The edge in her voice said she was anything but fine. I wasn’t sure if it was me she was irritated with or something else. But now I had her on the line, there was no turning back.
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not the entire truth?”
She must have been stunned silent because a few moments went by. I gulped, mentally preparing myself to give up on this conversation, in case she was about to hang up.
“Because it’s not. There, are you happy? Everything’s not fine, but I’m sure you have better things to do than hear about my troubles.”
“Wrong. I really don’t, so shoot.”
“Well… We hardly know each other.”
“That’s easily remedied. Have dinner with me. Tonight.”
She made a small sound of frustration and then continued her protest.
“No point. I’m a starving musician and you’re a wealthy businessman. We live in two different worlds.”
“So, like I said, let me take you to dinner. Then you won’t be starving.”
That made her laugh. The sound of it warmed me more than the scotch had.
“Spencer, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Why not? You may as well tell me what’s bothering you. What have you got to lose?”
When she answered, her voice had gone quieter with a tone of resignation.
“I’m quitting my band. Which essentially means my career is over. I’m leaving for Florida in a few weeks, and I’m not sure if or when I’ll be back.”
Now I was stunned silent. She had to be joking, but I had a feeling Melanie Parker wasn’t one to joke about something like this bomb she just dropped on me. Any other woman and I’d have just said, “Good luck” and let her go. But something inside told me not to let go, and that Melanie shouldn’t give up on her dream.
“Another reason to let me take you to dinner. You only have a short time to enjoy my company, so you’d better make the most of it.”
I hoped my humor would help her to loosen up. I was trying to make amends, and I really did want to take her out. After a short laugh, she gave in.
“Well, when you put it that way… I’d hate to miss out.”
Her sarcasm was welcome. It meant she was no longer upset, at least for the moment. And I had secured a date with her. I knew the perfect place for our first date.
That evening, I picked her up in front of her apartment building in the Corvette. She glanced at the car, and then at me, as I held open the bright yellow door for her.
“Could you be any more conspicuous?”
Once she was seated, I closed the door and leaned in the open window.
“I have nothing to hide, so why not? Besides, yellow is my favorite color.”
I didn’t wait for her response, which she voiced while I was buckling my seat belt.
“Who has yellow as a favorite color?”
Her face twisted into a grimace, but there was a smile in her dark eyes. I looked her over pointedly and put the car into gear.
“I suppose yours is red, like that bustier you wore last night.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of that same color. She looked out the window and muttered under her breath, “Touché.”
“It looked gorgeous on you, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
Our banter continued as we drove toward Atlanta. Melanie lived on the northwest end, above the what Atlantans call the perimeter, but the traffic on the freeways wasn’t bad for a Saturday night. As I drove, I stole looks at her long legs. She was dressed in a flower-patterned dress and strappy high-heeled sandals. A departure from her rock-chick garb and quite feminine. Her earlier angst seemed to have dissipated, and I hoped the evening would go as I’d imagined.
Well, maybe not that well. My imagination had been pretty raunchy.
We pulled up to the high-rise hotel in the heart of downtown Atlanta just before sunset. A glass elevator took us all the way to the top floor, to one of my favorite restaurants. The spectacular food was second only to the breathtaking views of the city and surrounding countryside.
“I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard about it,” Melanie confessed as we exited the elevator. There was an excited giggle in her voice, like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You’ll love it. I’m so glad I’m with you for your first time.”
The hostess appeared and led us to our table. The entire dining area was on a round platform which spun slowly, allowing diners to gaze through floor to ceiling windows at the panorama. In the course of an hour, one would have a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the Atlanta area.
Melanie’s mouth gaped as she turned her head, gawking at the view.
“Wow. I’m so glad it’s a clear day. This is phenomenal.”
We were seated at a prime table, elegantly covered in a white cloth graced with fine china and silverware. A server appeared, greeting us and pouring water from a pitcher into crystal goblets. She set the glass pitcher on the table, slices of lemons floating on the crushed ice.
Melanie’s eyes sparkled as she took in her surroundings.
“This is so nice, Spencer. I’m glad I got to see it before I left Atlanta. Thank you.”
My insides clenched at the thought of her leaving. I hoped I wasn’t simply being selfish with my conviction that she must stay in Atlanta. I wanted to see her, but more than that, it killed me to see her give up on her dream.
“Do you really have to go? I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities. Maybe I can help.”
Her dark eyes met mine, and in those cocoa depths, I saw doubt with a shading of gratitude. There were frown lines around her mouth. This was a woman who once had fierce determination, which had now faded to resignation. I don’t know how I sensed all that but I did. Either Melanie Parker was an open book, or somehow, we were synced up mentally.
“Thank you, but this is something I have to do on my own. My sister needs my help and so does my mom. They need me more than I need to keep chasing a dream that’ll never come true.”
The server reappeared, interrupting us. I ordered a bottle of Beaujolais, the chateaubriand for two, and dessert. Melanie nodded her approval throughout the process, and then we got back to our conversation.
“I understand about your family. That’s commendable you want to take care of them. But I hate to see talent like yours go to waste.”
She ran a finger around the rim of her empty wine goblet, studying it. She didn’t look at me and then shrugged her shoulders.
“If I had a buck for every time I’ve heard how talented I am, I could retire to Tahiti tomorrow.” Then she glanced up at me with an apologetic expression. “Not to discount your compliment. I appreciate it. But it’s frustrating to have constant accolades with no measurable success.”
Her words rang true for me but in the opposite sense. I had plenty of accomplishments in business, and material success, but I longed for validation in a different way—accolades for my musical talent.
“I understand. Have you ever tried going solo? Auditioning for reality shows, maybe?”
The server appeared again and poured our wine. Another server placed a silver basket of fragrant bread on the table. I buttered a piece for each of us while Melanie talked.
“Oh, yeah. Several times. Made it to the short list on three different projects. Once, I thought I had won a place on a talent show held in Nashville, which kept getting delayed. So, I moved there for a year, singing in clubs, doing backup at a studio gig for a few months. I even made my own demo tape, which generated some interest.”
She paused to take a bite of the bread and a generous sip of her wine. I sipped my own, enjoying her story, even though I knew it had a not-so-happy ending.
“What went wrong? It sounds like you tried everything.”
“Well, not everything. There was this music producer who took an interest in my work. Or so I thought. It turned out he was more interested in banging me than signing me, a
nd the latter wouldn’t happen without the former. I said no. By the way, did I mention he was married?”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, so that was the end of Nashville. Suddenly I couldn’t get a gig there to save my life, except in the alternative music bars. Country music wasn’t really my thing, anyway, so I headed back home to Florida. Along the way, I stopped in Atlanta to see Mackie, an old friend of mine. He convinced me to stay, and we formed Sparker shortly thereafter.”
“And how long has your band been playing gigs?”
“Ten years. Too long to still be making no money.”
“Have you tried social media and streaming channels? Maybe video?”
“We’ve done all that and more. We do have a dedicated following. It’s just not taken off like we’d all dreamed it would. You know, same old story a million other bands have, unfortunately.”
My heart tightened. It was a waste for Melanie to give up on singing for a living, but understandable. It took guts to hang in there as long as she had. There had to be a way to help save her career without letting on I was doing so. She obviously had her pride, and I couldn’t blame her.
It was then fate handed me a golden opportunity, one I had to take. Not only for Melanie’s sake, but for my own.
* * *
Melanie
Thank God someone interrupted my sad tale. I hated to sound so disheartened, but I’d been putting a positive spin on a dying career for too many years. I didn’t want to be a downer on a first date, but Spencer had asked.
An old friend of his stopped by our table, with not one, but two women at his side. Both women were dressed provocatively, with low-cut, short dresses and dark, glossy hair piled in braids on their heads. They nodded when we were introduced but otherwise remained silent. The handsome man they were with was friendly enough for all three of them. His kind eyes, an interesting light brown shade, settled on me with frank appreciation.
“Melanie, this is Daris. We’ve been friends since high school,” Spencer explained as he stood to give his friend a hug, causing the women to let go of Daris and step back. I began to rise from my seat, and Daris gestured for me to sit.
“No, no. Don’t let me disturb your evening. My girls and I were just on the way back to the studio. I work better on a full stomach.”
He patted his waist for effect and smiled. The women giggled, each taking hold of his arm again. He was a soft-spoken man but held an unmistakable air of power. He seemed familiar, though I couldn’t place why.
“It’s nice to meet you, Daris. Ladies.”
I inclined my head to them, and they simply smiled in return. I began to wonder if they were both his girlfriends or what. Spencer was still standing, leaning against his chair with one hand.
“How is it going at the studio? Signed any big names lately?”
He turned to me and winked. I gripped my wine glass, feeling nervous for some reason. I figured Daris must be a record producer or an agent of some kind. He still glanced at me as he spoke, as though he thought I looked familiar too. He splayed his hands, candlelight flashing off one of his diamond rings.
“It’s been a good year. We’ve had several hits, signed some real talented artists. But you know I’m always looking for the next big thing.”
Spencer looked at me, and I saw a flash of questioning in his eyes before he answered, “Name of the game, my man. Hey, Melanie here is a damn good singer.”
Daris inclined his head, his numerous black braids falling over his shoulders. He was a tall, imposing man, with high cheekbones and a wide smile. My nervousness dissipated at the sound of his soft, melodic voice.
“Really? What do you like to sing, Miss Melanie?”
“Mostly nineties pop hits, some blues and country thrown in. It’s an odd mix, but it works for my band and me.”
“Sounds fascinating.” Daris clasped Spencer on the shoulder. “Y’all will have to come by the studio some time. We can jam, see what happens.”
“We will definitely do that.”
They exchanged phone numbers, and then Spencer pulled him into a “bro” hug, complete with the back-slapping. Daris’ ladies stepped back again, smiles still plastered on their heavily made-up faces. I smiled back.
Once they were gone, Spencer settled in his chair.
“Man, I haven’t seen that guy in a few years. We were pretty tight once.”
“What’s his full name? He looked familiar.”
“Daris Avante. He used to be a singer in a hip-hop band, before he started his own studio. Now he’s a producer, and he has his own label too.”
“Cool. Do you think he was serious about inviting us to jam?”
“Sure. Why not? I think it’s a great idea. You’ll knock his socks off.”
My cheeks heated, the flame of hope flickering once again. I knew I had the singing chops to impress most people, but Spencer’s enthusiasm sounded more like a crush than a professional assessment. Still, it was good to hear.
“Maybe. But I don’t think my music is exactly his style.”
“Let’s allow him to be the judge of that. Now, back to our date. You look hot tonight, by the way.”
That naughty gleam had returned to his eyes, just as I’d seen that night at the party. My stomach fluttered and I doused it with the rest of my wine. Spencer immediately poured me another glass. “You look pretty damn hot yourself, Mister.”
He did. His crisp white shirt was open at the collar, treating me to a glimpse of the skin at the base of his throat. Despite my resolve to keep this encounter platonic, the urge to place a kiss at just that spot intruded, ruining my concentration. That mental image was followed by one of me sitting on his lap, unbuttoning his shirt. This was getting out of hand, if only in my mind.
Maybe in his mind, too, if I accurately read the look he was giving me.
Further ogling of each other was interrupted by a server bringing our first course—a salad of field greens, dressed with a garlic-honey vinaigrette. Thin slices of red peppers were arranged on the greens, topped with goat cheese and a sliced Anjou pear. It was refreshing and delicious.
The rest of the meal passed with lively conversation, flirty looks, and utterly delectable food. It was one of the best first dates I’d ever had, considering I had balked at even going out with him. Despite all the warnings I had been given from Sacha and Gibson, Spencer Colebank was charming, sexy, and considerate.
If the timing had been different, I might have enjoyed dating him. As it was, this would be our last date as well as our first. But for the moment, I was simply enjoying his company. There would be time enough for regret over missed opportunities once I left for Florida.
Chapter Six
Spencer
I wasn’t sure what was exciting me more—flirting with Melanie or the prospect of getting her to sing for Daris. It could be the opportunity she had been waiting for. He was well connected in the Atlanta music scene, plus it would be great to hang out with him again.
The flirting was winning for the moment. Her molten-gold voice wasn’t the only thing about Melanie that had my pulse racing—one night she was a leather and lace rocker chick, the next she was all curls, flowers, and feminine. It was unexpected and intoxicating as hell. Damn, the woman would probably look sexy dressed in a burlap sack.
Our meal was at an end, but the night wasn’t over yet. I hoped. I had an ace up my sleeve, so to speak, to keep from taking her home so soon.
“I finished composing that song, by the way.”
Her eyes lit up.
“Cool. I’d love to hear it sometime.”
I stood, tossing my linen napkin on the table. She downed the last of her wine and followed suit.
“How about now? My condo isn’t far. It has a piano, among other instruments. And the acoustics in my music room are awesome.”
Her dark chocolate eyes showed hesitation, but she didn’t answer. I grasped her hand and led her toward the elevator. I heard her sigh behind me. When the elevator doors c
losed, I took both her hands in mine. We were inches apart.
She moved back, but only a step.
“Your offer is tempting, but I really can’t.”
The elevator was plummeting fast. The lights of the city were coming up quickly through the glass windows. There was little time left.
I moved her right hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. Then I gave her what I hoped was an irresistible grin.
“Why not?”
She frowned but didn’t remove her hand from mine.
“This has been awesome, but I’ll be leaving town soon, so…”
“Which is exactly why I don’t want this date to be over yet. I want to hear you sing my song, just once, before you’re gone from my life forever.”
The elevator stopped with a soft thud, punctuating my plea with a quiet finality. The doors opened to exhaust fumes and the echo of a car’s horn. Melanie looked at me as I waited for her to precede me into the parking garage.
“Okay. I’ll come over to work on the song. But you know nothing else is gonna happen with us. Right?”
Her words were a punch to the gut, although not unexpected. I wasn’t ready to give up hope that maybe “something else” would happen between us. The attraction I’d felt from the beginning was growing, and unless I’d misread her completely, she felt it too.
I placed a hand at the small of her back as she began walking. The urge to put an arm about her shoulder was strong, but I held back.
“Of course. I’m all about going with the flow when it comes to relationships. Either it works, or it doesn’t. Let’s just make some music together and see what happens. If nothing else, we’ll have some fun memories. Okay?”
Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled again.
“Okay. I’m just nervous about moving. I have so much to do.”
“I understand. But I won’t keep you past your bedtime. Don’t worry.”
I met her skeptical look with a smile and then helped her into the car. Soon we were back on the freeway. Two exits north, my high-rise came into view. All glass and steel, at the edge of Midtown it was an exclusive, coveted address. Most of the building’s residents were celebrities and titans of business. The accommodations were luxurious, the amenities first class. Melanie’s eyes went wide as we pulled into the garage, but that was the only indication she was impressed.
Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two Page 6
