and plucked up a bottle of vodka chilling in the compartment of ice. He didn’t even bother mixing it with tonic water, simply unscrewed the lid, tipped the bottle back, and guzzled. As he nearly emptied a quarter of its contents, Darren, Burk, and Syd watched with worried faces. Ross pinned me with an accusatory sneer.
This night couldn’t end soon enough.
Quinn passed out flutes of champagne before raising his glass. “Congratulations to you all. I’m damn proud to be a part of your journeys.”
Ozzy fisted the bottle of vodka high in the air. “To a shit ton of Grammys and bruised balls.”
As he took another long pull from the bottle, Ross yanked it from Ozzy’s hand and shoved it back into the ice.
“I wasn’t done with that.”
“You are now,” Ross said with a brittle smile.
The tension in the limo was thick as honey and nowhere near as sweet.
“What party are we hitting first?” Ava asked in a voice tight with artificial cheer.
“William Drake is hosting a private dinner at his mansion. Then we’ll hop over to the Beverly Hills Hotel where DJ Breeze and Felicia Gwen have booked the Crystal Ballroom for the night. We need to make an appearance at the party Blunt is hosting at Dirty Debbie. After that, if anyone’s still able to stand”—Quinn stated pointedly staring at Ozzy—"we’ll finish out the night at Black Gardens.”
The awkward pall hung in the silent air, sending tendrils of guilt weaving through me. Though I wasn’t sorry for standing my ground with Ozzy, I felt remorse for inadvertently turning what should have been a night of euphoric celebration into a prickly cactus festival. It was past time for me to address the elephant in the limo.
“I apologized to Ozzy, but I want to extend the same to all of you. I shouldn’t have lost my temper back there. Please forgive me.”
“It’s all right, chica,” Syd piped up with a crooked grin. “We’ve all wanted to kick Ozzy in the nuts before.”
The guys chuckled softly. Ozzy sneered and flipped Syd the middle finger.
And just like that, the tension began to slightly lessen.
“I love your outfit, Phoenix.” Tori smiled softly.
“Thank you.”
“Who designed it?” Sofia asked.
Ava’s lips twitched as she bit back a smile. Clearly, my fellow females had accepted my apology even if they hadn’t acknowledged it out loud.
“It’s an Alexander Wang.”
I didn’t bother mentioning it was the first time I’d ever worn designer threads, or that I’d nearly had a heart attack when I discovered how much the skimpy little outfit had cost.
“It barely covers your tits and ass,” Ozzy drawled.
The condemnation in his voice made me fight the urge to cover myself with my arms.
“Shut up, Oz,” Sofia snapped. “She looks gorgeous and you damn well know it.”
He shot me a sidelong glance, mumbling something under his breath.
“Gorgeous, my ass,” Syd barked. “She looks hot as fuck.”
“Thanks,” I replied softly.
Ozzy sent the man a pointed glare. Syd simply blew him a kiss and laughed. I bit my lips together to keep from following suit.
I’d missed Syd nearly as much as his snarly bandmate. His lack of filter and the way he gave zero fucks about offending anyone were always a breath of fresh air.
By the time we reached record producer, William Drake’s palatial mansion, the atmosphere in the limo had grown exponentially lighter.
When we entered the foyer, I felt like a princess stepping into a storybook castle. It was impossible not to gape. Both Ozzy’s and Nigel’s million-dollar monstrosity homes paled in comparison to this. The marble floor, shimmering crystal chandelier, and bold, colorful paintings illuminated on the walls probably cost more than I could make in six lifetimes, and this was just the entryway.
William Drake greeted and congratulated us on our awards before ushering us to the grand ballroom. Several guests were already seated around white-linen-draped tables, drinking and laughing. While Burk, Darren, and Quinn each helped Sofia, Tori, and Ava into their seats, Syd hurried in and pulled a chair out for me.
I sent him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
As I sat down, I spied ten pieces of shimmering silver flatware surrounding the elegant Wedgewood place setting. For a girl who usually devoured drive-through delicacies with a spork, I was totally intimidated. Even more so when several servers, dressed in crisp tuxedos, swooped in, placed my napkin across my lap, and filled the plethora of glasses situated in front of me with wine, champagne, and water.
I was so out of my element.
Glancing up, I locked eyes with Ozzy,