Whereas I came from privilege. A perfect bird in a gilded prison, a product of love and hate, of betrayal and pain. I have a bursting bank account full of guilt money. I’ve never worked out if he was trying to buy my love or my forgiveness. Either way, my father keeps offering to usher me into his world, to open all the doors, and shove me through them. Yet, like Hunter, I want to battle, to fight, I want to make it on my own. He’ll only ever see me as a poor little rich girl.
I sigh. After this tour, I’ll start recording. I’ve already booked a studio, and I promise myself for the hundredth time that I won’t reschedule this time around.
Fuck, I can’t wait.
I head into the shower and get ready for the day, washing away last night’s embarrassment. We’re both professionals, it’s fine. It will all be over in just four more weeks. All I have to do is not think about it or him—or his soft lips or his strong hands or any other stupid part of him. How hard can that be?
I need a day away from everyone. Hunter will be lurking somewhere waiting for Daryl, but that’s his problem. I can take the day off. Enjoy this house a little while everyone is still asleep.
I slip on my white bikini and pull my hair up in a messy bun. It is my day off after all, I don’t need a suit or makeup. I just want to get out of this heat and cool down my insides, which keep flooding with warmth every time I think about Hunter Evans and the way his body made mine come alive.
I open my door just a fraction and peak down the corridor. It’s quiet. The way I like it. I don't want to be confused for one of “their girls.” I walk by the room. That room and my stomach flutters then knits at the thought of him with those girls. Why can’t I let that go?
I hold the towel around my waist and go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.
I halt when I get to the doorway and stumble over my feet. He’s there looking fresh and perfect as always. Asshole. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll just keep pretending like I don’t exist and we can get this job over and done with. He’s sitting on my stool. Leaning against the counter where I work, his long legs crossed over casually at the ankles.
I recover and make my way to the fridge, feeling the weight of his stare while I open it and reach for a bottle of water.
“Grab me a bottle while you're there?”
I glare at him, but his focus has shifted to the phone in his hands. I hold the fridge door open, the cool air soothing my heated skin. “Get it yourself, I don’t work for you.”
“You don't have to work for me to grab me a bottle of water.” He doesn’t look up and his fingers type something on his phone.
“Well, have you considered saying please?”
He looks up for half a second and a long, lowly smirk stretches across his stupid, beautiful face, “Will you please grab me a bottle of water while you’re at the fridge?” His tone is condescending, and I consider a few places I could shove that bottle for him.
Still, like I'm on autopilot, I grab a second bottle and walk towards him before handing it over. His big hand wraps around it and his long fingers brush over mine before I have a chance to pull my hand away. I hate how the feel of his hand over mine makes all the muscles in my body tense up.
I take a step back and watch him uncap the bottle and take a swig. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet, my eyes are glued to the way the muscles in his neck cord. My fingers itch to glide along them. He recaps the bottle and his lips tip in a smile as he catches me staring.
“You’re too trusting, I could have poisoned you.”
“Nah.” His eyes are back on his phone, and I'm back to being invisible.
“You’re so sure of yourself.”
He shrugs, “Nah, you're just too predictable.”
Fury vibrates through me, his dismissal of me. He doesn't know the first thing about me. “What the hell are you doing here anyway? Where is Daryl?” I snap at him
“Probably still in bed.”
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“Cause I can be.” His smugness riles me and slithers under my skin. We’ll see about that.
Ugh. I don't know what else to say. I can deal with him later—after my heartbeat settles down and my body temperature returns to normal. I hate that all I can think about now are his lips and that he makes me feel awkward and uncoordinated, like all my thoughts get clumped together and sense leaks out of my ears into the ether.
He stands as I leave the kitchen and his heavy footsteps echo behind me. I don't dare turn around. Daryl pops up from nowhere and stops me in my tracks. Hunter’s movements have also stopped, but I feel his body, it's too close to mine.
“Good morning, love. I’m inspired.”
I glare at him already irked by Hunter. Why are all the men in my life assholes? I picture my father’s smug face, knowing what he would say. I brush the thought away even more annoyed.
He runs his hand through his long hair a few times as if considering something then his face tilts a little. “Can you be ready in ten minutes?”
I grit my teeth, my fists tightening around the water bottle. “It’s my day off.”
“Not anymore, love.” He winks at me, “Ten minutes, yeah?”
I inhale an agitated breath that does nothing to calm me down, “Of course.”
“Chop, chop, love.” He claps twice as I storm off to my room and hear their deep voices discussing the plan.
I peel away my bikini and discard it on the bed. It lays there limply. Anger floods through me. ‘Chop, chop.’ I want to scream. Instead, I grab one of my suits and throw it on. I don't bother fixing my hair and I take a minute to put on minimal makeup.
I inhale a few long breaths before I go back downstairs, where Hunter stands next to Daryl.
“Ah, good girl,” Daryl says and I want to punch him. Or better still, I want Hunter to. I bet he could knock a few teeth out. I climb downstairs pretending I didn’t hear him and follow them to the car where Tom has the engine running and the air con on.
We slip inside the car and Tom pulls away. I plaster my face to the window, wondering what I keep waiting for.
Hunter
Tom pulls away from the driveway and we head out to the studio. I’m not sure what got the guy out of bed before midday, but fuck, I’m not complaining. I might actually be able to rest this afternoon. But still, I can't shake my annoyance. Not only at the way Daryl keeps talking to Emily, but the fact that he got her to take that fucking bikini off and put more clothes on. I was enjoying the view. It was rather… unexpected. All her beautiful curves were on display and that outline rose tattoo on her lower back, it was like unravelling a secret. I find myself wanting to know what other secrets she’s hiding.
I’m lost in thought when we pull up to the studio. Daryl stomps inside then stands at the door. “Private session today kids, you wait here.”
He slams the door in my face. It’s not unusual for these people to treat me like shit but I hate that he’s dragged Emily here just to lock her outside with me.
“I can have Tom drive you back to the house,” I offer my olive branch.
Her eyes snap up to me for a second before her face softens, the fight leaking out before it can begin, “It’s fine.” She shakes her head and leans against the wall. “I know he seems—” she swirls a hand in the air as if summoning a word from nothing “—unhinged. But he always has a plan. If he wanted me here, there’s a reason.”
“If you say so.” I shrug and take in her features, suddenly not minding the company.
We stand in silence for a while, muted sounds leak from beneath the door. She grabs her phone; it snags on her pocket and drops from her hand. We both go for it at the same time, but I get there a second faster than she does. My eyes fall on the unlocked screen.
“Can I have my phone please?” She’s holding her hand out to me while I invade her privacy.
I read the text knowing I shouldn’t, “Why do you need this?”
“That’s none of your business. Can I have my phone pl
ease?” She takes a swipe at me, but I just raise my hand. I’m significantly taller and stronger than she is. She won't be getting her phone back until I decide to give it to her.
“Original song lyrics and composition by Ash Rogers?” I look down at her face, “The lead singer of ‘The Broken’?”
She glares at me.
My eyes snap back to the phone, the live auction closes in ten minutes. “The bids are still coming in.”
“Give me my phone!”
“Tell me what you’re doing.” I know it's none of my business, she’s right. I really I shouldn’t care, but I'm intrigued.
“It’s for Daryl,” she says and her eyes drop to the floor.
“Liar.” Her eyes jerk back to mine and burn into me. “Tick-tock.” I shake the phone a little, and she exhales a sharp breath.
“Fine, I collect them.”
“Collect what?”
“Song lyrics and compositions.”
“Why?”
“Inspiration maybe?”
“Maybe?”
She shrugs, “It motivates me.”
“To do what? They’re just pieces of paper with other people’s words and music.”
Her eyes flicker back to the phone before they meet mine again, “Books are also full of other people’s words and yet people collect them. We dive into their pages and search for lines of meaning through the concepts, dreams and discord of other people's minds. We travel to the past and the future and collect thoughts, because every now and then one resonates. Like looking in a mirror, we recognise those feelings inside ourselves.”
“And these lyrics?”
“They resonate with me.”
I look at the title and frown, “This resonates with you?”
Her chin tips and her eyes fall away, “It resonates with a lot of people. It's the reason it’s one of their biggest hits.”
“It’s not that great.” I think about the lyrics, I always grow attached to things that aren’t forever. “Not exactly profound.”
“That’s because you don’t get attached to the things you collect.”
I scoff, “I don't collect anything.”
“Sure you do, everyone collects.”
“Yeah? What do I collect?”
“Women, STI’s, and angry encounters.”
I scoff, “I don't collect women, they try to collect me. I’m more of a connoisseur, I like to sample.” My gaze automatically runs along her body. “Isn’t it better to spend my time with women than with useless pieces of paper? And FYI, I’ve never had an STI.”
Her mouth twists a little and she takes a tiny step back as if I'd pushed her. She doesn't even notice it. “If you say so. Can I have my phone back now?”
I glance at the screen, we still have time, and I have more questions. Questions she’s more likely to answer if I have this hold over her. Is it fair? Probably not, but who said life has to be? “Soon.” She sighs and her mouth stretches into a thin line. I ignore her. “Why do you stay?”
“With Daryl?”
I nod.
“The money is good.” Her eyes dart around the corridor again.
“He treats you like shit.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not,” I raise my voice a little too much, and her eyes collide with mine for a second before they fall away.
“It’s fine. Why do you care anyway?”
“Because it’s bullshit, he shouldn’t be treating you like that.”
She shrugs.
“Why do you stay?”
She stays silent.
“Tick-tock, Emily.” I shake the phone at her. She grimaces and glares at me. I’m prying, but I want to know why she puts up with his shit. She is clearly intelligent and sweet and has a lot to offer. So why him?
“It’s complicated.”
I frown at her secrecy, what is she hiding? “Why?”
“It just is.” Pink floods her cheeks and she looks around, refusing to meet my eyes. “Can I get my phone back?”
I glance at it, two minutes. I check the bid as it climbs, already well past the fifteen thousand dollar mark.
“Tell me!”
Her eyes flash to the phone, desperation etched on her features. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I needed a way in, and this was an easy door to walk through.”
“A way into what?”
She grinds her teeth. “I want to sing,” she spits it out, “now give me my phone.” She wines as the screen flashes red.
“You? Sing?” I’m surprised, but it comes out condescending.
“Yes,” she hisses, “phone!” She puts her hand out, her eyes widening as the screen keeps flashing red.
I can't help but scoff under my breath.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“You? Stand in front of people and perform? You can’t even walk around in a bikini without hiding behind a towel like it’s going to save your life.”
“I don't need to show off my body to be good at singing,” she snaps at me.
“No, but it helps.” I wink at her—clearly a mistake.
I shake my head and that’s when she takes me by surprise, her elbow flies into my stomach and she jumps up and snatches the phone from me. I laugh at her antics, but she ignores me, tapping on her phone frantically as the numbers count down. Maybe mousy Emily isn’t as shy as she makes herself out to be.
She holds her breath and stares at the screen, her knuckles bleached white, her eyes bulging. We wait in silence before she breaks it with a yelp and a little dance. She hugs the phone to her chest and relief floods her face, followed by a stunning, happy smile. I can’t help but smile too.
“I got it. I got it.” She squeals as if she’s totally forgotten that I held her phone hostage just a few seconds ago. How the fuck could she afford that on her salary? I set the thought aside and watch her. She’s radiating. I think it's the first time I’ve seen Emily happy. Somehow that smile transforms her, and she just went from pretty to beautiful. She’s beautiful when she’s happy, and my body remembers that kiss and how her lips felt against mine, and how I could make her happy in other ways.
“Love!” Daryl’s voice breaks through my thoughts and the smile that made her face beam falls away in an instant. “I need you in here.”
“Coming,” she calls out and tucks away her phone, her eyes meeting mine as if she’s just remembered I was there. She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something then changes her mind before grabbing the door handle and slipping into the studio, shutting me alone with my thoughts.
Emily
I don’t have time to dwell on all my feelings. My anger is now doused by happiness, by confusion and irritation. I’ll have to sort through them all later. As of right now, I have to deal with Daryl. I tune back into what he’s saying.
“—a backup singer that can get here now?”
“It’s eleven on a Saturday morning in London Daryl, you’ll have more luck finding a black cat in a coal cellar.”
“But it's London, love. It’s full of wannabes.”
“And do you have their numbers? Do you have time to audition?” I purse my lips, “I guess I can call a few agencies, see what they send over.”
He runs a hand through his hair as I pull out my phone. “Hang on love, you’re a singer ain't you?”
“I—”
“Great, get in there then, lemme run you through the lyrics.”
“Daryl…”
“Here are the lyrics I want you to sing.” He shoves a crumpled piece of paper into my hands with frantically scribbled words running across the page.
I read over them as he leads me into the studio.
“Fantastic. Come on, love, let's get to work. This will be fantastic.” For the first time, he looks at me like he sees me and not her. His smile is genuine and real and my heart leaps a little.
The next three hours are exhausting and thrilling in equal measure. I’ve been dreaming of being on this side of the glass booth�
��not as Daryl's backup singer, but for myself. Still, belting out his chorus and hearing it played back to me exhilarates me in ways that I can't fathom. It feels like breaking the surface and drawing a lungful of air after staying under for too long.
As we head back to the car, Hunter gives me a long look before shuffling his massive frame into the front seat. I forgot about him for a few hours and now that we share the same space, the delight I've been feeling all afternoon is threatened by his presence.
I stare out the window and try to forget him and his prying and his arrogance. He laughed at me. Whatever.
“You did great, love,” Daryl pulls me from my reverie, “You have a great set of pipes on you. Your dad will be proud.”
Hunter shuffles in his seat, his head turns slightly towards us.
“Thanks.” I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the other two people in the car don’t know what he means.
“Sure I can’t talk you into being a backup for me? You can join me on tour.”
I shake my head, “If I went on tour with you, who would get all your contracts signed and venues booked?”
He laughs a little and pats my leg. I resist the urge to remove his hand forcefully and elbow his jaw. “You can taste what it's like. You can be set on fire. There’s nothing like being on stage with people chanting your name, worshipping you.” He shakes his head, “And nothing ignites you as hot as your first performance. It's like falling in love for the first time, and you’ll never forget it.”
There’s something melancholy in his voice as he speaks. “I’d rather my first time be under my own terms.”
He locks eyes with me and nods, “As it should be. I’ll find someone. Book some auditions for next week won’t you?”
“Sure,” I say, “Will you be needing anything else from me this afternoon?”
“Nah, Love, you've worked hard enough, take the rest of the day. Go out, relax.” He winks at me and I turn away.
Tom pulls up to the house and I get out of the car slamming the door behind me and rushing inside. A part of me wants to show them both, to prove them wrong, to be the person I know I can be.
Hunter (The Fractured Fairytale Series) Page 6