Control Freak (Second Shots Book 1)

by Ana Novak

  “Completely,” I agreed, not at all sure what I was supposed to be thrilled about. I’d been daydreaming through the whole meeting. Being back in New York had caused a lot of old memories to resurface, and it was hard to stay engaged in a conversation about editing a book that I’d spent the last year writing and was ready to be done with.

  “When can you meet with the book doctor to discuss the edits, Taylor?”

  Rhonda kicked me again, and I refocused on the computer monitor in front of me, pasting a smile on for the sake of my editor, who had kindly taken time out of her busy schedule to Skype with someone who couldn’t be bothered to listen to the conversation. “Would tomorrow morning work? I’m ready to get started as soon as she is.”

  Rhonda beamed. Right answer.

  We scheduled a meeting in person, and I added it to my calendar on my phone, promising her that I would be on time while sternly giving myself a mental order to be early. The clock on my phone caught my eye before I put it down, and I realized that I was about to be late for my lunch date with Van.

  “Is that everything?” I asked, smiling brightly. “I’m so excited to get started, but I do have an appointment…”

  “Oh, of course,” Rhonda said, the embodiment of sweetness mere moments after leaving bruises on my shins with her pointy-toed red stilettos.

  We said our goodbyes and Rhonda closed the application, then turned to me. “You better have been writing your next book in your head, otherwise you just daydreamed your way through an hour-long discussion on edits.”

  I frowned. “You know, most people consider authors artists of the written word, and artists are notorious for their eccentricities. Daydreaming comes with the territory. You’re lucky I wore pants today.”

  Rhonda narrowed her eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

  “No.”

  “Smoking?”

  “What? No!”

  “Then why are you acting like it’s some kind of accomplishment that you managed to remember to put on pants this morning?”

  “I was being melodramatic.” I pulled my feet up onto my swiveling desk chair and sat in Easy Pose. “Seriously, though. I’m just glad to be done with that book. It’s hard to get all excited about editing it when I’m still relieved just to have it out of my head and on paper.”

  “If you wanted a break, you shouldn’t have agreed to an accelerated publishing date.”

  “I didn’t! You did!”

  “Strike while the iron’s hot,” Rhonda said diplomatically, somehow managing to twist it around so she came off as saintlike while I was just the lazy author who paid the bills. “If I’d left it up to you, you would have wasted away in California for another two years while your readers forgot you even existed.”

  “Mmm.” I looked out the window at the skyscrapers surrounding her fiftieth floor office. "I wouldn’t call it wasting away.”

  She clucked her tongue in annoyance. “I don’t know why I put up with you. There are a thousand hungry authors in this city willing to strip naked on live television if it means an uptick in sales numbers.”

  “My entire divorce played out in the tabloids,” I said flatly. “I think I’ve more than given my pound of flesh.”

  “And now?” Rhonda sat down in the chair opposite me, looking expectant. “Have you seen Dave?”

  “Not yet. But he’s been texting me.”

  “And what about the other one?”

  I tilted my head. “Other one?”

  “You know who I’m talking about. That hot piece of eye candy who catapulted you into infamy and paid off my house.”

  “Oh.” I’d figured that was who she was talking about, but I’d hoped to avoid talking about Shane. “I haven’t seen him, either. I know I’ll have to eventually, but for now, I’ve managed to steer clear of them both.”

  “Steer clear? Why would you want to?”

  “What is this, twenty questions?” I asked, only half-joking. “I’m kind of enjoying being single.”

  Rhonda rolled her eyes. “No one says that and means it.”

  “I do.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “You know what?” I said abruptly, uncurling my legs. “I have a lunch date with Van.” I leaned down to pull my cable knit socks over my knees before sliding my feet into my boots.

  “When is the wedding?”

  “New Year’s Eve,” I muttered, zipping up one boot.

  “Have you found a date yet?”

  “That would be a negative.”

  “I can set you up with another author. There are a few who could really use the publicity-”

  “Good grief, Rhonda!” I straightened up and stood, brushing imaginary lint off my leggings. “I’m not so desperate that I need my editor to set me up on a blind date. Let me keep a little dignity here.”

  “Dignity gets you nowhere,” she shouted after me as I walked out of her office. “Call me when you change your mind!”

  I turned the corner and pressed the button for the elevator before staring at myself in the mirrored doors. “This is your life,” I said to the woman staring back at me. “Your middle-aged editor wants to set you up as a publicity stunt, and literally your only date for this week is lunch with your older brother.”

  Pretty pathetic, my eyes seemed to say back to me, and I scowled.

  The elevator finally arrived, and I stepped inside and pressed the lobby button. I pulled out my phone and confirmed my Uber, then sent Van a quick text.

  Leaving agent’s office now. See you there.

  Then I texted Mistral.

  Agent was trying to set me up. Do I look desperate???

  Her response was almost immediate. What are you wearing?

  Is that important? I replied as the bell dinged, indicating I’d reached the lobby. I stepped out of the elevator and crossed the lobby. Her answer came before I’d reached the revolving doors.

  Depends on what you’re wearing.

  I rolled my eyes and texted back, A Snuggie and a pair of bunny slippers.

  You definitely look desperate.

  “Thanks so much,” I said aloud.

  Fortunately the Uber didn’t keep me waiting long, and the car was blessedly warm when I got inside. Van hadn’t texted back yet, but that wasn’t unusual. He almost never had his phone with him in the recording studio.

  It had been six years now since Kanesthetix had exploded onto the charts with their first single, and yet somehow it still felt surreal to say that my older brother was one of the biggest rockstars in the world. I’d gone along to a few of his concerts, and the packed stadiums and expensive sets were a world apart from the gigs he used to play in shady hole-in-the-wall bars and pop-ups around the city. Mel, Dave, and I had been part of Van’s road crew back then, and even though I’d known he was talented, I never could have predicted the unbelievable level of success he would eventually reach.

  I missed the old Van, the geeky guy who dragged his guitar along to parties and played whether people wanted him to or not. Now he was different. Still lovable and wonderful and the best brother I could ask for, but different. The old Van would have stayed at my apartment with me my first night back in New York. He never would have been too busy to drop everything and spend time with me.

  Everybody changes as they grow up, I told myself, determined not to let myself feel too pessimistically about it. We aren’t kids anymore. He has a career to think about.

  I was glad he’d been able to schedule this lunch date, sandwiched in between a recording session with one of the label’s producers and a fitting for his tuxedo. As busy as I was, Van had infinitely less availability, and the fact that he’d made seeing me a priority today made me feel a little better about how much he’d changed.

  The cafe we were meeting at was right across the street from the record label’s midtown office, which also housed two recording studios for artists who wanted to work in the city. I’d been here half a dozen times before to meet either Van or Dave for a latte, a
nd the place was usually frequented by rushed business execs, trendy hipsters, and tech guys who wore thick-rimmed glasses and sipped coffee behind their laptops or tablets. When I went inside, the place was only moderately crowded, probably because it was late for lunch.

  I sat at a table against the back wall and pressed the button on the built-in tablet for service. A young, blonde server appeared almost immediately.

  “This table is for two or more. You might be more comfortable at the counter,” she said, without even asking if I’d like to order.

  “I know. I’m meeting someone,” I said, taken aback by her abruptness. “He’ll be here soon.”

  “Oh,” she said, and smiled at someone one table over.

  There was a pause, and I realized she wasn’t going to bother asking what I wanted.

  “I’ll have a chai tea latte, please,” I said, suddenly wary. Did she recognize me? I was probably being paranoid. I’d been away almost two years and a few blurry tabloid photos weren’t going to have people clamoring for my autograph.

  “Iced?”

  “No, thank you."

  “Coming right up,” she said, and turned, her platinum ponytail swinging behind her.

  My phone buzzed in my purse, and I pulled it out to check my messages. It was a text from Van.

  Can’t make it. Recording BS.

  I frowned, feeling frustrated. If he’d texted me half an hour ago, I would have just gone home after leaving Rhonda’s office, but I was already at the restaurant and I didn’t feel like eating alone. But I’d cancelled on him more than once due to creative frustrations with my writing, so I supposed he probably deserved a pass on this.

  The server brought my latte soon after, and I wrapped my hands around it as I debated what to text back. I took a sip and the drink’s warmth flooded my insides. I had missed this about New York. I always drank my chai tea lattes iced in California, but here the hot drink was a welcome diversion from the chilly fall air.

  I took another sip and picked up my phone. Ok, I typed. See you later. It probably wasn’t a good idea to ask what was up right now. His text had been brusque enough to imply he wasn’t in the best mood.

  I put my phone down and reached for the tablet to request my check.

  “Taylor?”

  I looked up.

  And froze.

  Shane Kruger stood by my table, looking as delectable as ever. He had grown out a close-cropped beard since the last time I’d seen him, giving the already chiseled line of his jaw a beautifully contoured appearance and, if possible, making him even more devastatingly handsome.

  In my embarrassment at seeing him, I dropped my gaze almost immediately, and I noticed that on his feet were what looked like the same exact combat boots he’d pulled on in a hurry when he’d come rushing out of the hotel after me a year and a half ago. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I struggled to tamp down all the memories of that night.

  “Shane,” I said, unable to unscramble my mind enough to produce any other response.

  “I heard you were back in town,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

  I remembered that he’d sent me a handful of texts after the incident in front of the hotel. Nothing revolutionary, mind you, just generic Call me, we need to talk kind of stuff. I hadn’t responded because I couldn’t think of what to say, and then I’d had to change my number because someone got ahold of it and started sending me death threats, calling me a whore and a homewrecker.

  “Good to see you, too,” I said weakly, praying he wouldn’t bring up the unanswered texts. “How are things?” I took a sip from my latte to avoid having to say anything else.

  “Great. I just came from the studio. I was mixing with a friend of yours, actually. Cos Kane from Kanesthetix.”

  “Oh, really?” I frowned. Van’s text had implied he was stuck at the studio, but if his producer had left, that meant he was either working alone or he was just plain lying to me.

  I noticed Shane giving me a curious look, and I gave myself a mental shake to clear my head. “I’m so sorry. Where are my manners? Did you want to sit down? My lunch date just cancelled, so I’m all alone. I’d love to catch up.” My voice sounded falsely bright, and I cringed inwardly at my ridiculous choice of words. Catch up? Shane and I had met exactly once before, banged each other’s brains out, and then never spoke again. “Catching up” wasn’t something you normally did with a one night stand, at least as far as I was aware.

  To my surprise, Shane said, “Sure,” and immediately sat down across from me. Either he was as hopelessly awkward at negotiating post one night stands as I was, or he was genuinely interested in watching me make a fool of myself trying to carry a conversation.

  The server appeared almost instantly. “What can I get you?” she asked, aiming her megawatt smile at Shane.

  “Coffee, thanks,” he replied, eyes on me.

  “Sugar and cream?”

  “Sugar,” he said, and his dark gaze was so unwavering that I flushed under its intensity.

  “Would you like another chai tea latte?” she asked me, and I looked up to see that her smile had disappeared.

  “Yes, please,” I said, trying to radiate a we’re-just-friends vibe as hard as I could. That was me. Just a friend. Totally non-threatening.

  “You look amazing,” Shane said when the server had disappeared again.

  “Oh. Um, thanks.”

  “So your lunch date cancelled?”

  I grimaced. “Yeah. It was Van- I mean, Cos. I guess something came up.”

  “You were meeting Cos Kane for lunch?”

  “I was supposed to, but he flaked out on me. Actually, I’m glad you showed up or I would have felt really awkward taking up a table all by myself.”

  “Sorry I’m late, Tay.”

  Shane and I both looked over, and my heart stopped for the second time that day. Dave stood there, clad in a well-tailored business suit, his hair artfully tousled, a messenger bag slung stylishly over one shoulder. He looked like a walking ad for Noose & Monkey. Also, the fact that he’d shown up here, mere minutes after Van had cancelled on me, seemed extremely suspicious.

  The silence stretched into awkwardness, and I realized I’d actually have to respond. “What are you doing here?” I asked in a clipped tone. I wasn’t in any mood to be polite after the texts he’d been sending me.

  Dave offered a charming smile that didn’t fool me for a second. “Van sent me. He felt bad that he couldn’t make it.”

  Aha. “I just bet he did.” I cleared my throat, ready to throw caution to the wind and let Dave have a piece of my mind, but Shane spoke before I could.

  “Actually, Taylor and I are having lunch,” he said, and his tone was mild enough that I could tell he was making a conscious effort to be polite. “It’s too bad Van can’t join us, but don’t worry, she’s safe with me. I ‘m sure she appreciates you taking the time to check in on her.”

  Oh, burn. I focused all my self-control on keeping my face an expressionless mask, only nodding slightly to confirm when Dave glanced over at me. Shane’s dismissal was so savoir faire that Dave couldn’t seem to muster up an appropriate comeback, and I allowed myself a brief moment of satisfaction.

  “Glad to hear it,” Dave said stiffly after a long pause. “Taylor, I’ll see you on Thursday.” He turned and stalked off before I had a chance to respond.

  “What?” I asked belatedly.

  Shane raised an eyebrow. “Thursday?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, watching Dave as he left the cafe. He looked positively murderous. “He might be talking about dinner at my dad’s house, but I’m not planning on going anyway.”

  “He’s still close with your family?” Shane accepted his mug from the server with a smile, and I waited until she had set my latte down and left again to respond.

  “Dave and my brother were best friends before he ever asked me out,” I said. “So I can’t exactly expect them to just cut ties. But I try to avoid him whenever possible.”

>   Shane nodded.

  “Thanks for bailing me out there,” I said, earnestly grateful. “I don’t want to drag you into my drama again, but really, that was amazing. I appreciate it.”

  Shane shrugged. “I get why he doesn’t want to let you go.”

  My face heated, and I took a sip of my latte, staring down at the saucer instead of meeting his eyes. Then I heard the telltale click of a phone camera from my left, and glanced over before I could stop myself.

  Someone was taking pictures of me. Of Shane. Of me with Shane. Again.

  “I think I need to go,” I said shakily. “I don’t want you plastered all over the gossip sites again.”

  “What?” Shane looked over. “It’s just a cell phone. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I-” I stopped and swallowed. “I’m sure you saw the videos- the tabloids- before. I don’t want to put you through that a second time.” I dug a few bills out of my purse and tossed them down on the table. “It was really nice to see you again, Shane. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

  “Taylor-”

  But I was already out of my seat and halfway across the restaurant, determined to get away from the cameras. I pushed my way outside, the door jingling as I shoved it open.

  The air was cold outside, and I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. My plan had been to hit the flea market and find myself some furniture, but I’d have to wait for an Uber and I didn’t want to stand around with both Dave and Shane so close by. The nearest subway entrance was east, so I turned left and started walking.

  “Taylor!” I heard Shane’s boots thumping on the sidewalk.

  “Why are you always chasing me?” I demanded when he drew even with me.

  “Why are you always running from me?” he replied. “Look, I’m sorry you don’t like people taking pictures. I guess I’ve just gotten used to it now.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” I said, my tone snarkier than I’d intended. “I don’t like paparazzi, and I don’t like constantly having to worry about being watched and photographed. I get that that’s your life, but I can’t stand it.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “But at least let me call you a Lyft or something. It’s freezing out here.”