by J. Saman
Two months before he died, Robert stepped down and I was named CEO. I knew it was coming. He told me that’s how he wanted it. We discussed it. His family was on board with it as long as their money still came in. But it was still a shock to me. And after he died, I got started on the space in New York and have worked tirelessly to make it just as big and impressive as our offices in LA.
Ethan was my main guy on it, and I have to say, he’s blown away every expectation I’ve ever had. Not surprising, though. I wouldn’t have survived the last four years without him, both personally and professionally. We hit the elevator and go down three floors to forty-one. We own five total floors in this building and most of them are administrative. But we have an entire floor for our studios.
Ten studios in total. Some large enough to accommodate an entire band, including drums and other instruments. Some smaller for just putting down vocals. We step off the elevator and it smells like new carpet, sawdust and heaven. He opens the door to one of the first studios that happens to be one of the larger ones. There are two couches, two large reclining chairs that appear incredibly comfortable, and a huge sound board, or mixing deck as it’s often called, complete with dual screens and a laptop. Some producers want to do everything digitally, be entirely computer based. Some are old school and like the feeling of the board. Some, like me, use both.
“Wow,” I breathe, running my fingers lovingly over the knobs, buttons, and slides of the board. “I’m in love. Is it wrong if I ditch the ball tonight and hang out here?”
“Nope,” Ethan says, fully reclined in one of the chairs, his arms propped behind his head and his eyes are closed. “This might just be my favorite place in the entire building. It’s dark, quiet and oh-so-comfortable.” He wiggles around just to prove his point. “My office is pretty dope too, though.”
I sit down behind the board. I don’t turn anything on, but I seriously cannot wait to get going in one of these rooms. I have two albums that I’m going to be starting in the next couple of weeks here. One is with Dax Star, a rapper who occasionally likes to mix in a ballad or two onto his albums and another with Cyber’s Law. Yes, that Cyber’s Law. The one I swore I’d never work with again after the first time. Then again, this is going to be the third album of theirs that I’ll be producing. They’re still a creative pain in my ass, but I can’t get enough of their sound, and we seem to have a thing now. A way of communicating what our respective needs and wants are without killing each other.
I don’t ever mix business with pleasure. That is my hard rule and it’s one I’ve never broken.
That doesn’t mean I don’t get flirted with. Even if I am the boss now. I’m still a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties. I work long hours, one-on-one with a lot of famous, gorgeous musicians. Attraction happens. Flirtations happen. I know what goes on in some of the studios. I’m not stupid. I know that occasionally people have sex in some of these booths.
I’ve just never been one of them.
But the lead singer, Harry, from Cyber’s Law? Yeah. He makes it known that he wants to change that for me. It’s going to make the next several months with him a challenge. Then something else, something I’ve refused to think about since the advent of this takeover and this building and these studios comes rushing in. “I’m going to be living in New York.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to see him,” Ethan says, clearly reading my thoughts. “It’s a big city out there and he works downtown. He might even live down there. You,” I turn and he points at me with a stern finger, his posture still completely reclined in the chair, “work in midtown and will be living ten blocks north and two blocks west of here.”
“Different worlds,” I say and he nods.
“Different worlds.” He sits up now, the feet of the chair dropping with a thud that reverberates through the room. Leaning forward, he pins me with that stare of his. The one he gives when he’s not taking any crappy excuses from anyone. “Because that is what you want. Right?”
“Right,” I confirm, but I can’t meet his eyes. My fingers are still playing with one of the channels on the mixer.
“I think love should be one of the seven deadly sins. Not lust. Lust can be the best thing in the world when done right. It’s love that gets everyone in trouble.”
“I wouldn’t change love. I’d just make it easier to get over when it’s done, and have it hurt less. It’s not fair when the heartache lasts longer than the love that gave it to you.”
“Just because he shows up now, after all this time, doesn’t mean you need to give into that. Just because you haven’t found someone better to replace him yet, doesn’t mean that person doesn’t exist. You’ve come so far, Lyric. You’re such a strong, successful woman and you don’t need a man for that. Men are a luxury, not a requirement. They’re like an added bonus. Friends and family keep you from being lonely, a good vibrator keeps you from being unsatisfied, and work keeps you fulfilled.”
I spin in my chair to face him. Sometimes it would be easier if the people we love didn’t know us so well. Couldn’t read us like the open book we try so hard not to be. “I agree with all of that. I genuinely do. I never felt I needed Jameson, or any man for that matter, to make me a whole person. I am that on my own. It would poetic to say that I’ve made something out of my heartbreak. That I turned it into art or used it to reach a higher plane of existence. Or that I’ve been gifted with an overabundance of bullshit prose that inspire people. But that would be a lie.” I lean forward, dropping my elbows to my thighs and leveling my friend so that he can understand this, even if I’m not sure I fully do. “At the end of the day, I’m still me. The girl who fell for the guy she knew better than to love and lost. And I still wear my heartache on my sleeve because I don’t know how to keep it in without it taking more of me than it already has.”
“Then let it out, and eventually, it won’t own you. Honestly, I think you’ve been holding on to it and him, afraid to let go and fully move on.”
I can’t deny that, so I don’t even bother. Instead, I stand up and Ethan does too. “I need to get ready for the ball tonight.”
“I do as well,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back into the empty hallway. It won’t be like this on Monday. Monday, it’s going to be crazy busy. That has me smiling as I take one final look at the floor that will be my new home away from home for the next several months. I just hope I can survive living in New York again. Especially after the last few days with Jameson.
Chapter 25
Jameson
* * *
Every year the Rainbow Ball is held in the Rainbow Room in New York City. Obviously, this is by design and not by accident. It’s one of the largest cancer events in the country. It raises over a million dollars in just one night, and then that money is divided into three different cancer charities. Those three charities change annually and are literally picked out at random as long as they meet certain organizational criteria and were not given money from the event in the last three years.
It’s an A-list event. I think I already mentioned that. And I knew it was difficult to get in to, but I didn’t realize it would be nearly impossible. I called every single person in New York that I know and no one could pull any strings to get me a ticket. Sold out, is what everyone had said.
Then I called Cane. And Cane spoke to his wife, Greta. I probably should have gone to her first, but I didn’t really want to involve my best friend or his wife on my voyage to win my ex back. Mostly because I didn’t want to hear the bullshit from Cane. But desperate times, right? Cane, with his built-in gold digger alarm met Greta, the daughter of a third-generation shipping mogul.
Born and raised in New York, she’s the epitome of a socialite. She knows everyone who is anyone in this city. She’s also the biggest ballbuster in the world. She’d have to be to live with Cane.
“I expect you to come over every night for nanny duty starting immediately after the baby is born,” she said, rubbing her large round belly in a wa
y that appeared both adoring and spoke to her level of discomfort. “I’m going to need a lot of sleep, because I haven’t gotten any in this last trimester. I swear, this baby does crazy gymnastics all night, which probably means you’ll be up all night with her. You’ll be required to feed the baby from a bottle, obviously,” she said with an eye roll. “As well as diaper her and generally keep her quiet while Cane and I get our much-needed rest.”
It would have been amusing if she hadn’t looked so damn serious.
“Why don’t you just hire a nanny?”
“I believe we just did,” she said to me with a smug grin.
She turned to Cane for confirmation and because the bastard loves his wife more than he loves me, he said, “You’ll have your own room directly next to the nursery, but if by some miracle of nature this thing with Lyric works out, you’re not allowed to bring her with you. When you’re here to work, you’re here to work. She can come visit when you’re off duty.”
All I could do was stare at them blankly and pray to God that they were joking. Greta handed me the invitation that she acquired from her mother, who decided not to attend this year and I left. As fast as I could as a matter of fact. Cane did wish me luck, though he followed that up with, “You’re going to need it to win her back.”
Yeah, yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.
The glamorous and elegantly appointed room with the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Empire State Building and the city in all its glory beyond, is teaming with women in colorful gowns and men in tuxedos. I know most everyone in here simply by sight. Actors. Singers. Socialites. Models. Directors. Producers. They’re mingling, drinking expensive alcohol from expensive glasses as they bid on the items that are part of the silent auction.
Things like Hawaiian vacations, a guitar signed by Gabriel Rose—Lyric’s father—hotel stays at the Four Seasons, spa getaways at Canyon Ranch, bottles of wine, trips on private jets and week vacations on private yachts. A week at a Malibu beach house that just so happens to look identical to Lyric’s. The list goes on and on.
And as I peruse over everything and everyone, I cannot find my girl anywhere. But I spot her name on the sheet of paper next to the Canyon Ranch getaway. And then again on one of the bottles of wine. And then again on the Hawaiian vacation. They’re starting bids, I realize, but they’re not lowball offers, either. She’s trying to raise money for her cause and I love that she’s doing it in this passive-aggressive, fuck-you-rich-ass-people, way.
I put down a fortune for the Malibu beach house that I know is hers and move on.
Heading toward the bar on the opposite side of the room, I freeze when I spot a flash of sparkling color and flesh. Lyric. My breath catches in my chest, unable to be expelled. My heart-rate jacks up and my cock becomes unbearably hard as I take her in from head to toe.
Her dress is entirely made up of multicolored sequins or beads that sparkle, glowing rainbow fire whenever they catch just the smallest hint of light from one of the crystal chandeliers or candles. The bodice is skin tight, hugging every single gorgeous curve on her body. It has long sleeves and is floor-length with a slit that goes completely up the side of her right thigh all the way to her hip bone.
And if that wasn’t enticing enough, the entire back of her dress is open down to the cleft above her ass. Her long, blonde hair is pinned up and off to the side, revealing the tattoo she has on her back in between her shoulder blades. The tattoo that I watched inked on her body. That was the moment I fell in love with her. Even if I refused to admit it at the time.
Lyric turns around, a glass of champagne in her hand. She’s talking to that guy. Ethan. The bane of my fucking existence, Ethan. Lyric’s lips are red and her eyes are shimmery and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look more beautiful in my life. Or maybe it’s a tie between this and when I held her sleeping in my arms in my bed that very first night over Christmas.
My focus is singular: Get Lyric back.
It’s become my mantra. The steady beat of my heart. The pulsation of blood in my veins.
That is until Harry Evans, lead singer of Cyber’s Law approaches her. That is until he takes her hand and leads her out in the middle of the dance floor. That is until he draws her into his arms, brings my girl into his chest and begins to dance with her like he’s staking his claim.
“You look like you could use this,” a voice says off to my right. My head whips over to find Ethan standing beside me, holding out a glass of something that looks and smells like scotch. I wordlessly take the glass and down the content in one large gulp. “That help?”
“Not even a little.”
“Good,” he replies and I can’t stop my sardonic laugh as I redirect my attention back to Lyric. Does she have to smile like that? Ethan shifts so that he’s facing me, his hand outstretched in my direction. “Ethan Simons, but I think you already knew that.”
I nod, being magnanimous and shaking the prick’s hand. “You’re the man in my girl’s life.”
“I am,” he confirms with a wry grin. “Just not the way you thought.”
I eye him with an irrational anger I cannot control. I know it’s not Ethan’s fault. I know it’s mine. But that doesn’t stop my possessive jealousy where he’s concerned. Because for the last four years he’s had her and I haven’t. Even if, like he said, it’s not the way I thought.
“How did you get in here? I know you weren’t on the invitation list. I made sure of it.”
“Wow,” I muse. “You really don’t hold back.”
He shakes his head. “Not where Lyric is concerned, no.”
I shift my eyes back to her, unable to look away for very long. “So, what? You came over here, introduced yourself and gave me a drink. What’s next? You planning on kicking my ass?”
“I think we both know that you deserve it and that I’d be doing Lyric a favor if I did, but no, that’s not why I’m here.”
He falls silent and I realize this guy is not going to give me anything without my asking for it. And normally, I wouldn’t take that. I’d roll all over him and never think twice about it on my quest to win Lyric back. But Ethan here is not just any guy, and if I want to get Lyric back, it seems I have to go through him first. So, I turn to him. Give him my undivided attention even though it pisses me off to the tenth degree to have to avert my focus from Lyric and the asshat dancing with her. Touching her bare skin. Motherfucker!
“Here’s the thing, best friend—”
“Shut your mouth and listen up, pretty boy. I’m tall and built and I fight fucking dirty.”
My eyes narrow and my fists clench and I stand up straight. We’re eye to eye and about the same weight too. He might fight dirty, but I am damn positive that I’ll fight dirtier. We do the stare-down thing with each other and slowly, through the haze of anger-fueled male testosterone, awareness creeps in. I know he’s just trying to protect Lyric. Even from me. And as much as I hate this guy on principal, I can’t help but love that he’s in her life. “Speak,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
He doesn’t gloat and he doesn’t grin. Instead, he jumps right into it without any pretense. “Lyric lost a piece of herself when you ended things.” I open my mouth to explain, but he holds up his hand and shuts me down quickly. “She loved your stupid, undeserving ass and you threw her away. She’s the most amazing goddamn person I’ve ever met. She chronically sees the best in people. Always wants to help them. But she never helps herself, and that’s where I come in. I pick her up when she stumbles and I never let her fall. It’s what I’ve been doing for the last four years and it’s what I’ll be doing in another ten.” He pauses. Leans into me. And levels me with a ferocity I can’t help but match and respect. “In another ten years, I’ll still be here. Where will you be?”
“If you weren’t her best friend and I wasn’t the guy who fucked it all up with her, I’d kick your presumptuous ass.” He doesn’t flinch and that try me grin of his hasn’t wavered. “Loving Lyric was never the probl
em. Life was. I don’t owe you an explanation for that. She’s the only one who gets answers from me. And I’m certainly not about to ask your permission. But I will tell you this, best friend, if for no other reason than to use you to pass along my message. Lyric is mine and I love her more than anything in this world. I’ve loved her since the moment I walked into that damn finance class in college. Since she sat next to me in Spanish our junior year of high school and refused to be called by the Spanish version of her name because she thought it was ugly. Since she was my sixth-grade lab partner in science and thought dissecting frogs was cool instead of gross. Since she entered my kindergarten class wearing a Rolling Stones shirt a sunshine yellow skirt and fucking pigtails. She was born, put on this earth, to be mine. And yeah, I might have lost sight of that. I might have let shit get in my way. But that’s a mistake I’ll never make again. You wanna know where I’ll be in ten years? With Lyric. Killing myself to make sure my girl gets her happily ever after, because like I said, she. Is. Mine.”
Ethan stares me down for another long minute. Then he straightens up and steps back, a satisfied smile slowly peeling up the corners of his lips. “Then what are you waiting for?”
A small relieved—and slightly shocked—chuckle escapes my lips. I extend my hand and Ethan shakes it firmly. “Thank you, Ethan. For being there for her when I wasn’t. For making sure she never fell.”