Pretty Remedy

by S. E. Hall

  “When is the audition?” Rhett asks while he’s gone.

  “Haven’t told them yet. Later in the week, I guess? I thought tomorrow I’d just give you guys a tour of Crescendo, introduce you to a few people, stuff like that. We can really practice in the evenings; everyone clears out fairly early. Now that Ozzie is warming up to you, he can help with reconnaissance.”

  “Speaking of Green Mile guy, what’s the sudden shift there about?” he asks.

  I laugh softly. Michael Clarke Duncan, God rest his soul, and Ozzie do have an uncanny likeness. “You took a big chance on me, coming out here. He just needed to see for himself that I wasn’t making up all the great things I told him about you. Not that he doesn’t trust me—he was simply waiting for me to be right instead of disappointed. Unfortunately, he’s more familiar with the latter.”

  “Let’s do this!” Jarrett’s back, toting my Breedlove… nice choice.

  I warn him it’ll need some serious tuning, and he gets that done how he likes it while Rhett pulls up the lyrics for me on his phone. We do over a dozen run-throughs of “Lone Worth,” the compilation of melody and message as poignant as I’d expect, beautiful and hauntingly provoking, as are all Rhett’s songs. Losing myself in the piece is effortless, so I struggle to focus, to convey the emotions with which it was written.

  Rhett sings along a few times, as though he can’t help himself, and it only enhances what I already consider perfection. But by a quarter after two, I’m exhausted and my throat could use a rest, so I call it a night.

  No idea how much later, I barely wake up enough to register the warm body flush against my back, the solid arms coiled tightly around me, and the heavy, hot breathing on my neck. Okay, so I’m more than awake, aware of every splendid detail.

  “I heard a noise, figured you’d be scared,” he murmurs, sleepy and sexy.

  “Very gallant of you. However can I thank you?”

  “If I can hear you talking, I’ll be able to hear you fucking!” Jarrett yells from the next room. “Not that you’ll bother me, just a courtesy warning!’”

  Rhett buries his face in my hair and grunts. “Now his hearing’s stellar? Is it Friday yet?”

  I snicker. “Three more days, but you’re more than welcome to stay right where you are and hold me. You could use this time to practice the pretty words.”

  “Or we could sleep.”

  “Or that.”

  This is why I don’t stay, talk, invest… ‘cause when I wake up in the morning having needed no sleeping pill and find her tiny little body draped across me, it’s very emasculating to discover… I really fucking like it.

  I have hope though, that my dick is still, in fact, a dick, because my next thought is of morning sex. And not the “oh, she looks all sweet, sleepy and rumpled” version. No—the “that pussy was on simmer all night” variation, hot, wet, with all the natural lubrication built up. Rolling her onto her side and throwing her leg up and over me to slide into my Teaspoon from behind would be the best damn thing I’ve ever felt in my life, I’ve no doubt.

  She feels me thinking about it and giggles. Maybe she’ll say something sappy and send me running from the room, completely cured.

  She wriggles against my morning wood, obviously jabbing her in the stomach. “I’d get off you, but I’m a little afraid. One false move and I’ll impale myself.”

  Shit. Not sappy. Witty and signature Reece. I’m screwed.

  Test two—morning breath. No way she won’t be frilly and high-pitched about this.

  “Kiss me,” I grumble.

  She lifts her head, eyes half-lidded, groggy, and… opens her mouth to blow a huge breath in my face. “Want some of that, do ya? Well, come ‘ere’ then.”

  Fuck me… there’s that.

  I’m laughing so hard I get a stitch in my side, and she uses my incapacitated state as her chance to escape.

  “Get up, we’ve got a big day. You can bring your sword with you if you promise to play nice and not jab any of the other kids with it,” she teases over her shoulder as she flounces into the bathroom.

  I quit laughing long enough to respond. “I think you may be funniest first thing in the morning, Tea.”

  “Yeah?” She peeks around the doorframe, toothbrush in her mouth. “Are you convinced yet I’m not gonna tie you to the bed and bring in a preacher to marry us while you’re trapped?” She disappears, spits, and pops her head back out. “’Cause the instant you woke up and realized you were in bed with me, I’m pretty sure you were seconds away from official tachycardia.”

  I look at her, really look at her, and blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  “So heart rate back to normal?” Her grin slowly grows.

  “Yep, all good.”

  “Then it’s okay for me to inform you—don’t think for one minute I didn’t notice you had your shirt off.” She blows me a kiss and shuts the bathroom door.

  The driver Reece called for this morning delivers us to the Crescendo Records building by nine, (I had five hours of sleep tops, yet I feel rested) and we find Ozzie waiting out front for us. Ozzie’s less adverse to Jarrett, who walks right up to the man and shakes his hand as if they’re best buddies—after saying maybe ten words to each other while Jarrett climbed in and out of the car yesterday. After Ozzie’s done receiving Jarrett’s greeting, being as jovial as I bet he ever gets, he offers a lesser greeting to me.

  “You ready for a tour?” he asks.

  “I can do it,” Reece offers.

  “No, you can’t, which is why I offered. Meeting’s been called.” He checks his watch. “Starts in thirty minutes, Board Room B. I’ll take good care of these two, sweetpea, promise.”

  She huffs, a little scowl marring her face as she looks at me. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Do your thing. We’ll be around,” I assure her with an easy smile.

  “I’m okay with it too. Stop worrying,” Jarrett kids her.

  She pokes Ozzie in the chest—well, as close to his chest as she can reach. “Be. Nice.”

  He grins down at her, the love there indisputable. From what she’s told me about her father, I’m glad she has Ozzie, even if he isn’t my biggest fan.

  “You have my word, now go cause some noise.” He scoots her along and she turns back once with a shaky smile and waves.

  “Well then,” Ozzie rubs his hands together. “Let’s get you boys caught up. And you?” He glares at me. “Don’t watch her walk away like that anymore. I’m standing right here, trying real hard to like ya while you’re breathing.”

  I give him a curt nod while my brother stands by and thoroughly enjoys the interaction.

  “Okay, let’s go. And don’t stare at my ass either.” The big guy actually laughs with that one.

  The building encompasses six floors, the first four all furnished in a grossly pompous fashion—to impress who, I don’t know—they’re all empty. Nothing but endless vacant offices, board rooms, and overpriced furniture that looks as if it’s never been used.

  But when we reach the fifth floor, I’m engaged. This is the home of the actual recording, and everything is state of the art. From the computers, miscellaneous racks, sound booths, down to the mics, it’s damn close to how I’d outfit my own studio. Ozzie introduces us to a man named Zephran, the chief sound engineer, and after his knowledgeable and in-depth presentation, I know we’re in good hands. He walks us through each setup, a selection of fine instruments to choose from, but I’m quick to explain that any recording I do will be on my own kit, which is on its way and he seems to respect that.

  I expect us to ascend to the sixth floor after we leave Zephran, but Ozzie hits one when we get back in the elevator. Jarrett asks before I can, and Ozzie doesn’t even attempt to conceal his disdain as he explains that the first floor houses the meeting room where Reece is right now and he’s tired of the tour, ready to check on her.

  When we’re back in the main lobby, the rumble in Ozzie’s chest grows which each step he
takes toward a sawed-off pretty boy talking on his cell phone.

  The guy notices us, ends his call, and offers up the most self-righteous farce of a smile I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. “Ozzie, good morning. Care to introduce me to our guests?”

  “Gentlemen, this is Warrick Tyler, CE something of something,” Ozzie drones.

  “That’s COO, chief operating officer, of Crescendo Records,” Needledick says, shooting Ozzie a tight grin, and offering his hand first to Jarrett. “And you are?”

  “Jarrett Foster.”

  I stifle a laugh at the expectant look on COO’s face as he waits for Jarrett to continue, which I know he’s got no plans of doing.

  “And you might be?” Warrick asks when he turns toward me.

  I accept his outstretched hand and make damn sure he knows I shook it. “I might be Rhett Foster, his brother.” I jerk a thumb at Jarrett.

  “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit today, gentlemen?”

  Ozzie takes half a step forward. “They’re guests of Miss Kelly. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it. Weren’t you just in a meeting with her?”

  “Oh, of course!” he says pretentiously. “So you’re both a part of the live audition we’ll be hearing Friday? Well, welcome, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got. My silly fiancée.” He laughs and shakes his head. “She didn’t specify your names or that you were in the building. Good thing she’s pretty, right?”

  Jarrett whips his head toward me, the worry on his face not nearly enough, and Ozzie growls sinisterly, but I’m unsure if that’s because Warrick announced the big news to me or insulted Reece?

  Either and all ways… What the fuck?

  The fucking surprise now known as Reece’s fiancé shifts awkwardly. “I have to run. Nice to have met you both, and I look forward to Friday.”

  Both Jarrett and Ozzie’s leery scrutiny is directed at me. I can feel the burden of their eyes burning into me, but all I see is red—a crazy, enraged, should’ve-fucking-known-better shade of red.

  “I’m gonna step outside,” I seethe, not giving a shit if they hear me or not.

  Once I’m in the fresh air, alone, rationale starts clawing its way to the surface for a fighting chance and I’m able to think some things through. Something’s just not adding up. I’ve always prided myself on being an excellent judge of character. I said my father was a dick, he is. I backed off Liz and Cannon because in my deepest recesses of realism, I knew he was good for her, he is. I pegged what’s-his-fiancé as a prick before he’d spoken… and how’d that turn out? So there’s no way I could be so fucking far off the mark on Reece—jumping in my brother’s face because of my faith in her scruples, moving to be near her and let’s not overlook—I stopped fucking other women!

  I need to get the hell out of here and give reason time to seize control of my temper, which is precariously near out-of-control status, before I say or do things I might regret. I walk quickly to the main street and grab a cab, really starting to hate not driving my own car, and don’t look back. I don’t want to be followed. I don’t want her, or Jarrett, or anyone to talk me down or ramble off explanations that I might accidentally believe.

  I want to test the extent of my conviction, my faith in this girl who’s come barreling into my life and perhaps changed me forever. Because if I pull back the curtain of baser attraction and instant connection only to find I don’t trust her, I shouldn’t be here.

  Me: Where are you?

  I’m heading back to Reece’s place after spending all day wandering around the park, coffee shop, several music stores, and one bar. I need Jarrett to make himself scarce before I get there.

  Jarrett: Date with Cheryl. Don’t wait up.

  Me: Who’s Cheryl?

  Jarrett: Realtor.

  Me: Her name is CHERI.

  Jarrett: Fuck, I think you may be right.

  Me: Good luck with that, message before you come back tonight. Need some time alone with Reece.

  Jarrett: 10-4. You ok?

  Me: I know I’ve got her name right, so I’m doing better than at least one person I know.

  Jarrett: Fuck off.

  Me: Will do. Take your time.

  I know Reece’s home from the several texts and voicemails I’ve checked but not responded to. I’m waiting to talk to her face to face… well, I’m waiting to talk to her until I can look down at her face.

  After an afternoon of soul searching, I’m certain there’s a logical explanation to all this, and I’m ready to hear her out. Reece isn’t a liar; I believe that indisputably. I’ve spent too many nights with her—in person, on the phone, on Skype—talking endlessly. The passion when she kisses me, the way she responds to questions I haven’t yet asked, the fact that she remembers everything I say… Reece Kelly’s been mine for a while now.

  I toss money in the tray and jump out of the cab as soon as it’s at a slow roll, anxious to settle and reaffirm things with her, maybe even take them to a new level. The trip up to her floor seems to happen in slow motion, and when I hurry around the corner and see her door, the objective thoughts I’ve spent all day summoning are gone.

  “You’re fired!” she screams, using that massive presence of hers to block the door. “I tried to be nice, loyal, because you have been a major part of the company for so long, but I can see you’re incapable of giving me the same respect. It’s over, Warrick, the games, the lies… I want you gone tomorrow!”

  Walk away, guy. Help me help you. But he’s not gonna help me—because he’s pushing his way through the door, grabbing her arm, and… did he just snarl “cunt” in her face? Her shriek pierces the air as I grab him by the back of his shirt and chuck him against the opposite wall.

  “You grabbed her?” I’m on him, raining blows to his face with each question/lesson I scream. “Push your way in?”

  Blood sprays from his nose with that punch, and Reece yelps louder.

  “You don’t fucking touch her, ever!”

  I can’t stop. Flashes of his hand digging into her arm, her stumbling back as he barged in over her, her look of fear play in my mind and fuel my rage. I keep punching, easily dodging his few feeble attempts, and feel my knuckles tear open.

  “Rhett, stop, enough!”

  She’s trying to tug me off him, and he’s moaning, covering his head, no longer fighting back. He’s done, not getting up, so I stop, but don’t take my eyes off him. He moans some more, clutching one of his sides and rolling onto the other.

  “Rhett, Rhett, look at me!”

  Reece… the haze of anger, a fury so strong it transported me to the place where only instinct exists, slowly fades, and I see her face clearly. Worried, red, and tear-stained. Her body trembles.

  “Hey?” she asks if I’m with her.

  “Hey.”

  “There you are.” She blows out a shaky breath, racked with the definite possibility of more tears, and throws her arms around my waist. “Are you okay?”

  “What?” I pull her away from me so I can see her face. That was far from what I was expecting her to say.

  “Are you okay?” she repeats, running her hands over me, her eyes following their inspection.

  Dude’s still groaning on the ground, a few neighbors are spying out their doors, and I’m covered in blood… but she’s worried about me. She didn’t drop to her knees at his side, like in every scene such as this in every movie ever made, to check on him. She came to me. It will forever be the official moment when I conceded defeat.

  “Reece, I’m fine. Are you?” I do a quick scan of her—everything’s seemingly all right—then pull up her sleeve. Five distinct finger marks are already turning from red to an ugly shade of purple, and my anger reignites. I lean around her and warn him as clearly as I can. “You ever come near her again, and I’ll kill your sorry ass. I didn’t break your legs, so get the fuck up and limp out of here, now. Because the longer I look at these marks you put on her, the more tempted I am to go ahead and kill you right now.” />
  He stands weakly, one hand on the wall for support, and spits blood on the ground. Then the pussy pulls out a goddamn hanky and wipes his mouth. “Reece, you know how bad he just screwed up, don’t you?” He sneers.

  Just when I was starting to think I may have gone too far. But obviously I stopped short, seeing as how he’s feeling good enough to issue threats to the woman he just manhandled.

  “Don’t fucking talk to her!” I fly at him, my finger so far in his face it’s touching his nose. “You need to leave. I’m not even kinda kiddin’ you, I’m trying not to really hurt you, dumbass. Walk. The. Fuck. Away.”

  “Get your finger out of my face,” he scoffs and straightens his shirt. “Rest assured, I will be pressing charges. In fact…” He starts digging for what I assume is his phone.

  “Warrick?” Reece stands way too close to him, so I fix that, moving her behind me. She pokes her head around me but stays put. “If you press charges, so will I. You forcibly entered my home, threatened me, and left bruises on my arm. Wanna call the police and compare stories or walk away like some semblance of a man who can take a butt beating when he deserves it?”

  Oh, there’s that… it’s all I can do not to laugh and kiss the hell out of her sassy little mouth.

  “Very well.” He stands up as straight as he can. “I’ll simply speak to your father then.”

  “You do that,” she fires back. “But not in my building, ‘cause I’ll have you tossed out on your sorry ass. Slink away, Warrick, with whatever dignity you foolishly think you still have left.”

  “You heard the lady.” I step closer to him and point down the hall. “Counting to five, then I’m aiming for your kneecaps. And I’m already on three.”

  The fallout from tonight’s main event will be monumental, no uncertainty there, and I don’t typically condone physical violence… but I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. My heart should be racing in anticipation of the impending aftermath, the possible lawsuits (I don’t trust Warrick to keep his word), or the effect of legal trouble on our upcoming projects. But that’s not why my heart’s thrumming erratically. Rhett was so savage… protecting me.