by Cassie Mae
“After seeing your collection of t-shirts, it’s clear to me you have acceptable taste in music.”
“Acceptable?” I say with a laugh. “If my memory serves me correctly, I believe your words the other night were ‘impressive taste.’ Don’t under-sell me, Ethan. ” His head lifts when I say his name, and the hint of smile plays across his mouth. “Unless of course you don’t remember.”
He rests his elbows on his desk and intertwines his fingers. “If you’re going to challenge me every step of the way, I can find someone else.”
“I’m not challenging you. Just reminding. There is a difference, you know?”
He runs both hands through his hair, smoothing it out. “I’ve looked into Corrosive Bouquet. You’re right. They have a very large following. I’ve made a few calls and have reached out to their people.”
“Shut up!” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I don’t care. My recommendation may actually help this band get the push they need to go global.
The hint of a grin makes an appearance on his face, but he covers it up with a sad excuse for a cough. “Don’t tell me to shut up, Miss Teller.”
The seriousness in his tone is overshadowed by amusement. A bunch of words come rushing toward my mouth, but I bite my lip ring to keep them from coming out. While I love the banter that we tend to fall into, I’m here to do a job, and I need to remember that.
“What’s in the box?” I ask, curiosity finally getting the better of me.
“Demos. Hundreds and hundreds of demos. I want you to wade through them and pick out the ones you think are worth a second listen.”
Excitement explodes inside of me like pyrotechnics during a big show. “Seriously?” I ask, trying to keep my tone cool, but knowing damn well I failed.
“Seriously.”
“I would love to.”
“Good. You can start now. But I’d rather the demos not leave my office.”
“Sure,” I say, and then grab the box from his desk, bringing it over to the couch pressed against the large window. The view is gorgeous, and I can’t wrap my head around the fact that I get to sit here, looking out on it while trying to discover untapped talent. It’s like a dream come true in the best sense—almost too good to be true. I may be ambitious, and I may want to push through all the walls an intern is restricted by, but it shouldn’t be this easy.
“Ethan?” I say, loving the way his name falls so easily from my lips and loving even more how it seems to affect him.
He doesn’t even have to look up for me to see the amusement dancing across his face. “Hmm?”
“I don’t mean to pry.”
“Of course you do,” he says, finally looking up with a slight smirk that holds a hint of the man on my couch the other night.
“With your taste being so similar to mine… Why wouldn’t you want to listen to all of these demos yourself?” I reach into the box and pull out a handful before placing them back. “You’re in a position now where you get to choose the talent that the world hears. It’s an honor. Why are you giving that away?”
I wonder if it has to do with that sadness, and just as the thought enters my mind, that familiar sorrow filled with vulnerability crosses his eyes, darkening them, and for a moment the man in the suit becomes a little boy. “Because of my father,” he says. Then he blinks, and he is just a suit again, closing himself off.
***
The sunset over the city casts beautiful shades of pinks and oranges across the sky. I tap my foot to the song I’m currently listening to and smile when the girl hits a very high note. She’s good, but there’s nothing about her that makes her stand out from the other twenty demos I’ve listened to tonight.
Besides, the high note was high, but even I could hit that. I laugh thinking about how Rebecca could never hit a note like that. Yet somehow the bitch scored herself a record deal. I let out a rush of air and push her far out of my mind. She doesn’t deserve to occupy my thoughts.
I pop the demo out of the laptop Ethan let me borrow and throw it in the pass pile. I’m about to plug another one in when he stands from his desk and walks over to me.
“It’s getting late,” he says, tugging at his tie like it’s suffocating him. The muscles beneath the suit flex with each jerk, and the tension in his jaw slowly eases. As the tie loosens, so does his demeanor. He wears a suit and tie well, but behind closed doors, he’s constantly yanking at the knot around his throat.
“What time is it?” I ask, and push up from the comfortable position I’m in. I glance down at my phone. “Shit. It’s eight o’clock already? Why are you still here?”
“I run a label. The work is never done. Why are you still here?”
I slide my teeth over my lip ring and bite on it for a moment. I debate telling him that he trusted me with a job, and I want to make sure I take it seriously, but instead I opt for the truth. “You kidding? I was having fun.”
“Is that why you were humming?” he asks, and my eyes widen.
“Was I? I’m sorry. When I put earbuds in, I get swept away in the music.”
He smiles, and it’s a nice contrast to the scowl he’s been wearing most of the evening. “It’s okay. You sound like you have a nice voice.” His eyebrows tilt up, and it’s a great look for him. My heart trips over itself just witnessing it. “You ever think about actually singing?”
The question is like a quick uppercut to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. Singing used to be my life. The only thing I cared about, but not anymore. I keep my face void of emotion and answer simply. “I don’t sing.”
He must hear the finality in my tone because he doesn’t push, and I appreciate it. I turn my attention to the window, looking out to the city below us.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
My stomach grumbles at his question. I’m down to my last five dollars though, and the idea of eating another bowl of Ramen causes my stomach to retract its previous growl.
“Not really.”
He laughs. “Your stomach says otherwise.”
I shake my head disapprovingly at it. “We’re never on the same page.”
That twinkle in his eye that only makes rare appearances starts to glimmer, causing a slow, simmering heat to rise in my stomach. There’s no denying how good-looking he is, but when he gives me little glimpses that show another side to him, I’ve never seen anything hotter. “Grab your stuff. I know a great place downtown.”
I search for words to decline his offer. It’s nice of him to ask, but I can’t afford it, and I don’t want to assume he’ll pay.
My eyes catch his, and suddenly the thought of saying no to him seems impossible. I want to go so bad even if my intentions aren’t pure. I want to know him. What he orders to drink and makes him tick. I want to see beneath the façade and find the guy who sat on my couch and talked to me about music. But the truth is, no matter how much I want that, I can’t even afford a side dish right now.
“It’s my treat. I insist,” he says, and any argument I had is gone.
I should refuse. By saying yes, I’m crossing a line. He might think it’s just business, but I know it’s not. Whether he sees it or not there’s something between us brewing on the surface and it’s only a matter of time before it boils over.
The decline sits on my tongue, but I can’t manage to get it out. Instead, I grab my stuff and smile. “Why didn’t you say so?” I push my bag onto my shoulder and walk over to him, close enough to smell that intoxicating scent that reminds me so much of the ocean. His eyebrow arches as my hands reach out to his chest. I can feel the heat from his body radiating off of him and mixing with my own.
Our mouths are a trip and fall away from each other. His body tenses as I wrap my fingers around his tie. I pull at the two sides, loosening the knot, then step back. “Better. I wouldn’t be able to sit through an entire meal with you yanking at that damn thing.”
I give him a wink and head for the door, his heat still lingering on my skin, the
smell of him still assaulting my senses, when I suddenly realize touching him was a big mistake.
The backseat of the Bentley is wide, roomy, comfortable, but my nervous system would beg to differ. Paige’s mouth has been going nonstop since we climbed in, the window next to her fogged from the amount of breaths she’s using between thoughts. At first I’m professional, hanging on her words as they pour from her lips. She definitely speaks the language of a musical expert.
As captivated as I am by her passionate monologue, my mind soon detracts to the shape of her mouth, the glint of her lip ring as she laughs at an amusing thought she just voiced, and the hint of blush rushing up her pale, pale neck as she stops to take a much-needed breath. The rise and fall of her chest pulls my mind into X-rated thoughts, and I quickly turn my gaze to the passing streets as Reg takes us to the restaurant I requested.
“How much longer, Reg?” I grumble up to him, surprised by the jump in my voice.
Paige stops midsentence and throws me a pointed look. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you?”
Far from it. “You’re very loud.”
Instead of a grimace at the insult, those lips I’ve been enthralled with tilt upward. “Reg, step on it. This man clearly needs food.”
An unexpected chuckle escapes from my throat, and the car shifts into another gear. Paige doesn’t miss a beat, diving into another in-depth description of a demo she’s excited for me to listen to. Honestly, I think I’d rather hear her talk about it than actually hear it for myself.
A few moments later, Reg idles the car in front of the eatery. Paige pushes her door open before I can act the gentleman and stares up at the partly lit sign.
“Surprised?” I ask her, a cocky grin forming on my lips.
“Hardly,” she answers, letting her eyes fall to mine. “Just trying to figure you out.”
“No mystery here.” I hold the door open for her, the chaos of the diners floating into the street. “I just appreciate a good buffalo wing.”
It’s the truth—yes, I can afford a five-star dining experience, and if it were anyone else working late with me, I most likely would’ve chosen one of those to keep up with the persona I’m working on. However, I prefer the good eatin’ of my rebellious years, where the best things on the menu come with a side of wet naps, not a bite size portion that costs half an average working man’s paycheck.
The place is bustling with the late crowd, the sweet and tangy scent of smoked meat making my mouth pool—almost as much as the woman I’m here with. The host with a friendly, trained smile leads us to one of the tables near a back window with the perfect view of the intersection along Main. Paige tucks herself comfortably close to the table, eagerly taking the menu and perusing the food choices. I watch her careful emerald eyes behind her glasses, wondering what thoughts are going through her mind. She’s someone I wouldn’t have given a second glance before—when most my nights were spent with girls carrying Mom and Dad’s plastic, wearing clothes that cost more than the average rent—and damn, what a shame. Paige is definitely worth at least one hundred glances, and I’m sure I’ve hit that amount just tonight.
I let out a small laugh at myself, shaking my head, and her gaze moves from the menu to me for a split second before we’re interrupted by the waitress.
“Ethan Davis,” she says, resting her notepad on the back of my chair. Her smile is still just as crooked as I remember it, but the crack in her voice is thicker, as if she’s been breathing in the same air as my mother. I drop my gaze from her laugh-lined eyes to the silver nametag on her teal and white uniform even though I don’t need to read her name to remember it.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say, stretching from my seat to give Carol a hug. She’s thinner, shorter, and much more fragile than I remember.
“Says the man who said I was too old for him.”
I chuckle on my way back to my seat. “Out of my age bracket, Carol. Besides, I think the old man wanted a go at ya.”
She waves me off, but a fresh pink blush fills her cheeks. I meet Paige’s eyes across the table, an intrigued glint in her green irises. My grin wanes slightly, my heart thudding thick and heavy with the realization of how close I’m bringing her to the careless person I used to be, and how dangerous that is. I reach up to tighten my tie, to put on the CEO face, but I’m met with nothing but the open buttons of my shirt. The memory of Paige’s hands brushing my chest haunt me once again as I relive her freeing me from the man that tie turns me into.
“Wings?” Carol asks, interrupting my thoughts. I blink myself out of it and start unbuttoning my cuffs.
“Extra napkins, if you would.”
She laughs and turns her attention to Paige. “And for you?”
Paige claps the menu shut and hands it to Carol. “Same. And double those napkins. Wouldn’t want any casualties.” She gestures to the crisp whiteness of my button down just as I get the sleeves rolled to the crook of my elbows.
“You up for this?” I ask as soon as Carol goes back into the kitchen. “They’re pretty hot.”
She reaches for her lip ring, and I watch, absolutely entranced by how she carefully extracts it. My neck rushes with heat, like I’ve eaten my fair share of those wings already.
“Sorry, what?” I ask, knowing she’s answered my question but my ears weren’t functioning at the time.
“I said I’m not afraid of a little spice.” She lets a nail toy with the coaster under her lemon water. “Speaking of… there was a band on one of those demos that is terribly s—”
“Please,” I say, running a hand down my warming face, my brain barely able to concentrate on surface conversation, let alone work. “Put it to rest for the evening.”
“Thought this was a business dinner,” she quips, lifting an accusatory eyebrow as if she’s trying to make me admit to something.
“And we’ve discussed more than enough on the way here.”
“We discussed? It probably would’ve been just as effective pitching the bands to”—she waves her hand out randomly—“that guy over… th… th… there.”
I look up, following her gaze as her voice tapers off into oblivion. Before I can catch on to what has her suddenly so quiet, a firm grasp clamps down on my wrist.
“Hide me,” she whispers, eyes wide and panicked, making my blood rush under my skin. As I rise from my seat, trying to find the person she’s anxious to get away from, she uses my body as a shield, pressing her nose into the middle of my back.
“Hang on, who am I hiding from?” I ask, amusement lacing my voice as she attempts to not cause a scene.
“Just take me in back or something. Use your connection as a rich guy or Mrs. Robinson’s boy toy. Oh shit, move, please!”
Hissed expletives become our background music as I hurry Paige around the bar and try to stifle my laughter. I glance over at the guy she pointed at, but I don’t recognize him. I do recognize the woman a few tables over, though, as the artist I’ve just stolen from a competing label. If I wasn’t being pulled into hiding, I’d stop by the table and play up the charm.
Paige trips over something, and I turn around to keep her from hitting the ground. I tuck us into a jutted hallway leading to the back kitchen, closing in on her in the confined space. Her back finds the wall, her fire-engine red hair flattening as she tries to become part of the molding. I step up to her, hiding her with my body as much as I can.
She’s holding her breath, but I can still feel the hot, bated air floating between us. Her eyes are glued to just over my shoulder until I bring my arms up and cage her in.
“Hidden enough?” I ask, meaning it as a joke, but the low whispering has my voice taking on a meaning I don’t intend. Her gaze meets mine, and I watch her swallow hard, teeth snaking out to play with a lip ring that isn’t there.
Her lips are perfection, and the thought makes my heart loud in my ears. I have the sudden urge to reach out and touch them, and not just them, but the paleness of her cheeks, the jewelry decorating her ears, and the
length of her hair. My fingers curl against the wall as I beg them to stay the hell away.
The green in her eyes darken as they float down to my parted lips. I realize that if I breathe any heavier, I will fog her black-rimmed glasses to the point that she won’t see two inches in front of her.
I make to move away, but she grasps my upper arm, pulling me back to where I was. I’m unsure what to think of that—if it’s to continue to hide her or if it’s because she’s feeling the same damn thing I am. Either way, there’s a voice in my head that says if I make a move on her, I won’t be met with a resounding no.
I’ve lost my mind, my blood heading south and taking over logical thought. Instead of inching away, I push even closer, stepping into her same space, same body heat, same breath. My eyes are locked on those lips that I’ve been hypnotized by all night long, and I can feel her gaze dead set on mine, and I wonder if she’s as surprised by this turn of events as I am, or if she’s as collectively cool about this as much as she seems by everything else.
Music floats in my ears from somewhere far away. For once, I don’t mind it so much.
“Ethan,” she says in a low voice. “Your… your phone.”
“Huh?” Confusion weaves its way into my foggy brain.
“Your phone is ringing.” She turns her head, sending a cooling wave of air that sobers me up. “Quick, turn it off.”
I blink, fumbling for my phone tucked in my shirt’s front pocket. When I see the hospital’s name on the screen, I back away from Paige completely and let out a long breath.
“This is Ethan,” I answer. The nurse gives me a rundown of my mother’s current state. All the medical jargon disjoint in my head, my brain tired from work and the confusion it’s been dealing with today, but I eventually get the gist. “She’s set to discharge tomorrow?” The nurse tells me yes, and I say, “Thank you,” and hang up.
After a quick breath to compose myself, I straighten my shoulders and chance a glance at Paige. “Do you mind taking our order to go?”
She shakes her head, for the first time since I’ve known her, seemingly speechless. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and gesture to Carol to get her attention.
