by Jayne Frost
“Drink?” I asked on my way to the break room.
Tori nodded, and when I returned with a Dr. Pepper for each of us, she lifted a confused gaze.
“What is this?”
My mouth went dry when she flipped the file around, revealing a photo of Dylan and Harper. They were at the studio, with Dylan’s chest barely grazing Harper’s back as he looked over her shoulder, studying an arrangement she had in her hand. All in all, it appeared innocent. Unless you’d seen what I had on that tape.
I cracked open the soda and then took a drink to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “That’s Harper, um, Rush. The girl I scouted in Biloxi a few months back.”
Tori pulled out a memo and, glancing it over, her frown intensified.
“What is it?” I managed to croak.
“The label wants to know if they’re an item.” Tori’s gaze flicked to mine. “So they can use it to promote the albums.”
Joint, as in both albums.
“I’ll talk to Dylan,” I said as casually as possible.
Tori was quiet for a long moment, then shoved the picture back into the file. “It’s probably nothing.”
Placing the folder in our “pass” pile, she moved on.
“We’re not passing on Rush,” I said as I sank back into my chair.
“I don’t like her.” Tori scribbled notes without looking up, like the subject was closed.
“That doesn’t matter, Belle. Harper is talent, my domain.”
My only piece of the kingdom, and the one thing I’d insisted on from the start. I handled talent acquisition, period. And I’d hide behind that privilege now, except, I shouldn’t have to.
Irritated, Tori lifted her gaze. “The whole damn company is my domain, Taryn. Since I own it.”
Whether she meant to say it or not, it was out there. And rather than back down, I eased farther into my chair. “That’s not the way it works.”
My dry tone caught her off guard. Hell, it caught me off guard.
Tori narrowed her eyes, then shoved to her feet. With deliberate steps, she walked to the door and dumped Harper’s file in the trash on her way out.
When Tori returned, a steaming plate of food in her hand, her brows drew together as she watched me tossing stuff into my backpack.
“I warmed up some Thai.” She offered me her plate. “Where are you going?”
Seething, I picked up my phone, rereading Chase’s message.
Come by anytime.
“I’m tired. I’ll figure this stuff out tomorrow.”
Leaving Tori with her noodles and her mouth slightly agape, I stormed out.
Beckett jogged over, NERF basketball in hand as I marched through the office. “Hey, babe. You hungry? Let’s go grab some dinner.”
I glanced briefly at the group of female interns as I shouldered my way out the door. “I’ve got plans. There’s plenty here to keep you busy.”
Waiting for the elevator, I clenched my teeth when heavy footfalls sounded behind me.
And then Beckett’s breath fanned over the back of my neck like a warm breeze. “Did you pack a bag?”
Stepping onto the lift, I turned to face him.
“Yes or no?” he persisted, slamming his hand on the closing door.
Jabbing the button, I looked him in the eyes. “Yes.”
His hand fell to his side, and the door slid shut. “This isn’t over,” I heard him yell.
Closing my eyes, I slumped against the back wall. “Yes, it is.”
I couldn’t bring myself to go to Chase’s. Instead, I drove for hours. For all my posturing, I wasn’t one-night stand material. Even if that one-night stand stretched into a week, or even two. In the end, I’d want more.
That voice in my head that belonged to Paige urged me to take a chance.
You don’t have enough fun. Live a little.
But I couldn’t be like Paige. All fun, no strings. And I didn’t inspire lasting love in men the way that Tori did.
I was the in-between girl. The friend you loved for a lifetime, who wasn’t the love of your life.
Could I be that for another man? Was that even an option with Chase?
Maybe he had enough friends. But then, so did I.
Chapter 16
Chase
A knock at the door woke me with a start, and I sat up. Taryn. Hauling to my feet, I ripped a hand through my hair as I thundered down the stairs. She blinked up at me when I flung open the door.
“Is it too late?” Cringing, she took a step back. “It is too late. I’m sorry. I’ll just …”
Her face was drawn, and shadows bruised her eyes. Whatever she’d done today, the stress of it had taken its toll.
Catching her wrist before she could get away, I pulled her toward me. “It’s not too late. Come in.”
Taryn chewed her bottom lip, unconvinced. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure,” I said, lacing our fingers as I urged her up the stairs. “I told you anytime.”
Which Taryn obviously took literally since it was almost midnight.
“Are you hungry?” I asked as I guided her to the living room. “I’ve got pizza.”
Sinking onto the sofa, Taryn looked around as if she didn’t know how she got here. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
She forced a smile when I eased down beside her with a couple of slices. “Thanks.”
Digging into the pizza I hadn’t fully enjoyed earlier, I asked, “So what had you so busy tonight?”
“Nothing really.” She picked at her pepperoni. “I went for a drive and ended up halfway to San Antonio. And when I came back I wasn’t sleepy so …”
With each word, her shoulders curved inward, and she got a little smaller. Before she disappeared completely, I took the plate from her lap.
She peered up at me with those stormy eyes, a crease between her brow.
“I’m glad you came by. Regardless of the reason.”
I brushed a kiss to her mouth, and her lips curved into the faintest smile. I’d seen so few of Taryn’s smiles that I treasured every one.
Deepening the kiss, I maneuvered her onto her back. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Conflict furrowed her brow once again. “Me too.”
Sobered by the battle raging in her eyes, I ran my thumb over her bottom lip. “Is that so bad?”
Sliding her arms around my neck, she fiddled with my hair. “That depends. If you want a friend with benefits, I think I can do that. But if you just want the benefits, I’m not built that way.”
“So … what are you saying? You want to be friends?”
She pressed a kiss to my lips, soft as a feather. “Friends, at least. Is that too much to ask?”
Confounded, I shook my head. “No. Why would you think any different?”
“Because you don’t have to be friends with someone to fuck them. And if I pass you on the street, I don’t want you to treat me like a stranger.”
I thought of all the women I’d fucked who were exactly that—strangers. People I didn’t care to know. Taryn wasn’t one of them.
I pushed to my feet, offering my hand. “Okay, let’s be friends. We can have a sleep over.” She laughed as I hauled her upright. “I could braid your hair.” I tugged my T-shirt off as I pulled her toward my bed. “Or we can watch chick flicks.”
Smiling, she took off her blouse. “You can braid my hair some other time.”
I eased onto the bed and reclined on my elbows, watching as Taryn wiggled out of her jeans. When she was down to her panties and her bra, she climbed on top of me.
“Friends?” she asked, her fingers poised on my belt buckle.
Gripping her waist, I held her in place, grinding my hard length against her center. “Sure, baby.” She relaxed for the first time, and I flipped her onto her back. “Now, answer me one question.”
She nodded, and I kissed my way to her ear. “How many ways do you want me to make you come, friend?”
Chapter 17
Taryn
Dylan paced the length of my office while I stared out the window. I could just glimpse the top of the cluster of buildings on Sixth where Nite Owl was located. Where I’d left Chase this morning with only a swift kiss and a mumbled goodbye.
I didn’t even really know why I went to his loft last night. Except that he made me feel … special. And not for what I did, or who my friends were, or what I could do for him. Just because.
“Did you hear me, T-Rex?” Dylan asked as he hovered in front of my desk.
Abandoning my daydream, I spun my chair around and then opened my laptop.
“No,” I said as I pulled up my email. “But I can guess. And just like I told you the last ten times, Harper will sign. Now sit down, you’re making me crazy.”
Falling into the chair, Dylan raked a hand through his hair. “How do you know?”
Irritated, I typed in my password. “I just do. Harper wants to be a rock star not a porn star.”
My conviction never wavered, even as I cleared my schedule in case I needed to get ahead of this thing. Opening a message from Metro Music, I cursed.
Dylan leaned forward, hands clasped like he was bracing for bad news. “What is it? What did she say?”
Glaring, I peered at him over my screen. “It’s about the album. Why didn’t you tell me that none of the tracks were salvageable? Trent is threatening to bail on the project if you don’t get your head out of your ass.”
I glanced over the lengthy list of grievances from Trent, the famed producer it took me months to woo.
Dylan hung his head. “The tracks aren’t that bad,” he insisted with zero conviction. “I played one for Tori yesterday and she—”
“Tori isn’t producing your album!” I slammed my head back against the chair, squeezing my eyes shut. “The only reason Leveraged isn’t harnessed to a three-album deal like everyone else is because of the contract I negotiated. If the band defaults on this album, the label has first right of refusal on the next one. Do you understand what that means? They could put a stop to your next album. Either that or we pay Metro a shit ton for all the studio time they gave you.”
“What do you want me to do?” Dylan jumped to his feet. “As soon as this shit is squared with Harper, I’ll re-record the whole fucking thing! I’ll get it done in two weeks!”
“You better. Because the PR department already wants to kick this shit into overdrive. They sent over a picture they have of you and Harper in the studio. You looked pretty cozy.”
Dylan pressed his palms flat on my desk, glaring. “I never said I didn’t know the girl, T-Rex. I don’t just fuck women without a conversation. I’m not Beckett.”
The words ripped through me like a bullet, leaving a gaping hole in their wake.
Falling into the chair, Dylan ground the heel of his hand into his forehead and groaned. “Fuck, Taryn. I’m so sorry.”
Indignation forced me upright, and I tapped out a reply to Metro with numb fingers. “Don’t say another word. For all of Beckett’s bullshit, he’s never put me in this kind of trick bag.”
A moment of silence stretched into several, and just when I got my bearings, the door to my office flew open and Tori stormed in.
“Have you seen the email from Metro?”
For a second, I breathed a sigh of relief because I thought she was talking to Dylan. But that fierce amber gaze was settled on me.
“I just got it. Why?”
Tori gaped at me, incredulous. “Because you hired Trent. You gave him artistic control. Have you heard the tracks? This guy obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing. And if you weren’t so busy avoiding Beckett, you would’ve been in LA overseeing the album.”
“Belle,” Dylan interjected, taking hold of her arm. “It’s not—”
“It’s not what?” she roared, shaking off his grip. “Did you forget how to sing? No. This guy is a hack. He doesn’t know how to blend.” Vibrating with anger, she dug her fist into her hip and said, “You need to fix this, Taryn.”
A reply so venomous crawled up my throat, I felt it burn all the way to my lips. But at the last moment, I caught sight of the one inch scar on Tori’s neck where they’d inserted her trach tube all those years ago. My focus shifted to Dylan, hanging his head and waiting for the fallout that would never come.
“I will,” I said calmly.
In the wake of the easy victory, I thought Tori might soften, but instead she turned on her heel and left.
Dylan shoved to his feet, and lingering by my desk, he said quietly, “I’ll talk to her, T-Rex. I’ll make it right.”
But he wouldn’t. And we both knew it. Still, I gave him a nod to assuage his guilt.
And with that, he was gone, chasing after Tori. Like always.
Swiping away an angry tear, I sent an email to Trent, begging for more time.
When my phone buzzed, I picked it up without thinking, and my heart slammed against my ribs when I read the message from Harper.
You’ve got a deal.
Chapter 18
Taryn
The next morning, I stepped outside the air-conditioned lobby of the Omni Hotel clutching the thumb drive full of evidence. Harper stumbled out a moment later, glaring at me when the valet coasted to a stop in my Mercedes.
“No limo?”
I waited until we were in the car to ask, “Have you looked at your contract, Harper?”
She rolled her eyes. “My attorney went over it with a fine-toothed comb. What do you think took me so long?”
I knew every worthwhile attorney in Austin, and her guy? Yeah, no. He was an ambulance chaser who would take anyone’s case. But then, in my plans for Armageddon, I’d contacted, and retained, every attorney that could damage me or Twin Souls.
“Well then,” I said as I pulled away from the hotel, heading south towards the airport. “You do understand what constitutes a ‘hit’ album, legally speaking?”
Harper was looking out the side window, but in the reflection, I saw her brow crease in response to my question. “I know what a hit album is,” she huffed.
“Do you know how many hit albums it takes to afford twenty-four-hour limos at your disposal and first-class tickets, and let’s say—a little house in LA?”
Harper’s face fell by increments. By the time we hit the freeway, her bottom lip was in her lap.
“If you wanted money, Harper, asking for a hit album wasn’t the way to go.”
Panicked, she whipped her head around. “You mean I won’t make any money?”
Sad truth? Promoting Harper would be easy. I wouldn’t have sent her to Metro if I didn’t think she had it—that special thing. I might not have it, but I recognized it in others.
With my help, Harper’s album would be a success, and she would make money. Unfortunately, the girl was stupid and greedy, and she’d blow it all on Chanel purses and shoes from Louboutin’s latest collection. And without another album to back it up, she’d burn out. All I had to do was sit back and wait for the inevitable fizzle.
After waiting the appropriate amount of time to watch Harper squirm, which in this case was the ten minutes it took us to get to Austin Bergstrom Airport, I said, “You’ll make money.” And something about the recollection of her trailer park roots and hand-me-down clothes softened the rough edges for two seconds. Long enough for me to add, “Get a financial advisor.”
And then the bitch rolled her eyes again, and I was done.
Because we were short on time, I dropped Harper off with her suitcase and went to find a parking space. Honestly, I couldn’t stomach being around her any more than I had to. I’d even booked our tickets on opposite sides of the first-class cabin.
After my car was secured, I pulled out my phone and, rolling my head from side to side, I tapped out a text to Tori. Not feeling well. I’ll be in tomorrow.
I winced as I hit send. I’d be back tomorrow, so a follow up text would be needed. And I never lied to Tori. My last lie was such a whopper, it haunte
d me to this day.
Wake up, Belle. We’re waiting for you. Rhenn’s waiting for you.
I had whispered that deception every day she was in her coma. Selfish. I didn’t want to lose her. Couldn’t bear it.
Shaking off the memory, I pulled up Chase’s contact information, smiling at his last text.
Miss your face, friend. Call me.
Blowing out a breath, I swiped my finger over his name.
“Where are you?” he rumbled in that sexy morning voice of his. “And why did you leave so early?”
“Good morning to you too,” I said as I unfolded myself from the seat. “I had an unexpected business trip.”
Hauling my rollaway out of the backseat, I headed for the bank of elevators.
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” I winced at the background noise, his and mine. “Where are you.”
“I’m on a job site. What time tomorrow? Nine?”
“Oh …” I glanced at my ticket as I walked into the terminal. “About that. Eight fifty-five, actually.”
I smiled at the attendant in the first-class line who promptly took my ticket and ID, proffering a boarding pass a moment later.
“Will you call me when you get back?” Chase asked.
I walked to the front of the security line and then turned over my ticket. “Of course.”
“Have a safe trip, Sweet Taryn.”
Grinning like an idiot, I threw my rollaway onto the conveyor belt and then tossed my phone into the bin with my laptop.
When I retrieved the device, I was surprised to find a text from Tori.
Do you need me to come over? I can bring soup.
Guilt swamped me as I tapped out my response.
No, I don’t want you to catch anything. My fingers hovered over the keys, and with my anger gone, I added: I love you.
On the plane in my plush leather seat, I sipped my orange juice, staring out the window at the Austin skyline.
The flight attendant paused and said to me in a whisper, “You’ll need to set your phone to airplane mode. We’re about to push back from the gate.”
