Ritual of Rhyme Records’ headquarters is in LA. I also have offices in New York and London.
“Excellent. Anything else?”
“Yes. You received four calls from industry magazines and websites. They want to interview you.”
“Wow. Already?”
“There’s a lot of excitement about next week,” she smiles.
“I’m honored.”
“You deserve it,” she praises.
“I’m proud of Vickie Sky, Misty Ace, Bryant Harris and Dillon Carter.” Those artists’ careers are on fire. They’re favorites for the StreamTunes Awards.
“Some insiders predict a landslide win for you and the label. Watch out, there’s a new kid in town!”
I laugh.
“Please. It could go either way,” I counter.
But, I hope it goes my way.
CHAPTER 6
Holt
Thank God Mrs. Talbot was on duty to pick up Naomi from school because it’s already seven thirty by the time I park the Range Rover in front of the house.
My cousin Jace, his older brother, Jagger and I are all single dads and we live in the same exclusive gated cul-de-sac community in Manhattan Beach. Since it's movie night for Mrs. Talbot, the kids and the Staffies, it's guys’ night out for us. Jagger has already dropped off his twelve-year-old daughter Bridgette with Mrs. Talbot. Bree is there now.
My cousins are waiting for me at our favorite neighborhood hangout place. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I head to Scran & Dram.
“Hey, Holt!” Jace waves me over.
I walk to the table in the corner—the same one we always sit at.
“Hey,” I greet Jace and Jagger. They’re already nursing a drink.
“Sorry I'm late,” I say, taking a seat.
“Long day?” Jagger asks.
“Aren't they all?” I say, rubbing my hands over my face.
After my meeting with Jonathan, I got stuck in a series of conference calls with the different directors responsible for rolling out a stellar world tour. All the pieces required to make this happen flawlessly is a real jigsaw puzzle. Although there's a part of me that just wants to roll under my covers and take full advantage of the fact I'm off daddy-duty, an evening out with my cousins is exactly what I need.
“Damn right,” Jace says.
“I hear you,” Jagger sympathizes. “At least I don’t have to deal with traffic.”
As one of the best songwriters in the industry, Jagger has the luxury of working almost exclusively from his home-studio.
“The trio is complete,” Bear says, approaching our table. “You made it.”
“As if there's any other way to kick off the weekend,” I tell him.
“Aye,” he chuckles. “What will ya have, Holt?”
“A Rusty Nail, please, Bear.”
“Do I bring you boys a pint of fresh lager?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Jace says at the same time as Jagger says, “Thank you, buddy.”
Forty-three-year-old Bearnard Alistaire Wilson co-owns this place with his younger brother Clyde. Both are bona fide Scots who moved to LA as young adults. Their joint is a Scottish-slash-British pub & grill with a variety of whiskies, pub food favorites and a cigar terrace. They took over Bannockburn’s Hole from their father five years ago. Updating the crusty decor and mediocre menu was the right thing to do. Once they changed the lackluster name to a catchier one, business took off. Scran & Dram is perfect. Scran means grub and dram means a small drink of whiskey.
He’s back in no time. “Here you go, lands,” Bear says, handing us our drinks.
The three of us thank him before taking a long swig.
“Hey Bear, coming up here I noticed your competition is out of business,” I say, dropping my glass on the table in front of me.
“Aye. They shut down the operation three days ago. Bye-bye Uni Bar!”
Bear wasn't too pleased to see a new pub open three doors down from his eight months ago.
“I guess glitter beer didn’t fly,” I say.
“Along with the kale chips, tofu steaks and the yarrow root fries,” Jace adds.
“And let’s not forget their assortment of twenty-one yummy unicorn desserts for your enjoyment,” Bear mocks. “Fucking lame. I’d sooner have my cock chopped off before I serve that kind of rubbish.”
“Even Bree grew out of her rainbow phase,” Jagger interjects.
“Exactly. How daft can you be?” Bear says.
“As if there was something wrong with being a man?” Jace chimes in.
“Aye,” Bear points a commiserating finger at my cousin. “Thirty-something lads decide to open a pub to allow their immature mates to live out all their childhood dreams with rainbows, unicorns, glitter and sparkles? Hmph. Man up, will ya.”
“Rompers for men, beanie hats, man buns. It’s a new trend,” Jace says.
“Pish. Bloody wankers,” Bear shakes his head. “I blame this whole metrosexual movement for leading men astray.”
“The future is bleak,” Jagger jokes.
“Tell me about it. Menicures with nail polish? Why?”
Jagger and I chuckle at Bear’s disgusted expression.
“Fuck that. Fuck glitter beer and fuck unicorn frappuccinos!” Bear exclaims.
“Hear, hear!” Jace, Jagger and I lift our glasses.
“At least you guys haven’t turned to the dark side,” Bear says, “You’re still men. Rightly so. I’d have to slash my wrists open if former rockers like you lads would have descended into the annals of cock-less wimps who think glitter is the solution to all their problems.”
“That'll never happen,” Jace affirms. “We might be fathers, but we’re still bad boy rockers at heart, right boys?”
“Well, in my case, glitter was the answer to all my problems today,” I say.
Three pairs of blue eyes stare at me.
“What?” Jace and Bear’s shocked expression is priceless.
I share with Bearnard and my cousins my eventful morning, the joy those donuts brought Naomi and how she couldn't stop talking about them when Mrs. Talbot picked her up. My little girl even grabbed an extra donut to share with her cousins and her nanny. That kind of stuff warms a father's heart. Of course, I say nothing about Everly. Jagger won't ask too many questions, but Jace will drill me.
“Aaahhh. Those were the days when my lassies were still wee.” Bear has three teenage girls. He opens his mouth to say something, but his brother waves him over. “Sorry, mates, I've got to go back to playing boss,” he chuckles. “I'll be back to check up on ya in a bit.”
All three of us answer with a nod.
“When a grown man is excited about sprinkled donuts, you know it's time for an intervention,” Jace says as Bear walks away from our table.
Once he’d retired from the music industry, my cousin did a one-eighty. He took the US by storm as a flashy tell-it-like-it-is life coach for single dads. You wouldn’t believe his following.
“There's nothing wrong with me. I'm simply a father. Just like you,” I respond.
“You don't hear me going on about fucking glittered donuts.”
“You have a boy. It’s different when you have a girl,” I defend.
“It is,” Jagger chimes in. “I've been telling him that for five years.”
Ryder is six, but Jace didn’t know he had a son until his kid was fifteen months old.
“Your dry spell is affecting your brain and your fucking balls,” Jace sneers. “Lucky for you, I know exactly what kind of remedy you need, dear cuz. Get your cock wet and glitter will be the least of your concerns.”
“I’ve been busy, Jace,” I remind him. “I have other things on my mind than pussy. It was more important for me to make sure my daughter adjusts to life back in LA after two years away than chasing skirt.” So what if my celibacy is self-imposed.
He gives me this weird side-look. “Is that your excuse? Like you were fucking your way through London.”
“Fuck off!”
I really have to stop telling him so much.
“Just because he's a life coach, he thinks he knows everything,” Jagger shakes his head with an eye roll.
“Whatever,” Jace throws at his brother. “You can redeem yourself tomorrow,” he says, turning his attention back to me.
I furrow my eyebrows.
“Our dates with Trish and her cousin Kendra. Whatever you do, make sure to break your dry spell tomorrow night. Trish tells me Kendra is very eager to meet you.”
“Shit,” I wince.
Trish Hodges was an attendee at one of Jace’s expensive weekend boot camps for single dads in Chicago three months ago. Jace’s audience consists of wealthy execs, dot-com whiz kids and a lot of men in the medical field. Trish was sitting pretty in the audience because she was hoping to catch the attention of one of those wealthy heavy hitters. She caught Jace’s. They’ve been on this kinky distance affair ever since. Kendra Winters is her single cousin who’s tagging along with her.
“Don't tell me you forgot,” Jace harps. I haven't, but I was hoping for a change of plan on their part. “Holt, we agreed on the date a month ago because Naomi has a sleepover.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble.
“Don't be like that,” Jace says. “This is perfect. They’re cousins, we’re cousins.”
“I prefer to take care of business when I travel… away from my daughter… if you know what I mean,” I tell him. “It's easier that way. No fuss, no muss. And more importantly, no freaking drama.”
“Trish and Kendra are only here for the weekend,” Jace reminds me. “They're flying back to Chicago early Monday morning… just when you're leaving for NYC. The timing couldn't be better.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Why do you always drag me into these things, Jace? How come your brother is never your wingman?”
“Because I'm smart,” Jagger retorts.
“No, because there's no amount of help that can drag you out of your dark cave,” Jace snaps back. “Had it not been for Bree, we’d never see you. You've given up on women, therefore, you've given up on your cock, remember?” Jace tells Jagger.
“It's best that way,” Jagger grumbles before taking a gulp of his drink. His mood changes and you can see him shutdown.
Jace should know better.
CHAPTER 7
Everly
Callum has declared this year the ‘stepping out of my comfort zone’ year. The Flashback Fridays, which kicked off in January, were just the beginning. Last month it was my dramatic hair color change. I can’t say ombré hair was ever something I considered before, but famed hairstylist Gregory Simeon changed that. Gregory is my cousin Ainsley’s—and other LA socialites’—go-to guy. Gregory was certain purple ends were for me. I thought he was high. I spent half a day at his salon and when he was done, I had this rich sheen of dark purplish-red color coating the ends of my long hair. I loved it!
Because I’d fled home to leave the pain behind, Callum made it his mission to pull me out of my shell. That’s why he comes up with a new challenge every month. He’s done a great job of it. Most challenges have been quite fun. Except for this one.
This month Callum declared it was time to take things to new heights—literally. So here we are on one of my rare Saturdays off and I’m standing on the Santa Monica Pier a few minutes away from staring death in the face. Let the good times roll. Not! Since Callum is manning the shop, his twin sister, Ainsley, is my wing-person.
“That’s freaking high,” Ainsley says.
“No kidding.”
“I can’t believe you let Callum talk you into this.” Ainsley’s head is tilted way back and her hand is shielding her eyes from the sun. “Too bad it isn’t raining. You could’ve cancelled.” She lets out a loud laugh.
“You know Callum. He would've rescheduled.” My head is also tilted way back.
God, that’s high.
“You’re right,” she says, looking down at me. Ainsley isn’t as tall as her twin brother, but she sure as a hell is taller than I am. “Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with.” She slides her designer shades over her face, hiding her blue eyes. “Saks Fifth Avenue in Beverly Hills is having a ‘Just Landed’ event for French designer Rocha Roche and I’m here holding your hand instead of giving my Black Amex a good workout. Don’t ever say I don’t love you.”
“You changed your mind? You’ll do this with me?”
“God no. I’m only twenty-six. I haven't hit my prime yet,” she says, sleeking her perfectly blow-dried light brown hair with highlights behind her ears. “I love my life too much to be that foolish. I'll be on that bench over there,” she points behind me, “working on my tan while you try not to kill yourself.”
“You’re not being very supportive,” I complain.
“I don’t need to walk in another woman’s shoes to live a little. I already do every day of my life,” she grins.
She says that because her and her mom, Aunt Angelina, own a very successful affordable designer online shoe company with extended pop-up stores in Venice Beach and San Francisco.
“Everly Bickford-Smith?”
My stomach lurches at the sound of my name. “Yes.”
“I’m Oliver Walters, your instructor,” says a really buff blond walking our way.
“Nice,” Ainsley mutters under her breath. “Maybe I should reconsider.”
I give her the evil eye. “Too late,” I say, like a pissed off three-year-old.
“From the questionnaire you've answered online, I understand this is your first flying trapeze lesson?” Oliver asks.
“It is.”
“The private lesson is the way to go if you can afford it.”
“I have my cousin to thank for that.” Yup, that was a nice little dose of sarcasm.
“Ready?” Oliver asks.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You’ll do fine,” he reassures me.
I'm not that easily swayed. “Do you tell all your customers the same lie?”
“Funny. The answer is, yes. It’s the only way to stay in business. Divert and distract,” he laughs.
Well, if I’m going to die, God gave me a scrumptious instructor to spend my last hours on this earth with.
“We have three hours together. We’ll take it nice and slow.”
“Okay, I trust you.” Sort of.
I can't tell you how much I’m cursing Callum right now.
“Once you get the swing of it, you'll have fun.”
“I won’t die, right?” I ask nervously.
“You’ll be strapped to a safety harness, there’s a safety net right underneath you, my man Martin is on standby,” he points above his head, “and I’ll always be on alert just in case you need a little extra help.”
“I think I’ll need a lot of help.”
“You’ll be a champ.”
Ainsley removes her sunglasses and takes a long step closer to the instructor. “Does anyone ever puke their guts out at one of these classes?” she asks.
She bats her eyelashes at him.
Great, she's flirting.
She's doing a shit job at this wing-person thing.
“As long as Everly didn’t go out binge drinking last night, she should be okay.”
“Great! You should be good, cuz,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. “All performers need an audience. I'll be sitting over there cheering you on. Break a leg!” she cringes at the faux pas. “On second thought, don't!”
There are no words. I simply shake my head at her.
“Let's do this!” Oliver says.
Mother of God, I’m going to die.
* * *
Two and a half hours later, I’m hooked.
Trapeze is really fun and quite liberating. In fact, I haven't felt this empowered since Callum and Ainsley pushed me to take over my deceased aunt and uncle’s bakery eighteen months ago. My cousins had a lot more faith in me than I did.
“Lo
ok, Ainsley, I can fly!” I yell.
“Go for it, Super Girl!” she yells back. “As long as you don't touch the sky.”
“I’m going to try something more daring now,” I yell.
“Darling, I was joking about the superhero thing. You're just a human. Don't hurt yourself,” she yells back.
After an invigorating three hours, my lesson ends. It takes me a few minutes to find my bearings once I’m back on the ground. When I do, I whizz to the tent that doubles as a change room to get out of my sweaty clothes.
“You should join me next time,” I say when I approach Ainsley.
“Because you're going to try that again?” Disdain is painted all over her face.
“I might. I enjoyed it.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “I'm good. You're on your own.”
“You don't know what you're missing,” I challenge.
“Instead of that Cirque du Soleil contortion exercise that might’ve gotten you killed—”
“Oh, now you speak your mind.”
“You were willing to go for it. I didn't want to break your stride. It’s over now. I can express myself freely.”
“Thanks for having my back.”
“Any time. We’re family, after all,” she grins from ear to ear. “As I was saying, I think there are more pleasurable ways of stepping out of your comfort zone.”
“Like what?”
“Like walking into a bar, locking eyes with a dashing stranger across the room and getting the ‘comfort’ fucked right out of you,” she says with air quotes. “That would put a quick end to your dry spell.”
“You’re crazy, right out of your ever-loving mind,” I say, shocked.
“Everly, you have intimate relationships with flour and sugar. Men? Not so much. You barely look at them.”
Okay, so I've been avoiding relationships since I landed in LA two years ago. What can I say? I've been busy.
“That may be so,” Let’s avoid this sore subject, “but who randomly picks up strangers like that?”
“How do you think I met Jesse?” she retorts.
Jesse Launchbury is the sole heir to his father's vitamin and nutritional supplement dynasty. In other words, he's dripping in money. He's also her on-again, off-again boyfriend. They’ve been playing this game for a year now.
Torrid Rush: A Single Dad Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 3) Page 5
