Nora scoffed. “Which is why you ran scared and are hiding out here, while that sexy man calmed down the kids and got them to return to the playroom.”
Elle looked up then. “What happened?”
“They decided to play horses out in the café. Your George told them good horses didn’t break out of the corral, especially if they were well cared for, and they went back.”
“He’s not my George.”
Nora ignored the comment and said, “Toby said something you should know about.”
The tone of her voice made Elle stop her frenetic cleaning and pay attention. “What?”
“He said that’s why you both broke out.”
Elle’s stomach sank. “What did George say?”
“Nothing. But he got a very thoughtful expression on his face.”
“Maybe it will be enough to scare him away. I’m too busy for men right now.”
“Honey, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him. If he’s still interested after meeting Toby, there’s a chance he’s a keeper.”
Frustration rose in Elle. Nora didn’t know what she’d been through with Dean. Nora’s ex had left when she’d fallen pregnant, which was bad enough, but at least she hadn’t suffered years of abuse. “I don’t want or need a man.” She said it slowly, trying not to let the anger show, but some of it must have.
“I know it hasn’t been long since you left your ex, but you need to remember some men are worth it.” Nora ran a hand down Elle’s arm and left the kitchen.
Elle let out a breath and bowed her head over the sink.
She shouldn’t be getting this worked up over a man. What she would do was listen to the CD, tell him she didn’t like any of his singers and that would be the end of it.
Easy.
***
Elle dumped the fast-food bags and mail on the kitchen table and sank into a chair, sighing. She’d been too tired and stressed to worry about cooking and figured the occasional treat wouldn’t hurt.
Toby sat next to her and reached for the bag.
“Hold on a second.” Elle pulled it out of his reach and then handed him his fries, burger and juice.
He attacked the fries with gusto and there was a short period of silence.
Elle would have killed for a mint iced tea, but she didn’t have the ingredients. Instead she had to settle for the over-sweetened soda that had come with her meal. Still, at least she hadn’t had to cook.
As she ate her fries, she sifted through the mail, mostly flyers and other junk, but an envelope caught her eye, and then the logo on the front made her heart race.
Slowly she picked up the envelope and examined it.
It was from the women’s shelter she’d run to when she’d first left Dean. The only reason they would be sending her something was if it had come from Dean or his family.
After she’d left the shelter, she’d written to Dean’s mother, Lindsay, and told her if she wanted to contact them, she should send it to the shelter. Only the women there knew where she was now.
Tearing open the envelope, she let two letters fall out. The first had the address handwritten and Elle recognized Lindsay’s handwriting. It was postmarked Monday.
The second was worse.
Simpson, Cook and Partners.
Lawyers.
Elle’s heart thumped as she debated which she should open first.
She wouldn’t be a coward.
She pried open the lawyer’s letter and flattened it out on the table. Taking a deep breath, she read it. Then she read it for a second time, not quite believing what it said.
“Can I leave the table?”
“Mom?” Toby tapped her on the arm.
Elle looked over. “Sure. Why don’t you get your pajamas out and find a story book to read?”
Toby raced out of the room.
Elle closed her eyes.
Dean wanted custody of Toby.
She’d never heard anything more ridiculous. He hadn’t spent any time with his child. No, a relationship with Toby was definitely not his real motive. He just wanted to keep control of her.
She would fight it. There was no way she was going to allow that asshole to have Toby. She didn’t even want him to have joint custody. There was no reason for him to want it. He hadn’t paid any attention to his son since he was born, had often said Toby was a nuisance and had even suggested she have an abortion when she first told him she was pregnant.
No, she would fight this with all she had.
Which wasn’t a lot.
Dean had his family’s money behind him. He could afford to hire lawyers whereas Elle would have to go back to the pro bono place.
Thinking of his family, she reached for the letter from Lindsay.
Dear Elle and Toby,
I hope you are well and safe. You have both been missed at the ranch and we hope you will be back soon.
Elle, I don’t know why you left, but I do know that since you’ve been gone Dean has been beside himself. He is going to get in touch and I think you should consider counseling, for Toby’s sake if not your own. A boy deserves to be with his father.
Martin and I miss our little man as well. Tell Toby we have a couple of new foals. I know he would love to visit them.
Love,
Lindsay (Memah)
Elle put the letter aside, her heart twisting. Despite living in such close quarters, Lindsay and Martin never witnessed the abuse. She and Dean had lived in a little cottage not far from the main house, but far enough for them not to know what happened in her day-to-day life.
Dean didn’t beat her often, just when the rage overwhelmed him, or when she made him mad. And he learned to hit where the bruises could be covered up.
Anyway, the worst punishment had been the feeling of being trapped. She’d been in a cage with the door left open, daring her to take a step out and face the punishment, and that was almost worse. She’d had no money and there was no one she could run to.
It had taken her five years to build the courage to leave, and then it was only because Dean had hit Toby. She might have had no money, no transport and no prospects, but she had to protect her son.
There was no way she was going back to Dean, and no way she would let him have care of their son.
Her one ray of light was she’d never married the creep. He hadn’t believed in the institution of marriage and so she didn’t need a divorce. Of course there were still de facto and parenting legalities she had to deal with, but she’d not had time to think about them until now.
At least she had her diaries and photos to back up her allegations of abuse.
She’d kept a diary since she was in high school and Dean hadn’t had an issue with it early in the relationship. Then when Toby was born and things became rocky she’d kept a fake journal, full of her love for Dean and her sorrow at making him mad; the real one, well hidden, detailed his rages and violence, his tight control of her movements and her concerns for her child.
Elle rose, gathered both letters and went to the closet of her room, all thoughts of her dinner forgotten. She took the box out of the bottom and opened it, to check the diaries were still there. She really should get a safe deposit box for them, in case Dean found out where they lived.
She’d check with her bank in the morning.
Right now she wanted to spend some time with the one male in her life she would do anything for. The one who relied on her to take care of him.
And she would take care of him.
No matter what Dean threw at her.
***
Why the hell had George agreed to take this diva on? Sure, she had an amazing voice, but damn, she could caterwaul if she wasn’t getting her own way. She was nowhere near successful enough to be throwing these theatrics at him. He sat at his desk as she stalked around his office.
“Can you believe, George, they only offered water, tea or percolated coffee as refreshments? What kind of radio station is that? I won’t go back to them.” She took a breath a
nd before George could change the subject she continued, “And they made me do some stupid name-the-song game without any warning. I mean who knows songs from the nineties?”
Anyone who was born before then or who had an interest in music.
George let it lie. Instead he said, “A lot of radio stations don’t have the money to cater as well as they would like to, Ophelia.”
“Well they should.”
This wasn’t getting them anywhere. He needed to change the topic. “How’s the latest song going?”
Ophelia sighed, deep and heartfelt, and George wished he hadn’t asked.
“Jay wants to add rapping and the thought gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Jay had sent him a sample the day before, along with a whole heap of complaints about the girl. The rapping gave the song an edge and a different sound from Ophelia’s other songs. It worked.
“Why?”
“Rapping is so passé. Everyone’s doing it.”
George clenched his teeth together. The girl had no clue. She was eighteen, blond haired and blue eyed and had never had a difficult day in her life. When he’d met her, she’d spun him a sob story of poverty and struggle and he’d fallen for it.
The damn Galahad syndrome again.
He was too proud to admit he’d made a mistake about her, and damn it, she was such a fantastic singer – there was a tone to her voice that gave him chills. He just needed to show her that hard work and networking meant a damn sight more than voice in their industry, and that being a diva would get her nowhere she wanted to go.
Somehow.
“Rapping is an incredibly difficult art form,” he said to her. “It gives the song extra depth.”
If there was one thing Ophelia wanted it was depth and meaning to her music. She didn’t want to be a Katy or Taylor – her words not his.
She pursed her lips. “Maybe I should listen to it again.”
George clicked open the file on his computer. “I’ve got it here.”
They listened to the song twice, the second time with Ophelia singing along. Her voice was perfect. When they got to the recording studio it would be a piece of cake – as long as she’d lost the attitude before then.
“Jay’s got the mix right,” he said.
Ophelia tilted her head. “Do you really think so?”
There was the tiniest hint of vulnerability there, but George refused to be pulled in to it. He’d learned his lesson.
The problem with Ophelia was she’d never been through the battle to find gigs, never had to sing in dives to make a few dollars and a few fans. No, Ophelia had graduated high school and come knocking at his door. She hadn’t even been the songwriter she’d said she was.
Perhaps that was the solution. He should book her into a few small places to do a short set and check what she was like in front of an audience. She could do a couple of covers as well as the song they’d released.
Elle’s place would be perfect for her.
But Ophelia might be too much for it.
He could start somewhere else. Mind made up, he said, “I’m going to book a couple of gigs. We’ll try a couple of the new songs and check the audience reaction.”
Ophelia was truly panicked. “But I don’t have a full set.”
“We’ll add in a couple of covers. You don’t want to give them a free concert.”
“Free? I’m not going to work unpaid.” Her tone was incredulous.
“You’ll be paid but the patrons won’t need to pay. I’ll find a couple of bars and set something up.”
“Bars? What about concert venues?”
George laughed then. He couldn’t help himself. “No one knows who you are, Ophelia. You need to start off small. The concert venues will come, if you master the smaller ones and attract fans.”
Ophelia flopped down into one of the chairs. “Do I have to?” She was like a whiny child.
“Yes. Why don’t you go and work on your next song? You’ve got another session with Jay tomorrow, don’t you?”
She nodded, pouting a little, but George ignored it. When she realized she wasn’t going to get any further reaction from him, she stood and walked out the door.
George waited until it closed behind her and then let out a deep sigh. His other artists were nothing like her. Which was just as well.
Grabbing a pen he jotted down the names of a few bars and clubs that might suit Ophelia’s music. Then he picked up the phone and started calling.
***
An hour later he had a schedule he was happy with. He’d left Elle’s place at the bottom with a question mark next to it. It was too early in the week to call her. He’d promised himself and her that he wouldn’t until Friday. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about her.
After Toby’s bombshell about escaping, George had asked Chris about her. Chris had worked for her at a pro bono session, but he didn’t know much about her circumstances.
It was obvious from her skittish behavior that she hadn’t had an easy time. George knew he needed to take things slowly, but she was on his mind constantly.
His cell rang and he picked it up, then smiled. “Hello, Elle.”
There was a sharp intake of breath and some stuttering before she said, “Hello, George.”
His smile widened. He liked that he flustered her. It meant she wasn’t indifferent to him. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve listened to the CD you gave me.”
“Great, what did you think?”
A long pause, then a big sigh. “They were all good.” She didn’t sound happy.
George grinned. He’d made sure the song list he’d put together was perfect for her small venue and full of artists who would enjoy the gig. There were some on his books who would gig anywhere because they loved to play, loved to sing. Some of them were breaking into the big time now, but they wouldn’t mind doing a one-off secret session. It would be great for interest and social media. Elle was too professional to let the chance go.
“Do you want me to come around later and we’ll work out a schedule?”
“Can we discuss it now?”
That didn’t fit his plan. “I’ve got a meeting in five. I’ll check the artists’ schedules and come around Friday about four. Does that work for you?”
“That’s fine.”
“How’s Toby?” George asked.
“He’s well.” She seemed surprised by the question, but pleased.
“Did Miranda get to go riding?”
“No.” Her tone shifted, screaming ‘back off’, and so he did.
“All right. See you Friday.” He hung up.
Placing his cell on the table, he leaned back. Was he being too pushy? Was he inviting more issues than he should, by trying to get Elle to open up? What was she hiding? On a whim, he typed her name into the search engine on his computer. He scanned through the results. There was nothing that matched her.
Who didn’t have an online presence these days? Her name didn’t even come up in conjunction with her bookshop café.
Was she hiding from someone?
He closed his eyes, pictured her standing in her bookshop, vulnerable but determined, and the protectiveness in him kicked into gear. Someone, somewhere had treated her badly, of that he was sure.
He wanted to show her not everyone was like that.
He wanted her to trust him.
***
Elle flitted around the shop, brushing non-existent dust off her books and wiping already-clean tables again. She checked the clock for the tenth time – five to four – and cursed the fact that for the first time all week, the café was quiet, with only a few customers.
The tables were set, the books were restocked, and the sugar containers were full. Any other day she’d send Nora home now, but George was due to arrive any minute.
He was the reason she was in such a state.
Calling George hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. Initially she’d intended telling him all his artists were unsuit
able, but damned if he hadn’t chosen wonderful voices that would be lovely in her shop. She wanted her business to succeed too much to refuse them because she didn’t want to deal with George again. But then she was sure they could have arranged it over the phone.
No such luck.
To give herself a boost of confidence, she’d changed out of her uniform and dressed in the one business suit she owned. She wanted to portray the image of a successful business owner. Checking her reflection again in the display cabinet, she huffed out a breath. She was being ridiculous.
Annoyed with herself, she turned to head out the back to check the kitchen – and the chime on the door sounded.
He was dressed in a gray suit with a white shirt. The tie he wore took the look from completely professional, adding a bit of fun with its bright, colorful cartoon knight.
Elle’s heartbeat increased and she swallowed. While he searched for her, she started forward, determined to be polite, professional and to the point.
“Elle, nice to see you again.” He held out his hand as she approached and she had no choice but to take it.
“George.” His hand was warm, strong but gentle as she shook it. She ignored the zing that shot up her arm, or tried to. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“A latte would be great.”
Glad for the excuse to distance herself, she said, “Why don’t you take a seat over there and I’ll bring it right out?” She pointed to the table she’d set up ready for their meeting and hurried away.
Nora walked over as Elle put the required amount of coffee in the scoop. “What do you need?”
“Two lattes,” Elle told her and put the cups under the nozzles.
“Let me finish them. You go and start your meeting with George.” She nudged Elle away from the coffee machine. “If you’re nervous, pretend he’s naked.”
Elle’s eyes shot towards George and heat filled her face. She was relieved he wasn’t close enough to hear, or see her reaction. That image was the last thing she needed. She rolled her eyes at Nora, who was grinning at her. “Thanks a lot.”
Elle stepped away from the machine, took a moment to make sure the flush was fading, and then she sat down across from George. “Nora will bring the coffees shortly.”
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