Read Backstage with Her Ex for Free Online Page A

past is best left alone. Agreed?’
    â€˜Couldn’t have said it better myself.’ Repetition made reality. The past is best left alone. Including ex-girlfriends who had started to haunt his dreams.
    In truth he should have got Dario to sort this, as usual; Nate was far too busy to deal with schedules. So call it self-indulgent or just plain dumb, but the thought of seeing her before he went back to LA appealed. More than he wanted to admit.
    She was his connection to his past, the experiences that had shaped him, given him the verve to fight hard for what he wanted.
    A vibe hovered between them. He’d had lots of vibes before with lots of women. But this was bigger, stronger than ever. He ignored it. Tried to ignore it.
    But he couldn’t help looking at her, mesmerised by how the simple halter-neck dress with the daisy pattern and flared skirt, the same blue as her eyes, accentuated her fine collarbones. How her hair looked pull-down ready, and how his hand itched to reach out and let the curls flow over her shoulders.
    She was gorgeous. Not Cara gorgeous, but then he’d spent a lot of time trying to work out which parts of her were real and which were fake. Certainly, her outspoken ministrations of everlasting love had been false. Everlasting. Pah. In Hollywood everlasting meant five minutes. But then, Sasha had promised him a lifetime too, and look where that had ended.
    Man, this was wild. He forced out a breath. He’d forgotten all about her, consigned her to bad history and pushed her to the dark recesses of his brain. Now here she was invading every thought, his space, the flame of red hair looking pretty darned perfect against the cream couch.
    But self-indulgence had been too costly in the past and he’d do well to remember that. Sasha might have held his heart once, but she’d damned near thrashed it too. Taking her to bed would be mighty fine, but he’d never trust her with anything more. Never again.
    Staring at the papers in her hand, she shrugged. ‘We’re planning on doing the concert in two weeks’ time. Saturday. The twenty-eighth. Spring Bank Holiday weekend.’
    â€˜Two weeks? You don’t mess about.’
    â€˜I told you we were running out of time.’
    And there went his month’s holiday in Italy. ‘I’ll get Dario to handle the details, make sure I’m in town.’
    â€˜That would be great. Brilliant.’ But she didn’t look pleased.
    â€˜So, what’s the problem now?’ Crazy, but without thinking he touched her cheek. She curled into his touch briefly, before shifting out of reach, the papers hovering in her hand in mid-air. Her gaze dropped to her lap, but he didn’t miss the flash of fire in her eyes and that stoked something in him too. ‘You don’t seriously want me to be interested in the details?’
    â€˜Why wouldn’t you be? It’s your show. And it makes things run smoothly if we’re all on the same page.’
    He looked at the papers in neat pink plastic folders all with little stickies on them. ‘Which page exactly? You have so many.’
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong with planning, Nate.’
    â€˜Sure. But that’s what I pay someone else to do. I see you’re still a walking-talking stationery cupboard. You haven’t got a smartphone app for all this?’
    â€˜I prefer hard copy. It’s easier if you can see it all laid out.’
    â€˜It’s easier if I don’t see it at all.’ Planning in minutiae had always been Sasha’s way of coping after her father’s death—of ensuring the ordered life and stability she’d wanted. He used to think her organisational OCD was quirky and endearing, the way she’d carry her diary around religiously and check things, plan. If it hadn’t been for her management skills he wouldn’t have secured the gigs and the subsequent recording contract.
    Their whole future had