by Tracy Wolff
His hands went to her hips, then slid down and around to cup her ass. But right before he lifted her against him, she stopped him with a hand against his chest and a murmured “Wait.”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling back so he could get a decent look at her face in the dim light. But he’d deliberately maneuvered them into the shadows, which meant he couldn’t see her eyes or even her expression. “If you don’t want to do this—”
“It’s not that,” she told him. “It’s just, there’s something I need to tell you.”
He didn’t like the sound of that, at all. Any more than he liked the dread in her voice. Pulling back a little more, he guided her toward the club door and the small pool of light that surrounded it. The look on her face, when he could finally see it, only reinforced his impression that something was very, very not right.
“Okay,” he said, stroking a hand over her cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”
She turned her head, nuzzled his palm, then took a deep breath and blew it out slowly even as she wrung her hands together.
“You look like you’re about to get a triple root canal or something,” he said, trying to joke around and ease her obvious stress. “Is it really that bad?”
“It’s pretty bad. And I want to say up front, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I know it probably won’t matter to you, but I really did have the best intentions. So if you could just listen to me before you freak out—”
His brows were at his hairline by now. “I’m not normally in the habit of freaking out, but if you think it’s that bad, maybe you should just spit it out. Get it over with.”
She froze for a second—even her breathing seemed to stop as he waited for her to make up her mind. But then she nodded. Took a deep breath. Squared her shoulders like she was going in front of a firing squad. “I’ve been lying to you since I got here. I mean, not really lying, more omitting. But still, lying.”
He’d be lying to himself if he said his blood didn’t run a little cold at her words. But he’d spent a big part of his early life assumed to be guilty before he had a chance to explain anything, and so he just nodded, saying a very cautious, “All right,” as he waited for the rest of the story.
“My name is actually Poppy Germaine. I’m—”
“Caleb’s sister,” he said, filling in the blanks before she could. “Bill Germaine’s daughter.”
His mind was racing. He’d always known the man had a daughter who was a part of the label, but Shaken Dirty had never worked with her. Caleb had said his sister stayed behind the scenes, working in marketing—he froze as the rest of the puzzle pieces came together. Poppy had said half a dozen times that she worked in marketing, but he’d never put two and two together before.
If he was being honest, he’d admit that he was a little annoyed at the fact that she’d never told him who she was. It wasn’t like she could claim it hadn’t come up—Bill Germaine had been the subject of numerous discussions in the week she’d been here. And she’d never once mentioned that he was her father.
Still, it didn’t seem like that revelation would be enough to have her freaking out as badly as she was. “I wish you’d told me,” he said, “just because I feel like an ass with all the shit that’s gone down regarding him this week. If we’d known you were his daughter—” He winced a little as he thought back on all the names her father had been called in the last few days.
“That doesn’t matter,” she said bitterly. “Believe me, the fact that my father is a bastard isn’t news to me. He did just fire me, after all.”
“Fire you? For what?” He froze as it registered. “For bringing Drew down here to play with us.”
“Yeah.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Poppy. That really sucks. I can’t believe he fired his own daughter.”
“Oh, believe me, I can. Nepotism is not something my father could ever be accused of.”
He pulled her into his arms, dropped kisses on her head as he thought over his next words. “But, hey, I don’t know if you’re interested, but you’ve been doing really amazing things with our social media stuff. I could talk to the guys and we could hire you on full time. That way you could still have a job, and still be—”
He broke off before he could say, with me. Which was exactly where he wanted her to be, but maybe it was too soon to actually say that. She had just been fired, after all. By her own father. The state of their relationship was probably not the most important thing on her mind right now.
Sure enough, she smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s really sweet,” she told him softly. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Yeah.” She took another deep breath. “Maybe I’m an idiot for telling you this, but I figure you have the right to know. And I’d rather you hear it from me instead of my dad if he’s trying to piss you off and get you to quit again.”
“Okay.” The bad feeling was back, tightening his stomach and making him feel like he really, really wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say.
“I wasn’t really here as social media director for you guys. That was kind of my cover—and I took it to heart, because God knows you have a lot of room for improvement, but …”
“But?” he prompted impatiently.
She sighed heavily. “But I was here to kind of watch out for you. To make sure you had whatever you needed and didn’t…”
It hit him then, came to him with a clarity that nearly blew the top of his head off. “You were here to babysit me. To make sure I stayed clean.”
She winced at his tone. “Yes. I’m sorry I lied, sorry I didn’t tell you right from the beginning why the label sent me. But I was afraid it would freak you out, send you spiraling out of control, and that was the last thing I wanted.”
“You thought knowing I had a babysitter would make me use again?” he demanded.
“No. I just thought maybe you didn’t need someone looking over your shoulder, making you feel worse about—”
“The whole time?” he interrupted, shaking his head to try to clear it from the feeling of betrayal that was sweeping through him. “You were afraid to tell me the whole time because you thought I’d go back to heroin?”
“I’m sorry—”
“You’re sorry?” he demanded. “After you told me over and over again that I had this, that you knew I wasn’t going to slip…was that just an act?” He shook his head, started to pace. “What am I thinking? Of course it was an act. It was all lies, right? You were just doing your job. You never actually had any faith in me.”
“That’s not true! I did have faith. I do.”
He stopped,turned to face her. “So what was yesterday morning all about? Just you poking at the wound to see how soon I would snap?”
“No, of course not! I wanted to—”
“You wanted to spy on me for the record label. By poking and prodding at me, trying to get me to break so you could make sure you were there to watch me in case I fell apart. Is that why you did it? You were trying to get to the bottom of things so the label didn’t have to worry about losing its precious tour insurance deposit?”
“No! Yesterday was about helping you!”
“I never asked for your help, Poppy. If you recall, I never wanted it.” He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair.
“I know,” she said quietly, but he was too wound up to listen.
“I was doing okay on my own, right? Not drinking. Not doing drugs. Not fucking up. So why’d you have to push? Why’d you have to get in my head like that?”
“I wasn’t trying to get in your head.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You were totally angling for it. ‘Tell me, Wyatt. It’s not your fault, Wyatt. You should see a therapist, Wyatt. I just want to help, Wyatt—’”
“I did want to help. I do. I’m sorry I pushed yesterday. I shouldn’t have when I knew I wasn’t being completely hone
st. But none of what I said yesterday was because of the job. I said it because I meant it. Because I love—”
“Don’t!” He cut her off as another wave of betrayal tore through him. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare tell me you love me ten seconds after you tell me that this has all been an act. I don’t want to hear it from you. Not now. Not like this.”
“I’m sorry.” There were tears in her voice, tears in her beautiful brown eyes. It hurt to witness them—the last thing he’d ever want to do was make her cry. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did hurt me.”
“I know.” She reached for him again, and again he shrugged her off. “But please, don’t let this mess you up. This is my fault, these are my lies. Please, please don’t go off the rails because I screwed up—”
“Still? Even after all this, you’re still worried about the company’s bottom line? You’re unbelievable!”
“I’m worried about you, Wyatt. I don’t want to see you suffer because of mistakes that I made. It’s not fair.”
“Yeah, well, you probably should have thought of that before you slept with me, huh? Or was that all part of the act, too? Hard for me to fall off the wagon if I’m too busy fucking you, huh?”
She shoved him then, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to get his attention. “I’m not a whore.” She looked fierce, like she was going to kick his ass. But her voice broke on the last word.
Shit. He stopped, took a few deep breaths himself. Paced a little bit as he tried to work off the worst of his temper. She might have hurt him, but that was no reason for him to say shit like that to her. No reason for him to be a total asshole. “I’m sorry,” he said after a few long seconds had passed. “That was a shitty thing for me to imply, and I had no business saying it.”
She nodded, but she wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she stared directly at the ground as she asked, “So where does this leave us?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I apologized. You still think I’m a whore—”
“I don’t. I already said it was a low blow and I shouldn’t have said it—”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say you didn’t believe it.”
“Seriously? That’s where we’re at? You’re going to play semantics with me? After what you did?”
Her shoulders slumped, but this time when she spoke, she looked him directly in the eye. “No. You’re right. This is my fault, not yours. I shouldn’t be blaming you for anything.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Okay.”
How the fuck had he become the bad guy here? He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. He was the one she’d lied to. The one she’d pumped to get information. The one she’d talked into spilling his deepest, darkest secrets, all while she was with him under false pretenses.
So why, now that he’d called her on it, did he feel like the asshole in this equation? Why did he feel like he was the one who had done something wrong?
“I’m going to go now,” she said, after another minute or two passed in silence. “I have to pack.”
“Pack? Why?”
“I need to be out of the apartment by tomorrow morning. It’s for employees of the label, and I’m no longer an employee, so…”
“Your father’s kicking you out?”
“Don’t sound surprised. You know better than anyone that Bill Germaine is all about the bottom line.”
She turned and started toward the door that led back in to the club.
“So will you go to a hotel?” he asked. “Or—”
“I’m going home, Wyatt.”
Suddenly things felt like they were spinning totally out of his control way too quickly for him to be able to keep up. “Wait. You’re going back to New York?” How the hell were they supposed to get past this if she was running off to New York before they’d even had a chance to cool down? To get their heads on straight?
“Of course.” She looked at him strangely. “Now that I’ve been fired, there’s nothing for me here.”
He’d be lying if he said her words didn’t hurt like a bitch. “There’s nothing for you here?” he repeated, cursing himself and his total, utter gullibility. He’d actually believed her when she’d started to say she loved him a few minutes before. And now she was saying that it didn’t matter? That what they had was nothing?
Nothing worth fighting for.
Nothing worth trying to keep.
He wanted to call her on it, to force her to admit the truth. But hell, she might very well be telling the truth. After all, he’d never been good enough before. Never been worth the trouble of sticking around for. Had he actually expected Poppy to feel any differently about him than his own mother had?
“What are you asking? Why do you sound surprised?” For the first time, she sounded unsure. “Do you want me to stay?”
He shook his head. “Don’t act like you give a shit what I want. What the hell did I expect, anyway? This has been about you from the get-go.”
“Wyatt. I could stay—” She reached a tentative hand out to him, but he shook it off. If she touched him right now he was going to lose it, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone.
So instead, he stepped around her, reached for the door. “Why bother? It’s not going to change anything.” He held the door open for her. “Do you want me to get you an Uber? Or the bartender can call you a cab.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’ve got the rental car for one more day.”
“Okay, then.” He nodded at her. “I guess this is good-bye. Have a safe trip home, Poppy.”
“Yeah, of course.” She smiled wanly. “Good luck with the tour.”
“Thanks.”
An awkward silence descended between them. She broke it first. “I really am sorry, Wyatt.”
“Yeah. Thanks for saying that. And for getting us Drew. I’m sorry about what happened with your dad.”
She looked like she was going to say something else, but he knew he couldn’t take it. Not on top of everything that had just happened. So he gave her a kind of half wave before diving straight into the chaos of the dressing room.
As he looked at the guys spread out over every available surface, all four of them still excited about Drew joining Shaken Dirty, he couldn’t help wondering how such a good night had gone to hell so quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Hey. You need some help with that?”
Several days later, Poppy glanced up from the box she was mindlessly packing, to find her brother standing at her office door, two cups of coffee in his hands. “No, I think I’ve got it, thanks.”
“You sure?” He walked in anyway, extended one of the coffees toward her.
“No, thanks. I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake.”
“Seriously?” He snorted. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“At the moment? Yes.” She went back to clearing out her desk.
It only took her a few minutes—she didn’t have a lot of personal stuff at the office because her father had always frowned on it—but she was conscious of Caleb’s eyes on her the entire time. Normally, they’d be talking, laughing, telling each other some work story or another. But not today, when she was packing her office to leave the company forever. Not today, when her whole body felt like she’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring. Even her brain felt fuzzy.
She figured it was because she’d left it in Austin along with her heart. God knew she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Wyatt—about that last night with him—since she’d left.
Every time she thought about him, she wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to run back to Austin and either slap him silly or fuck him until they were both exhausted. She wasn’t sure what that said about her—or their relationship—but it was the truth.
Not that they’d actually had a relationship, she reminded herself. One week did not true love make. It was becoming her mantra, the thing she repeated
to herself over and over again in the middle of the night as she stared up at the ceiling and tried to figure out what the fuck to do.
With her life.
With her heart.
With the fact that, ever since she’d walked out of that hallway at Antone’s, she’d felt like a part of her was missing.
And the worst part was it was her own damn fault. She was the one who had lied to him from the beginning. She was the one who hadn’t told him the truth once things started getting serious. And she was the one who had cut and run when things had gotten hard.
In her defense, she’d asked him if he wanted her to stay and he’d told her to go. He’d made it abundantly clear that he was furious with her and that he didn’t understand, at all, where she’d been coming from when she lied to him. The fact that he’d been so shocked that she was leaving didn’t matter. Not when things were so messed up between them. Nothing could have come from her staying in Austin. Or at least that was her story and she was sticking to it.
Too bad she hadn’t stuck to it earlier. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so badly now.
She knew she’d messed up, knew she’d broken his trust. But there had been a part of her that had thought he’d care enough about her to get over it. That he’d care enough to try to understand. Instead, his kneejerk reaction had been to think she was a whore. And though he’d apologized, she’d known at that moment that it was too late, known that he would always wonder, would always doubt her.
She’d fucked up, badly. So why would he—why should he—forgive her? God knew her own father never would.
“So how long are you actually going to be mad at me?” Caleb demanded after the silence between them dragged on too long.
The question jolted her, brought her back to the present. It was a rough landing since nearly everything that mattered to her was back in Austin.
“All things considered, a while longer, I think.”
“Okay. That’s fair. I deserve it.”
“You totally deserve it. You should have backed me about Drew.” This time when he held out one of the cups of coffee, she took it.
