This Is Our Song

by Samantha Chase

  So many retorts bounced around in her head, but Savannah knew now wasn’t the time to make a scene. She glared at Marshall and caught his smarmy grin before he shrugged. “I guess I’ll see the two of you later.”

  She waited until the crowd had swallowed Marshall up before she turned and tried to explain herself. “Riley, look… I—”

  “Not here,” he said, his voice low and deadly calm. “I think it’s time we move toward the stage. I see Mick over there with Roger. Let’s get through the presentation and we’ll talk when there’s no one around to eavesdrop.”

  Slowly, she nodded and noticed that for the first time all night, Riley moved away from her—his arm dropped from around her waist and he walked ahead of her toward the front of the room.

  * * *

  For the life of him, Riley had no idea how he had gotten through the rest of their time at Roger Gray’s house. He had smiled for everyone, had even gotten up on stage and given his speech about the importance of the work of the ASPCA, and afterward, he had stood—with Savannah at his side—for a seemingly endless amount of photos. When they were finally able to break free, he arranged for their car to come and get them.

  Through it all, Savannah had stood silently beside him. She smiled when prompted but didn’t utter a single word. He thanked Roger for inviting them and quickly ushered Savannah out of the room and outside to wait for the car.

  “Riley…” she finally said when they were alone, and he heard the tremor in her voice.

  “Here’s the car,” was his only response. Once inside with the doors closed, he gave the driver Savannah’s address. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head bow.

  In a million years, he never would have thought she’d be the one behind the whole documentary nightmare. She was the reason he’d been cut. She was the reason for his depression and funk and inability to write or perform for almost a year! There was no way he could forget what Marshall Hall had said—no way he could look at her right now without feeling betrayed.

  Maybe it wasn’t rational—after all, he and Savannah hadn’t even known one another back when she had the conversation with Hall. And, if he wanted to be fair, she had been honest with him from the very beginning about what she thought of him professionally.

  Since then she had claimed to change her mind about him and his talent.

  Or had she?

  The silence was deafening but there was no way Riley was going to have this discussion with her with an audience—even an audience of one. So he waited until they pulled up to her house and asked the driver to wait for him. He walked Savannah to the door and when she stepped inside, he followed, shutting the door behind him.

  “You’re the reason I didn’t get included in the documentary,” he said as soon as she put her purse down. Calm was what he was hoping for, but what came out was an angry accusation.

  “Riley, I had no idea! We were just talking that day! I had no idea what Marshall was planning or that he’d take something I said personally and use it against you. I mean, it was only a flippant conversation! It wasn’t anything personal. You have to believe me!”

  Pacing the length of the living room, he knew what she was saying made sense. A part of him knew it and was begging him to calm down before he did something stupid. Unfortunately, he had waited a year to have someone directly to blame for all the grief and aggravation the loss of the project had cost him.

  It was unfortunate Savannah was that person.

  “Do you have any freaking idea what that whole situation did to me? The way it messed with my head?”

  She nodded. “At the time I didn’t, but we’ve talked about this,” she said quickly, her desperation coming through in her every word. “I never put the two together. I’m sorry! I…I don’t know what else to say!”

  “I think you’ve said more than enough,” he snapped. “You know, people like you—the press—you think you’ve got everything all figured out. You look at musicians and celebrities and you form an opinion of us without knowing a damn thing. You see us out in public and if we make one wrong move, you create a story on what you think is going on and ninety-nine percent of the time you have it wrong.”

  “Riley—”

  “I’ve read stories about myself where I have no idea how the reporter even came up with the information that was printed. Most of the time it’s only nonsense and not worth my time to argue about, but you have got to realize how the things you do and say—as the press—affect people like me.”

  “I’m not like that, Riley! You know I’m not!”

  He laughed but it wasn’t filled with humor. “Do I? I thought I did, but apparently I was wrong.”

  “I made one stupid comment…and it was over a year ago!”

  “And yet look at what it accomplished!” he yelled. “Sitting there on your pedestal, sitting in judgment on the people you interview. Did it make you feel good, Savannah? Did it make you feel good to put others down? Did it make you feel superior to the rest of us?”

  “That wasn’t what it was about! Dammit, Riley, he asked my opinion and I gave it. I didn’t expect him to use it against anyone. And don’t you dare stand there and act like you’ve never criticized anyone either. We’ve all done it. It’s human nature!”

  “I trusted you,” he said, teeth clenched. “I shared everything about my life—everything that I am—and how am I supposed to know you’re not going to twist it all around and make a damn fool out of me in this article?”

  She looked at him as if he’d slapped her. “Wow. Just…” She shook her head in disgust. “From the moment we met, I was honest with you. Even when it wasn’t flattering, I was honest. You can check my work, you can talk to every damn celebrity I’ve ever interviewed and find out for yourself that I’m true to my word!”

  “It won’t matter,” he said and then sighed wearily. “I can’t… I don’t…” He looked at her sadly. “I look at you and all I see right now is the reason this last year has been hell.”

  He saw her eyes fill with tears. “I never meant…” she began.

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t be around you right now, Savannah.”

  She came up to him and grabbed his hand in both of hers. “It’s okay. Take a few days to think about things. I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much.”

  Slowly he pulled his hand from hers. “It’s not that easy. I don’t know if this is something I can move on from.”

  Straightening, Savannah took a full step back. “I never lied to you, Riley. I didn’t like you when I met you, but that changed the instant we started spending time together. Everything we shared—”

  “Is now tarnished,” he interrupted. “And I feel like a fool.”

  They stood there in silence, neither knowing what else there was to say. Finally, Riley walked toward the door and left without another word.

  * * *

  The entire weekend passed in a blur of tears for Savannah.

  She’d started to cry after Riley had walked out, and it seemed she wasn’t able to stop for more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn’t as if she was an overly emotional person, but she knew what they had was over and it was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced.

  By the time Monday rolled around, she started to feel a little like her old self. And as torturous as it was, she forced herself to sit down and do the final edits on Riley’s story. The sooner she was done with it, the sooner she could move on to something new. For two days she hammered through everything she’d written and recorded. It was like a sweet form of torture to hear his voice on the recordings. But when she was done, she simply boxed up all her notes and tucked them away in her closet.

  Tommy was thrilled when she emailed him on Wednesday, and when he called to congratulate her, she asked if he would meet her for dinner. He readily agreed and told her they would celebrate. She smiled at his enthusiasm an
d promised to meet him at seven at their favorite sushi place near the magazine’s offices.

  “Wait…you’re not serious, are you?” he asked when they finally sat down to dinner.

  Savannah nodded. “I am.”

  Tommy frowned and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand. This is all coming out of nowhere. Last we talked, this was going to be a cover piece, multi-issue, and big things were going to start happening for you. I’ve got some sweet assignments lined up with your name on them.”

  “Give them to someone else. I’m done.” There was little emotion in her voice as she said it but his intense scrutiny was making her squirm in her seat.

  “What are you going to do now? Go back to doing hair and makeup? Come on, Savannah, we both know you’re far too talented to walk away from your writing.”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t figured it all out yet. But I wanted you to be the first to know. You’re more than a boss to me, Tommy. You’re a friend. A mentor. You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but that’s just your style.”

  “You’ve got to give me something here, kid. I’m finding it hard to believe you’re walking away from this on a whim. I talked to Shaughnessy’s people on Monday and they’re over the moon with you. We’re meeting tomorrow to talk about distribution and how we can make this beneficial to all of us. You can’t just walk away.”

  Willing herself not to start crying, she gave Tommy a weak smile. “I have to.”

  “Tell me what happened. Tell me what I can do to change your mind about this.”

  In her mind, when Savannah imagined this conversation with Tommy, he took her resignation in stride and they had a pleasant dinner and went their separate ways. She’d never imagined sharing with him everything that had happened between her and Riley. By the time she was done, she felt physically and emotionally drained.

  “Well…shit,” he murmured, running a hand over his face. “I freaking hate Marshall Hall. That guy’s a major jackass with a God complex.”

  “Yeah, I still can’t believe he said it all to Riley. I mean, what was the point?”

  “He’s mean like that. He’s known all along how much that rejection bothered Riley, and he found the perfect way to rub it in even harder. Damn, Savannah. I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t change what I said, Tommy. I’ve apologized and pretty much begged Riley, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Maybe he just needs time to calm down.”

  She shook her head. “He had a box of my things delivered to me this morning. I don’t think he wants time. He wants me gone.”

  With a curse, Tommy reached over and placed a hand over hers. “I get why you’re upset and all, but quitting the magazine isn’t going to change anything.”

  “Maybe not to you, but it will for me. Riley was right. I do pass judgment on the people I interview, and now that I’ve seen the way it can affect someone? Hurt someone? I can’t do it anymore. I still want to write, Tommy, but not on this level. No more rock stars or celebrities. Maybe I’ll apply to some women’s magazine and do stories on hair and makeup. Put my cosmetology license to some good use.”

  Sitting back, he studied her. “Let me make some calls and see what I can do. I hate to see you reduced to doing stories on eye shadow after you flew in a hot air balloon with Sting. That’s just wrong.”

  She chuckled.

  And for the first time in days, she felt like maybe there was life after Riley Shaughnessy.

  * * *

  She was going to kill Tommy Vaughn.

  Two weeks later, it was the only thing keeping Savannah sane—images of getting back to L.A. and wrapping her hands around his stupid neck! He had been good to his word and found her several lucrative freelancing gigs, most of which kept her busy and on the road—and that was helpful in keeping her mind off Riley. But right now? She would welcome being in a Riley Shaughnessy museum to this current assignment.

  She was sitting in a barn in the backwoods of Washington State interviewing a young wood sculptor. Granted, the guy was brilliant. He did things with wood that, even though she saw him do it, didn’t seem possible. Benjamin Tanner was twenty-six and had little to no interest in being interviewed. It was like pulling teeth to get him to speak more than a handful of words to her.

  Unfortunately for him, he had made a bit of a name for himself and his agent had insisted on the article being done. So he was doing it, but he wasn’t doing it graciously.

  “So…um, Ben,” she said, doing her best to get comfortable while sitting on a pile of hay, “how did you get started with your sculpting?”

  He didn’t even look up at her. Sandy blond hair was tucked under a knit cap and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. Savannah thought he was cute in a scruffy kind of way, but his manners pretty much sucked. “My grandfather used to make furniture,” he said stiffly. “He built the cabin he and my grandmother moved into when they first got married and then he started with the furniture. From the time I was five, he used to bring me out to his workshop and taught me about wood and tools and how to build things.”

  “So do you enjoy making furniture?” she asked and thought to herself how she really couldn’t care less.

  He shook his head. “I do it, but I don’t enjoy it. I studied art in school and while my teachers were encouraging us to work with clay and stone, I decided to go with wood.”

  “How did your teachers feel about that?”

  “I didn’t care. We were told to do a project. I chose to do it in wood rather than their suggestions.”

  She smiled at his belligerent attitude. “What did you get as a grade on your first project?”

  This time he did look up at her, and Savannah noticed that his eyes were an incredible shade of green and when he smiled, he had dimples. “It’s still on display at the high school.”

  “Impressive.”

  He shrugged again. “I also did pieces for several teachers. They stopped making me draw things with chalk or whatever pointless medium they were trying to teach that week and pretty much let me do my own thing. It was the easiest grade I ever got.”

  Okay then, she thought. “So how did you get here?”

  He looked at her quizzically. “I grew up here.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “No, I mean here as in to the point where I’m here interviewing you.”

  “Oh.”

  For a minute Savannah was certain he was going to ignore her. He was currently working with a hammer and chisel and while she could appreciate his attention to detail, she’d also appreciate his attention to this interview.

  “My parents were killed in a boating accident three years ago,” he said quietly. “My grandparents are gone so it was up to me to provide for my younger brothers.”

  Brand. New. Information. She sighed and made a note of it. “How many are there?”

  “Two. Jack is two years younger than I am and Henry is four years younger.” He paused. “They were both in college when it happened and I didn’t want them to have to quit. I had an art teacher in college who was always after me to show my work. I didn’t see what the big deal was. I mean, I know my stuff is good, but I thought I was the only one who would appreciate it. After the funeral, I called him and asked him to help me set up an exhibit.”

  Savannah scanned through her preliminary research because that exhibit had made the national news. “He was very good at his job because you received a lot of attention for that show.”

  Ben nodded. “I still don’t understand why. But I sold every piece I displayed for more money than I ever thought possible and then was commissioned to do a lot more.”

  “What’s this piece you’re working on now?”

  “This is for a guy with too much time and money on his hands,” Ben said sourly. “He’s building a six-thousand-square-foot log home and wants custom pieces
for several rooms. This one is a mini totem pole for his son’s room. He told me what he wanted and I drew up the designs.”

  “That’s pretty interesting.”

  “Not really. Essentially I’m ripping up my hands for a bunch of spoiled rich kids. Not exactly living the dream.”

  “So what would you be doing if it were up to you?”

  Dropping his hands, Ben looked at her. “I’d be designing whatever the hell I wanted to and wouldn’t have a reporter here watching me.”

  Yeah, she was going to strangle Tommy Vaughn.

  * * *

  “Hey, you’ve reached Savannah Daly. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks, and have a great day.”

  It was the fifth time Riley had heard that message in the last week and he was getting pretty damn tired of it. The first three times, he’d left a message. Then he gave up. He was the one getting the message—Savannah didn’t want to talk to him and really, who could blame her?

  He’d spent a week holed up in his house after the whole Marshall Hall revelation. Mick had threatened to kick his front door down if he didn’t come out, and there wasn’t a doubt in Riley’s mind that he’d do it. But even when he did, he wasn’t worth shit to anyone.

  “You have got to snap out of it,” Mick said, helping himself to a beer. “I get that you were taken off guard and that you’re upset, but to be fair you really can’t hold this against Savannah.”

  Riley wanted to argue but Mick was right. It was the exact conclusion he had come to.

  He just wasn’t ready to fully accept it yet.

  “Look, we’re almost at the end of the month and you have one damn song left to do. You need to get off your ass and get it done.”

  “I don’t have a damn thing,” Riley said quietly. “I can’t even think about a damn song.”

  “Then the label is going to pick one for you.” Finishing his drink, Mick started to walk toward the front door. “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow in the studio. Don’t make me come and get you.”