At that moment I didn’t care. I rushed to my office, refusing to make eye contact with everyone I passed. I needed to be alone. To think. I was smack dab in the middle of a full-blown panic attack by the time I made it to the safety of my office. I shut the door behind me and locked it before crossing to my desk.
Thoughts were flooding my brain faster than I could process them. My breaths were shallow and labored. In an effort to get my shit together, I inhaled slowly through my nose. I just needed to address this situation from a completely unemotional place. I needed to approach this situation like I did everything that happened in my personal and professional life. Look at the data and make an informed decision.
First, if I agreed to these terms, and that was a big if, it would mean I’d be unavailable to run the wedding this weekend.
Alexis can handle it, a little voice sounded.
My assistant was more than ready to take on the task. And I would still be on-site if there was an emergency. There was no professional reason that I couldn’t accept.
A personal reason? That was less cut and dry.
Did I want to see Romeo?
Should I want to see Romeo?
Why was he doing this?
And why now?
Did it have something to do with my birthday?
No. He knew that I hadn’t celebrated a birthday since I lost my mom, it was too painful.
So what?
What was this about?
I needed more information.
My pointer finger tapped my mouse and my screen came to life. My fingers flew over the keys as I typed his name into Google. The band had broken up. That much I knew. There were some articles about him maybe going solo, but they seemed to be speculative.
Without thinking, I clicked on “images” and pictures of Romeo populated my screen and made my racing pulse speed up even faster. His piercing blue eyes and full lips surrounded by sexy scruff, instantly grabbed my attention. Next were the tattoos that covered his arms, chest, and neck.
He was a man now. A full-grown man, but I still saw that boy in a baseball cap. And after all these years, I still missed him. Despite all of my efforts to erase him, I ached to see him. I was still carrying an Olympic-torch-sized flame for him.
It occurred to me that might be the reason I’d never been able to move on with my life. Maybe this was exactly what I needed. I needed Romeo Whitehall closure.
In that instant, my mind was made up and I sent an email to Jessie accepting her terms.
I had no idea what was going to happen this weekend, but one thing was certain: Romeo Whitehall was coming to Oasis.
CHAPTER 2
Romeo
The ocean breeze caused the palm trees near the balcony railing I rested my elbows on to sway. Seagulls cawed in the distance. Waves crashed on the sandy shore beneath me. My Malibu beach house was undeniably a little piece of heaven on earth.
It had been my home for the past six years, but I never felt at home here. I’d lived in six different homes in my adult life, and this place had come the closest but it still wasn’t right. I never quite felt like I belonged here.
I used to believe that my nomadic lifestyle was to blame. As the drummer of a successful band I was on tour more than I was home. But since the band broke up mid-tour a year ago, I’d been home and I could honestly say that I felt no more settled here than I did when the realtor handed me the key the day that escrow closed.
The past year may not have made me feel more at home here but it had served as some much needed time of self-reflection. I was finally owning up to the person that I saw staring back at me in the mirror every morning.
It had been easy for me to ignore everything in my personal life for the past decade because of my schedule. Between recording, rehearsal, touring, and promotion, I’d rarely had two consecutive days off. But then a year ago, everything changed. I found myself with nothing on my calendar. No flights scheduled. No studio time booked. The first six months, I mostly slept. Slept, woke up, ate, worked out, and then slept some more.
Then one day, a random Thursday, I opened my eyes after sleeping a good fourteen hours and decided it was time to rejoin the land of the living. But this time on my terms. I was determined to clear out all the garbage from my past. I wanted to face all the things in my life that I’d been ignoring. I was going to address all the issues that I’d been pushing down and pretending weren’t there. I would tie up all the emotional loose ends that had held me back from enjoying my success and from enjoying my life.
The first thing I did was contact Behind Closed Doors, a Los Angeles-based firm that was recommended by a friend of mine that used them when he suspected his wife of cheating. Sadly, his suspicions were confirmed.
I hired them to find the woman that gave birth to me and then abandoned me when I was three years old. I’d assumed that it would be months before I heard anything but the investigator, Dominic, came back with news less than forty-eight hours later.
His report was detailed and thorough. When my mother divorced my father and left me almost thirty years ago, she’d traveled through Europe for about five years as a model before marrying a Wall Street broker and settling in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. That marriage lasted five years and ended in a contentious divorce. Over the next fifteen years, she married and divorced four more times. Then five years ago, she died alone and penniless. Her death was ruled an accidental overdose. She made the deadly mistake of mixing anti-depressants, pain killers, and alcohol.
In the music industry, I’d been close to my fair share of people who overdosed. But it was shocking to hear of it happening to a woman that, for some reason, I’d assumed was still alive.
I spent days, weeks, months being sad, frustrated, and angry, mostly at myself. I’d had the resources to find her long before I’d actually done it. If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my music, in the band, in chasing fame, I might’ve been able to see her when she was still alive. I might’ve been able to ask her the questions I’d always wanted to know. I might’ve been able to say the things that I’d rehearsed saying to her since I was a little kid.
Processing the news of her death and the fact that I would never have any closure when it came to my relationship with my mom took me out of commission for a while. But, after going to therapy, I was finally working through it.
I was also finally working on a solo project which made me determined not to let the only other relationship that was a loose end go untied.
Reaching into my back pocket, I took out my wallet. Gingerly, I removed and unfolded the envelope that I always kept in the billfold. Then, with even greater delicacy, I extracted the two pages of college-ruled lined paper. The pages were faded and thin, revealing their age. The moment I felt the slightly roughened texture on my fingertips, I exhaled and a sense of calm, that even the picturesque view in front of me failed to induce, settled over me.
This letter had traveled to countless cities and forty-plus countries with me. I’d read it at least once a day for the past twelve years. Sometimes ten times a day. It had seen me through my darkest nights and served as my lighthouse when the seas of life had been so choppy I was sure I would drown. It was my saving grace, my sanity, my most valuable possession.
It was put in safes when I couldn’t have it on my person. I’d scanned it and saved it to the Cloud, but there was nothing like the actual document. Nothing like the tactile sensation of holding it in my hands. Anytime I was stressed, angry, sad, happy, or excited I read this letter. Every milestone of my life, good or bad, didn’t feel real until I read this letter. This letter took me home.
All I had to do was hold these papers in my hand and in a moment I was instantly transported to the one place where I always felt safe, secure, and peaceful. Except, it wasn’t a place as much as it was a person. A person I hadn’t spoken to in over a decade. A person that I missed so much my body ached. A person that probably didn’t give me a passing thought.
But I had this.
This reminder of her and her heart.
I’d memorized every word written on those pages long ago. I could quote it front to back. But I’d never acted on it. I’d never directly addressed it. And now, I was sure it was too late to do any of that.
Still, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do. She deserved to know how I felt. She deserved to know why I’d kept silent all these years. The problem was, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.
But, I wasn’t about to let a little thing like that stop me.
I was going to make sure no more time passed without laying my cards on the table. There was no way to predict the outcome of me finally removing my head from my ass, but that wasn’t the point. I just needed to make things right with the most important person in my life.
With the care of a pediatric surgeon performing open heart surgery, I placed the letter back in its original envelope and put it in my wallet.
I went back inside the house, sat down on the piano bench, and lifted the fallboard on my Steinway baby grand. My fingers flew over the keys. I closed my eyes and the face that appeared every time I did, popped into my mind.
Long, red hair. Big, brown eyes. The widest smile that had ever been created.
Juliette.
Perfection. That’s what she was. She was the only perfect thing in my life. Or, at least she had been until the night that I screwed it all up.
I didn’t believe in regret. I considered it a useless emotion. If I did something shitty, then I just resolved not to do it again. I took responsibility for my actions, and moved on with my life. I didn’t wallow.
Growing up, my dad instilled in me a personal accountability. Excuses didn’t go over well in the Whitehall house. If I screwed up, the only way to deal with it was own up to my mistake and not repeat it.
Besides not searching for my mother sooner, what happened the night of Juliette’s birthday was a regret I carried around with me. Probably because I hadn’t owned up to it. I’d told myself for a long time that my reasons were altruistic. I was trying to protect her. Trying to do what was best for her. For years I fed myself that line of bullshit and I ate it up.
Lately, thanks to therapy, I was beginning to see the truth. I’d been scared. I hadn’t had the balls to face what I felt for Juliette. I hadn’t wanted to lose the one perfect thing in my life.
Ironically, my fear caused me to do exactly that.
As I played the melody of the song I’d written over a decade ago and never released, the lyrics fell from my lips.
Every night,
when I’m alone
I need to hear your voice
and I pick up my phone
I don’t make the call
’Cause I know if I did,
the farther I’d fall
Nothing compares
to your smile or your grace
Not a moment goes by
That I don’t see your face
Each time I close my eyes
You appear
Taunting me, teasing me
Telling me you’re not here
You are perfection
You inspire affection
You’re my perfection
You’re my heart’s reflection
You are perfection
You embody affection
You’re my perfection
You’re my soul’s reflection
Just as I played the intro to the second verse, my phone vibrated on the leather-tufted surface beside me. When I glanced down and saw that it was my publicist, Jessie, my heart raced. She was executing phase one of my plan.
“Hey,” I answered.
“I just received confirmation from Oasis. You’re all set.”
“Great, thanks.” I hoped that my response didn’t give away my excitement. I felt like I’d just won the lottery.
“Are you sure it has to be this weekend? I understand that you have a process and all but opportunities like this don’t come around all the time. And with you going solo, this could be huge. People only know you as the drummer for Valentine. This would give you a chance to show them who you are.”
I’d been asked to co-host the PMAs with singer Karina Black as a last minute replacement after her original co-host checked into rehab for “exhaustion.” I’d met Karina several times and I knew that she’d be an incredible partner in crime in what could be a very demanding job. She was funny, really smart, and her fans loved her.
Jessie thought that my trip to Oasis was about working on my solo album and clearing my head. The truth was, this was about clearing up my personal life.
I’d put this off for too long. When it originally happened, I told myself that I’d deal with it when I got home from a two month tour. During those two months the band exploded when one of our singles hit number one on the Billboard charts. That two month U.S. tour turned into a two-year world tour.
As soon as we played our last show, we went into the studio to record our next album and the entire thing happened again. I kept telling myself I would deal with it when. When I had more than two consecutive days off. When we finished the next album. When we stopped touring.
Now, twelve years later, I was not about to let another day go by without seeing Juliette. Well, since I was flying to New Mexico the next day, I suppose I’d let one more day go by, but not more than that.
Not to mention this weekend was a significant anniversary of sorts. And a birthday that I didn’t want to miss.
“I can’t, Jess. This isn’t about the music. It’s personal.”
“I’m guessing the person in this personal is Juliette Pierce?” she replied.
“Yep.”
“I thought the amendments to the contract were strange.” She paused before adding. “So you know her?”
“Yeah, she’s Jared’s little sister.” Jessie had met my best friend on several occasions.
“Why didn’t you reach out to her directly?”
“We haven’t spoken in over ten years.”
“Wait a minute, Romeo and Juliette…?”
“I know.” It had been a running joke when we were kids. One that Jared didn’t think was funny. I used to think it was amusing until I realized that my feelings for Juliette were more than friendly.
The summer before her freshman year and my senior year of high school everything changed. I stopped looking at her as Jared’s little sister, or my closest female friend. I started thinking about her all the time. I started noticing the way her eyes turned an intoxicating shade of amber when sunlight hit them. I noticed how her copper hair shimmered in the moonlight. I noticed that her bottom lip was slightly fuller than her top and I had the strongest urge to pull it between my teeth and bite it, then lick the sting away. I noticed her laugh sounded like it was composed by Chopin.
I noticed that every moment I wasn’t with her I missed her. And all these years later, nothing had changed.
“So…is she the reason?” Jessie asked.
“The reason?”
“The reason why you’ve never looked at another woman?”
Yes, but I wasn’t about to admit that to my publicist, even if we did have a friendship beyond our professional relationship. Besides, I had an entire list of women that I’d dated to argue against her theory.
“I was with Kim last summer and Bess last year and—”
“You were with them, but you didn’t see them,” she interjected, interrupting my list of short-term relationships.
“You think that every guy that dates someone sees them?”
“No. But you would. If you loved them, you would.”
She was right. I would, if I loved them.
“They were all stand-ins,” she stated as if it were fact.
When I didn’t reply, she asked, “So, what happened?”
“I messed up.”
“And now you’re going to try and fix it?”
No, I’m going to fix it. “Yeah.”
“I can see the headlines now: ‘Romeo Atte
mpts to Win the Fair Heart of Juliette After Being an Idiot.’” I could hear the smile in Jessie’s voice as she said, “Oh this is gonna be good.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about me trying to fix things or that from a PR standpoint the fact that I’d end up with someone named Juliette was a gift from the PR Gods. But either way, she dropped the music awards show.
“I’ll touch base Monday for an update.” She disconnected the phone.
As I sat back and stared at the keys in front of me, I couldn’t help but smile. In a little over twenty-four hours I’d see those eyes, that smile, that face in real life.
I’d see perfection.
CHAPTER 3
Juliette
The baggage claim area buzzed around me. People were reuniting, saying goodbye, arriving, and leaving. There were smiles, tears, laughter, and hugs.
I wondered if any of them felt like their entire world was about to get flipped on its head. I wondered if any of them were as terrified as I was in that moment. I wondered if any of them felt like they were about to puke.
From what I could see, I was alone in my distress. No one else appeared to be on the verge of vomiting, or so scared they were shaking, or convinced that life as they knew it was about to come to an end.
Could any of them tell that was the state that I was in? Or would the casual observer think I was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected? I could only hope.
My heart was pounding so hard beneath the cotton of my white button-down shirt that I was sure it had to be visible, but no one around me seemed to notice. I glanced down to see if it was obvious and immediately regretted my wardrobe decision.
I was picking up a man that I’d known since I was six years old wearing a black pencil skirt, a white long-sleeved shirt, and gray heels. For the love of bacon, I was even wearing my Oasis Resort and Spa name tag. I only wore the nametag for events I worked at the resort.
You are working, I reminded myself.
This wasn’t a social visit. I was picking up a client for the resort. My attire was entirely appropriate. It also didn’t hurt that these clothes made me feel powerful and in-charge. People took me seriously when I dressed like this. Not a hair out of place, makeup impeccably applied, clothes that had been custom-tailored to fit my body.
Resisting Romeo (Steamy Weekends Book 3) Page 2
