Blaine’s a tough man to work for, but he’s fair and treats us well. The better we perform, the better he treats us—or so I’ve heard. I’m still new to the position.
“Thank you for telling me.” I lift my glass to my lips before remembering his caution and lower it again.
He leans forward. “Go ahead. We’re celebrating, after all.”
Relaxing, I take a small sip. “Lots going on tonight. I’m glad the symphony’s going to get more funding.”
“I imagine this is overwhelming for you. Did I ever tell you about my first one of these events?”
Another sip. “No, you didn’t.”
His eyes twinkle, and he leans closer, lowering his voice. “I nearly vomited on the mayor’s shoes.”
I cough, champagne flushing me as I laugh. I’m enjoying myself for the first time tonight, despite these hideous heels. “I don’t believe you.”
“I was dying inside. So much to prove to so many people. I drank too much and didn’t eat enough. My head was spinning the whole night. But I got through it.” His expression grows serious. “You will too. You were made for this.”
My shoulders relax. “Let’s hope so.” For the first time with him, I feel truly at ease. Maybe it’s the champagne, or maybe I’ve proven myself enough for him to trust me. It helps soothe the feeling that I’m not in the right place.
“Guess I should go mingle.”
Affection and sympathy roll through me at the glimmer of weariness that flashes in his eyes before he puts on a smile. “Yes. We’ll talk later.”
He nods. “Definitely.”
He heads in one direction, and I head in the other. I’m glad we spoke. Blaine’s broody, but it’s passion; he doesn’t mean anything by his brusqueness. He’s driven to build a name for himself by building all of us up, benefitting all of us. He’s brilliant in a different way than Dylan. Blaine has to harness our creative spirits and hold us all together. Dylan only has to worry about his own muse. They have different kinds of power, charisma.
Blaine directs the storm.
Dylan is the storm.
He tasted like spearmint when he kissed me goodbye. I sneaked back to the hotel to see him off, unable to resist when he asked for that much. Even though it’s an impossibility, I wish he’d asked for more.
I was supposed to bring his t-shirt back to him, the one he’d let me borrow. Of course, I accidentally-on-purpose forgot it at home. In my bedroom. Where I’ve used it as a nightshirt to sleep in every night we’ve been apart.
Something to remember him by. Something personal that he’d loved and worn close to his skin. Maybe that’s weird, but it comforts me. Makes me feel like he isn’t so far away.
This time when he asked for my contact information, I gave it to him. His body had fit against mine so perfectly, and he promised to call, to write.
I couldn’t allow it, but I so wanted it.
But I haven’t heard a word from him since. Maybe he was adding me to the list of women he has on call when he’s in cities on tour. Maybe I meant something to him. Maybe it’s better to have had something hard and fast and hot with someone like Dylan. Maybe it was the only way we could have been.
Ugh, stop thinking about him!
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Blaine’s voice rings out through the PA system.
We all turn to the small stage he’s on. I head a little closer along with a few others.
Blaine regards the crowd with a stare that makes it feel like he’s looking at everyone. “The past few years have been tough on the arts. Funding’s been cut, grants have shrunk, and attendance has been down. But not for us. Our symphony has continued to grow and flourish, and it’s thanks in no small part to all of you in this room. Give yourselves a round of applause.”
We dutifully clap.
A small buzz by the door catches my attention.
Dylan St. John has just strolled in wearing a black suit that fits his body perfectly.
Am I hallucinating? I’d rub my eyes if I could tear my gaze from him. My limbs feel heavy, and a ringing in my ears interferes with Blaine’s words.
Oblivious to my attention, Dylan stalks around the room like an incredibly well-dressed predator, looking for something—someone.
Looking for me.
He hasn’t called, but he came here tonight to be with me, knowing how much I hate these things.
Realization roars over me, making my knees weak.
God help me, I’m in love with him.
He grabs a glass from a waiter and keeps rounding the perimeter, gaze never stopping its search.
I love Dylan St. John, but not in a hopeless, crazy, crush kind of way. I genuinely love this man. Our life would be wild, and incredible, and so fucking full it wouldn’t matter if it all fell apart because most people never get to experience that much joy and passion. It would be worth it for that alone.
Blaine’s words become clear again.
Oh, no. Not this. Not now. My nails dig into my palms. Please, no. Blaine pauses dramatically, making sure he has everyone’s attention before speaking again. “This season is especially important to me because I’ll be starting the next stage of my life.”
I’d give anything to run, to steal the microphone from Blaine’s hand and throw it away, to grab Dylan’s hand and tear him from the room right now, but even that would be too late.
It’s too late. It was always too late.
Blaine’s announcing his future as the one I want with Dylan evaporates.
As though he feels my emotions from across the room, Dylan turns and stops, his teal stare locking on mine. I love you, Dylan. He starts walking toward me with a huge grin. I can’t move. How I really feel right now?
He came here for me, to be with me. He wore a stuffy tux for me, looks like a goddamned fantasy in it. Bitter tears sting my eyes, but I can’t blink them away. I can’t tear my gaze from Dylan’s.
If I could breathe, I might scream, but nothing I can say will change anything or fix this mess. I made my bed months ago.
Time to lie in it.
My heart wrenches in my chest like fate has stabbed me and is merrily twisting the knife. I can’t feel my hands, but somehow I manage to hold onto my glass.
Blaine’s next words ring out into the room. “I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce the woman who’s taking me on this new journey. My fiancé, our star cellist, Rachel Simmons.”
The lights sparkle off of his champagne glass as the light in Dylan’ s eyes dies forever.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Badass In My Bed: Badass #2 Page 10
