Wildest Dream (Redfall Dream #4)

by B. B. Miller

  “Tell me about it.” I sigh and twirl the empty the glass between my hands. Even though I know Kevin would keep Jack’s secret, I made a promise to Jack; I don’t make promises lightly. “Jack is…lovely. He’s kind, smart, successful, and handsome. He makes me laugh and he’s good company. Normally, all things I’d look for in a partner, unless…”

  “Unless.” Kevin twists his lips in a frown and look at his toes, thinking. “I know Jack, and he’s a great guy. He’s all of those things and then some. But, regardless of anything—anyone—else, you can’t marry when you don’t love, Cass. Even if it’s just for a few years. Could you?”

  A waiter walks by with a tray, and I give him my empty glass. “No,” I murmur, watching the waiter walk away. “A month or so ago, I’m afraid to say that I probably could. But now? No.” Sean’s beautiful green eyes and roguish smile come to mind. “One day, I will probably get married. But I can’t right now, no matter how attractive Jack Coleman’s proposal is.”

  The door next to us creaks open a few inches, and Kevin swiftly swings it wider, popping his head in the next room. He shrugs. “Just an empty hallway. Come on.” He slings his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go get another drink, and you can tell me more about this crazy musician of yours.”

  About an hour and another martini later, I’m relaxed but impatient for the evening to be over. Kevin and I have done our duty, hobnobbing with our father’s well-heeled crowd and smiling at jokes we’ve heard a hundred times. We’re seated at yet another round banquet table, watching our parents move to take their seats across the way. My mother has been in an unusually good mood, which is nice to see. She’s the perfect politician’s wife, always with the perfect smile, the perfect story, and not a hair out of place. But occasionally, she lets the real Marilyn Skinner show, the woman I knew growing up; daughter of a rich cattle rancher who wasn’t afraid to get on her hands and knees and play with her young children. As much as she drives me nuts sometimes, she’s been a great mom.

  “What’s up with Mom?” Kevin murmurs in my ear. “Both she and Dad have been acting like they won the lottery all night.” I shrug, and he raises his glass to his lips.

  “I don’t know. Maybe she let Dad talk her into a quickie in the bathroom,” I muse. Kevin snorts into his drink, which leads to a coughing fit and a few stares.

  “Jesus, Cassidy!” he mutters, as I snicker behind my hand. “I’m going to get you back for that. Ugh, what an image.”

  A gentle tapping against a water glass quiets the crowd and draws our attention to where our parents are standing. “Good evening. I just wanted to thank our hosts for the lovely evening and, with their indulgence, make a small announcement,” my father says, his craggy voice full of satisfaction. Kevin and I exchange curious looks, and then I realize my mother is staring at me with a triumphant smile. “Marilyn and I are pleased to announce the engagement of our daughter, Cassidy, to Mr. Jack Coleman, of Coleman Energy.”

  There’s a smattering of applause and general happy chatter as my heart freezes and Kevin chokes out a curse beside me. Clutching his forearm so I don’t fall out of my chair, the good wishes of the others at our table sound muffled and far away.

  What the fuck?

  Murphy’s Law No. 29: Embrace reality, especially if it burns you.

  Sean

  “IT LOOKS INCREDIBLE,” I SAY almost in awe, staring up at the fifteen-foot ceiling of the loft at the music academy.

  “It’s come together nicely. Sydney was amazing to work with,” the interior designer who has worked with Sydney on the redesign of the SoHo building replies. How can he not be impressed? Syd is a brilliant architect and her lean toward the funky yet functional is evident in the space.

  Syd offers only a shy smile as she drifts away, holding up her phone. “I’m going to call Philip and show him.” Never one for the spotlight, something I’ll never understand, she wanders off.

  The loft is enormous, taking up the entire top floor. Six cast iron columns anchor the lounge, complete with exposed brick walls, and a functional juice bar the kids can take full advantage of. It’s grandiose, but there’s a warmth and style distinctly Sydney’s. She’s made sure there are multiple sitting areas with large inviting leather chairs and sofas for the kids to relax in. Cubbies made of reclaimed barn wood with custom metal accents and ample storage for instruments are strategically placed throughout the impressive space.

  Resurfaced matte black oak floors now gleam in the late afternoon light spilling in from a row of arched windows. Iconic views of the New York skyline could provide a distraction to a lot of people, but these kids won’t be here for the view.

  He leads me past the rehearsal rooms and down the hall to the recording studio, and I spot the Redfall logo etched lightly into the frosted glass on the door. It’s the only sign I’m behind this place, and that’s exactly how I want it. Sure, we’ll have the grand opening and the band will be here to promote it, but after that, I want the focus to be on the kids, not on me.

  I push open the door as the designer explains the state-of-the-art studio equipment he’s sourced. “You guys could record here, if you wanted to. It’s that good.” He glances at me hopefully.

  “A valid offer, but no. We record at Kennedy’s place.” I clap him on the shoulder, and his phone rings in his pocket.

  He tugs his phone out and glances at the screen. “Sorry, I need to take this.”

  “No worries. I’ll find my way through the rest.” He gives me a nod and moves quickly down the hall, setting the phone to his ear.

  At the end of the hallway is the exit to the fire escape, and I climb out to take a seat on the iron stair. The city bustles below as usual, perpetually in motion. I know how lucky I am to be here. How many people would kill for this view, for this life I have. I never want to take it for granted. I’ve done a lot of questionable and, quite frankly, illegal shit over the years, but this academy? It’s one of the things I’m most proud of.

  Looking across the skyline makes me think of Cassidy working away in the East Village. It’s not even been twenty-four hours, and I already miss her. I think about Syd, whose first instinct was to call Philip and show him what she’s worked so hard on. I’m starting to understand her comment the other day about wanting to share things.

  I want Cassidy to see this, to understand how important it is to me and to be here to share it. Tugging my phone from my pocket, I call her, but it goes to voice mail. I’m slightly deflated; not a normal feeling for me. I snap off a few photos of me on the fire escape and send one to her before I post a more generic one to Instagram that just features the skyline.

  “Sean?” I turn in the direction of Syd’s voice, seeing her poke her head out of the window.

  “Yeah?” I push up from the hard metal of the stair, but she holds up a hand.

  “I’m coming out.” I crack up, watching her almost fall out of the window before I can get to her, but she rights herself and plops down unceremoniously beside me.

  “Well done.” I pat her knee, and she smacks my shoulder. “How is Boy Wonder?”

  “Philip is doing just fine, thank you for asking. He’s drowning in a case at the moment.”

  I lean back against the stair. “Mmm. The exciting world of mergers and acquisitions.”

  “He doesn’t deal with mergers and acquisitions, Sean. He’s prepping for a human rights case.”

  I glance at her. “Huh. Who knew? Got to say, that’s a little impressive.”

  She beams at me. “Just a little. And I’m going to remind you that you said that when you start complaining about him.” Blowing a few strands of hair out of her face, she takes in the view. “This is incredible.”

  “You did an amazing job.”

  She shakes her head. “No. Not that. This whole thing.” She motions to the building. “You’re going to make a difference to so many kids, Sean. I don’t know if you understand what you’ll be bringing into their lives.”

  I nudge her in the arm. �
�I mean, it’s not a human rights case, but at least I’m good for something.”

  “Stop doing that. You need to take credit when it’s due. Not everyone would do something like this.”

  I shake my head, glancing at the rooftops across the street. “It’s not like I’m some hero, Syd. I don’t look at it that way.”

  She slings her arm around my shoulder. “I know you don’t. That’s what makes it even more special.”

  “You’ve got it all sorted then?” I ask Nicole Hays, Redfall’s PR manager, aka the one who keeps us in line, or tries to. Honestly, she deserves a medal for having to deal with some of the shit we’ve put her through over the years.

  She rolls her eyes, tapping the webcam with a scowl. “Hello? Have we just met? Of course I have it sorted. TV crews and radio will be on site the day before the opening. That’s the twenty-fourth. I’ll update your schedule so you don’t miss any interviews.”

  “I never miss—”

  She points an accusatory finger at me. “Don’t even try it, Sean. You’ve missed your fair share of interviews before. Do I need to remind you about the Madrid debacle of a press tour back in 2004?” I open my mouth to defend myself, but her glare has me wisely shutting up. That year was nothing but a blur. I have zero defense on this one. “You can’t miss these interviews.”

  “I won’t. I won’t!” I hold up my hands in surrender. “Scout’s honor?” I hold up four fingers, having no clue what the sign for a scout actually is.

  Nic snorts a response. “I think you missed the whole Boy Scout phase, but nice try.”

  “This is important to me, Nic. You don’t have to worry.”

  “Famous last words,” she mutters, adjusting her dark red glasses. She pretends to be annoyed, but Nic loves us. She wouldn’t have stuck around for over fifteen years if she didn’t. “Let’s talk about the contest.”

  “Ah yes. How’s it looking?” Nic gives an update on the contest one of the radio stations is having. While normal entrance to the music academy will be handled via applications and scheduled auditions to the director we’ve hired, we decided to hold a contest for one of the openings.

  The radio station, WBER, has been flooded with video submissions to the point where they had to hire additional staff to vet them. One of the first tasks the director will have with me is selecting the winner.

  Nic hit that particular task—hiring the director for the academy—out of the park. After a series of brutal interviews, some with questionable candidates, we found Nari Johnston, and we knew she was the one.

  Originally from Korea, Nari started playing classical piano at the age of six and won several prestigious competitions before graduating with a master’s of music from Oxford. She went on to perform with the London Symphony and moved to New York two years ago to pursue teaching gifted students at one of the private schools in Manhattan. She’s driven, smart as a whip, and doesn’t take any of my shit. In other words, exactly what we need to keep me in line.

  She’s been an integral part of our planning sessions since she signed on the dotted line last month. Nari has taken over interviewing instructors and planning the curriculum; things I have zero understanding of. I’m not sure what we’d do without her.

  “Some of these entries are a joke,” Nic says. “Nari has had a good laugh, particularly at the ones sent in by grown women in bikinis dry-humping various instruments.”

  I scowl at the screen. “What are you on about? They did advertise this correctly, did they not? The academy is for kids under the age of seventeen.”

  Nic lets out a laugh. “You think that’s going to stop some of your crazy fans? It’s been entertaining to say the least.”

  “I was wondering why you hadn’t sent me any entries to review.”

  “You’ll get them once we’ve narrowed it down to twelve. Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to see most of these. I need brain bleach and a raise.” She grins at the screen.

  “Done. Just let Kennedy know.”

  “You’re all way too easy. I should ask for a raise on a weekly basis,” she says with a laugh.

  “And we’d give it to you.”

  She waves her hand at the screen. “You’re all pushovers now. A few years back? Not so much. I had my hands full. That’s when I should’ve been asking for a raise.”

  “We’re all in line for sainthood now, Nic. Your biggest worry is how to break it to women around the globe their beloved lead singer is officially off the market.”

  Nic blinks, slapping a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Oh, did his royal highness not inform you either? Mr. Lane is married, darling. And has knocked up Abby.”

  Her mouth drops open for a moment before the rant starts. “That son-of-a—” Nic’s face turns a nasty shade of red. “I’m going to kill him. I swear to God, I’m going to kill him. When? When did this happen, and why am I always the last to know?”

  I can’t hold back my laugh. “Apparently a couple of days ago in some tropical undisclosed location. They were alone, with just a minister and a couple generic witnesses. If it helps, there aren’t any photos.”

  “That you know of.” She props an elbow on the desk and drops her forehead to her palm. “Just when you think you have them under control. I should’ve known better. Why? Why do you guys do this to me?” Nic’s mumbling and that’s never good.

  “Just think of it this way, it’s a good news story. Love and babies, and all that. It could be a hell of a lot worse, you know.”

  Her eyes lift skyward. “I know. I know.” She lets out a long sigh. “Some warning would’ve been nice, though.” She grits her teeth.

  “Nic? You know that raise that you mentioned?” She glances at the webcam. “Just ask for triple when you finally do reach the proud papa-to-be.”

  I can hear the faint sounds of the telly in the living room whilst I get tea ready for Syd. It’s been a long day for her between spending time at the academy this afternoon and dealing with wedding plans back in London.

  I don’t know why Syd didn’t take me up on the offer to hire a planner. She’s doing the whole damn thing herself, spouting off about not wanting someone else to be in charge of the most important day of her life, blah, blah, blah. I’d almost suggest she and Philip go off and elope like Kennedy and Abby did, but there’s no way, no how, I’m missing her wedding in London.

  As is her evening routine, she’s nestled into the corner of the couch with the late night news. It’s been fun having her here. I didn’t realize how empty the place was until she came to stay. I’m so used to either just crashing here or playing until all hours of the morning. Everything else in between just seemed like white noise.

  She’s heading home in a couple of days, and I’m not going to see her until she flies back for the grand opening of the academy next month. Seeing it all start to come together, I’m getting excited for this. I’m hoping Cassidy will be able to join me. Syd was right, not that I’d admit it to her. Sharing something you love with the people who are important to you makes the experience sweeter.

  Cassidy is fast becoming important to me. Although why she hasn’t texted me back is a bit of a mystery. I’ve sent her a few photos and texts throughout the day, but so far, silence.

  I scowl, checking my phone before pocketing it once more. “Sean?” Syd’s voice drifts through from the living room.

  “Your tea is ready, madam,” I tease, setting two cups on a tray along with a plate of biscuits.

  “You need to see this,” she calls out, her voice a little harder.

  “Hang on. You’re like a bulldog chewing on a wasp. You can’t rush tea.”

  “Just get in here!” Syd yells. She never yells.

  I gather the tray and head into the living room, setting it on the table in front of the sofa. “What’s going on?”

  Syd’s posture is rigid and in stark contrast to the relaxed state she was in a few minutes ago. She’s got the telly paused, and she waves the remote at m
e. “Sit. You need to sit.”

  I glance at the telly, frowning at the image on the screen. It looks like a posh dining room filled with people dressed in their Sunday best. I have no idea what she’s on about. “Why do I need to sit?”

  “Just do it!”

  “All right, all right.” I drop into the chair beside the sofa. “Geez. What is this?” I nod to the flickering screen and she lets out a long breath.

  “I’m not sure. Just, please promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

  My skin prickles. This isn’t like her. “Syd… What’s going on? Is something wrong with Mum or Dad?”

  “No! Nothing like that. Just… Just watch.”

  She clicks the remote and a female voiceover begins; the screen switches to a snap of a stuffy-looking man in a suit. “In what can only be described as an American royal wedding, Wyoming Senator Robert Skinner officially announced at a fundraiser in Brooklyn tonight the engagement of his daughter Cassidy to Jack Coleman of Coleman Energy.” I blink at the screen, my fingers digging into the leather armrests while my heart takes a nosedive. What the bloody hell? This has got to be a mistake.

  The screen changes to a headshot of Cassidy beside one of Jack, and the female voice continues, “The senator’s daughter has made a name for herself in bridal couture, with a shop in the East Village that creates one-of-a-kind dresses.” A few shots of random wedding dresses sail past on the screen. “Jack Coleman is set to take over for his father, Bert Coleman, at the end of the year as CEO of the multibillion-dollar energy company, Coleman Energy. The company made headlines last year in a pipeline oil dispute that pitted environmentalists against the energy giant.”

  I try to get a fucking grip, glancing over at Syd. She just shakes her head and gives me a look reserved only for the pathetic and downtrodden. “A spokesman for Senator Skinner confirmed Mr. Coleman had asked permission before popping the question to Miss Skinner earlier in the evening. The spokesman said that while a date hasn’t been set, there will be a formal announcement on the details in the coming weeks.”