Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  In the main room, there was a girl sitting behind the desk facing the front door, and the groan of the floor drew her gaze up from her phone. She was pretty, with light brown hair down past her shoulders, and a face full of perfect makeup. She seemed to be about the same age as I was. If I weren’t so focused on the woman I’d come here to see, I might have labeled this girl hot. But today I was completely uninterested.

  It was clearly not the same for her. The girl’s gaze swept over me and her face lit up. She wasn’t subtle, and her bright, teasing voice wasn’t either.

  “Well, hi there. Who are you?”

  I pasted on a polite smile. “Troy Osbourne. I’ve got an appointment with Erika.” Was it cool I was so informal? “Ms. Graham,” I amended.

  The girl’s smile hung. She’d expected her friendly tone to warm me up and was confused it hadn’t.

  Movement to the side caught my attention. Erika appeared from one of the doorways, and my body heated just at the sight of her. I’d been inside her less than twenty-four hours ago and I was still so fucking horny for her.

  Be professional, Troy.

  She had her hair pulled back, and although I loved her hair down, she looked great like this too. She had on a black sleeveless shirt that showed off her toned arms and was cut low to hint at her amazing rack, and white pants that clung to her thighs. Fuck, I wanted to be between them again.

  Any hope of keeping it professional went out the window. If I had my way, I’d push her inside her office, shut the door, and make her moan my name. But this was business and as usual, Erika was oblivious to the torch I carried for her. She crossed her arms and leaned casually against the door frame.

  “Hey, Troy,” she said. “Did you find the place okay?”

  I shifted the guitar bag from one hand to the other. “Yeah,” I said. “Other than someone parked a Toyota Yaris out front like a jerk.”

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth, and I didn’t understand she’d done it to hide her smile until the girl abruptly stood and grabbed her purse off her desk.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.” The girl sounded mortified. “I’ll go move it right now.”

  She disappeared out the door, and when it banged shut behind her—

  “Well, shit,” I said. “Now I feel bad.”

  “Don’t.” Erika’s eyebrow arched up. “Charlotte parks like that almost every day. She’s gotten three tickets, but I guess it hasn’t fazed her because she keeps doing it.” Her focus dropped down to my hand holding the case, and then she nodded toward the stairs at the back of the room. “C’mon. The studio is upstairs.”

  There was a nervous flutter in my stomach. Seriously? Butterflies? I swallowed thickly and followed her up the steps.

  We turned the corner at the top, and once I stared down the long hallway, it was obvious which room I’d be recording in. There was a red light over the door and everything. But Erika bypassed it, turning into a room beside the studio, and flipped on the lights.

  The mix room had a cool vibe to it. The walls were red, the furniture black, and mounted over the desk full of mixing equipment was a huge TV monitor displaying Warbler’s logo. Even though the room was carpeted, there was a red patterned rug in front of the leather couch. It looked comfortable but was currently occupied by a guitar case.

  This room was a place of business, but it felt cozy and inviting. The small fireplace on the back wall had probably been functional when this old house was built, but now it was purely decorative. A framed black and white photograph of Stella hung over the mantle. She had on headphones and a microphone in front of her, and she looked much younger than she was now. This must have been taken when she was first starting out.

  The wall opposite the fireplace had a door and a window, allowing me to see into the recording studio. It was also painted red, and black sound dampening panels bowed away from the walls. The floor was hardwood, but a microphone stood on top of a square rug in the center of the space. Otherwise, the room was empty and . . . waiting.

  My cold sweat got worse. This was, like, legit.

  I motioned toward the desk and the mixing console with all its knobs and sliders. “You know how to use that?”

  She gave a half smile. “I know enough to be dangerous. But don’t worry, we’ll trust this session to a professional. Once you’re ready to go, I’ll call Ardy in and he’ll handle it.” She walked to the couch and reached for the handle of the hard-sided guitar case that was worn and scuffed. “Sorry, I’ll get this out of your way. You can put your stuff here.”

  There’d been a black book on top the guitar, and when she moved the case to make room for me, the book tumbled to the floor, landing open and bending its pages. Trying to be a gentleman, I picked it up and smoothed my hand over the paper to flatten the bent pages—

  “What’s this?” My name was scrawled in handwriting at the top, followed by lines in stanzas.

  Poetry?

  No. Lyrics.

  The thin red ribbon to mark the page hadn’t lost its place because it was still tucked against the spine.

  Erika let out a nervous laugh and reached for the journal. “It’s nothing. Something I was playing around with last night.” She added it like an afterthought in a quiet voice. “And maybe a little this morning while I was waiting for you.”

  My pulse skidded to a stop. “A new song?”

  Her gaze darted away. “It might be, yeah.”

  Holy shit. My heart clanged awkwardly in my chest. “And it’s about me?”

  Erika clasped her hands around the journal and hugged it to her chest like she wanted to seal the book closed forever. “No, not about you. But . . .”

  It was hard to breathe. “But what?”

  She lifted her gaze to connect with mine, and the rest of the world faded. I’d watched her enough to understand how emotions played through her, but this one was new. It looked like she was both terrified, and yet excited. “This song might be for you.”

  I’d been disappointed when she’d said it wasn’t about me. This was way better. It was almost too good to be true, and my enthusiasm made it come out like a demand. “Sing it for me.”

  Her laugh was embarrassed. “Oh, Lord, no. It’s not ready. I just started working on it last night.”

  “You’re writing again.” I grinned. “After two years.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I had music in my head last night.”

  Fucking hell. Even though I’d saved and scraped every dollar I’d had in college to afford my guitar, I tossed it carelessly down on the couch now, freeing my hands so I could grab her waist.

  I made my voice sound as sexy as possible. “I wonder what’s changed?” The question was rhetorical, but I didn’t give her a chance to answer anyway. “It’s okay if you want to say my dick is magic.”

  “Oh, my God!” She spun out of my hold and her expression was shock, but I wasn’t fooled. She was trying hard not to laugh at the truth I’d just laid down. But then her eyebrows pulled together in thought, and her lips turned down in a scowl. “This is business, Troy. You can’t talk like that here.”

  My amusement faded as I realized I’d blown right by the boundary she’d asked for last night. And the boundary was there for a good reason too. This was her job, and I shouldn’t be fucking around with it.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” I jammed my hands in the back pockets of my jeans to keep them to myself. “I got excited and wasn’t thinking.” The space she’d put between us helped cool me off and refocus. “I’m glad you’re hearing music again, and I can’t wait to hear what you’ve written—when it’s ready.”

  The tension in her shoulders eased and she nodded subtly. The intimate spell was broken, and she shifted her attention toward the couch and my guitar. “How long do you need to warm up?”

  Her message was loud and clear. I needed to get on with it. I leaned over and unzipped the case. “I sang on the drive over, so I’m ready whenever y’all are.”

  “Good. I’l
l let Ardy know.”

  Her boss was a guy with a broad chest and a thick beard patched with gray, and I expected him to make my anxiety worse, but he had a calming effect the second he stepped into the recording studio. I had the strap to my guitar on a shoulder, so I tucked my pick into the strings on the fret board and shook his hand. His handshake was firm and sort of fatherly.

  “He’s got a good look about him,” he lobbed over his shoulder to Erika, who lingered in the door between the studio and the mix room. Finishing his visual evaluation, his eyes sharpened on mine. “Okay, kid. Let’s hear what you got.”

  Ardy was stone cold as I played, giving off zero reaction while I belted out the first verse. He crossed his thick arms over his chest, and the only movement he made after that was to blink slowly.

  Oh, fuck, this audition wasn’t going well.

  When I hit the chorus, sweat trickled down my spine, my fingers were clumsy on the strings, and my tongue suddenly felt too big for my mouth. I didn’t glance over at Erika because I didn’t want to see the disappointment in her—

  Shit.

  Ardy lifted a hand, signaling for me to stop, and I tightened my left hand around the fretboard to stop the strings from vibrating. My heart pounded in my throat. This was where he thanked me for my time and sent me on my way, I was sure of it. Forty-five seconds was all he needed to hear to know I wasn’t good enough.

  He didn’t speak, though. Instead, he nodded to himself and stroked his short beard with his thumb and forefinger, considering. “Yeah, all right,” he announced, turning his head toward Erika. “He needs some polish, but I’m with you. Think you can have him ready in time?”

  If I weren’t reeling with surprise, I probably would have thought the certainty in her voice was sexy. “Absolutely.”

  “Where’d you find him?” he asked.

  “He’s, uh . . . my pool boy.”

  A smile widened on the man’s face and he looked at me for confirmation. “No shit, really?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  She could have said she’d discovered me at Blanche’s, but this made sense too. It was hard pretending I wasn’t interested in her, but it would have been impossible to act like we were strangers. And if she had said I was her best friend’s son, her boss might have wondered about her friendship impacting her judgement.

  Ardy’s amusement continued. “Did you know she’s one of my best agents? Or was it blind luck you happened to work for her?”

  Was he asking if I’d sought her out for opportunity? Because I’d absolutely positioned myself to get close to her—just not for the reason he thought. I tilted my head and pulled the corner of my mouth up into a lopsided smile. “I knew she was an agent.”

  “Well,” he said, “you’re not afraid to hustle to get your foot in the door and I can respect that.” He strolled toward the door. “You need some hustle if you’re going to make it in this business. Let’s get your track recorded and then we can talk about the next step.”

  Everything I was feeling—the thrill making my heart ricochet wildly inside my chest—intensified when my gaze locked onto Erika. She didn’t speak, but the proud thought was loud on her face.

  You did it.

  I rode high the rest of the day. It didn’t bother me when Bill asked for my help in tearing out the brick fireplace at the new jobsite, or when he stood back to supervise and left all the work to me. I wasn’t irritated for once when my best friend Preston bailed on drinks to go hang out with his new girlfriend.

  Nothing could ruin this perfect day—although my mom sure tried.

  Since I was staying in the guest house, I came and went through the back gate, bypassing the main house completely. Maybe my mom was genuinely hanging out beside the pool, but it seemed unlikely because it was miserably humid outside, and the gnats buzzing around were always the most annoying in the evenings. When she spotted me, she stood from her patio chair.

  It was clear I’d just walked into an ambush.

  “Hey,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead to shield her eyes, even though she was in the shade of the umbrella. “How was work? Did you see Bill’s text message?”

  “I was driving.” I pulled out my phone and glanced at it.

  Bill: Just checked the schedule. We’re putting in a header on Tuesday. Can you take off Thursday instead?

  Irritation tightened the muscles in my back, and I sighed loudly. My mother was just as involved in the business as my stepfather, if not more. She was the one who helped order things and schedule deliveries.

  “No,” I said, assuming she knew what the text was about. “I can’t come in on Tuesday.” I thumbed out the same response to him.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  Because I have an audition to open for Stella Mills.

  Technically for her team, who’d package the auditions and present them to her and her fans—but the artist had final say. Not that I could tell my mom any of that. Always the realist, she’d lose her freaking mind and be a buzzkill of epic proportions.

  “I’ve got a business thing all day at the gym,” I lied.

  “Can you do it some other time? We can’t risk Bill helping install it. You know how bad his back is right now.”

  She pulled her usual routine of looking distraught. It worked on her husband, but not as well on me. My stepfather’s company made good money. Either one of them could hire more workers, but I was cheap and reliable labor. Plus, they had me over a fucking barrel. I lived rent free, and I was sure that would change the instant I stopped “helping” out at the family business.

  It was a steady paycheck, but hard work I hated, and I didn’t want to end up with a fucked-up back like Bill had. I’d gone to college to train athletes and prevent injuries. Instead, I had to grit my teeth every day and hope I didn’t end up with one myself.

  I enjoyed the few clients I worked with at the gym, but they were hard to find and it wasn’t anywhere near enough income for me to afford my own place. And a few performances a month wasn’t netting me much cash either.

  But I wouldn’t allow myself to dream of anything bigger when it came to music. Erika was incredibly talented, far more than I was . . . but she never ‘made’ it. What hope did I have?

  So, I never expected performing to be more than just a hobby. And I tried not to think about how the audition could change all that.

  My tone was firm. “I can’t push it. It’s scheduled for Tuesday.”

  “Troy, this is important. The Tanner project is huge, and we’re already behind schedule. We really need you. I’m sure if you talk to the gym, they’ll understand.”

  It came out more forceful than I’d meant it to. “No.”

  My mom’s shoulders pulled back. “We don’t ask much of you, you know. You’ve got a pretty sweet deal here. We paid for your college and the Jeep. We let you live here, where you’ve got your own space, with free utilities and rent. You can come and go whenever you please.” She frowned and put her hands on her hips. “We even gave you a job while you search for something you want, so I think we have been more than understanding. It feels like you’re being ungrateful.”

  Maybe I was, but— “Don’t act like you’re doing me a huge favor by giving me that job. We both know that isn’t the case.” They needed me just as much as I needed them, if not more.

  “What are you talking about?” She frowned. “You make good money when you work for Bill—a lot more than you do at the gym, I might add. At least with Bill it could lead somewhere.” Her posture straightened and she lifted her chin. It was what she did right before saying something important. “He built his company from scratch, but you know he doesn’t want to do it forever. He’d much rather hand it down to you than sell it off.”

  I pressed my palms to my forehead. I’d suspected this for the last year, but it’d never been said out loud before, and my stomach flipped over. I filled my lungs with air and picked through words in my mind, trying to find the right thing to say. It put me in a toug
h spot.

  But in the end, I went with the plain truth.

  My tone was quiet and sad. “I don’t want it.”

  Bill had been more of a father to me than my biological dad, who had walked out on my mom and me back when I was a toddler. My stepfather was kind and loving and funny. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to become part of our family. We didn’t share blood or a last name, but I was happy to be his son.

  The problem was I was his only child.

  His company meant the world to him, second only to our family, so I had to tread carefully. Bill was sensitive. If I turned it down, it was likely he’d see this as my rejection of him as a father, rather than what it simply was—a business I had zero fucking interest in running.

  It was Bill’s dream. Not mine.

  And if I wasn’t careful, I’d get sucked into that dream to make my parents happy and wind up miserable for the rest of my life.

  “How can you not want it?” My mother wasn’t just shocked—she was hurt. “I’m sorry, but you need to get your head out of the clouds. You think something better than this is going to come along?”

  “Probably not,” I said.

  But maybe.

  That was the only answer I gave, and my mom didn’t like my attitude . . . or lack thereof. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “Fine. We can talk about the future some other time, but you didn’t give us much warning to fill your spot for Tuesday. All the other guys give us more of a heads-up.”

  That was bullshit. Guys asked for vacations the next day or called off sick all the time. Last week when we’d been working on an addition and the HVAC wasn’t installed yet, it’d climbed above a hundred degrees inside the house. It wasn’t surprising that two of the guys on the crew “came down with something” and were miraculously better once the air conditioner was turned on.

  “It’s last minute, but I can’t reschedule.” I gave her a pointed look. “It’s an opportunity, and when I said I’d work for Bill, we all agreed that wouldn’t get in the way if something better for me came along.”

  “Better,” she repeated, annoyed. “What is it?”