Sometime After Midnight

by L. Philips

  “Classy,” I say, and Cameron chuckles.

  “I’ll call soon. Thanks, Nate. Really. I’m glad you decided to give me a chance. Give this a chance.”

  “Me too,” I agree, and there are so many emotions behind it, some conflicting, that the center of my chest aches when I say it.

  I get in the Tank and drive away, around the ostentatious fountain and back out the imposing gates, and head to my plain home where I’ll have to explain to Tonya why I need a weekend off.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cameron

  “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks, sis.”

  I fling a file folder onto my desk and drop into my chair, immediately leaning over the desk like I’m going to take a nap.

  Tess, by contrast, does not look like hell. She’s in a suit today, although it’s the furthest thing from corporate-looking you could get. There’s soft lace where there should be a collared shirt, and the jacket fits more like a poplin shirt than a blazer. Not to mention the skirt is about two inches too short to be professional. But Father’s not around, so of course.

  “Have an eventful night?”

  She sits across from me in the chairs I have ready for guests, straightens primly, and looks at me with eyes that sparkle with wickedness.

  “I didn’t sleep, if you must know.”

  “Because of all the ‘songwriting’?”

  “The air quotes aren’t necessary, Teresa. We worked on music until sunrise. Nate slept for a few hours and I kept working. It was very professional.”

  “Uh-huh. And where did he sleep?”

  I do my best to ignore her implications, and open the folder, pretending to study its contents with great concentration. “I did offer him the guest room.”

  “And he didn’t take it. Interesting.”

  I sigh and close the folder. “He fell asleep while I was singing. I guess the dulcet sounds of my voice lulled him into dreamland.”

  “Aww, lullabies for your lover.”

  I make a growling noise. “I assure you, it was strictly professional.”

  “Which is why you’re taking him away for a weekend?”

  I jerk my head up in surprise. “Who told you that?” I ask before I realize. “God, Parker? Useless. I’m going to have to make him sign a nondisclosure or something.”

  “I can pull things out of Parker pretty easily,” Tess says with a wink.

  “You know, it’s really not nice to use your looks like that.”

  Tess waves me away. “My looks are, currently, my most lucrative asset. So really, what’s up with the weekend away?”

  “How’s Taylor?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  I lean back and look up at the ceiling, resigned. “We wrote about five songs last night. Four and a half. That’s, like, one per hour. It was incredible. Just a haze of music and creativity, and writing together? It’s like we share a brain. I mean . . .” Tess cocks her head, waiting on me to explain. “Have you ever stayed up all night with someone, talking? It’s like there’s something strange and magical about talking so late. You’re sleepy but so honest and so connected. Know what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean. I had a night like that with Constance Hart once,” Tess says, referring to a girl our age who is currently one of the top models in the world. “We had a layover in London before a shoot together. We just decided to stay up all night talking and drinking champagne. My goodness, the makeup artists were furious at our dark circles the next day, but totally worth it. We don’t see each other often, but we still have a bond somehow, and I think it was because of that night. We had some incredibly deep conversations.”

  I can’t imagine Constance Hart being deep about anything, but I keep that to myself. “That’s exactly it. A bond. And, well, if we had a whole weekend of that, writing and talking and forming that connection, something truly brilliant would come out of us, I’m sure.”

  “I get it,” Tess says. Her eyes go all soft, all the teasing and mischief gone. “But a whole weekend together like that, even as professional as you want it to be . . . the lines might get a little blurred.”

  I rest my chin in my hands and take a deep breath. The thing with Tess is that being honest with her sometimes gives her ammunition. But she’s also the only person on earth I can be honest with, and most of the time she doesn’t abuse it.

  “It’s already blurred, Tess. I’ve never met anyone like him. I sang just a few words to him last night and his brilliant mind finished the melody for me. He’s . . .”

  Tess leans forward. “He’s . . . ?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t even be thinking what I was going to say. Not at this stage. And I’m pretty sure that, at least personally, he still kind of hates me. Although I know he felt it too. That connection. He had to. We couldn’t have written together like that if he hadn’t. And he told me the night was sexy.”

  Tess doesn’t laugh or even smile. “Cameron . . .”

  “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m aware of the danger. But, Tess, I don’t think anything will stop it. Not wild horses. Not a whole herd of them.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. It doesn’t do anything for my blossoming headache. “I’ll just have to be cautious. I dated Harry and Xavier, and both of them were under contract with Paradise.”

  “Paradise is a concern, sure, but it’s not my main concern.” I look up, meeting Tess’s gaze. She looks like Mother. “I think you might have to consider that Nate falling for you back might be impossible. And even if it’s not, it’s going to be really hard on him. He might not want to face what that means. About his dad. About him.”

  I take in what she’s saying and let it spin around a few times in my head. It makes sense. All of it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.

  “I have to do this, Tess. If we can get away for a weekend and just work, get in that creative headspace again, we’d be ready for the demo next week. It was that easy.”

  Then, finally, Tess smiles. “I’m glad you two could work together. I think that’s a great sign. Parker, bless him, went ahead and rescheduled all of your Friday appointments, and he sent Theo to the beach house to double-check the security system. I’ll have some groceries delivered. Don’t want you two surviving on pizza and takeout. Just because you’ll be caught up in your spiritual and mental euphoria doesn’t mean you get to neglect your physical health.”

  I make a face. “Please send something other than kale and quinoa.”

  “If you want to kill yourself slowly with fats and red meats, that’s your prerogative, but not on my watch. You’ll have to get those yourself. But please, for the love of fashion, please no Pop-Tarts or doughnuts. We’ve already had your suits tailored to your current waistline.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I say with irritation.

  Tess and I have a staring contest for approximately a minute, then she breaks the stalemate, saying, “Want me to send wine?”

  “Now you’re talking. And champagne.”

  “Be responsible, please. Keep your wits about you.”

  “You’re the one buying me wine. And what is with the mom act today?”

  “Can’t a girl be concerned for her little brother? Sheesh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so worked up about a guy. Harry, to be exact, and you weren’t even this bad then.”

  “I’m not bad now!”

  “If you’d have seen your face when you realized it was Nate at the gates last night, you’d think it was bad too.” Tess stands, straightening her jacket. “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s my right and privilege to be worried. So promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I promise her. “I won’t drink too much. I’ll keep my hands off him.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Well, I will as lon
g as he keeps his hands off me,” I say, and stick my tongue out at her. “Better?”

  “Not at all,” Tess says. “But it’s your career. Your heart. And you’re eighteen, so I won’t lecture you. Just keep your eyes open. And come back ready for the studio. That’s all I ask.”

  I salute her, and she exits, and I pick up the phone and ask Parker to make sure there will be something edible at the beach house, and to tell him to never, ever mention it to my sister.

  Nate

  The Dairy Barn has been busy as hell all night, but somehow, in between customers, I’ve been able to fill Victor in on my night of songwriting with Cameron, and the invite to the beach house, and his shocking promise to let me have fifty percent of everything. During a rare moment of drive-thru silence, Victor turns to me, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

  “So how does Tonya feel about it?”

  “How does Tonya feel about what?”

  My stepmother’s voice comes out of nowhere. I flinch. Victor winces.

  I turn to her as she’s walking through the door, trying to smile the way I usually do when I need something from her. “Feel about me getting the weekend off?” I ask.

  She cocks her head, expression somewhere between suspicious and weary. “Why?”

  “I have auditions.”

  “All weekend?”

  I hesitate, so Victor jumps in. “They’re in San Francisco.”

  Bless him for his quick thinking.

  “Yeah, and are you paying for a hotel room?”

  Ah. I should have known what the first thing on her mind would be: money. I shrug. “Staying with a friend.”

  Tonya eyes the canisters of chopped-up cookies and gummy bears for a moment, and I’m sure she’s calculating every last gram in her head to see what she can dock out of paychecks this week. Then she turns back to me.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not?” I ask, my voice shriller than I’d like. “It’s not like it matters if I miss a few days here. You’ve got plenty of other workers who would jump at extra hours.”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  Poor Victor is doing his best not to look directly at either of us, and has moved closer to the drive-thru window, as far away as he can get in the small space. Tonya, on the other hand, moves close to me, arms crossed, voice hushed.

  “Auditioning is a bad idea, Nate.”

  “Why on earth would auditioning be a bad idea?” I whisper-shout back to her. “This is what I want to do.”

  “I know you think you want this, but that’s only because you don’t know what it’s like. I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea. Especially now, when you need to be lying low. I’m not wrong about this.”

  I shake my head. “You are. I’m going. I have to. I need to do something with my music. You know it’s in my blood. Did you try to stop Dad from playing too?”

  Tonya pales slightly and something shifts in her eyes. Not anger. Something close to hurt. “No. There’s no way I could have stopped him, I don’t think. Even if I’d tried.”

  I stare at her. “Then he and I have that in common.”

  Tonya looks at me for a moment, but the fire’s gone out of her. “I want you back here Monday. Early. For delivery and prep cooking.”

  With that, Tonya turns around and makes her way out of the kitchen, headed in the direction of her tiny office. I exhale audibly and Victor claps a hand on my shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  I shrug his hand off. “I’m fine. I don’t know what her deal is. She’s always hated that I play, but you’d think she’d want me making money. God knows she’s counting down the days until I can move out too.”

  Victor leans back against the counter. “You’re going to have to tell her eventually. If she finds out from a tabloid that you’re”—Victor makes a circular motion with his hand—“whatever you are with Cameron Pierce, she’s really going to lose it on you.”

  “It’s strictly professional,” I say. “And I will tell her. Promise. I just don’t have any idea how to explain it to her right now. I can’t even explain it to myself. Last night, it was like . . . I don’t know. Magic. Hearing him sing what I’d written was incredible.”

  “And that was just one night. What are you going to do when it’s a few nights, at a beach house, alone with Prince Charming himself? All this strictly professional stuff is going to fly out the window.”

  I roll my eyes at the Cinderfella reference. “It’s work, Vic. It’s making music. It’s what I want to do, and he’s giving me the opportunity to do it.”

  “Yes, in an impossibly romantic atmosphere, with a guy I don’t think I could even keep my hands off of. And if what you’re saying about last night is true, it’s going to be a whole weekend of blissed-out, totally intimate creative shit happening.” Victor stares so hard, I feel like he’s looking into my soul, and I feel myself fidget under his gaze. “I mean, I saw the look on your face when you were watching him sing in that video, dude. If you ask me, it’s not that hard to figure out why you want to work with him.”

  I’m about to argue with that when a car pulls up to order at the drive-thru, and Victor and I snap to attention to do our work. Then another car, then another, and nearly fifteen torturous minutes go by in which Victor’s statement just hangs in the air between us, and I can’t respond.

  When the customers are gone, we stare at each other; Victor waiting for an explanation, me still searching for one.

  “It’s not that. Not the biggest part of it, anyway,” I admit, and look down at my shoes, which are yellow Chuck Taylors that I’d painted with black chevrons. They sort of look like Charlie Brown’s shirt. “I want a lot of answers. Like why is it that I can write music so easily with him? Is it just his voice? Is it because we both kind of suck writing alone? Is it because he’s a Leo and I’m a Libra? I don’t know, Victor. I don’t have any clue. But I want to find out why we click so well.”

  “And if it’s not just a matter of astrological compatibility?” Victor asks. “If it’s because you’re falling in love with him? I mean, have you given any thought to what it would mean for you, to fall in love with a Pierce?”

  “Okay, what the hell, Vic? You’ve been practically shoving me at him and now you’re acting like it’s all leading up to my funeral.”

  A car pulls up to the drive-thru and Victor yanks his headset off so that he can’t hear it. I do the same. I’m sick of interruptions. Some things are more important than blue raspberry Mr. Freezys.

  “It’s not just possibly dating a hot billionaire now,” Victor says. “It’s a mixture of everything. Your music. Your career. Your dad. Your . . .” Victor pauses, rolls his eyes at his next words. “Your heart.”

  “My heart won’t be involved.”

  “Dude, again. Your face when he was singing.” Victor pulls his headset back down. “It’s your full set of eggs in one shiny, gorgeous basket, that’s what I’m saying. And you need to be careful, because if one of them cracks, they’re all going to go bad.”

  He switches the headset on. “Dairy Barn. What do you want?”

  Not exactly the way Tonya prefers we talk to customers, but I smile at Victor regardless. His worry for me is touching.

  As soon as that poor, unsuspecting customer is gone, I put my hand on Victor’s shoulder and turn him toward me, forcing eye contact. “I’ll be careful, okay? I promise. I understand what you’re saying. If any of this doesn’t work, none of it will work. But I have to find out if it can.”

  Victor raises a brow. “All of it?”

  I shrug, and feel my resolve and the hard wall I was building start to crumble. “I’ve thought about it, okay? I know exactly what I could be walking into this weekend. Where it could go. Trust me, I’m not an idiot. I’ll be as careful as I can be, but I need
to find out what it is, with Cameron and me. Even if it’s something I’ll hate.”

  Victor blows out a breath, considering that, then finally nods. “I could come with you, you know. Chaperone. And maybe Tess could come too, to have an extra person to keep an eye out. Make sure you and Cameron don’t do anything too stupid.”

  “Some stupidity is allowed, though?” I ask, smirking.

  “Only some,” Victor says.

  “And if you and Tess share the hot tub while Cameron and I are busy working, well, that’s just a sacrifice you’ll have to make for the greater good?”

  “All in the line of duty, my friend.” Victor smiles. “And if she wants to make out or something, who am I to tell her how to best look after her brother?”

  I shake my head. “Your imagination should be studied. Science would be fascinated.”

  “I’m just saying, if you get a Pierce, I want one too.”

  “Hopeless and shameless,” I say. I pull my headset down and get back to work.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nate

  Victor drops me off at Cameron’s house, and I shoo him off as quickly as I can. It’s enough for me to gawk at the mansion and ask a thousand questions, Cameron doesn’t need Victor prying as well. Especially if Tess is around. He flips me off as he drives away, which is pretty much par for the course with our friendship. Then Cameron steps out of his house and I curse under my breath.

  He looks exactly like someone I want to write music for. And about.

  Instead of his usual tight black jeans, which I’ve come to realize are pretty much his standard uniform, he’s wearing dark blue. They’re cuffed at the ankles, his sockless feet in boat shoes. A tan shirt hugs the hard muscles of his stomach, and an oversize dark brown cardigan drapes over that, which should make me think about history professors, but instead only makes me want to snuggle up to him and share the warmth.