he’d want.
Medium.
If it was too big, he’d bring it back.
He wiped at the perspiration along his hairline that he hoped no one noticed as he put his article on the counter.
“Big party tonight?” the cashier asked.
Asa stared at her, waiting for thoughts to form into words that would reach his mouth. Sweat trickled down his temple to his earlobe.
The cashier lifted an eyebrow and nodded at Asa. He glanced down. Right. He was still somewhat in his tux.
“Yeah,” he finally replied, spotting a reach-in cooler nearby. “Hold on.” He grabbed several bottles of water and a sports drink and added them to his purchase.
The total made his eyes bug out. Hotel markups were fucking insane.
He paid, took the bag the cashier handed him, and half-jogged back to the elevator.
The moment the doors closed on him and he was alone, he took another deep breath and brushed the back of his hand over his damp forehead.
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.
He hadn’t done anything wrong; he had nothing to worry about. The only thing he was guilty of was trying to help someone.
So what if she was the most famous person in the world?
That was beside the point. Her being a pillar of the music industry’s entire existence was irrelevant.
A shiver ran through his body as the doors opened.
He stepped out and froze as his mind fought through that buzzing sound in his skull to remember which direction his room was.
He took a right and found the door.
His hands shook as he tried to get the key card out of his pocket. His hands were so sweaty that he dropped it twice.
He glanced up and down the hall, fully expecting Zara’s private security to tase him at any second.
Part of him hoped for it. Just blinding, paralyzing pain, and then it would be over. He could go to jail and stop worrying.
The feeling of impending doom beat down on his shoulders making it hard to stay upright.
He fumbled the key again and shot another look down the hall.
But there was no one.
Which led him to wondering what kind of shit security lost their one priority? They had one job.
He got the door open and threw the deadbolt the second it closed behind him.
The bathroom door remained closed and he eyed it warily.
“I, um…” He tried to swallow but his mouth and throat were dry as a bag of cotton balls. He approached the door and knocked once. His hand shook and he squeezed it into a fist at his side. Please don’t be dead. “I have pants and water.” Even his voice was a wreck.
He set the bag on the floor by the door and took one of the waters for himself.
How was he shivering and sweating at the same time? Was he losing his mind? Was this what a psychotic break felt like? Was his internal wiring shorting out?
The room’s A/C control panel was on the opposite side against the wall. He hurried over to it. He just needed to get the temperature to a respectable level. Not this sweltering, swampy, jungle biome.
Jamming the button as many times as he could until the numbers stopped moving, he stood over the vent, letting the cold air wash over his face and chest. He ripped his suit jacket off, followed shortly by his dress shirt, leaving on his thin white undershirt.
Sweat poured off his brow and dripped from the ends of his hair onto his shoulders.
He removed his belt and tossed it aside. Then he removed his shoes and socks and tried to dig his toes into the dense carpet.
He unscrewed the lid on the water and his hand shook as he raised it to his lips, splashing water up his nose and down his front.
The door to the bathroom opened a crack and his eyes darted that direction.
An arm slipped through the crack and pulled the bag inside with her.
She wasn’t dead.
She wasn’t unconscious.
Relief should have had his heartrate leveling out but it had done nothing.
He drained his water and tossed the empty bottle aside. Bending over he put his hands on his knees and tried to slow his breathing.
What. The. Fuck. Was. Happening?
Was he having a fucking stroke?
His focus grew dark as air rasped in his lungs.
He was either going to cry or pass out.
He hoped it was pass out. He needed a break from his bullshit brain and going unconscious seemed like a very good idea right about then.
“Are you okay?”
He jolted upright, lost his balance, fell backwards onto his ass, and hit his head against the wall between the A/C unit and the bed.
Pain radiated from the back of his skull and he blinked. Confused.
“Oh no.” A blurry figure crouched beside him on the floor.
He squinted but the blurry person wouldn’t come into focus.
Oh, he was definitely concussed.
“Here,” came a soft, feminine voice that he would realize later was laced with barely restrained laughter.
His glasses were carefully put back on his face.
Oh.
So not a concussion.
Zara came into focus as she crouched next to him.
His gaze swept over her, taking in her ruined updo, makeup free face, puffy eyes, the whites of which were still red from crying. Her glamorous dress had been replaced with his old, black band shirt that said “Infantstructure” on it in faded hot pink, and the sweatpants he’d gotten in the gift shop.
She was alive.
And she didn’t look pissed or scared or upset at him.
But still.
“I’m sorry I kidnapped you,” he said, getting it out there.
Her lips tipped up on the ends. “You didn’t kidnap me,” she said softly.
She shifted, taking a seat on the floor right next to him, back against the wall. Their hips touched and her legs stretched out beside his but ended at least six inches sooner.
He took his first easy breath since she’d locked herself in the bathroom.
Her arm brushed his as she folded her hands in her lap and tucked them in between her thighs, crossing one ankle over the other.
He stared at their feet. Both bare.
Hers were small and pedicured, the toenails a dark red color that had matched the dress she’d been wearing earlier.
His feet were not as fancy. Much larger in size. Had his big toe always looked like that?
He flexed his feet and studied them side by side.
Huh.
Those were his feet all right.
He looked at hers again. They were really pretty. He couldn’t remember ever thinking feet were pretty before in his life.
Should he be doing more with his hygiene in regard to foot care?
“You probably saved my career,” Zara said thoughtfully, interrupting his thoughts.
That was too noble an accusation but he didn’t argue.
Now that he was on the floor and not freaking out about the world’s most beloved pop star maybe possibly dying in his bathroom, his breathing returned to normal. As did his heartrate.
A chill swept through him and he became aware of the temperature in the room.
Damp still clung to his back and underarms but he no longer felt like he was suffocating. He reached one arm over the edge of the A/C unit and reversed his previous temperature selection.
The appliance finished its cycle and shut itself off. The room grew quiet. Through the walls, he could hear the sounds of the hotel—slamming doors, children running, happy shouting.
He continued to stare at his feet that didn’t match her perfect ones.
“Thanks for the clothes,” she said, her voice soft and tired.
He thought he nodded. He meant to.
She was fine. He was fine. They were all fine.
Minutes passed as they sat there in silence. For as spun-out as his mind had been previously, it was now suspiciously quiet.
Nothing to question, nothing to worry about, nothing to say.
His breaths came easier the longer he sat there until he felt more like himself.
There had been a time when nothing freaked him out. When he was the one people had looked to as the levelheaded one.
He could expose his heart and thoughts to anyone interested in looking, and it didn’t scare him. It had felt natural. Like that’s what he was meant to do. What he’d been created for. To put into words and music the things others had a hard time expressing.
But that had been before he knew any better.
Zara stirred beside him. “This is going to make me sound like a shitty person,” she said, looking straight ahead. “But I don’t remember your name.”
“Asa,” he said, not offended at all.
Why would she know his name? She’d never used it. Even when she’d been asking him to go to the afterparty. He’d guessed she’d recognized him—he had one of those faces, or so he’d been told.
She nodded once. And then, “I’m Zara.”
He almost smiled. As if he and the rest of the world didn’t know who she was.
He felt rather than saw her look at him.
“You’re Nikki’s bestie, right?”
He let out a long, vocal sigh from bones to breath. “Yeah.”
Speaking of—
He fished his phone out of his pocket to check for messages. Nothing yet. “I tried to call her, um, when you were in the bathroom. But I think she’s having her baby.”
“Oh, that’s so great,” she whispered softly.
It was great.
It was really great.
Nikki was going to be a fantastic mother. André as a dad would be…fine. Asa was having a hard time staying mad at the guy. He’d showed up a year and half ago and just kept showing up. He still wanted to hate the guy on principal—he’d made his best friend cry. But it was getting more and more difficult to do that.
“And you’re stuck here with me,” Zara said with a sigh that sounded more like an apology.
“I’m just glad the FBI hasn’t shown up yet,” he muttered his honest thoughts.
Zara snorted. But he wasn’t kidding.
He looked at her deciding to ask his most pressing question. “Where are your people?”
Her amber eyes hinted at sadness even though her lips turned up on the ends.
He’d never seen her up close like this.
She was so…human.
No smoke. No sequins. No entourage. No filters. Underneath all those things she was still achingly beautiful.
Black eyelashes descended slowly over eyes that glowed to a point they were almost gold. “We used Logan’s security tonight. He…” She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t like to feel crowded.”
Asa narrowed his gaze. “He doesn’t like to feel crowded,” he repeated slowly.
Something that looked like shame flickered in Zara’s eyes and he immediately wanted to change how he’d said that.
She huffed a sigh. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said dismissively. “I texted Cas and told him where I am. He’s my head of security.”
The remaining weight of the unknown consequences of his actions disappeared and he felt his shoulders relax.
“You have your phone?” he verified, mostly for his own mental wellbeing.
She patted the side of her thigh. “I turned it off because Logan kept calling.” She curled her lip in disgust even as fresh tears welled in her eyes. Quickly she swiped them away.
He held his hands in his lap, unsure how to respond. He’d never been great at the comforting. Women crying always made him feel helpless and therefore frustrated.
To put a finer point on it, crying was frustrating. Whether it was a stranger, someone he cared about, or himself. When he cried, he both wanted to be alone and absolutely did not want to be alone. He had no idea if anyone else felt that way. He could ask, but it seemed inappropriate to ask while someone was crying.
He was much better at shit talking. Ask Nikki. If Zara wanted to talk shit about Logan Black, Asa could do that all day every day. But if she was still in the crying stage, then she wasn’t ready to hear Asa’s prepared list of Logan’s worst qualities. Starting with his smug fucking attitude and moving swiftly into his mediocre vocal work.
But Asa was well aware that his opinion had been born from the few moments he’d witnessed Logan and Zara’s argument. And the even more superficial segments he’d witnessed as any other bystander.
The thing was, Asa wasn’t usually wrong about his most scathing judgments. If he pinned someone as a dick, they were a dick.
André had been the one and only exception.
But the most irredeemable thing Logan had done as far as Asa was concerned, was be mean to Zara.
He didn’t know Zara. Not personally. Not even professionally. But he knew Nikki. And his best friend of more than two decades loved the woman sitting beside him.
Nikki had once told him that Zara was basically a stressed-out angel masquerading as a human.
Those words had stuck to his insides like honey-covered fingerprints.
He’d never found evidence to contradict it either. Not that he’d looked very hard.
From his point of view, Zara had made Nikki’s dreams a reality. And she’d treated her well in the process. That went a long way in Asa’s book.
It went so far as to make him feel protective of that person.
“Is it okay if I don’t talk about it?” Zara asked, her voice just above a whisper.
He reared back. “Of course it’s okay. It’s none of my business. It’s nobody’s business. You keep that shit locked up.”
Besides, he’d heard enough. Too much really. And it wasn’t like he was going to start talking about the shit that went down with him and Shelby and Gemma.
Unless you were there, you couldn’t know.
Zara hummed a noise. He didn’t know if it was gratitude or confusion. Maybe a bit of both.
He hated that she had to ask if she could keep her personal thoughts to herself. It really pissed him off actually. People shouldn’t be forced to talk about anything, but especially not those things that exposed their hearts and souls out of context.
“Everyone is going to have so many questions,” she whispered, sounding resigned.
“Do you have to answer them?” he asked against his better judgement.
She didn’t answer. But maybe that was an answer of its own.
“It’s no one’s business,” he repeated mostly to himself.
They had no rights to her. They didn’t own her.
He needed to get off this train of thought. It wasn’t helpful to her at all. And hadn’t that been his entire goal in getting her out of that situation? To help?
“You think you’re done hurling?” he asked, changing the subject.
She snickered. “Yeah. It wasn’t what I’d had to drink so much as…” Her voice faded out and he glanced at her. She took a breath and cleared her throat. “I throw up when I get overly emotional. It’s a fatal flaw,” she tried to joke.
He studied her for a beat, debating what to share.
“I have panic attacks when I kidnap people,” he said soberly.
Her resulting smile made most of what he’d gone through worth it.
The last lingering worries he had been clinging to, drifted away.
She was safe and she was okay.
That was enough.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.

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