“Hey! I said nothing expensive, not nothing fancy. Am I not worth something fancy” I fake an expression of shock.
Once again, he seems confused. Playing with him like this is fun.
“Well, nothing fancy isn’t a bad thing,” he says. “You’re cooler, more casual than that. I’ll cook something special for you… maybe a croque monsieur—”
I bite back a smile.
“—and maybe we can listen to music in the park. Bring a bottle of wine…”
“Don’t listen to any of Marigold’s music,” Rita says. “It’s a real mood-killer.”
Gabe and I both laugh.
“And no PDA,” Rita says. “I don’t want to look out my window and see you guys kissing. Besides, Nolan Hardman never engages in PDA.”
“Definitely no kissing,” I say, looking at Gabe.
“Oh yeah, definitely not,” he says. “We’re just friends anyway.”
We are? A weird sense of disappointment settles in my belly.
Rita rolls her eyes. “Oh, brother. This is why you two need to go on a date and get it out of your system.”
“Well, if he wants to ask me on a date, the door is open.” I sit back onto the couch and grab my guitar.
“Why can’t you ask?” Gabe asks. “After all, it’s the twenty-first century.”
“Because I want to see how long it’ll take you to ask me.” I smile at him with a hint of deviance in my eyes. He smiles back with a cute smile suggesting he wouldn’t be able to wait very long. A strange feeling tingles up my spine.
Rita sighs. “Unlike you two, I actually have a date… with Nolan Hardman. Now if you excuse me…”
She tucks her book under her arm and disappears into the other room.
Gabe and I lock eyes and let out amused laughter. Looking down, I bite back my smile.
“I really shouldn’t spend so much time on this,” I say, setting the guitar aside. “I should get back to Marigold’s chores.”
“Am I too much of a distraction for you?” Gabe slips his hands into his pockets.
“You never stop, do you?”
“I’ll stop if you ask me to.”
Smirking, I grab my stuff and make my way toward the door. “Or I can just walk away.”
“Hey!” He calls after me. I turn to look at him. “That song actually does sound good.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I’d love to hear it when it’s done.”
I smile. “Okay. You can be the first to hear it.”
“Good.” His gaze lingers for a moment before he pulls away.
“Hey, Gabe?”
“Yeah?”
I smile at him. “Thanks.”
He smiles back. “No problem, Phoenix.”
As he heads back outside, I stare at the lyrics scribbled in my notebook. Sitting there in Marigold’s parlor, I have an epiphany. Feeling a renewed sense of confidence, I put my stuff aside and make my way to Marigold’s empty office. Grabbing the phone, I dial a number that’s been tattooed in my mind for six months.
“Rock Heart Music Festival, Cindy speaking.” The woman’s voice sounds a million miles away.
“Hello? I’d like to register a new artist for the festival.”
“Register? Oh honey, that ship has sailed long ago. All the spots are full.”
My blood instantly runs cold and my excitement disappears.
“Oh.” I swallow. “Is that it, then? There’s nothing else I can do?”
The woman on the other line hesitates. “Well, you can put your name on the waiting list.”
“Yes! I’ll do that.”
Finally, some hope!
“Alright, please send us a sample of your material, along with your name and number.”
“A sample of my material?”
There’s a pause. “Honey, you DO know you’re registering to play at a music festival, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
My own material. I don’t have any recordings that I can share—especially not something that’s ready to be played at the Rock Heart Festival. I didn’t think through this plan at all. I suddenly feel like an unprepared amateur.
“Hon? You still there?” Cindy asks.
“Yes… Sorry. Umm… I don’t have any recordings at this moment.”
“Nothing on MeTV? SoundStream?”
“Err—”
“RadioHog?”
“No.”
“You better gotta prepare something if you want to play at the festival, hon.”
“Okay. Can I call back when I have something ready?”
Even though I have no clue how I’m going to do that, I think to myself. I have no way of uploading anything onto the internet.
“Sure, but the sooner you send us something, the better. There are a lot of bands on the waiting list already and there are no guarantees.” Her chipper attitude contrasts her solemn news.
“How many people are there for the waiting list?” I ask.
“Right now? Twelve.”
My heart drops into my stomach. I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick. All my hope disappears.
“Still, there’s a chance,” Cindy says. “You never know what can happen. Every year, there are a few no-shows. Some of them break up before they reach the date of the festival while others are too hungover to play. New York City, am I right? Anyway, we can’t register you until we get a sense of what you sound like.”
“Oh!” A thought occurs to me. “I actually do have a song you can listen to online.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Just log onto the Rock Heart Festival website and submit it through there.”
“No,” I say a bit too forcefully.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean… can I just tell you how to find it over the phone? My internet is a bit unreliable.”
“Umm… that’s a bit unusual but I guess I can do that.”
“Yes! Okay, search for my blog—it’s called the Sweet Spot and if you scroll down a bit you’ll find a song in the media section called Bored.”
I can hear the woman mumbling to herself as she takes down the instructions. “Alright. We’ll have a listen. If you meet our standards, we’ll let you know if you’re on the waiting list. What’s your phone number?”
“Oh my god! Thank you, thank you. I swear you won’t be disappointed.” I give her the phone number written on Marigold’s desk.
“We’ll let you know.” The woman ends the call.
Hanging up, I let out a sigh of relief. I may not have a spot in the actual lineup but at least I might be on the waiting list. That’s something.
Walking up to the window in Marigold’s office, I look out at the forest and the empty road beyond. A mix of excitement and annoyance flows through my veins. How did I get Dirty Laundry a guaranteed spot at the Rock Heart Festival yet I’m begging for a spot on the waiting list? It doesn’t make sense. All my hard work for that band—producing perfect-sounding demos, uploading our content online, and getting gigs—went completely unnoticed by my former bandmates. Well, they’ll be sorry when I show up at the Rock Heart Festival and kick their asses. I don’t know how, but I will play at that festival.
The phone rings.
Is that the Rock Heart Festival already?
I lunge across the office and answer the phone.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Hello? Who’s this?” An older man’s voice says. He sounds strict and professional.
“Who am I? You’re the one calling me, buddy.”
“I’m Victor Chase. I’m calling to talk to my son, Gabriel.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You’re Gabe’s dad?” I ask.
“Yes. And who are you?”
“Amber Sweet.”
“I’ve never heard of you.” The man has a blunt and scathing tone.
I hold my tongue.
“Excuse me.” I put the phone down.
As I reach the backyard, I signal for Gabe to approac
h me. He’s got his t-shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off his shoulders.
“Yeah?” He walks over to me.
“Your dad is on the phone.”
His smile instantly disappears. “Did you talk to him?”
“Well… I answered the phone.”
He stares at me with a hardened expression before pulling away into the house.
“Oh… kay?” Confused, I go back to the parlor and focus on my music. I have a lot more work to do if I want to be prepared for the festival.
12
THE CHASE
Gabriel
Rushing into the house, I make my way to the west wing and into Marigold’s office. Amber’s sweet peach scent still lingers in the air. How could I be so careless as to let Amber speak directly to Victor? She could have easily figured out who I was. My heart is pounding in my chest as I pick up the phone.
“Victor,” I say.
“Where are you?” My father’s powerful voice booms in my ear.
“How’d you get this number?”
“My assistant went through every number in your phone—all two thousand of them. Why don’t you label any of them? That would’ve made our jobs much easier.”
I rub my face. I knew leaving my phone behind was a mistake. I should have thrown it in the river instead.
“Where are you?” He asks. “Whose number is this? No matter where I search, it’s unlisted.”
“Do you really think I’d tell you?” I walk over to the window and look outside at the quiet forest. “I like not being stalked by your goons for once.”
“Where’s my motorcycle? And why can’t I track the GPS?”
I laugh. “That took a little bit of work but I was able to disable it. Don’t worry, it’s somewhere safe. It sure is a nice ride.”
“You shouldn’t have touched my key cabinet!” The anger rumbles in his voice.
“I thought you’d be happy that I’m staying quiet and out of the way.”
Victor exhales forcefully. “Yeah, well… Sophie’s not happy. She wants you to be with her.”
“Of course she does,” I mumble.
“I’m sure you heard the news.”
“That you’re forcing me to marry her against my will? Yeah, I may have read about it.”
“I told you running away wouldn’t change anything.” I can hear a smile in his voice.
The frustration in my body bubbles hot and red.
“It’s not a real wedding, obviously,” he continues. “But it would be nice if you could make an appearance.”
“Is that part of the contract you made with Sophie? You promise her a fake marriage to me and she gets to pretend to be part of the Valentine Chase legacy?”
“Being part of the Valentine Chase legacy is priceless. A young woman would sell her soul for that.”
“Clearly,” I mumble. “I’m sure marrying a failed hockey player will do wonders for her career.”
Victor either doesn’t detect the sarcasm or he ignores it completely. “Sophie Dawson is the hottest starlet in Hollywood right now. Having both our names in the paper has been monetarily beneficial for everyone.”
I laugh. “Is that what you and Mom did? Married for clout and money?”
Victor stays silent for a moment. “The wedding is in July.”
“And then what? I have to pretend to go on a honeymoon with her? We pretend to live together for a few years? We have fake children and a fake divorce? Where does it end?”
“I’m trying to help you get your life back together, son. When things settle down after a few months, you can get an annulment. It’ll be easy.”
I laugh. “How will that help me get my life back together?”
“Is starting a family with a beautiful actress so bad?”
“You tell me, Dad.”
More silence on the other line. “I don’t want to get into this with you, son.”
“That’s the only part of my life you won’t get into.”
Victor exhales. “Why don’t you just come back to New York and we can work this out?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“Gabriel—”
“I’m not coming back,” I say bluntly. “I’ll miss the wedding. That way you’ll know I’m serious. Sophie will know I’m serious. Celebstarz will know the truth. Everything will fall apart…”
There’s a creaking noise down the hall and I realize I’m talking a bit too loud. I turn away from the door.
“You can’t do that,” Victor says in a panicked tone.
“Yeah? Well, watch me!” I hang up a bit too forcefully. Adrenaline and anger rush through my veins. Walking up to the window, I look out at the gray sky, I exhale the red hot rage that’s burning in my body. How can Victor do this to me? How can he sell me off like this? I’m just an accessory to both him and Sophie… I’m just a pawn in their elaborate game. Pacing back and forth, I release some tension before I make my way outside. There’s no way I’ll go back to New York to help Victor fulfill his contract with Sophie. I’ll hide out here for as long as it takes to ruin their narrative.
Approaching the slab of pink-hued cedarwood that I rescued from the forest, I grab the sander and channel my anger into the wood.
13 - The Wave
AMBER
13
THE WAVE
Amber
Deciding to keep my head down and keep to myself, I go to the downstairs parlor and strum my guitar for a bit. From here, I can watch Gabe as he works outside. He’s hunched over his work table, shoulders tense, face hidden. Ever since his father started calling, he’s been keeping to himself.
Deciding to put my guitar away, I head out into the backyard to see if I can offer him some company. I know I’m supposed to be professional and let him work—just like Marigold originally told me to—but I can’t help myself.
Gabe is facing away as he smooths down a slab of wood. His blue jeans and white t-shirt are covered in sawdust and sweat. His hands push the sander back and forth with expert precision. He moves so fluidly that it’s obvious that he knows what he’s doing. As I approach him, I notice the tension in his shoulders.
“Need a break?” I ask.
He looks up. A tense look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
I swallow. “I hope everything’s going okay with your father.”
His jaw tenses. “Did you hear anything?”
I shake my head. “I mean, I did. But I don’t know what the context is. I don’t know anything, really.”
His shoulders relax as he puts down the sander. He wipes the sweat from his brow.
I watch him for a moment. “You can talk to me, you know.”
He looks down and shakes his head.
“Victor wants me to do all these things for him. He wants to dictate my life without any of my input.”
I let out a soft laugh of amusement. “Well, that sounds familiar.”
“At least your father gave you a year to do your own thing.”
“Isn’t that what you’re out here doing?” I ask.
“Well, yeah. But Victor doesn’t condone this at all.”
“So, what do you want to do?” I sit back against the large tree stump next to his table.
He looks up with a hardened stare. “What do you mean?”
“If you could live life on your own terms. What would you do?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“Well, here’s another question: what makes you happy?”
He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Happy? I don’t know. I haven’t been happy since—”
He shakes his head and looks away.
“Since?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles.
A distant bird lets out a lonely call in the distance. We both stare at the dancing trees as the warm wind blows past us.
Pulling his gaze away, he exhales sharply. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“Which way?”
He pauses allowing the win
d to whistle through the trees.
“She was supposed to be here. We were supposed to be together, adventuring all over the world together.” His dark eyes stare far off into the distance.
“Who?” There’s no response. “Who are you talking about?”
As I ask, I feel like I already knew.
“My mom,” he says, confirming my suspicions. He looks up at me, his eyes showing a tinge of sadness.
“I— I don’t know what to say.” I reach for his hand but he pulls back.
“Nobody does.”
A beat of silence pulses between them.
“What happened?” I’m hesitant to ask but I want to know more about the man standing in front of me.
He flexes his fingers, curling his hands into fists and releasing, curling and releasing. He looks off in the distance toward the forest.
“We were hanging out in our backyard. We traveled a lot, so it was a temporary home. It was summer and it was beautiful back then. Lush green trees of all kinds—banana, mango, orange. It was a beautiful sunny day, just like any other.” He looks away. “She had a few days off so she was at home, which was rare. We were playing lawn bowling.”
He lets out a soft laugh as he remembers.
“I remember her laughing and smiling.” He shakes his head. “After it happened, I was afraid I’d forget her laugh, her smile. Stupid.”
“You remember her though.”
A smile flashes across his lips as he remembers. “Yes. I could never forget her. She laughed and smiled a lot.”
I smile as I watch him.
“She got a strike on her first turn and she did a little dance. She was always so competitive.” He looks up and the light disappears from his eyes as he furrows his brow. “That was my last memory of her. After that, everything happened too quickly. There was no warning.” His voice cracks.
The lump in his throat moves as he swallows. I can see the pain wash over his face. Reaching out, I touch his sawdust-covered hand, giving him a light squeeze.
“What happened?” I ask in a soft voice. He pulls his hand away.
“I heard a noise like a freight train,” he says. “It didn’t make any sense. There were no trains near our property or anything of that sort. We didn’t know what was causing such a loud noise. The ground started to shake. The windows shook too. At first, I thought it was an earthquake because we just reset the bowling pins are they were tipping over. I looked at my mom and she screamed at me to run. She was looking behind me, in the direction of the ocean. I turned to see what she was looking at and all I remember was a wall of frothy, white water—like rapids racing toward me.” He shakes his head. The skin on his neck and face are starting to turn red. “It didn’t make any sense. We lived five hundred meters from the water, and yet there it was coming at us. By the time I realized what it was, she was already running, screaming my name. God, I’ll never forget the way she was screaming.”
Chase: A Secret Millionaire Romance Novel Page 10
