On a personal level? That was another story.
Right now, all he wanted to do was sit down, but all the white furniture gave him pause. With a muttered curse, he walked into the kitchen and sat on one of the leather barstools by the massive granite island.
“So now what?” Julian asked with a sigh. “Do I need to be prepared for anything? Is Dena gonna come sniffing around? Does everyone think I’m the bad guy for the way it all went down?”
Mick laughed. An honest-to-goodness hearty laugh. “Julian, you’re joking, right?”
Raking a hand through his black—and seriously overgrown—hair, Julian stiffened. “What?”
“I have been fielding calls about this since it happened—people wanting to interview you and get your story.”
“And that’s funny…why?”
Mick sighed loudly. “Because you had given me a heads up about what you were planning, I had things in place.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things like talking to our legal team and our PR people. I knew Dena would immediately go to the press to play the victim, and I needed to make sure that didn’t happen.”
“So, what did you do?”
He let out a low chuckle. “It’s not important right now. What I need to know is what you want to do from here. I have a house that’s available for you to rent for the next three months if you want it. No pressure or anything. But if you want out of that place and you’re not ready to go house hunting, this could be a solution.”
He really didn’t want to deal with house hunting or anything else right now, and even though, from what he could see, there was no trace of Dena in the house, it didn’t matter. His brain remembered her everywhere in the space—new furniture or not. This offer was really a blessing.
Julian had known he would have to come home and deal with his life, but he certainly didn’t have to stay and let it mock him.
“Text me the address,” he said.
* * *
There was efficient, and then there was Mick-efficient. As Julian stood on the deck staring out at the ocean two hours later, he had to admit his manager had outdone himself.
The rental house was right on the beach in Malibu. It was prime real estate and the house itself was magnificent. Three bedrooms, four bathrooms, and decorated for people who wanted to live in the house rather than use it for display. The moment he walked inside he had felt at home.
Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Along with the address, Mick had informed him that the place was only lightly stocked, but there would be a housekeeper coming in tomorrow to do his shopping—all he had to do was give her a list of the things he liked. On top of that, she would come in twice a week to clean and would cook for him too if he wanted.
Not a bad deal at all.
Living here for the next several months certainly wasn’t going to be a hardship, but he also knew he would have to start giving some serious thought to his future.
Part of the problem was how much he had isolated himself since walking out on his wedding. It was a completely selfish thing to do—after all, he did have a commitment to the band and they had all been talking about getting back into the studio. But even after all his soul-searching, he wasn’t feeling much like making music. If he were honest, he would just admit that he was burned out. Besides all of his years with Shaughnessy, he had pulled double time trying to help Dena launch her own music career—which had failed. And on top of all of that, if it hadn’t been for this career of his—his fame and notoriety—Julian wouldn’t be in this position right now. Not the standing in a five-million-dollar home on the beach, but realizing how people weren’t real or genuine. People would use you and betray you all because of who you were.
There was no way he was going to open himself up to that again.
Ever.
He’d made his fortune and invested well. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind—especially after the past few months’ nomadic life—that he could live comfortably for the rest of his life without stepping into a recording studio or up on a concert stage again. He knew he’d catch a lot of crap for it and he’d be disappointing some of the greatest people he’d ever known, but at the end of the day he needed to have peace for himself. And stepping back into the limelight meant he would always be looking at the people around him with suspicion and wondering who was going to stab him in the back next.
The guy in the video with Dena had been one of many, but he was the only one Julian could look at and know with any certainty who he was. How many others at the label or in his circle of friends and acquaintances in the music business had done the same thing with her? And what was worse, how many had looked him in the eye and lied to his face while sleeping with his girlfriend?
So yeah, he wasn’t too keen on going back to his music career, because that trust was broken and he knew he had to be some sort of laughingstock. He prided himself on being a good person—an honest person—and the type of man who would be there for anyone who needed a hand. And just knowing that people knew—really knew—what Dena had been doing…well, it was almost too bitter a pill to swallow.
Had people warned him? Yes. Had anyone been willing to give names? No. Julian thought of his wedding day and how Riley had asked him if he was sure about going through with the ceremony. He sighed when he realized all the guys had been asking that for years—not about the wedding but about the relationship in general. How many conversations had they had as a group or one-on-one where they wondered why he would opt to stay in a relationship that was so clearly toxic?
Good question.
How many times had he asked himself the very same thing while riding across the country? And how many times had he come up with no real answers, only excuses?
The truth of the matter was that Julian had been raised to not be a quitter—to go after what he wanted and fight for it. He’d done it with so many different aspects of his life that when he met Dena and felt like he had been hit with love at first sight, he knew he’d do anything to make it work.
And he had.
To the point of turning into a damn joke.
It didn’t matter how much you loved something, and whoever came up with the old adage If you love something, set it free was a true genius. If Julian had listened to that sooner, he could have saved himself a lot of pain and a lot of embarrassment. He could have saved himself from having to change his whole lifestyle so he wouldn’t have to feel that way ever again.
With one last glance at the ocean, Julian turned to go back into the house. Entering the living room, he sat down and turned on the TV.
For several minutes, he simply channel surfed. That was something he hadn’t done in ages. When he was home and not on tour, Julian spent his spare time either playing or writing music. He found that he hated being idle.
But right now, he didn’t want to think.
He didn’t want to feel.
And if he had his way, he wasn’t going to any time soon.
* * *
The sun was coming up and Julian didn’t remember seeing it go down. He’d been watching all kinds of boring documentaries since he’d first turned on the TV. Slowly he rose from the couch and stretched. With a quick glance around he spotted a clock and saw it was barely six a.m.
“To sleep or not to sleep,” he murmured, walking toward the kitchen. “That is the question.”
It didn’t take long for him to realize he hadn’t eaten anything the night before and there really weren’t any options that were appealing for him to make now.
His body ached, and after three months of either camping out or sleeping in crappy motel rooms on lumpy beds, he needed a decent night’s sleep in a real bed.
With a shrug, he slowly made his way to the master bedroom, stripped down, and slid beneath the sheets. Everything in him began to relax. He had forgotten
what Egyptian cotton sheets felt like or how incredibly satisfying a soft pillow was.
It was the little things he was learning to appreciate, and as he closed his eyes, he felt at least a small sense of contentment.
But after three hours of tossing and turning and willing his brain to shut off, Julian gave up the fight to get some sleep. It was annoying as hell to realize that after staying up for over twenty-four hours straight, he just couldn’t relax enough to sleep. Off in the distance he heard his phone ring and kicked the sheets off. Naked, he stalked to the living room and grabbed the phone from the coffee table just as it stopped ringing.
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. A minute later a text came through.
Mick: Housekeeper not coming today. She’ll be there Wednesday.
So much for the hope of just hanging around and not having to be responsible for anything. Just what he needed on top of his mental and physical exhaustion. Now he had to leave the house and actually go back into the real world.
To buy groceries.
If this was the start of his new life, it seriously sucked.
* * *
The line in the coffee shop was longer than usual, and Charlotte Clark was thrilled that she had no place pressing to be until later in the afternoon. It would have been even more thrilling if she didn’t have to work on a Sunday, but that was the way it went. Being a vocational rehabilitation counselor had her working more hours than she would have imagined, and sometimes those hours weren’t conventional.
Some of the people she found jobs for were fresh out of rehab or even prison, but most of the time they were simply people who were down on their luck.
Sort of like the guy standing in line in front of her. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was unkempt, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week. Silently she cursed herself for being judgmental. Maybe he was just a guy who didn’t care about his appearance. That certainly wasn’t a crime and she’d known many people like that, but everything about this guy had all of her senses on alert.
With a background in social work, Charlotte had learned to read people and notice things about them that maybe they were trying to hide or simply didn’t want to share. If she had to venture a guess, she’d say this guy was tired and a little agitated. His posture and the way he kept shifting from one foot to another…and then the way he sighed—loudly—multiple times. Maybe it was the long line or the fact that the line wasn’t moving that was bugging him, or maybe it was something else.
She shook her head and reminded herself that she needed to quit analyzing people so much. The guy was simply here to grab a cup of coffee, just like she was. End of story. And even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t any of her business. There was no way she could help everyone, and there certainly was no way she would approach a total stranger. How could she walk up to him and ask him if he realized that he needed to fix himself up a little bit?
Bad Charlotte! Ugh…she hated when she couldn’t get out of this mode. It was a beautiful day outside and she should be thinking about finding something fun and relaxing to do. Later she’d need to go over to the homeless shelter in Santa Monica and meet with her group to see about setting up interviews for the coming week.
The line moved forward and she was relieved to see that she was almost to the front. Unkempt guy stepped up to order and she couldn’t help but listen.
“Large black coffee,” he snapped. “None of that overpriced fancy crap. Just your basic, regular coffee. Three sugars.” He paused. “And let me get a blueberry muffin and…actually, make that two.”
“Anything else?” the cashier asked.
He shook his head and waited.
At that point, Charlotte put her own focus on the menu board and thought a blueberry muffin sounded good too. Originally, she had only planned on getting herself a coffee—one of the overpriced fancy ones—and a fruit cup, but now that the idea of the muffin was there, she knew she’d be changing her order.
In front of her, the guy reached into his back pocket and cursed.
Loudly.
“Um…cancel my order,” he told the cashier, his voice so low and deep it was almost a growl. “I forgot my wallet.”
Without hesitation, Charlotte stepped forward and smiled at the young cashier. “Hi, Carly,” she began, reading the girl’s nametag, “if it’s okay, you can add his order to mine.” She was feeling pretty good about herself and her gesture, but when she turned and looked up at the man she was helping, she couldn’t help but gasp.
Jet-black hair and silver eyes—which were currently glaring at her. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile, and if anything, he was borderline snarling.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
Charlotte had met enough people who were down on their luck to know that sometimes pride was a huge deterrent to them accepting help in any form. “I heard you say you had forgotten your wallet and just figured I’d help.”
“Why?”
Her shoulders relaxed even as her smile grew and she laughed softly. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
“Ma’am?” the cashier asked. “What can I get you? The line’s getting backed up.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Although she was a little miffed at being called “ma’am.” At twenty-seven, she didn’t consider herself old enough for that title, but she’d deal with that later. “I’ll have a tall mocha Frappuccino and a blueberry muffin, please.” Then she handed her credit card over before looking back at the angry man.
“I don’t need anyone to buy me coffee,” he growled.
Undeterred, she smiled and accepted her card back from the cashier. “Oh, please. I know I get cranky when I can’t have my coffee, and you look like you could use it. It’s not a big deal. Really.” She stepped around him to go wait at the other end of the counter for their order. For a minute, she didn’t think he would follow, and she had to hide her smile when he finally did.
“I could have just gone and grabbed my wallet and come back,” he argued. His voice was low, but there was still heat in it.
She shrugged and offered him a smile. “Now you don’t have to.”
They stood in silence until their order was placed on the counter, and Charlotte thanked the barista and then smiled at the man. He still hadn’t picked up his coffee or muffins, and she wondered just how stubborn he was going to be.
“Look, if it bothers you that much, just…pay it forward,” she said.
“Pay it what?”
“Forward. You know, next time you’re in line and notice someone in need of a hand, help them out.” Her smile broadened even as he looked at her as if she were crazy. “Anyway, enjoy and have a great day!”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked out of the coffee shop and across the street toward the park benches, where she could sit and see the beach and enjoy the fresh air. It was a beautiful day out and there was no way she wanted to waste it sitting inside.
Sitting down, she pulled the muffin out of the bag and was about to break off a piece when someone sat down beside her.
Her unkempt man.
With her sunglasses on, she was certain he couldn’t read her surprise, and she did her best to sound casual as she asked, “Would you like to join me?” For the life of her, she had no idea why she would even suggest such a thing. It was obvious he was annoyed with her, and really, just because she tended to be trusting didn’t mean it was always the right thing to do. For all of her speculation, she had no idea who this man was.
“What is your deal?” he asked a little suspiciously, but not snarling or growling nearly as much as he had been inside the coffee shop.
“My deal?”
He nodded. “Why’d you buy my breakfast? What’s it to you if I didn’t have my wallet?”
For a moment Charlotte could only stare. Was this guy for real? Here she was doing a nice thing and he was
giving her crap for it?
“It was just coffee and a couple of muffins,” she reasoned pleasantly. “It wasn’t a big deal, and like I said, just pay it forward.”
That should have been the end of it, but considering he didn’t move or say anything, she figured it wasn’t.
Now she started to feel a little uneasy.
Looking around, she tried to see how many people were nearby. It was early and people were out walking on the sidewalk and down on the sand, so she relaxed. She could handle this.
“What is it you want from me?” he finally asked, his scowl back in place.
Charlotte frowned at him. “Excuse me?”
He sighed in agitation. “You heard me. What is it you want? You want me to sign something?”
Sign something? What the…?
“Look, Mr.…?” She paused and waited for him to fill in the blank, but when he didn’t, she was the one to sigh. “I’m Charlotte, by the way. Charlotte Clark. I’d prefer not to keep calling you ‘angry guy’ in my head.” And when he still didn’t answer, she stuffed her muffin back in the bag, grabbed her coffee, and stood. “I honestly didn’t mean to offend you, okay? I just thought it would be a nice thing to do and then we’d both be on our way—me feeling good and you feeling thankful. Obviously, I was wrong. So… I’m sorry if I was mistaken, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and enjoy my breakfast elsewhere.”
Her heart was hammering in her chest as she moved around him and walked back along the sidewalk to the crosswalk in hopes of finding someplace else to sit and eat. The whole time she complained in her head, because she seriously enjoyed sitting and watching the waves crash and all the sights and smells of the beach.
Stupid angry guy messing with my good morning.
Standing on the corner, she waited for the signal to change when she felt someone walk up beside her. She didn’t even have to turn her head to know it was him.
“Julian,” he said gruffly and Charlotte had to hide her smile. She was used to dealing with some belligerent people, and it was always satisfying when they had that moment where they started to trust her.
One More Moment Page 2
