Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel)

by Prescott Lane

  “A designer label does not make it stylish,” she says.

  After her cuts, we are still left with a ton of dresses. “Valentino?” she asks, holding up a little black number. I wrinkle my nose. “You’re right,” she says, strolling around the racks. “It’s not the Oscars, but this is like a debut for you. The first time the world will be introduced to the woman Knox Merrick loves. Hmm!”

  Loves? Surely, he didn’t tell the stylist he loves me before he tells me.

  “If you could wear any designer in the world, who would you wear?” Brynn asks.

  “Target,” I say with a smile.

  I’m joking, but her eyes totally light up. “Yes!” She starts moving around the racks, searching, clearly on a quest for something, but I doubt she’s got a dress from Target in there. “Remember in the nineties when Sharon Stone wore that Vera Wang skirt paired with her husband’s shirt from The Gap?” I just look at her like she’s insane. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t remember that. You were like one.”

  Brynn isn’t much older than me, but this is her business, her life, so I guess her knowledge of fashion trivia is better than mine.

  “Anyway, it was a total fashion moment. We need a moment!”

  “You want me to wear Knox’s shirt?” I ask.

  She stops and stares at me. “Vintage, maybe?”

  That word makes me think of Gigi. And while I love old things, I don’t like the idea of wearing a priceless vintage dress that I could rip or spill something on—at least not my first time out of the gate. So I throw out my own random idea. “What if we do the opposite?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if I wear something from an up and coming designer? Or a student? Someone whose career could be helped by me wearing their dress?”

  Her eyes light up. “I know just what to do.” She pulls out a dress from one of the racks she initially eliminated. “I’ve been trying to get someone to wear this dress for over a year. The designer is from Colorado, so that makes it extra perfect. I was a visiting lecturer at a design school, and I saw her sketches. I love them, but I can’t get anyone to pay attention because everyone wants to wear Gucci or Prada.”

  As soon as she holds the dress up, my heart starts racing. It’s not a dress. It’s a full, ball gown skirt, paired with a crop top. It’s blush pink and beautiful, but still a crop top.

  “Bare midriff?” I ask, my nervousness evident.

  She holds it up in front of me. “Finding the perfect dress is like finding the perfect man. When you know, you just know.”

  *

  Softly, I knock on the office door before peeking my head in to let Knox know that Brynn is leaving. Whatever Knox and Heath were talking about has left the air in the room feeling heavy with stress.

  “Did you find something?” Knox asks, getting to his feet and walking toward me.

  I nod, and thank him for setting it up, but he barely smiles. He seems off all of a sudden, not the Knox I know, and walks past me out of the room. The man I know has a killer smile, which he uses quite frequently to get what he wants, charm my panties right off, or just let me know how happy he is.

  I start following him when Heath holds his arm out. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk, to get to know each other,” Heath says. “Join me in here.”

  Leaving the door open, I walk inside, taking a seat opposite him. He crosses his leg in a relaxed pose. He looks every bit the part of Hollywood agent—tailored suit, flashy gold watch, not a hair out of place.

  “It’s been hard for me to get Knox to tell me anything about you. What do you do?” he asks.

  That makes me smile. Knox is keeping my job a secret even though I know that’s hard. “I have my own radio show.”

  “The Breakup Bible,” he says with a smug smile.

  “If you already knew, then why did you ask?”

  “I was wondering if you’d tell me the truth.” He cocks a sideways grin at me. “I needed to know if you’d be honest with me.”

  “I was.”

  “Half honest,” he says.

  “How did you find out?” I ask, giving him my own smirk. “Honestly.”

  “Just made a few phone calls. Radio is part of the entertainment business.”

  I hate to think discovering my identity is as easy as a few phone calls, but I hate it more to think I’m part of the entertainment business. I don’t think of myself as an entertainer. Entertaining, I hope so, but not an entertainer. There’s a difference.

  “I’ve listened to a few of your shows online,” he says. “I can see why Knox likes you so much.”

  Brynn used the word “love,” and this guy uses the word “like.” Does Knox love me? Like me? I hope it’s both.

  “Is that a compliment?” I ask.

  He laughs. “Of course. Look, I can see you trying to figure out whether or not I’m on your side. The answer to that is, I’m on Knox’s side.”

  He’s the paycheck! Of course, this guy is on Knox’s side, but that doesn’t mean he’s on mine. This Heath guy is talking out of both sides of his mouth. He must think I’m an idiot.

  “Knox and I have worked very hard on his career, his brand,” he says. “His brother hasn’t always made that easy.”

  “Ryder is a good guy,” I say defensively.

  He ignores my comment and continues. I get the feeling he likes the sound of his own voice. “Knox’s image is very important. No trips to rehab for drugs, alcohol, or sex. No gambling debts. Aside from being a bit of a ladies’ man, he’s squeaky clean.”

  “I’m not going to do anything to dirty his reputation,” I say, “if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve known him forever.”

  “Talking about him on the air will reduce him to a damn reality TV star,” Heath snaps.

  “You’re out of line, Heath,” Knox says, appearing out of nowhere. “Mae’s career is none of your concern. I asked you to stay out of it.”

  “You don’t pay me to stay out of it,” Heath says.

  “I have no plans to discuss my personal life with Knox on-air,” I say.

  “You already have,” Heath says. “He’s been on your show twice.”

  “And both times he called me,” I say.

  Knox flashes me a grin. “Smartest thing I ever did was calling your show that first time.”

  Heath rolls his eyes. “Look, as soon as the public realizes you’re the lady on the radio, every show you’ve ever done is going to be analyzed. All the things you’ve discussed before. The press will speculate whether the guy who gave you the mind-blowing oral sex was Knox.”

  Yep!

  “Or whether the guy who took you to meet his mother on your first date was Knox.”

  Nope.

  “Or if . . .”

  “Enough!” Knox barks. “Just like any story, it will all blow over in a few days.”

  “Why do you think you get to have an opinion about our relationship?” I snap at Heath. “It’s not your business, just like it’s not the business of the public or press.”

  “She’s naive,” Heath says to him. Knox starts to object, but Heath cuts him off and pats his shoulder. “You know I’m right. Your reputation can bounce back, but ask yourself this. Can hers?”

  Knox’s blue eyes glance my way, and something tells me he believes Heath. My stomach twists into a hundred knots. I trust Knox, and if he’s worried, I should probably be worried, too. But I don’t give a crap what Heath thinks.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, more to Knox than Heath.

  “Who knew she was coming to California?” Heath asks.

  “She is standing right here, and she would appreciate it if you’d stop referring to her in the third person,” I snap.

  Knox glares at Heath, telling him, “Dial it back and be respectful.” Heath rolls his eyes and nods curtly, and Knox looks my way, asking, “Who knew about your trip, baby?”

  I consider the question briefly before answering, “Some friends, my grandmother, why?”


  “Heath confirmed that Vincent asshole from the Denver paper was the one that tipped off the tabloids here. Gave them your flight information. But someone had to give it to him,” Knox says.

  “Everly and Timothy would never, and Gigi would probably give them the wrong information out of spite,” I say. “No one I know would betray me like that.”

  “It’s a hard lesson to learn, but not everyone you know is trustworthy. Most can be bought,” Heath says, getting to his feet.

  “The reporter could’ve followed me,” I say. “Trying to get shots of us together. Saw me go to the airport. I have seen him hanging around.”

  “When?” Knox asks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it wasn’t a big deal. You weren’t even in Haven’s Point when I saw him,” I say. “He was parked far away the day of Gigi’s birthday. I guess he thought you’d be there. I ignored him.”

  “You should’ve told me,” Knox says, his eyes growing wide. “The pile of shit on your porch.”

  “What about it?”

  “Wasn’t that the night of the birthday party?” Knox asks.

  “You don’t think that reporter guy would . . .”

  “A pile of shit? Isn’t that what you called him that first night he showed up?” Knox says. “Christ, Mae, he was at your house. On your porch. So fucking close to you.”

  “We don’t know that,” I say.

  “I guarantee there’s a pair of my size twelve leather shoes in his closet!”

  “Naive,” Heath says again, giving Knox a look before heading for the door. “I’ll clear your schedule the next two days. Let me know if you change your mind and want me to make a statement about your relationship. I’ll see myself out.”

  I get to my feet, taking Knox’s hand, trying to reassure him. “I know why you’ve been spending so much time in Haven’s Point recently,” I say. “This whole place is crazy.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he says. “That’s what worries me.”

  “Then show me,” I say. “Spend the next couple days showing me how crazy your life can get. Let’s walk down the street and let those pests snap thousands of photos of us. Let them chase us. Let’s not hide. Bring on the crazy.”

  Before I know what’s happening, he tosses me over his shoulder, smacking my booty. “Let’s start in the bedroom.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Knox

  After your first love, you’re never the same. Your heart never trusts so blindly, so completely again. They say you never know love like your first love, and that’s true. Because prior to your first love, you’ve never known heartbreak, the feeling of losing the one you love, so you’re totally open, totally free. You allow yourself to fall completely without any fear because you believe it will last forever. You don’t know any differently.

  After Mae, my heart was never the same. I was guarded. Losing her was second only to losing my parents. The pain was so deep, so raw, I never wanted to feel it again. My heart protected itself from ever feeling that kind of pain. From the outside, to the press, my fans, even my friends, it looked like I was just a player.

  But the truth was, I never wanted to know the pain of losing a woman I love again.

  So I never loved another woman.

  It was always Mae. She’s it for me.

  Mae stands in my closet in her bra and panties. I hung up the few items of clothing she brought next to mine. It’s a little habit of mine. When you travel as much as I do, you can literally live out of a suitcase, so sometime early in my career, I made it a habit to unpack. It doesn’t matter whether I’m going to be in a hotel for one night or twenty, I always unpack. It is the one thing you can do to immediately make a place seem more like home, so I took the liberty of unpacking her things for her.

  I’ve been dressed and ready to go for at least thirty minutes, but we aren’t ever going to make it out of the house if she keeps standing there half naked. My cock is getting other ideas about how he wants to spend the day, and those plans don’t include being tailed by paparazzi while touring Los Angeles.

  “It’s just a normal day,” I say. “You don’t need to change what you wear just because you’ll be all over the tabloids.”

  “I don’t care about that,” she says.

  “Then what is it?”

  She points to a shelf in my closet, a certain old shoe box. Our cassettes are inside, each one labeled with the dates of the first and last entry. They fill the box, some sticking out of the top, stacked one on top of another.

  “I haven’t seen them in so long,” she says. “There’s so many of them. There must be close to a hundred hours.”

  “I’ve never added them up,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist.

  “They’re our own version of love letters,” she says quietly.

  “Would you like to listen to some of them?”

  She turns around in my arms. “I’d love that.”

  *

  Cassette

  Mae to Knox

  Age Sixteen

  Sorry this cassette is late. I hope you weren’t worried. I’m fine. Grounded for the rest of my life, but fine.

  I had to wait until both my parents were gone to record this. They said my grounding included sending tapes to you. I’ll happily sit my butt at home, but I’m not going to not send tapes to you. I’ll find a way. Hopefully, this all blows over soon.

  I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m in trouble. You know my dad has rules. One of them is that I’m not allowed to take public transportation by myself. It’s stupid. I’m sixteen. I’m allowed to drive a car. I don’t have one, but still.

  Anyway, there was this exhibit I wanted to see, and my parents were both busy, so I took a bus there myself. It should’ve been a non-issue, but the bus was really crowded, so I had to stand. Forget I said that part. Just know that my parents found out, and I got grounded.

  I can picture your face right now. I know what you’d say. You’d remind me that we don’t lie to each other. But we don’t tell each other every little detail of our days, either. That would take too long.

  My dad is so angry. My mom keeps telling me he’s angry because he was scared, and it’s easier for him as a man to be angry than admit fear.

  Please allow me this one pass. Please. I don’t want you to be mad at me, too.

  *

  Mae crosses her legs on my bed, like we did in grade school—criss-cross, applesauce. I push the button on the cassette, stopping it.

  Of all the tapes to listen to. It was a random selection, but I would’ve preferred a sweet one or a flirty one.

  “You gave me a pass,” she says, smiling at me. “Didn’t make you tell me why I was grounded.”

  “I don’t think you would’ve been as understanding if the tables were turned,” I say, tackling her down to the bed. I twirl the curly strands of hair around my finger.

  “I definitely would have demanded to know why you were grounded,” she says with a giggle.

  “I think your pass has expired,” I say.

  She scoots out from under me, sitting up. I do the same, rubbing her hand a little. That tape is ten years old, no way would I be mad about something that happened so far back, but Mae doesn’t look so sure of that.

  She takes a deep breath. “The bus was crowed, standing room only. People were bumping into each other. I was holding on to a pole to keep my balance and holding my bag in front of me. I didn’t want to get pickpocketed. I thought I was protecting myself. I was using my head. Or I thought I was.”

  “Sounds smart to me,” I say. She gives me a small smile, like the kind of smile you give an idiot—someone who doesn’t have a clue.

  “Someone standing behind me touched me.”

  I feel my heart pounding in my chest, my blood skyrocketing through my veins. She doesn’t tell me where or how, but it doesn’t matter whether it was her ass, her chest, between her legs or her fucking elbow! No one is allowed to touch her without permission. No fucking
one!

  “I turned around, but there were three men behind me. I didn’t know which one did it. They were big guys. I was scared to get off the bus, scared they would follow me. I was so worried about my bag, the small amount of money I had, I hadn’t considered anything else. I was only sixteen. Nothing like that had happened to me before.”

  She gives me that same smile. She was young and naive. Most men don’t have to worry about being groped on crowded public transit. But her dad knew to worry. I guess that comes with having a daughter. You live imagining the worst of the male population.

  “A nice woman on the bus saw me. She didn’t see what happened, but she knew I was upset and scared. She stayed with me and made sure I got home. That’s how my parents found out.” Mae must see my face turning red and places her hand on top of mine. “Knox, you look so pissed off.”

  “I am!”

  “It was a long time ago. Don’t be mad at me about . . .”

  “I’m not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you?”

  “Because my parents had told me not to ride the bus alone, and I did it, anyway.”

  “What? I don’t care about that. This has nothing to do with your parents and their rules,” I say. “The fact that a woman can’t ride the bus or the subway without having to worry about some asshole touching her is what pisses me off!”

  She places her hands behind my neck, leaning in. “Was my mom right? Are you angry because you’re scared?”

  Her mom was always too smart for her own good, and I guess Mae inherited that trait. There’s not much that scares me. The only time I can remember being truly frightened was when my mom died, and I was six. Cancer took my mom slowly. Or at least it seemed slow to me at the time. Looking back, she was dead within nine months of the diagnosis. Now, that seems fast, but to a little boy watching his mother get thinner and thinner, it seemed like an eternity. Losing my mom was scary, but watching her suffer scared me more.

  “I’m about to take you out into a crowd of paparazzi,” I say softly. “Anything can happen.”

  She gives me another smile, a different kind this time, one that doesn’t say I’m a clueless idiot. It’s for a totally different reason.