MUSES AND MELODIES

by Yarros, Rebecca

  Her gaze widened and flickered toward my torso, but she marched out.

  By the time I finished my shower and got back downstairs, Ben stood in my living room, the dark skin of his forehead wrinkling with concern as he thumbed through his phone, Ms. Shannon at his side. She even looked small next to Ben, who wasn’t a huge guy. She didn’t come up to my collarbone, even in heels.

  “So, if we cancel San Francisco,” he began.

  “We’re not canceling San Francisco,” I cut him off.

  Chaos erupted.

  “We have to cancel every show this fall.”

  “You won’t be ready.”

  “We’re not putting you through this.”

  I stuck two fingers in my mouth and whistled, which had the desired effect of shutting everyone up. “Okay, this is the point where you all stop making decisions for me.” I stared down my well-meaning bandmates. “That’s never been how we’ve operated, and we’re not starting now.”

  Jonas rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We’re just worried about you, Nix. We want to give you the best shot at staying clean. Canceling four shows is nothing in the scheme of things. We’ll reschedule. You’re more important.”

  “We’re not canceling,” I reiterated. “I did a six-week program instead of the full twelve because I wanted to make sure that I could handle myself in the real world before the fall dates. Did you honestly think I would dump myself into rehab and not think about what we had coming up?” I was a selfish prick, but I wasn’t that selfish.

  “We weren’t sure exactly what went through your head.” Quinn leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “You didn’t fill us in. And no, don’t look at me like that—we’re thrilled you went. We’re just trying to figure out how to best support you.”

  My jaw locked. My reasons for going to rehab were mine and mine alone, just like the reasons I drank. “I should have told you, but I’d already walked out of rehab the week before, and I didn’t want to disappoint you if I did it again.”

  They all sagged, like I’d just deflated their balloons—like I’d already failed.

  “Look,” I said softly. “This sucks. I’m not going to lie. I haven’t been six weeks sober since I was eighteen. But next week, I’ll be at seven weeks, and the week after that, I’ll be at eight. I chose to go. No one forced me. I didn’t need an intervention. I made the decision myself. That should tell you how serious I am, and quite frankly, you’re all starting to really piss me off by assuming you know what’s best for me. If you want to parent someone, then go home to your kids.”

  They stared at me with open mouths.

  “So, that means you don’t want to cancel the shows?” Ben asked, still holding his phone.

  “No. I don’t. It’s bad for business and would lead to a massive PR issue. I’m assuming you kept the rehab quiet?” If he hadn’t, I was going to fire his ass, right here and now.

  “Of course. Publicity stepped in and posted from quite a few beaches around the world on your social media, with bullshit captions like ‘living my best life’ and ‘water soothes the soul.’”

  I would never say cheesy shit like that, but I let it slide.

  “Right. Then I’m not going to cancel dates. End of story.” I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans.

  Ben studied me for a few moments, then turned to Shannon. “You have everything you need?”

  “Yep. My stuff’s in the guest room, and the doorman knows not to let anyone up without an escort.” She glanced my way, then quickly found some lint on her sweater to brush away.

  “I’m sorry, what?” My eyes narrowed. Why the hell would she have her stuff in my guest room? Stuck here.

  “Shannon will be with you for the remainder of the fall dates,” Ben stated. “I have too much going on to handle you personally, and well, she’s the only one on my team who can handle your bullshit without wanting to sleep with you.”

  “Absolutely not.” My eyebrows hit the roof. What was more insulting? That she wasn’t attracted to me? Or that she thought she was actually capable of handling me?

  “This isn’t up for debate, Nixon.” Ben turned to face me directly. “If you want to cancel the dates now, I’ll support that decision. We’re here to make sure you stay clean. But if you want me to keep those dates on the books, then Shannon is staying by your side to make sure you don’t go off the rails. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” The asshole wasn’t kidding.

  I turned a glare on Quinn and Jonas. “Oh, I get it now. You two don’t have to babysit me because you’re having her do it.” I pointed at Shannon, or whatever her name was.

  “She is a lawyer, not a babysitter,” Shannon snapped.

  “Even better.”

  “Nix.” Jonas stood. “I’m in Boston and Quinn’s in Montana. It’s killing us that we’re not here for you, and if you want us to, we’ll stay.”

  Quinn stood and slid her sticks into her back pocket. “We’ll stay as long as you need us,” she promised. “But please don’t ask us to abandon you, because we won’t.”

  I ripped my hands over my hair and fought the urge to break something. There was no way I was pulling Jonas and Quinn away from their families, and if I threw Shannon—whatever her name was—out, those two would stay.

  I glanced at Shannon.

  Four years and I really didn’t know her first name?

  “Fine,” I barked and strode to the Jeff Frost photo hanging on the wall. The hinges were soundless as I swung it open like a door, revealing the small safe behind it. I punched in the code, opened the door, and took out the small bottle of pills I’d stashed there three months ago. The bottle felt heavy in my hand, even though I knew it weighed next to nothing.

  Everyone watched as I took it to Shannon and pressed it into her hand. “There you go. That’s the last contraband in the house, and I just freely gave it to you. Now what is your damn name?” My tone quieted as I struggled to keep a cap on my anger.

  Her eyes flared, and my stomach pitched as we locked gazes. Those eyes weren’t just green, they were emerald green and brighter than any jewel I’d ever seen. I blinked and stepped back as her fingers closed around the bottle.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “Zoe. My name is Zoe Shannon.”

  Zoe.

  “Well, Zoe, I’m assuming you know where the spare towels are, seeing as you’ve searched my entire apartment.” I turned to my friends. “Now, the rest of you can get the fuck out. I love you, but I don’t really like you at the moment.” I grabbed a box of whatever takeout was on the coffee table and left them all sitting in my living room as I climbed the stairs.

  Ironic. They were all so concerned for my sobriety, yet they’d just saddled me with the one woman who could drive me to drink.

  My lips lifted slightly. At least they’d given me something to do between shows. It was going to be a shit ton of fun to see just what it would take to get under her skin.

  2

  ZOE

  “How’s the egotistical asshole?” Naomi asked through the phone. My best friend was more than aware of my general feelings about my current roommate.

  “Still an egotistical asshole. How’s my brother?”

  “Taking your nephew to daycare,” she answered. “He’s gained two pounds this month, by the way—Levi, not Jeremiah.”

  “Glad to hear it’s my nephew and not my brother growing.” I sipped my coffee and looked out over the Seattle skyline from my seat at the patio table, then turned slightly to appreciate the magnificence of Puget Sound.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “Speaking of your brother, that’s him on the other line. I’ll call you back after my shift?”

  “Don’t stress. We’ll catch up when you’re not working. Love you.”

  “Love you!”

  I hung up and sighed. I missed my family.

  Naomi would freak if she saw Seattle from this vantage point. Nixon Winters might have been a giant, flaming jerk, but he had great taste when
it came to real estate. The view was breathtaking. Then again, when you made millions a year, you could afford a great view. It was nothing compared to the Rockies, though.

  My fourth-floor apartment sported a view of a brick wall, but that was okay. It was all part of paying off my student loans, and I was almost there.

  This little section of his enormous deck had become my morning haven over the past week, giving me a tiny slice of much-needed calm in the swirling vortex of chaos that was Nixon. I flipped open my planner to today’s date, then placed my phone next to it, making sure the schedules matched as I reviewed the day’s appointments.

  “Not that he’ll actually stay on schedule,” I grumbled to myself.

  We’d cleared Nixon’s calendar of all professional appearances until the first show, which was in a little over three weeks, but he demanded to stay busy. Knowing that idle time was an enemy in this stage of his recovery, I couldn’t blame him, but the man had seriously dragged me to an axe-throwing range yesterday. He had a call with his rehab therapist at ten, but other than that—

  “Why do you do that?”

  I startled, fumbling my coffee, but I managed to avert disaster as Nixon appeared behind me. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “It’s eight thirty.” He rubbed his sleep-mussed, carelessly sexy hair with one tattooed hand and carried a steaming cup of coffee—black, of course—with the other as he walked out onto the deck. Shirtless. He was shirtless.

  Lord, help me.

  It didn’t matter how many times I’d seen him run around the stage half-dressed, the sight of his inked, ripped torso never failed to make my mouth water. I might not have liked the guy, but I wasn’t blind. He was pretty much a walking, talking advertisement for sex and bad decisions.

  There was a reason People magazine had given him the title of Sexiest Man Alive.

  Any girl with the internet could find his stats. He stood six three, at two hundred and ten pounds post-rehab, with dark blond hair and fuck-me-now brown eyes. Those stats didn’t mention how tiny he made me feel as he towered over me. Nor did they reveal the way his back tattoos rippled with his movements as he walked across the deck, or that his ass could make sweatpants cool again.

  Nope, those were facts you could find only in my head. I knew way too much when it came to Nixon Winters because I was the one tasked with cleaning up his messes, including anticipating the ones he hadn’t gotten into yet.

  “You’re not usually up for another couple hours, so it’s early for you,” I finally said.

  “You sound disappointed.” He turned and leaned against the railing, lifting his coffee mug to those carved, sinful lips.

  “Nope, not at all,” I lied, ripping my gaze from his and focusing extra hard on the words “lunch appointment” in my planner as my brain chanted abs, abs, abs. Given the amount of time he’d spent dragging me to the gym this week, it was easy to see why he was so cut.

  Focus, Zoe.

  “And why the hell are you dressed for church on a Friday?”

  “I’m sorry?” I glanced at my classic, navy linen sheath and matching sweater.

  Ahh, and so it begins. Another day of Nixon pushing every button I had. I guess it was better than him trying to get in my pants, but I wasn’t exactly his type. Nixon liked tall, model-thin lemmings who never asked questions in the morning. I wasn’t any of those things, which was exactly why Ben had charged me with this assignment.

  The payoff would be well worth it.

  “You heard me.” He tilted his head and gave me an appraising once-over.

  “I’m dressed for work, not church. Because I’m working. You may have blown off your producer every day this week, but I can’t exactly do the same when it comes to Ben. Hush Note doesn’t just run on its own, you know.”

  The skin between his eyes wrinkled. “So, you have to dress like Jackie Kennedy at eight in the morning while working from home?”

  God, I hated him. Hated that smug look on his stupidly attractive face.

  “First, that’s not an insult, and second, what would you prefer I wear to work? Something to match you?” I gestured from his toes to his torso.

  “I’m cool with you going shirtless. I mean, you’re not exactly my type, but—”

  “God, just go back to bed!” I snapped. Shit.

  He chuckled, knowing he’d gotten to me, and my stomach tightened.

  I never won with him.

  “So really, what do you do out here every morning?” he asked.

  “I check over my day, and yours.” Because how else would I know to let in the cute little blonde masseuse he’d scheduled for a ten p.m. massage?

  “In a paper planner? You may as well break out the stone and chisel,” he challenged and took another sip. “And besides, it’s already in your phone. How many planners does one woman need?”

  I scoffed. “The calendar on my phone is accessible to everyone at Berkshire Management. So even Been-here-two-days Tommy can log in and move things around. But this baby?” I pointed to my leatherbound love. “I’m the only one in control of it, so I know the why’s and when’s of an appointment being moved.”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “What?” I raised my brows at him. “When the service and Wi-Fi go out, I’ll be the one who makes my meetings. Watch and see.” There was nothing wrong with organization, especially when I spent all day working with creatives who had none.

  If anything, I was making up his deficit.

  “Riiight.” He sipped his coffee. “So now that you’ve been torturing me for a week, why don’t you go ahead and tell me why you drew the short straw.”

  I blinked. “The short straw?” Every assistant at Berkshire had begged for this job.

  “You hate me.” He rubbed his hand over his light beard. He’d stopped shaving three days ago.

  “I do not.”

  “Liar. You can’t stand to be around me, any more than I can you, so why sign on to be my nanny? You into S&M? Figure a little pain is good for the body, Shannon?”

  I bristled at his use of my last name. That was the crap Ben did because he thought it kept his relationships with underlings impersonal, making it easier to fire people. Which he did. A lot. I was the first of Ben’s assistants to have lasted an entire year, and definitely the only one to reach four years.

  “Well, Winters, my sexual preferences include anyone who isn’t you, and the rest is none of your business. But since you asked, I was the best option, and I’m dedicated to the band, so here I am.” My sexual preferences hadn’t mattered in the last four years since joining Berkshire Management. It wasn’t like I had a lot of time for a relationship, and I’d never been into one-night hookups, not that he’d understand.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re seriously telling me that you’re putting yourself through all this because you’re dedicated to the band?”

  “What would the other reason possibly be?” I stood and gathered my things. So much for having a calm start to my morning. Did he have to throw every single moment into disarray?

  “You want something.”

  I stilled.

  “Nailed it.” He smirked.

  “Fine.” I set my things down on the table and crossed my arms. “I have a deal with Ben. Happy?”

  “Intrigued, maybe, but not happy. You and happy don’t exactly go together. That’s like throwing SAT prep into the homecoming dance. Then again, I bet you believe I never took the SATs, right? Because you think I’m an irresponsible, egotistical ass who will fuck up the first time he’s left alone for five minutes.” Those intense, show-stopping brown eyes hardened. “Just because it’s a big penthouse doesn’t mean I can’t hear your nightly check-in’s with Ben.”

  Heat flooded my cheeks, but I lifted my chin. At least he hadn’t pressed me for details…yet. I’d watched Nixon chew other assistants up and spit them out with a smile over the last four years, and I was not about to add my name to the list—not when I was this close. “You
got a thirteen-fifty on the SATs, which got you accepted to the University of Washington.”

  He tensed.

  “How the hell would you know that?” He set his mug down on the railing so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter.

  “It’s my job to know that, Nixon, and I’m damned good at it. I also know that you were accepted to Carnegie Mellon, Vanderbilt, and USC for music, but you didn’t go to any of them. Why is that?” I’d always wondered.

  “Not everyone can afford those schools.” His jaw ticked.

  “They can when they’re offered a full ride like you were,” I bit back.

  He glared at me.

  “Want to know what I think?”

  “Sure, since it’s not like I can stop you from telling me anyway.” A muscle in his jaw ticked again.

  “I think something—someone—kept you here.” The morning breeze was brisk, but the look in Nixon’s eyes turned downright glacial. “And honestly, that’s none of my business. But don’t, for a single moment, operate under the assumption that I think you’re stupid, because I know better, and you should too. Now, I’m going to go call your producer and stall him yet again, because ignoring someone’s phone call is the kindergarten equivalent of hiding behind your own hand and swearing no one can see you. News flash, Nixon. We all see you.”

  I scooped up my planner and phone, turned to walk back into the apartment, then ruined my grand exit by forgetting my coffee. Damn. When I squared my shoulders and retrieved the cup from the table, he arched an eyebrow at me. Busted.

  “I’m just saying, maybe we should go for casual Fridays before you run the LOFT completely out of dresses.”

  Cue snappy subject change.

  I pressed my lips together to keep from sputtering as I turned my back on him and headed into the penthouse. “This dress is from Nordstrom,” I said over my shoulder, “and this is as casual as I’m going to get.” I pointed at my bare feet. “And while yes, you are an irresponsible, egotistical ass, I didn’t say you couldn’t be left alone for five minutes without fucking up.”

  “You didn’t?” he called after me.