by Jayne Frost
As I understand it, there is $24,800 that is due and payable before you will be eligible to graduate. It is unfortunate that your indiscretion with your musician friend cost you your job at The Mansion. Their $10,000 employee contribution would have gone a long way toward reducing your debt at the university. I dare say that your job as a barmaid will not go far in helping you meet your goal.
Your father and I have generously agreed to wipe this debt from your record. In addition, we will purchase a car for your graduation as a gesture of good will. As the recently appointed chair of the Fine Arts League, I will use all my resources to persuade the museum or gallery of your choice to hire you. From what I understand, you have been unsuccessful at securing a job in your field, such as it is.
As for the terms, they are simple. You will move back home, enter an intensive program for your speech impediment, and above all, you will cease all contact with Cameron Noble. You know, as well as I, that he will do nothing more than use you, possibly passing you off to one of his friends when he is through.
I await your response. You will come to realize that you don’t have many choices in the matter.
As I slumped in the chair in disbelief, the rage gave way to pain. For Lily. Her mother still didn’t see who she was. Her strength, her talent, or her grace. Abigail was taking away all of Lily’s options. Or so she thought.
Slamming the computer shut when I heard the bathroom door creak open, I picked up my phone, opening the text from Chase.
Of course, I’ll speak with Tanner. I’m sure he would agree to look at a sample of her work. As for the rest of it, I can only tell you to follow your gut, little brother. You’re nothing like Dad. The only way that you can hurt this girl is if you choose to. I’ll see you Sunday. Love you, bro.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I tapped in a response.
I’ll call you after rehearsal. Things are more complicated than I thought. I’ll work it out. Thanks for your help. Have the barbecue ready and the beer on ice. See you Sunday.
Lily walked into the living room, her damp hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She walked over and kissed the top of my head.
“I’ve got a few hours to kill before rehearsal.” Twisting the sash of her robe around my hand, I looked up at her. “What do you want to do today, baby?”
Pushing the hair out of my face, she smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. For the first time I looked at the crease on her forehead, the perfect imperfection where all her worry and all her doubts were etched, and I wished it wasn’t there.
“I don’t care what we do.” The crease deepened, even as her smile grew. “As long as we do it together.”
Chapter 21
While waiting for Logan in the lobby, I slumped against a pillar with my arms folded over my chest. Lily was asleep on the sectional when I left, curled up under a blanket. I sat for an hour, maybe more, just watching her.
And then it came. The words for a song, bitter and sweet, poured out of me. Straight from my gut. The rush, the feeling of perfection that I’d only known on stage, was there. In the quiet of that room with no bass, no drums, no instrument to accompany me. Just her soft breath.
I was so gone for this girl, tearing myself away, even to do the thing I was born to do, was hard.
Logan sauntered into the lobby, sunglasses firmly affixed, with Greg on his heels. Greg had his reasons for firing Lily. The same pressures we were under from the label that forced us to do asinine things we didn’t agree with. A week ago it wouldn’t have mattered. If I banged a waitress, and she lost her job, that was the price. For her.
Cringing at the thought and the selfish motivation behind it, I put my head down. I couldn’t not say something to Greg if he walked up to me. The problem is what I would say.
“Ready to roll?” Logan said, stepping in front of me.
Nodding, I turned for the door.
“Cameron, can I talk to you for a second?” Greg said solemnly.
“Not a good time.”
Logan gave me a sidelong glance, matching my brisk pace as we walked.
“It’s about Lily.”
Turning, I stalked toward him. “What do you want to say Greg?” I barked. “That you sacrificed her to please a client? She was counting on this job.” Shaking my head, I glared at him. “Did you ever wonder why some asshole at the Tennison Foundation was so interested in getting her canned? It’s her father’s company, for Christ’s sake. Even a moron could figure out there was an ulterior motive.”
Greg shifted his gaze to Logan, who stood at my back, his arms folded over his chest. He didn’t know the details. Not yet. But Logan had my back. Always.
“We have rules, Cameron.” He shook his head, looking down at his shoe. “She broke them. I like Lily—“
“Like her?” I snorted. “You were practically humping her leg in the lounge the other night. You wanted to take her to my show and who knows what else. How many rules did that break?”
He snapped his mouth shut, and the righteous indignation left his posture.
“That’s what I thought.” I leaned forward, and he flinched. “Dick move, dude. Keep my girl’s name out of your mouth, and if you see her—walk away.”
Turning on my heel, I marched toward the door, slamming my palm against the glass to push it open. Sliding into the waiting limo, I yanked off my baseball cap and raked a hand through my hair.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” Ducking into the limo, Logan sat on the opposite seat, stretching his legs in front of him.
Shaking my head, I leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees.
“Lily’s father,” I grumbled. “He runs the Tennison Foundation. Shit, he is the Tennison Foundation. He had her fired over the pictures in the paper.”
“Marcus Tennison?” Logan whistled when I nodded. “That dude is major. I’m glad I didn’t fuck his daughter.”
Lurching forward, I wanted to throttle him, but I kept my seat. “I didn’t fuck her!”
Arching a brow, he draped an arm over the back of the seat. “You didn’t fuck her?”
“I didn’t just fuck her.” Slumping into the seat, I let my head fall back against the soft leather. Logan knew everything about me. The good, the bad, and the very ugly. “I have feelings for her. I want to take her back to Austin. See where this goes.”
Logan leaned forward, grabbing two beers out of the mini fridge. He tapped my knee with the amber bottle. Keeping his fingers locked around the neck when I grabbed it, he forced me to meet his gaze. “Do you love her?”
“Love her?” I yanked the bottle from his hand. “I just met her.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Taking a long pull from his beer, he kept his eyes on me. “It’s not the worst thing in the world, dude. All I’m saying is you better be sure before you drag her back to Austin and leave her sitting in an apartment while we go out and tear it up on the road. Unless she’s down for that. Having a steady piece when we’re not touring is cool, as long as she knows the score.”
“It’s more than that.” Reaching in my pocket, I handed him the song I wrote. “I just don’t know if I can do it without fucking everything up.”
Logan studied the paper, a soft expression that he rarely showed creeping over his face.
“Looks like you already did it. This is some deep shit.” He read the lyrics again, looking over at me earnestly. “You won’t fuck this up, man.”
Nodding, I took a sip of my beer.
Logan leaned forward, clinking his bottle against mine. “To your balls,” he chirped. “May they have a long and peaceful life. In Lily’s purse or wherever the hell she’s keeping them.”
I chuckled, suppressing the sly smile that threatened to break out.
“If you knew what that girl did to my balls, you wouldn’t be laughing, son. You’d surrender yours in a heartbeat.” I raised a brow. “It’s that fucking sweet.”
Logan roared, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Do tell.”
�
��Not this time, Logan.” Shaking my head, my laugh faded. “Not this time.”
The band sat at a long table set up in one of the luxury suites, smiling for the cameras and answering questions for reporters. Christian regaled them with the tale of his adventures at the hospital, while Logan and Sean went on about their love of the Dallas music scene.
When it was my turn, I answered the perfunctory questions about my favorite place to eat in Dallas, the name of my guitar, and my musical influences.
My mouth went dry when a reporter from the Dallas Morning News society column addressed me. “Tell me about your relationship with Lillian Tennison.”
My gaze drifted to Lindsey, standing at the back of the room, a ghost of a smile on her lips. What a difference a couple of days made. Lily had gone from a brainless groupie that lacked fashion sense to a commodity she could leverage for publicity.
“No comment.”
Lindsey’s face fell at my response.
“Is there any truth to the reports that Miss Tennison has moved on to Chad Dyer from Crimson Five? They were spotted dancing together at Rangers in Deep Ellum. And our source confirmed that she is staying at the Omni Hotel.”
The reporter looked at me dryly, one hand on her hip, the other holding the mini recorder in front of her. Logan nudged me under the table with his boot.
No comment. No comment. NO COMMENT.
“You need to check your sources.” Another nudge from Logan. “Lily is with me.”
The reporter perked up. “So I can confirm that you’re seeing Lillian Tennison?”
“You can confirm anything you want, lady.” Pushing my seat back, I stood. “I don’t have any further comments about my girlfriend.”
The rest of the guys stood. We followed a girl in a black skirt out the back door to a smaller room.
Logan fell into a chair, grabbing a bottle of water. “Rookie mistake, Cam.”
Pacing in a small circle, I shot him a warning glare. “No shit.”
This was media 101. Kindergarten stuff. The reporter did a society column, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t even a hardball question. Clearly, I wanted to say it. To declare it. I wanted Abigail Tennison to choke on her fucking tea in the morning when she read about me and Lily in the paper.
The door swung open, and Lindsey teetered in on her usual heels, a broad smile plastered on her face.
“Simply wonderful,” she cackled. “Normally, I would take your head off for the lack of self-control, Cameron. But Lily Tennison? Your fling is going to make the papers from here to Houston.”
“How did a society columnist get access to this press conference, Lindsey?” I stalked toward her. “And how the fuck did she know about Chad?”
Lindsey’s eyes were wide as saucers, her usual unflappable demeanor crumbling.
“She called and requested an interview,” she said slowly, appraising my reaction to every word. “I didn’t see the harm in extending the invitation.”
“What about Chad?”
“I might have mentioned—”
“Get out!” Logan roared behind me.
I snapped my head around, wincing at the aftermath. He was on his feet and at my side in the span of a second.
“Get your shit and get out,” he spat. “You’re fired.”
Lindsey looked helplessly over our shoulders to Christian and Sean. I could see by the expression on her face she wasn’t finding any comfort there. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders and pulled the bottom of her jacket.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she sputtered. “If I had to spend another day in this godforsaken state, I’d tear my hair out. Good riddance.”
Gliding toward the door, she slammed it shut behind her, the thud echoing in the small room.
I looked over my shoulder at Christian and Sean cackling behind me. Throwing an arm around me, Logan tried and failed to keep the amusement out of his voice.
“Like your mama always said, Cam, you can’t trust a chick that isn’t from Texas.”
Chapter 22
After the third beer, I relaxed a little. The forty-five minute drive back to Dallas took over three hours with traffic and my little detour to the mall. I turned the small box over in my hand. It was a token. Nothing really. A guitar pick made out of white gold with a tiny diamond on a delicate chain.
Music was my first love, and I would share it with Lily. If I could be as faithful to her as I was to the words I put on paper, we could get through anything.
Jumping out of the limo when it pulled to a stop in front of The Mansion, I turned to Logan when he called my name.
“When you come up for air, we’ve got a ton of shit to go over,” he said, ambling toward me. “Lindsey was a conniving bitch, but we have nobody to handle our tour now. Any suggestions?”
Blowing out a breath, I shrugged. “I’ll call Chase. He’ll know what to do.”
Logan nodded. “The label is gonna shit. They handpicked Lindsey.”
“I’m not listening to the label anymore.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “It was stupid to take their advice in the first place. We need to hire local. Someone from Austin. I gotta go.”
He smiled. “Get out of here. Go find your balls.”
“Right here, buddy.” I grabbed my crotch. “Look on the bright side. If I’m off the market, you might actually get some quality pussy.”
I made a break for the door before he could chase me. Keeping my head down, I traipsed across the lobby and out the back door. Pulling out my key card, I waited for the green light to push the door open.
“Baby, I’m home,” I called. “I hope you’re naked.”
God, I really hoped she was naked. Or not. Stripping her down was almost as much fun.
Flipping the lights on, I looked around the room. The blanket she was under when I left her was folded neatly. A small twinge worked its way from my chest to my throat.
“Lily?” Pushing the door open to the bedroom, I stood at the threshold.
If I didn’t go in, it wouldn’t be real. But I knew it was. The room was pristine, the bed made with the coverlet pulled back and two chocolates on the pillow.
Lily’s clothes and any trace of her were gone. My shirt, the one she wore to bed, the one I stripped off her every time she did, was folded on the dresser. I walked across the room, flipping on the light in the dark bathroom. Not so much as a strand of her hair remained. Stumbling backward when I realized my knees were actually weak, I felt around for the edge of the bed. I missed it, landing on the floor with a thud.
She’ll be back.
I pulled out my phone with shaky hands, dragging my finger across the picture I had taken of her sleeping. Her phone rang once and went to voicemail. I tried again with the same result. Typing out a text, I hit send and stared at the screen.
Please.
If Lily blocked my number, there would be no message that said “delivered” under the text. I waited for five minutes, knowing it took seconds for that little phrase to pop up. It never did.
Dropping my head against the side of the bed, I stared at the ceiling. From the beginning, the thought of hurting Lily had tormented me. The tug I felt in my chest taunted me from the start.
As the pain tore through my gut and the panic settled in my chest, I chuckled. The chuckle turned into a dry laugh when the ceiling went blurry from the moisture that formed in my eyes.
I should’ve listened to my gut. I was never really afraid of hurting Lily. All along, I was afraid that she would see what I had to offer and it wouldn’t be enough. And I guess it wasn’t.
I woke up on the sectional in Logan’s bungalow. After pillaging the mini bar in my own room, I had stumbled to Logan’s in the middle of the night in search of more alcohol. I told him everything. Although how much sense I made was anybody’s guess.
I was seated at the table when he emerged from the bedroom. Handing me a bottle of water and three aspirin, he patted me on the shoulder.
“I’m grabbing a shower
.” He headed for the bedroom. “Limo is picking us up at eleven.”
“I’ll be there,” I mumbled, swallowing the pills and chugging the water.
Pausing at the door, he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Cam.”
“I’ll be fine.” Standing, I stretched. “You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Waggling my brows, I ambled to the door. “See you at eleven.”
The bright sunshine made my eyes water as I trudged toward my bungalow. Pushing open the door, I saw the evidence of last night’s debacle strewn about the room. Empty bottles from the mini bar were on the table and the floor. Lily petals from the centerpiece were everywhere.
Shaking my head, I went around the room and collected the bottles, throwing them in the stainless steel trashcan.
I stripped off my clothes and took the fastest shower in history, barely able to stomach standing in the same space where Lily and I had shared our first shower. And our last.
After packing all my clothes, I rolled the suitcases into the living room and strolled over to the desk to pack my laptop and call for a bellhop.
I sank in the chair when I saw the paper lying on the keyboard. The charcoal drawing of me sleeping that Lily started at her apartment after I spent the night there—she finished it. A message was scrawled in the corner under her signature.
I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.
Dragging my fingers over her name and her farewell, I smudged them into the page until they were barely legible. I dropped the sketch into the wastebasket and watched it drift to the bottom.
After ringing the front desk, I packed up my laptop and hoisted my backpack on my shoulder. I waited by the front door for the bellhop, pulling the door open when he knocked.
