As she pulled out her phone to start making calls, Dylan gave a small shrug and walked over to where a couple of other musicians who were now part of the campaign were sitting.
Great. He had to have a sexy ass that looked amazing in a pair of faded jeans.
A-ma-zing.
Fairly grab-able.
“Ugh…I really need to stop thinking like this,” she said with a weary sigh and startled when a voice answered on the other end of the phone.
“Margaret, hello! It’s Paige Walters!” She went into her spiel and explained how they were all waiting for her and then had to stifle a groan when Margaret apologized profusely and swore she was on the way.
As did the other three people she called.
Across the room, she spotted Dylan laughing with a group of people. He looked good—comfortable, relaxed. His dark hair was mussed, and Paige made a mental note to talk to the hair and makeup people about leaving it alone.
It looked good on him.
What must it feel like to be that comfortable in your own skin? She knew from some of their conversations that he was just now starting to feel that way. The time in rehab and his new focus on his life turned things around for him, but still. Paige didn’t have any vices—didn’t have a need for therapy—and yet, she still always felt out of place. Okay, maybe not always, but certainly in some social settings.
Feeling inferior had been a lifelong thing. It didn’t help that she had an extremely charismatic older sibling who seemed perfect at everything. Ariel had an outgoing personality and a sense of ease and grace in all that she did. Paige had learned at a young age that she lacked the talent and social skills—and the good looks—to compete. So she put her focus on academics, exceling in areas her sister hadn’t.
Unfortunately, her sister also had a talent for laying on a good guilt trip.
It started with her asking Paige to cover for her when she’d break curfew or do the chores Ariel forgot about. It was a pattern that had started early on, and clearly it was still going on today. But how was she supposed to break it? Anytime she’d brought it to Ariel’s attention, things got turned around and Paige ended up being the one to apologize!
Yet another of Ariel’s talents.
Ugh.
Who knows? Maybe spending time with Dylan would be beneficial to her and the way she looked at herself. Maybe she could learn something from him, and when this campaign was over, she would believe in herself all the time and not only some of it.
So for now, she would be the friend.
The buddy.
The work babysitter.
And she’d pray those dimples and that smile stopped making her tummy flutter all the time.
* * *
When Dylan got home later that afternoon, he tried calling Riley, but his call went to voicemail. Feeling slightly unsettled, he called Matt Reed, the guitarist for Shaughnessy and another close friend.
“So…what are you doing, reading poetry and crap?”
Dylan rolled his eyes and let his head rest on the sofa cushions. “No, that’s not what I’m doing. Weren’t you listening at all?”
“I am, I totally am, but I’m still confused. This is a literacy thing, but you’ve yet to do anything that has to do with reading. So, what gives?”
Dylan explained the entire layout of the campaign, how they were in the staging part of it with taking publicity shots and shooting the promos. “Once all that is done, we’ll have events to go to where we’ll be speaking about and promoting the cause.”
“Events? You mean like book clubs?” Matt asked with a chuckle.
“If you’re gonna be a dick, then I’ll say goodbye now,” Dylan said, feeling irritated.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” Matt said and then cleared his throat. “How are you feeling with all this? You’ve been holed up alone for a while. This has got to be weird for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, this is the first social thing you’ve done in about six months,” Matt began. “Then—and don’t take this the wrong way—this is something that is so different from your usual thing. We never did publicity stuff like this alone. Well, Riley did some, but for the most part, we did everything as a group. Now you’re out there solo. And for a fairly…normal cause. There is nothing rock-and-roll related about it.”
“Nope.” And it had been one of the things that appealed the most to Dylan. There was less of a chance for anyone to get on him about his past this way. True, Stevie Campbell and Alan Day were musicians—but they were more of the soft-rock scene. Nothing hard or partying about either of them. It was nice to talk shop with them earlier, but other than their craft, he had nothing in common with either of them.
“Are you going crazy yet? How much time do you have left?”
“It’ll be three months when it’s all said and done.”
“And it will take care of your community service stuff?”
“Yup.”
“Damn. It seems like a long time. Hopefully you’ll meet some people who make it more tolerable.”
“Well…the chick who’s acting as my handler—”
“Oh God. You’re not sleeping with her, are you?”
“What? No! Why would you even ask that?” Dylan croaked.
“Dude, that’s totally your MO,” Matt chuckled. “So what’s the deal? Is she old? Fat? Married? No…wait, that one hasn’t stopped you in the past.”
“Shut up,” Dylan murmured. Everything Matt was saying was true—there had been far too many years when Dylan hooked up with women he shouldn’t have. But he was a different man now and hooking up with Paige—sleeping with Paige—was… Well, he wasn’t going to allow himself to go there.
It was bad enough that his subconscious seemed to want to go there nightly. There had been several very…explicit and erotic dreams where Paige was the star. And in each and every one of them, he took great pleasure in taking those big glasses from her face—a face that was flush with excitement and her lips were red and glossy and making a perfect O because she was in awe of what they were doing.
Once the glasses were off, he found it was sexy to slowly remove the crazy layers of her wardrobe. Seriously, the woman wore layers of scarves, sweaters, tights, skirts, and large chunky jewelry. In his dreams, it was like opening up a present—taking each one of those items off her was a sensual experience. He almost groaned at the image that was now right in front of him and had to force himself to stop. She was off-limits and he wasn’t going to go there with her.
No matter how much he wanted to.
It was hard work to make all these changes in himself, his life, and not sleeping with every available woman was part of it. He needed to show some self-control. And besides, Paige was barely tolerating him. She was heading up this campaign—no matter what anyone else at her agency thought. And sleeping with the boss, so to speak, was definitely not something he wanted to be known for. Especially not after he’d worked so hard to clean up his act.
So he didn’t allow himself to even think of Paige as a woman, let alone an attractive one, when they were together. She wasn’t his usual type, but it turned out his usual type wasn’t particularly good for him.
Or maybe they were never really his type at all.
Right now, Paige Walters seemed more and more like the perfect woman for him. She was funny and attractive, and he loved hanging out and talking to her. Dylan loved how she wasn’t afraid to eat what she wanted and how she owned up to her own shortcomings and mistakes. She was honest to a fault and took care of everyone around her.
Honestly, she was too good for him and he needed to remember that too.
“Enough about me,” he said, realizing both he and Matt had gone quiet. “What’s going on with you? How’s Vivienne?”
“She’s great,” Matt said, and Dylan could hea
r the smile in his friend’s voice. “We’re heading to Paris next week to see her parents. It’s a big step for her—this is the first time she’s taking the trip willingly.”
“She doesn’t get along with her parents?”
“She does now. But for years, her trips to France tended to end with her feeling inferior to her brother and then being depressed for weeks. She and her mom finally started having a better relationship, and I’m hopeful this visit will be a good thing for all of them. Plus, you know, Paris. It will be nice to go there and not have to work.”
“I’m sure. I know we’ve been there on tour but for the life of me, I don’t remember it,” Dylan admitted. “How messed up is that?”
“Very,” Matt said and then chuckled. “I’ll send pictures.”
“Thanks,” Dylan replied, laughing too. “So what else is going on? Things any better with your dad?”
Matt sighed loudly. “I’m trying, I really am. But sometimes it’s hard to get past the memories, you know? We’re seeing a family counselor—can you believe it? Me and him go together three times a month, and on the fourth visit, his wife and daughter go with us.”
“Why? I mean, they don’t have anything to do with your issues with your father. Seems like if he needs help with his wife and kid, you could skip that week.”
“I thought so too, but apparently this is to help us learn to come together as a family unit.”
“Is it working?”
“Not yet,” Matt said wearily. “Don’t get me wrong. I like his wife. I adore the kid. But it’s normally when I see him being this great guy with them that I tend to lose it.”
“Sounds about right. What does the therapist say?”
“She says my lashing out is normal, but I need to find another way of expressing my emotions.”
Dylan couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow. How very textbook of her.”
“I know, right?”
“So have you? Found another way of expressing your emotions?”
“Vivienne bought me a punching bag,” Matt replied with a laugh. “When I get home from a session, I go right to the home gym and pound on it for a while. It’s not the best solution, but it’s something.”
“Maybe I need to do that.”
“Get a punching bag? Why? Who are you pissed at?”
Dylan laughed again. “I’m not pissed at anyone, but working out might be a good way to fill this downtime. I’m telling you, I would love to get together and jam with someone, anyone, but you’re all the way in North Carolina, Riley’s busy, and… Wait. Has anyone heard from Julian?”
“I talked to him last week,” Matt said. “For the first time in ages, he seemed like his old self. Like he finally saw through all of Dena’s nonsense and he was ready to be done. I think it’s safe to say the wedding is on hold indefinitely and it probably wouldn’t take much to get him to come out and jam someplace.”
“Oh man… I would love that. Would you and Viv be willing to fly out here for a week or something?”
“We’ve got the Paris trip first, but after that, I’m totally open to it. If you get a chance, talk to Riley. And maybe if both of you call Julian, we can get something together for around the middle of the month. What do you think?”
“I’m on it! Once we have a date, I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect!” Matt said happily. “All right, I’ve gotta go. Viv is making my favorite Mexican food for a late dinner, and it’s almost ready. Take care of yourself, Dylan. And behave!”
Dylan said his goodbye with a laugh, and when he hung up, he was still smiling. Talking with his friends—his real friends—did that for him. And knowing he could look forward to seeing them all in a couple of weeks and playing music with them was enough to lift his spirits.
Not that they needed lifting, but he was getting bored.
He had always enjoyed music—listening to it, playing it, writing it. It came naturally to him. During his time in rehab, Dylan had sort of punished himself by not playing it. He didn’t feel like he deserved to get any joy from anything. So when Mick had come to see him and brought Dylan’s bass with him, Dylan had refused to play it—told Mick to take it back.
And that had been his attitude since.
But maybe it was time to change that.
Rising from the couch, Dylan made his way across the house, toward his music room. He had a collection of bass guitars and several acoustic guitars. He looked around the room and his fingers began to twitch.
Yeah. It was time.
Picking up an acoustic, he sat on one of the stools scattered around the room and began to tune it. It had been over six months since anyone had touched these instruments, so he was fairly certain every guitar in the room needed to be tuned, but for now, he’d stick to this one.
No need to get ahead of himself.
He wanted to play. Wanted to hear the music, feel the music…or simply just feel.
It took almost a half an hour to get the guitar to sound the way he wanted it to, but once he did and Dylan began to strum, it was as if he was transported to the greatest place in the world. Everything around him faded away as the music came to him. He didn’t have to think about the notes, the chords, the movements—it was as natural to him as breathing.
Time stood still as he went from simply playing songs that were familiar to him to creating something new. Slow ballads, heavy rock, country tunes… His entire body rejoiced in the return of the music. Sweat beaded on his temples, his arms and hands began to cramp, and when he finally stopped, it felt as if he’d played a complete concert. A quick glance at the clock showed he just about had. Two hours had gone by, and he felt exhilarated.
Carefully putting the guitar in its stand, Dylan left the room and went to the kitchen to grab something cold to drink. As he downed a bottle of water, he went in search of his phone and found it in the living room. The light was flashing to let him know he had a text message. When he picked it up, he saw Paige’s name and smiled.
He pulled up her message and read it.
And then read it again.
As if sensing his disbelief, the phone rang—almost falling from his hands—and her name called out to him.
“If you don’t want to do it, I’ll completely understand,” she said instead of greeting him.
“I don’t understand what this means,” he said. “This wasn’t on the schedule, right?”
“It wasn’t. Ariel decided she wanted to kick things off with an impromptu get-together. Something low-key.”
Dylan chuckled. “The Beverly Hills Hotel is not low-key. But…it will be convenient.”
“How so?”
“I’ll be moving in there at the end of the week.”
“You will? Why?”
“My house is up for sale and I don’t want to be here while there are people coming through to look at it. We already have offers, but I won’t let anyone come in and look while I’m living here.”
“Dylan, how are you handling all of it? Are you packing up? Do you have another house lined up?”
He explained his theory and why he was moving into a hotel for a month. “I still don’t know what kind of house I want. All I know is I’m ready for a change.”
“So this party would be a major inconvenience with its timing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure—”
“Paige, it won’t be an inconvenience. I’ll be living in the same hotel as the party. I’m sure I’ll be able to come downstairs and socialize for an evening. Who knows? It might be fun.”
She made a sound that Dylan would have to say sounded like a snort, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was enough to signify her disbelief.
“C’mon, Paige, admit it. It might be fun.”
“It’s a waste of time and money!” she cried. “We could be using those funds for something else to help the foundation! We
don’t need a ridiculous cocktail party! I swear, it’s like she totally doesn’t understand what the point of this campaign is!”
“If the client didn’t want it, I’m sure they’d say something,” Dylan pointed out.
“I think they’re dazzled by the celebrity guest list,” she muttered. “I thought I knew these people well, but they are easily swayed by the thought of rubbing elbows with the rich and famous.”
“And you’re not?” he said, poking her because he knew she wasn’t, but he liked getting her riled up a bit.
“Of course not! How could you even ask that? I’m more concerned with raising money for reading programs. I don’t need to have crab puffs with…with…Elton John! That’s not going to give me a reading program at the local library.”
“Elton’s going to be there?”
“No, he’s not going to be there! I was making a point. Something like this is frivolous and not necessary and—”
“I think you’re wrong,” he said lightly and sat and waited for her outrage.
“Excuse me?” He could almost picture those big eyes going wide.
“Look, here’s what this is about—you have a cocktail party and you invite a ton of people who have money. You introduce them to the cause, and if they are not directly involved with the campaign, you give them enough of a push to convince them to donate. So if you think about it, it’s a great idea. With any luck, you’ll cover the cost of the party and have a sizeable donation to make to Literacy Now. See? Not frivolous.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was racking her brain for some comeback.
“Either way, count me in. I’ll be moving in Friday night, and the party is Saturday night, so I’ll have time to come.”
“Oh…well…good. That’s great,” she said, but there was something in her voice…a hesitation. She sounded uncertain about something.
“Was there something else you needed, Paige?”
“Um…”
“Because it sounds like you’ve got something else on your mind.”
“Fine. Please don’t get mad at me for this.”
One More Promise Page 10
