by Caisey Quinn
She sucked in a breath and leaned past Mia towards the door again. “Lily, please come out so we can talk. You don’t have to go to dinner with us. I’ll see if Brian will write down the instructions. Or email them or something. Okay?”
Kylie heard shuffling and then the door opened. Lily looked like she’d been punched in the face. More than once. Kylie struggled to keep her shock from showing. After taking a deep breath, she stepped towards Lily, who clutched her phone like a lifeline. “Lil, why don’t you just tell us what happened? It’ll make you feel better to talk about it.” She didn’t know if this was true. She personally hated talking about her problems. But she and Lily were different that way.
“H-he,” she began, cutting herself off with a sob. The girl who usually seemed full of life and obnoxious energy suddenly seemed extremely small and weak. “He went to California. Said he had business to handle at his LA office. But really he was just at my brother’s soccer game instead of coming to see my show.” She held up her phone as evidence.
Kylie and Mia both leaned in to see the Facebook photo of an extremely good looking soccer player with his arm around an older man in a dress shirt who must’ve been Donovan Taite. Nice. He could fly across the country to see one kid kick a ball around, but he couldn’t drive five minutes up the road to see his daughter perform for hundreds of people? What the hell was this guy’s problem? Obviously he wasn’t a shitty dad to his son. Lily might be annoying but she was a sweet girl who worked hard. Kylie had a nagging suspicion she was working hard specifically to impress a dad who obviously didn’t think she was worth her weight in salt. Well…someone certainly needed a talking to.
“HEY. YOU busy?”
Trace tried to sound calmer than he was. “Never too busy for you, babe. What’s up?”
“What do you know about Donovan Taite?” Kylie asked, catching him off guard.
“As in The Donovan Taite? The CEO of BackRoom Records?”
“That’s the one.”
He took a deep breath before answering. “Not much. Never met him. Isn’t his daughter on tour with you?”
“Yeah. And he’s a dick. I was wondering if you knew where exactly in Nashville his office was.”
“Jesus, Kylie. You can’t go around calling men like Donovan Taite a dick. I mean, you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. At least not where anyone can hear you.”
“Oh, I’m going to make sure people hear me all right. Mainly him.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead as he tried to figure out a way to shake some sense into his hot mess of a girlfriend over the phone. “Please listen to me, Hothead. This is not a man I’d mess with. He’s got the kind of connections that come from knowing members of the mob, if you get what I’m saying. He not only creates artists, he destroys them. To the point where you never hear of them again, ever. Do not, Kylie, I repeat, do not go screwing around with anything involving him.”
Kylie’s voice was low when she responded. “He doesn’t show up to anything of hers, Trace. He doesn’t return her calls. He flies across the country to see his son but can’t so much as pick up the phone to tell Lily he’s proud of her. Does he have an office in Nashville or not?”
Gretchen moaned loudly before he could respond. She was wailing like an animal in pain with her head on the table as he carried the vomit-covered bed sheets past her on his way to the dumpster. She’d nearly drunk herself to death the night before and she was paying for it now. Part of him wished he’d just minded his own business. But he’d been there. So he was helping her the best he could. Even though he was slightly hungover himself. He balanced his phone on his shoulder. “Yeah, but you shouldn’t go there. Listen, I know you. I can tell you’re upset and I’m sure whatever Donovan Taite has done is shitty enough to deserve your anger. But he’s not a man you mess with.”
“I just want to talk to him. Just want to tell him what he’s doing to his daughter is wrong. If my daddy was alive, armed guards wouldn’t be able to keep him from my shows. She’s…she’s not okay, Trace. I can’t just sit back and watch him break her.”
He heaved the disgusting pile of bedclothes into the dumpster. “I hear you, babe. I do. But I’m not kidding. Promise me you won’t—”
Fuck. As he released the last of the acidic smelling sheets into the dumpster, his phone fell from his ear. When he picked it up the screen was shattered to hell. Kylie had told him to get one of those cases that kept it safe even if a tank backed over it, but had he? Why hell no. And now the damn thing was dead and wouldn’t turn back on. And for all he knew, his girlfriend was going to walk her hotheaded ass straight into a lion’s den with a T-bone slung around her neck. Fucking Gretchen. He kicked the dumpster just before pitching his phone into it.
“WHAT THE hell’s your problem?” Watery bloodshot eyes glared at him as he slammed a travel-size mug of coffee down on the table in front of Gretchen.
“My problem is that you’re ruining my damned life. My problem is that if I hadn’t been here last night, you’d be fucking dead.” Trace took a breath to keep from screaming at the woman. He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. The counter that reminded him of his sexy-ass girlfriend sitting on top of it with her legs spread to accommodate him. Focus, dammit. “My problem, Gretchen, is that you’re not holding up your end of the deal here. I’m working my ass off to prove that I can do this. That I deserve this last shot that Capital has given me. And you’re doing your best to ruin it every step of the way.”
Yeah, he saw the damned irony. He’d paid attention in tenth grade English. Mostly because his teacher had some fine-ass legs. But he’d heard a few things she’d said too. God love Kylie for seeing the good in him even when he was behaving like this. He wanted to throttle Gretchen, throw her ass off the bus, and tell Carl to step on it. Looking at her, he couldn’t imagine what in the hell Kylie Ryans saw in him. He rubbed his eyes.
Gretchen was still glaring at him when he stopped. “I forgot, you’re Mr. Perfect now. Mr. Talks-to-His-Addiction-Specialist-When-He-Has-a-Moment-of-Weakness. Good for fucking you. Just don’t forget, you’re also Mr. Punched-Out-Several-Guys-Who-Didn’t-Deserve-It, Screwed-Anything-That-Moved, and wait, isn’t your girlfriend like fifteen? How’s your mom, by the way?”
He’d never wanted a drink so badly in his life. His chest tightened as the intensity of his need nearly overtook him. He’d bet Gretchen had a stash of liquor bottles in her room. His was empty. His fists clenched. He dropped them to his sides and flexed his fingers while counting to ten. And then twenty…five. He blew out a breath and lowered himself into the booth where she sat. “You’re right, Gretch. I’m an asshole. And Kylie’s nineteen, not that it’s any of your business. She’s still more of a grown up than I am on my best day.”
Gretchen’s expression said she wasn’t interested in hearing about his girlfriend. Or anything else he had to say. “Sounds like a real prize. Congratulations,” she deadpanned.
“And you know good and well my mom doesn’t want shit to do with me. So whatever you’re trying to do here, it won’t work.” He tilted his head. Gretchen Gibson was a bitch. But she was like him in a lot of ways. Defensive. Angry. Weak when it came to opportunities to numb the pain. But what pain was she numbing? He had no clue. Didn’t particularly care to know.
“I’m not trying to do anything. Why don’t you just do your thing and I’ll do mine? Feel free to mind your owned damned business.” Her eyes narrowed to cat-like slits.
“We’re on tour together. Whether we like it or not, what you do affects me. And your thing is going to get you killed, Gretch. Or at the very least get both of us sacked from Capital before you can order your next tequila sunrise. You need help.” I’m one to talk. Yeah, he felt like a hypocrite. But their situations were completely different. He had his drinking under control. He wasn’t out getting trashed like Gretchen, sleeping around, or passing out in his own vomit.
“Go to hell,” she hissed, standing abruptly. He watched helplessly as she stormed back to her room
. Dropping his head into his hands, he focused on the reasons why he shouldn’t drink. Kylie deserves better. So does Claire Ann. And Rae. I’ve worked too hard to throw my career away like this. I sure as shit don’t want to end up like Gretchen. And repeat.
But it was still there. That want. The need to swallow shot after shot until he couldn’t think about the trouble Kylie was getting into with Donovan Taite or the fucked up mess that was Gretchen Gibson. And worst of all, the fact that just like when he was a kid living under the roof of a volatile man who used his fists instead of words, he was powerless to do anything about any of it.
“GOT A minute?” Mia’s head poked into her room and Kylie braced herself for the blast of shit that was probably about to follow.
“Sure. What did I do this time? Wait, don’t tell me. Just say whatever bitchy thing you came to say.” She leaned back and waited.
Mia swallowed hard and took a step inside. “I didn’t come to say anything bitchy. Believe it or not I came to apologize. What I said about Trace, that’s none of my business. It wasn’t a fair comment to make and I shouldn’t have made it.”
What about all of the other unfair comments?
“Okay. I shouldn’t have accused you of the things I accused you of. So I guess we’re even.” Kylie stared at her, waiting for the fallout. The ‘but I still hate you for breathing’ part.
“So um, anyways…I was going to head into town, stop by my apartment, and maybe grab—”
“Hey, can I come with? I have a pit stop to make downtown.”
Mia’s brow furrowed. She probably doesn’t want me to know where she lives. Not that Kylie could really blame her since she had technically threatened her with violence. “I guess. You ready now?”
Kylie nodded. She’d just gotten her first shower in two days since Lily had finally come out of the bathroom. She was past ready.
WHEN THE two of them arrived at the corporate offices of BackRoom Records, Mia freaked. Rightly so. “Are you insane? This isn’t the time or place to make a scene, Oklahoma.”
“We’re not going to make a scene, Mia. We’re just going to talk to him. Relax.”
The girl sighed as she walked through the door Kylie held open. “Okay, but for the record, this was your idea and I just came along in case you got arrested.”
“Fine.” The two girls rode the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor. When they stepped out into the immaculate reception area, Mia let out a low whistle.
Kylie stepped up to the blonde at the reception desk, trying her best not to be intimidated by the impressive office area. “Kylie Ryans, here to see Donovan Taite.”
The woman barely looked up. “Is he expecting you?”
“Probably not,” Kylie said with a shrug. “But it’s important. It’s about his daughter.”
“Have a seat,” the woman said, eyeing Kylie’s jeans and tattered Rum Room T-shirt. She knew she probably looked like a waitress, but oh the hell well. Five minutes ago she was a waitress, dammit. No shame in her game. Blondie could deal.
“Actually I need to see him immediately. We have a performance tonight that we can’t be late for. What I have to say won’t take long.” She was probably only staying long enough for Mr. Taite to call security anyways.
The receptionist narrowed her eyes. “Miss Ryans, was it?”
Kylie nodded.
“Mr. Taite has an extremely high profile client list. He’s a very busy man, and while I’m sure he can hardly wait to hear what you have to say, anyone wanting to see him makes an appointment.”
“I see. Well, how about you just do me a favor and do your one job and press that intercom button to let him know I’m here to speak with him about his daughter. Lily. Might want to use her name incase he’s forgotten it. If he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll go.” Lord, please don’t strike me down for lyin’.
The woman glared so hard that Mia took a step back. But Kylie stayed rooted where she stood, the image of Lily clutching her phone like a live grenade still fresh in her mind.
The two of them watched as the woman pressed the intercom button and informed the almighty Mr. Taite that a Miss. Ryans was here to see him about his daughter. There was a brief pause before he said, “Send her on back, Julie.”
The receptionist jerked her head towards a door at the end of the hall.
“Thanks so much, Julie,” Kylie drawled, pulling Mia along with her.
“You have a real way with people, you know that?” Mia huffed under her breath.
“It’s a gift,” Kylie answered. Her hands began to tremble. Lily’s drunken voice blabbering about her daddy not caring about her, about her not being good enough, about trying so hard to make him proud, to make him notice, was on a steady loop playing through her head. Mia hadn’t seen anything yet.
She jerked the heavy mahogany door open and Mia followed close behind. Donovan Taite looked up from his desk. He was handsome for a guy probably in his late forties or early fifties. Not that it mattered.
“Mr. Taite,” Kylie said as she marched up to his desk. “I’m Kylie Ryans and this is Mia Montgomery. We’re currently on tour with your daughter—”
“Ryans? The waitress? The one shacking up with Trace Corbin as he goes down in flames?” His forehead wrinkled as he looked up at her.
Well, now she really hated him. “No, sir.” She forced her best smile. “Ryans, the one who is soon to be topping the charts over all of your clients. Ryans, the one who worked her ass off to get here. And for today, Mr. Taite, Ryans, the one who’s about to give you a detailed description of what your sorry-ass excuse for parenting skills are doing to your daughter.” Whew. Kylie exhaled. It felt good to get that out of the way.
Mr. Taite raised a brow. “My daughter?”
“Yeah, you know. She’s about five two, blond, sixteen, and touring around the country instead of being in high school. We call her Lily, but you obviously can’t be bothered to call her at all.” Adrenaline pumped hard and fast through her body. She prayed she wasn’t shaking visibly.
At that, Donovan Taite stood. Jesus, he was tall. And had a huge booming voice to match. “Now wait just a damned minute—”
“No, Mr. Taite, you wait a damned minute. For two months we’ve watched her call you, only to be told you’re too busy to talk. Watched her sit in front of the computer, waiting for Skype dates that never happened. And if you really want to know—we’ve also watched her drink herself into oblivion while blubbering like a baby about a daddy who doesn’t think she’s good enough to be his daughter.”
The man opened his mouth to speak but Kylie wasn’t done. “And for the record, she’s pretty damned talented, despite the fact that she’s really just in the music business to get your attention. Not that you would know. Or care.”
“Easy, Oklahoma,” Mia whispered from behind her. “Maybe take it down a notch.”
The man eyed her up and down. “I didn’t know you were part of the tour Lily was on. Certainly if I’d known she was associating with a girl like you, I would’ve reconsidered allowing her to go.”
By a girl like you he meant trash. Kylie could see in his eyes that was how he perceived her. Fine by her. He was nothing but a grade A asshole in a suit as far as she was concerned. “Well how the hell would you know who she’s on tour with? You can’t be bothered to take five minutes out of your busy schedule to see her perform.”
He sat back down as if he’d grown bored with the whole thing. “Miss Ryans, I think that’s about enough. Please let yourself out so I don’t have to call security.”
Mia tugged at her arm but Kylie didn’t move. “Did you go to California to see your son play soccer?”
“Excuse me? What I do is none of your—”
Kylie raised her voice. “Did you or didn’t you? I’m not leaving until you answer.”
His eyes narrowed. “And if I did?”
This was it. She’d bet he’d already hit a button somewhere alerting security. “Then you are an even bigger ass than I suspe
cted. Because Lily deserves a father who’d go to the ends of the Earth to see her perform. And obviously you’re not actually too busy for shit. You’re just a sorry excuse for a daddy. I would know. I had one that would’ve moved Heaven and Earth to see me up on stage. But he died before getting that chance. And here you are. Alive and well. And how many shows of Lily’s have you been to?”
“Miss Ryans, you will leave my office right this minute if you know what’s good for you.”
“How many?” she demanded.
“Miss Montgomery, I suggest you take your friend and—”
“How. Fucking. Many? Answer the question and I’ll go.”
His jaw ticked as he stood again. “You’ve made your point, now—”
“Just say it! Just admit that you haven’t made it to a single show, that you haven’t bothered to show your face a single solitary time to tell Lily she did a good job, or that you’re proud of her and you love her. It’s the truth, right?”
“Get out.” Donovan Taite spoke through his teeth and livid hate burned from his eyes. Kylie took a deep breath. It was time to go. She could see that. But at least she’d tried.
“I’m going.” Mia tugged her arm again, but Kylie jerked out of her reach. “Here.” She slammed two tickets down on his desk. One was to the CMA festival in an hour and the other was for the Chameleon Café in Atlanta where their next show was. “I’ll be expecting to see you at one or both of these, acting like Father of the Fucking Year. Bring flowers.”
His eyes widened as Kylie glared at him.
“One more thing before I go. I’ve known Lily for a few months. You’ve known her for her whole life. Which one of us is acting like they actually give a shit about her right now?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. And with that, she stormed out of his office in the same whirlwind fashion she’d blown into it.
“Holy hell,” Mia said under her breath as they exited the reception area. “You might’ve just ended both of our careers, thank you very much.”
