Smiling at Everything

Jazz and Zack stood next to each other in the elevator traveling slowly to her penthouse. She honestly didn't know why she went through with the invitation. Sure, she felt a sort of trust in him but that wasn't enough to show him her home, to let him in on her background. It was too late to come up with a new plan now.

"Suck it up and take it, Presley."

Jazz jolted at the sudden voice. She wasn't even aware she was spacing out. Her eyes darted frantically around the elevator, trying not to draw attention from Zack. He couldn't know about this. She wasn't ready to talk about that.

She was hoping this wouldn't happen often on tour.

"This elevator music sucks," Zack commented.

He noticed her jump seconds ago. He wasn't sure what it was that made her do it but he was curious. When her eyes started darting around in a paranoid fashion, he figured he should step in to put her at ease.

"Elevator music always sucks," Jazz retaliated, her mind calming due to the distraction.

"You would think the elevator creators would realize that and change their music selection," Zack said.

"I always thought it was the building owner that chose the music."

Zack shrugged, "I'm a musician, not an elevator engineer. I wouldn't know. You, with your genius IQ on the other hand, should know."

Jazz scoffed, still keeping her relaxed smile, "My IQ got me nowhere in life."

"Do you really have a genius IQ?"

He was curious. Neon had mentioned Jazz's IQ more than once when making jokes. And he knew Jazz was an accelerated learner in school. But he didn't know if her IQ was really that high. If so, she must have been capable of coming up with extensive plans to trick people into thinking she was a bubblehead.

"Yep," Jazz piped.

She was watching the elevator numbers tick closer to her penthouse number. In seconds, they would be on the floor her penthouse encompassed. She was nervous.

"And you're a musician with that type of IQ?" Zack asked.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"Become a doctor and cure cancer."

"Ew. Doctor's look at blood," Jazz stated.

Like she really cared.

Zack chuckled at Jazz's mock valley girl accent. Then again, it could have been real. She was dressed a bit like a valley girl with the yellow dress and wedges. For all he knew, she could have been faking her voice the whole time.

The elevator slid open quietly. Both band members stepped out the second the doors opened. Zack glanced around. There was only one door on the floor located directly across from the elevator.

"Why is there only one door up here?" Zack asked.

"I have the only room on this floor," Jazz replied.

Jazz unlocked the door to her penthouse, holding it open so Zack could walk in. He raised an eyebrow at the action.

"Shouldn't I be holding the door open for you?" Zack asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That coffee you were drinking had me mistaking you for a girl," Jazz returned, smirking.

"Touché," Zack walked through the door.

He stopped the second he walked through the door, causing Jazz to run into his back. His mouth hung open in shock as he examined the penthouse. This wasn't what he was expecting from Jazz. He didn't know exactly what he was expecting when it came to Jazz's living conditions but a penthouse wasn't it.

Jazz walked around Zack, rubbing her abused nose. His back was fucking hard.

"Are you okay?" Jazz piped.

"This is where you live?" Zack asked.

"No, I just broke in. Of course I live here," she giggled.

She was being fake again. Showing him her penthouse made her nervous. Her mind subconsciously went into false emotion mode. By now, her brain was trained to turn to false emotions anytime she was feeling something other than bubbly.

"This is really nice."

"Thank you. Make yourself at home. There's food and energy drinks in the fridge and more channels than necessary on the television."

"Everything's so clean," Zack mumbled, "I'm afraid to mess it up."

"Don't worry; the maids will clean up if you make that bad of a mess."

Zack stared at her, incredulous. She had maids? First the Porsche worth over a hundred thousand dollars, then the penthouse, now maids. She must have been a great instructor on top of being a musician to afford that.

"If that's all, I'm going to go change," Jazz said.

"How long have you had this penthouse?" Zack asked before she could disappear up the stairs.

"Since I was eighteen," Jazz replied.

She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Zack even more shocked then before. Once inside her suite, Jazz locked the door and stripped from her expensive attire, standing in the middle of her room in only her underwear. She placed her jewelry back in the drawer, grabbed a new set of bracelets, and tossed her dress into the hamper. The maids would do the laundry in a few days. Maybe sooner since the band would be leaving for tour the next day.

Jazz shuffled into her closet, pulling out a random top and a pair of shorts from her performance attire section. Anything would do for meeting the organization representatives. They wouldn't pay attention to her attire; there was a high chance they wouldn't even pay attention to her. Not many people did during meetings.

She dressed quickly, tossing on clothing without worry. Before leaving the room, she slipped a pair of heels on her feet and grabbed her show makeup bag from the vanity. Zack wouldn't mind if she did her makeup in the living room. Jazz walked down the spiral staircase, coming back into view of her living room and kitchen. Zack was sitting on her plush, white couch. The television was off; he didn't have food or a drink in front of him.

Didn't he hear her when she said he could make himself at home?

"You didn't want anything to eat?" Jazz asked.

"I'm trying to figure out how you," he looked at her, thoughts halting.

The shorts had little fabric, showing off her long legs. Her shirt cut off above her belly button, her taut stomach visible. Zack could see every single well-placed curve on Jazz's body due to the tightness of the clothing; he couldn't keep his eyes from trailing her figure, his jaw hanging open.

What the hell had he been saying?

"How I what?" Jazz asked.

She knew what he was looking at. Her attire demanded attention. It always did. That's how her friends expected her to dress. Jazz Presley was not one for modesty in the eyes of her friends and fans. She didn't enjoy the attention. The lust-filled gazes she often got reminded her of the past. But she couldn't change the way she dressed. She couldn't risk people finding out.

She didn't know if she minded Zack's gaze half as much as she minded the gaze of other men and women. His was a bit more comforting. She could see the hint of admiration in his eyes. Not just lust, though that was there too. Regardless, Jazz's smile remained fake on her face.

"You look great," Zack said, still distracted.

"You were trying to figure out how I look great? Not about to run into my closet and steal my clothing, are you, Zack?" Jazz teased.

Zack snapped out of his daze, shaking his head, "I was trying to figure out how you could afford this at eighteen."

Jazz's smile tightened more. She didn't think he would ask her that. Talking about the amount of money her parents had wasn't something she really wanted to do before going to a meeting.

"And you can wipe that fake smile off your face because it's getting on my nerves," Zack stated.