As soon as Tom came back into the office and dropped into the seat opposite him, Roman narrowed his eyes at him. “Please tell me you’re not screwing the delectable Miss Tambe? Can I tell you what a mistake that would be?”
Tom shrugged, unrepentant. “We’ll keep it professional at work.” Roman saw how relaxed and happy his friend was and couldn’t bring himself to remonstrate with him. Tom deserved happiness. He just sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
“God, well, don’t let that screw this up. I like them. Time will tell whether they have the chops to be more than a great covers band, but in that area, you know better than me. You going to get Dash involved?”
“Not yet. They need time to write their own songs, get comfortable in that zone, and actually lay some tracks down. You know Dash,” he grinned when he thought of their much younger partner. “He’ll go all out on marketing without a solid product behind them and they’ll lose confidence.”
Roman nodded. “I know. He has gotten better,” he said, feeling he ought to defend his young friend.”
“Yes,” Tom replied, straight-faced, “Nowadays he waits until they’ve stepped into a recording studio.”
They both laughed. Their younger colleague had launched himself into the record company at full speed, desperate to prove to his beloved older brother’s best friends that he was worthy of them.
Tom was studying him. “You okay?” His voice had the edge that they all had since losing Sam—that horror of the possibility of losing another one of their number. Roman half-smiled.
“Yup, just tired. Kinda wishing my brother would step up and put some more time into the company, but then, I’m not a ‘world-class surgeon.’ His words.”
Tom grinned. Roman’s twin, Otis, could be unbearably sniffy, and was the one who had needed to be convinced even to invest in the company, but he had a good heart. It did irk Roman, Tom knew, that he, Tom, was more like a brother than his own was sometimes. Otis led a team of specialist surgeons down in Portland and was rarely, if ever, free to discuss the music business anymore.
“Remember when Otis was our mad pianist?” Tom said, picturing their college band, stuck in a grimy basement in one of their rented apartments with second-hand instruments.
“Remember when you were our mad drummer?” Roman shot back and laughed. “God, was that a million years ago?”
“You had a ’wake me up before you go-go’ t-shirt.”
“That is a damned lie, Meir. You had a tragic afro.”
“True story, but at least I didn’t have frosted tips.”
The banter carried on for a little while, then Tom reluctantly got up. “Lawson wants to meet with me without the band. He’s a pain in my ass already.”
Roman rolled his eyes. “Give him the minimum to make him feel important, then ditch him. Isn’t that what we usually do with pain-in-the-ass managers?”
Tom gave him a fist bump. “Word, brother.”
“God, you’re thirty-nine, Tomas.”
“Word?”
“Word. Oh, hey,” Tom stopped at the door as Roman called out. “Careful with that singer. She has heartbreak written all over her.”
Tom was still thinking about what Roman said when he drove back to his hotel alone. He and Bay had said weekends only, with no work talk and no strings. At least for now. He had the feeling Bay was holding back on something. When he’d said “no strings,” she’d looked relieved. That had stung a little, but something told him that her reticence wasn’t to do with him. Their connection was something they’d both felt: electric and all-consuming.
In his room, he showered and changed into sweats, ordering room service and flicking on the television set to the news. When it came, the food was good, but Tom felt restless. In this blank (admittedly luxurious) hotel room, so far away from his home in L.A., he missed his books, his vinyl collection—hell, even his ancient drum kit. Tomas Meir had great wealth, but the things that mattered to him, really mattered to him, cost nothing but time and effort. His family, his friends, music, and reading. He could take or leave L.A. Seattle was in his heart.
A thought came to him then and he grabbed his cell. Dialing, he waited for the answer.
“Hey, you,” he said warmly. “I’m not breaking our rule, but I wondered. Could you maybe help me find a house in the city?”
Bay waved at him happily as he pulled the car up to the curb and opened the door for her. She scooted in beside him and grinned. “It’s Saturday.”
He laughed. “Yes, it is. Which means …” He took her face in the palms of his hands and kissed her so thoroughly she had to gasp for air when they broke free.
“Yeah, that’s the stuff.” She smiled and he drew his hand down her cheek.
“Missed you this week.”
“Me too, but we got a ton of stuff down on paper. Oh, no, don’t look excited. It’s all rough ideas, and really, none of us have the first idea what we’re doing, but, god, we so enjoyed it.” Her face was glowing. Her obvious excitement and joy at finally being able to do what she loved was infectious, and more than ever, Tom was convinced he had made the right decision.
“Well, I was going to suggest we go look at houses, but, damn it, you look so gorgeous that I’m thinking …” His meaning was clear and Bay rolled her eyes, grinning.
“Come on, Don Juan, let’s find you somewhere to live first.”
The third house they looked at—a houseboat on Lake Washington—they shared a glance and Tom knew. This was it. It wasn’t the biggest they’d seen, but the layout was perfect, and when they stepped out onto the deck and looked out over the water, Tom could see them sitting here after dinner and watching the twilight fall over the lake. He pulled himself up then. They? You’ve just met the girl, jackass. Roman was right—what the hell was he doing? He pushed the thought away and went to find Bay.
Bay was looking around the huge kitchen. “Can you cook?” She said to him as he caught up with her. “Because if you can’t, it’s a waste. This place gets better.”
She flipped the spider burners on and off and opened cupboards, standing on her tip-toes to see in. Tom watched her, smiling to himself. No strings, he reminded himself. No commitment. But he couldn’t help running a slow finger up her bare spine. She was wearing a sundress, halter straps around her slender neck barely holding up the bodice that contained her full breasts. The dress skimmed over her body and flared out at the hips to flow loosely around her legs.
“You are utterly adorable,” he said, before he could help himself. Bay shut the cupboard and grinned, then stuck her head out of the kitchen door to see the realtor waiting patiently in the living room.
“We just need a few minutes.”
The realtor nodded and smiled. “Of course. I’ll be outside. Take as long as you need.”
Bay smiled up at Tom, waiting for the door to close behind the realtor, then she grabbed his hand guided it under her dress. Tom’s eyes widened.
“Commando, huh?”
She grinned at him, her fingers at his fly, unzipping and reaching into his underwear. His cock responded immediately and Tom pulled her into his arms, kissing her as he lifted her onto the counter and thrust into her. It was a wild, brutal fuck, made all the more thrilling with the thought of discovery.
“God, you are intoxicating,” he groaned into her neck as he came, muffling his moans in her thick, dark, hair.
Afterward, still grinning and hand-in-hand, they went to meet the realtor and Tom told her he wanted the houseboat.
They went to eat at a little restaurant Bay recommended down on the waterfront, got a table outside, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. They chatted about his new home and what the band had been working on.
“As I said, we don’t really know what we’re doing yet and because Pete and Kym have real jobs,” she grinned at that, “a couple of times, I’ve been on my own and scratching around, not knowing what to do.”
“Play the Yamaha?” Tom suggested and Bay flung her hair back dramat
ically.
“That, sir, is the holy line of demarcation. I shalt not touch it again until I am worthy.”
Tom laughed. “You shalt not?”
“I shalt not.”
“Loon.” He leaned over and kissed her, then sat back, thoughtful. “How about we find a mentor for you? Someone on the Quartet roster who wouldn’t mind you hanging with them for a week or so to learn the ropes.”
Bay looked shy. “Really? What if …?”
“What?”
She leaned in and whispered, “What if they figure out I’m not …genuine. That I haven’t done this before?”
Tom leaned in too. “First, you are about as far from disingenuous as a person could be, and two, that’s the whole point of a mentor. Now, eat your food and shut up.”
Bay blew a raspberry at him. “Bossy.”
Tom smiled. “I actually know the perfect person to team you with. Rocky Apsilom.”
Bay nearly choked on a French fry. “Are you kidding me?”
Rocky Apsilom was the star on Quartet’s label. A fierce rap singer from San Francisco, she was known for her abhorrence of the misogyny rife in her genre and said so, loudly and proudly. She was sensational. Tom had signed her himself and now he realized she was the perfect mentor for Bay. Rocky was professional, intelligent and …
“Terrifying,” Bay moaned, looking green. Tom smirked in satisfaction.
“Yep. Therefore, perfect for knocking that lack of self-confidence out of you. I’ll set it up.”
“Now, wait, wait, wait,” Bay looked genuinely panicked. “What about Kym and Pete?”
“If they can take the time off from their real jobs, then sure. Bay, look. I know, Kym and Pete know, even that worm Lawson knows, you are the driving force of this band. Whatever Rocky teaches you, you will naturally pass down to the guys.”
Bay looked uncertain and he took her hand. “Look, sweetheart, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Your business closed. You’re working on new songs for the band, I know, but there’s something else I’d like you to consider—songwriting for other artists. It’s lucrative, totally creative and collaborative, and it’s a good thing to have in your back pocket.”
Bay was chewing on her bottom lip. “I never even thought about that. Huh.”
“You doing okay for money?”
She smiled softly. “Is that what you’re worried about? I have the money from the business, plus some savings. I’m doing okay, Tom, but thank you.”
He nodded. “Good …because if you ever needed anything— “
“No strings, Tomas.” She softened the reminder with a smile. “We’ve known each other a few weeks. No strings.”
Tom felt antsy then, but he shoved the thought away. She was right. Roman’s warning came back to him. Don’t fuck this up. “Cool,” he said, instead of what he wanted to say. “So I’ll set things up with Rocky?”
Bay hesitated for just a second more, then nodded. “Okay. Okay, then.”
He kissed her. “Now, seeing as I broke our rule about no business on the weekend …let me take you back to my hotel and make up for it.”
In the end, it was just Bay who went to San Francisco. Pete and Kym encouraged her—Pete had looked as alarmed as Bay had at the mention of the forthright Rocky—and now as Bay rode in the cab to the studio, she felt her stomach clenching with nervousness.
She smiled at the receptionist and told her who she was. The woman, whose name tag said Hopi, grinned. “We’ve been expecting you. Come with me.”
She wheeled herself out from behind her desk and deftly maneuvered herself into a wheelchair with a funky flame design on the wheels. Bay walked beside her down the long hallway. She admired Hopi’s badass finger gloves.
“Gives me a good grip.” Hopi shrugged good-naturedly. “One benefit to this thing is great upper body strength. Now, up two flights, honey, and it’s the last door at the end of the corridor.”
Bay thanked her, but then hesitated, calling out after her. “Is she scary?”
Hopi laughed. “Nah, she’s a pussycat.” Bay chuckled as Hopi moved back to her reception desk. Everyone she’d met who was connected to Tomas was so friendly and helpful, she felt her nerves disappear. When she knocked on Rocky’s studio door, it was flung open and a beaming, extremely tall African American woman greeted her with a “Hey, girl.” She wondered why she’d been scared.
Kym tugged the door of the record shop shut with a sigh. She’d been covering double shifts for a sick colleague and now, at nearly midnight on a Friday night, she just wanted to go home, shower, and fall into bed. The one thing she had stuck to in her relationship with Stu was separate apartments. She needed space and Stu …Kym was in no doubt that he cheated regularly on her. What shocked her was that she didn’t think she cared anymore. The one time she had challenged him on the subject …she stopped walking, feeling a wave of nausea rise up in her stomach. Late at night when she was undressing, she could still see the weird shape of her bottom left-side rib—the one he’d broken and that she’d been too afraid to go have checked out at the hospital.
Her phone buzzed as she walked to her car, and getting in, she checked the screen and smiled. She pressed accept.
“Hey, Bubbaloo. Still hanging out with the rich and famous?”
Bay laughed. “Hell, yes. In fact, who are you? Who am I calling? How dare you address me! Should I get my p.a. to talk to you?”
Kim chuckled. “I am honored to speak with you, your highness. Seriously, how is it?”
“Mind-blowing, exhausting, and exhilarating, and I cannot wait to get back to Seattle and get started with you and the Pete-Meister. How are things there?”
“You know how it is. The usual. Are you coming back soon?”
Bay hesitated. “I am, but listen, K, I wanted to talk to you about something. Rocky has asked me to do some vocals on her next track.”
Kym felt a jolt in her chest. Jealousy? No freakin’ way, she told herself. I’m not that girl. “Dude, that’s amazing, I’m so proud of you.”
“Really?”
Kym tried to smile. It was just like Bay to be worried what Kym thought. “Bay, listen, you have to take these opportunities as they come along. I love you and I cannot wait to hear it.”
Stu was waiting on her front steps when she got home and for a moment she toyed with the idea of driving on, avoiding him. Then he looked up from his phone and waved.
Shoot. There went her peaceful night. She got out slowly. At least, she thought, he didn’t have a key. That had been her other condition.
“You’re later than I thought you would be.” His tone was even, but her heart sank.
“I was talking to Bay. She had some news to tell me.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She reluctantly let Stu follow her into the apartment.
“What news?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Kym prevaricated by snagging two beers from the refrigerator. “She’s got a gig on Rocky Apsilom’s new record. Featured vocals.”
Stu reacted exactly how Kym expected him to react. “The fuck? Why wasn’t I told?”
“I just found out myself.”
“That sneaky, fucking bi…”
“Stu, please calm down.”
Stu drained half his beer, then pointed at her. “This. This is exactly what I warned you about. I told you she was being groomed for solo success.”
“Stu, this could really be good for the band. Publicity …it’ll get the word out if the record is a success.”
“Christ, you’re so naïve.” Stu scratched his thinning scalp in frustration. “Can’t you see what’s happening? Meir is setting her up to be his star.” He stopped pacing for a moment and looked at her, a strange smile on his face. “You know he’s fucking her, right?”
Kym rolled her eyes. “Now you are being ridiculous. You know how Bay is. She’s a solitary creature.”
Stu didn’t stop smiling and now she was starting to get creeped out. “Bay’s a bea
utiful woman,” Stu sneered. “A beautiful, talented woman. She has needs. I bet she has a world class cunt too.”
Kym spun around, and before she could stop herself, she slapped him, whack, across the face.
Oh god. Stu grabbed her wrist and bent her arm back until she was forced to bend over. She cried out in pain as he twisted it behind her back. With his lips to her ear, he hissed in a low voice. “You get that one, Kym. You get that one. Watch yourself.”
He let her go and she skittered to the other side of the kitchen. Stu grabbed another beer. “I’ve seen them together. I had them followed. They’re fucking, all right, and it’s been going on practically since the start.”
Kym said nothing, closing her eyes. Her arm throbbed with pain and she knew she wouldn’t be able to move it in the morning. Stu knew exactly how and where to hurt her. And yet …now that she thought about it, she believed him. It was so obvious. Bay and Tom. She herself had teased Bay about the couple’s insane chemistry.
“Even if they are involved with each other, it’s nothing to do with us or the band.”
Stu made a disgusted noise and Kym edged towards the bedroom. “I’m tired, Stu, and I have a long day tomorrow, so …”
For a moment, it seemed as if he would insist on staying, but then he nodded. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She double-locked the door behind him and padded into her bedroom, stripping off her clothes, and falling into bed. She closed her eyes but her mind was too active. Was Stu right? And why hadn’t Bay told her about Tomas? They’d shared confidences since they were teenagers stuck at a high school full of mean girls, and as the two “weirdos,” had forged their own path through the hell that was adolescence. Everything, they’d shared everything. Why wouldn’t Bay tell her if she and Tom were lovers?
Kym stared up and the ceiling and wondered whether Stu’s wild theory could have any truth to it.
God, she hoped not …
Bay clasped her hands together to stop them shaking as Rocky cued up the track. They were sitting in Quartet’s boardroom, and Bay, for the first time, had met Tom’s partners; the young, way-too-pretty-for-his-own-good Dash Hamilton; the quiet and intense Roman Ford, and his fraternal twin, Otis, who was studious and confident. Another woman had joined Rocky, and Rocky had introduced her to Bay as her agent, Emily. Emily was a very pretty blonde woman who Bay warmed to immediately, her manner confident and efficient.
His Beautiful Revenge: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 67
