She smelled something burning. Her beautiful food! She ignored everything and went to rescue her quesadilla. Snatching up the spatula, she flipped the tortilla-framed concoction over and pressed down, hoping she wouldn’t ruin the insides by heating the other side. Next to her left hand, the metal Santa smiled on. She felt the urge to explain to it. “My burned tortilla might be fine with a little scraping.”
She must be losing her mind. “Bluejay,” she said, renaming the Santa as the helpful trickster of the local Native peoples, “Don’t you let me get careless now.”
In the hallway, she heard Remy speaking to the driver, and the thumps of cases hitting the floor. She ignored it all, removing her food and scraping off the burned layer, which thankfully had risen in a bubble. Then, she covered it in foil and set it in the oven, which she’d heated to just two hundred degrees, and placed a second quesadilla in the pan. While one small woman didn’t need the calories from an entire one herself, a hungry, stressed out woman could easily manage it.
While the second one cooked, she took an avocado apart and mixed it with salsa and sour cream to make a simple guacamole. It would have been better with lime juice but Bax didn’t have any citrus fruit. She’d been surprised to see the avocado.
By the time Remy appeared in the kitchen, Yakima had flipped her food and had all but forgotten the pop star.
“Where is Bax’s room? I’d like to refresh myself.” the woman said.
“Don’t know,” Yakima said.
“Oh, I never eat avocados. Too much fat. Just make up a little pico de gallo for me, would you, sweetie? Lots of jalapeno.”
Yakima turned off the stove and turned to face the pop star. “I’m going to pop this in the oven for Bax. You can eat whatever you want. I’m leaving.”
The younger woman’s red lips curved into her signature sultry style. Yakima realized she was allowing herself to be run off by the competition. But she didn’t want a player, a liar. She didn’t want to be Bax’s local girl, no matter how nice it would be to have a boyfriend at Christmas. He’d made it clear that was why he wanted her. She just hadn’t realized the subtext was that he had women elsewhere, too.
Feeling rebellious, she covered the pan in foil and shoved it in the oven, then took out the other plate, put her bowl of guacamole over it, and pushed around Remy Rose to get back into the hallway. She sailed out of the front door with the food she’d prepared from Bax’s pantry stores.
A stupid move, to be sure, but she was so angry she couldn’t help herself, and she was starving.
She was in her van with the motor going before she remembered she’d left her party notes. Now Remy would know she really did work for Bax, even if she wasn’t actually a housekeeper. She should have made the blasted woman the food she wanted and sucked up to keep her catering job.
Now, all she could do was concentrate on the dinner parties she was catering in the next few days. She needed referrals from other clients, since Bax wouldn’t be providing any when he discovered she’d been rude to an A-list celebrity.
~
Bax slammed the back of his head against the headrest of his SUV. He’d parked in Yakima’s driveway, ready to get clarity about what her brother had said. The house was dark. Even the lights of her Christmas tree couldn’t be seen through the lacy curtains. Was she here, maybe gone to bed early, or out somewhere?
When he’d arrived home, he’d found an odd mix of delicious and burned scents wafting from the kitchen into the garage. As he opened the door into the kitchen, he saw Remy at his kitchen table, scooping salsa onto a triangle of deliciously cheesy tortilla. His old girlfriend problems had come to town to join his new girlfriend problems.
Remy had spotted him, then set the food down with a guilty expression. He’d never seen her eating before.
“What are you doing here? You don’t cook.” The moment the words left his mouth he realized how stupid they sounded. Remy should be in Cancun, where she’d planned to spend the holidays. Ugh. Why had he ever returned her texts? He hadn’t meant for them to trigger a reunion. No wonder he’d managed to let his phone die and had forgotten to recharge it.
He squashed the movie playing in his head with another vicious slam of his head against the headrest. The leather cradled his head though, instead of causing the satisfying reverb of pain through his skull. While it was true that dating Remy had kept him on the A-list since the Dealys went on hiatus, allowing him entry to all the best industry parties in Nashville, New York, and Los Angeles, he’d reached the point where he couldn’t stand her and her lack of independent decision making. She wouldn’t do anything, even go out for dinner, without consulting her psychic, and her wardrobe had taken over both of his spare bedrooms. Despite all the money she had coming in, even more went out, on jewelry, shoes, handbags, designer juices, and of course, the psychic. It was like all her mental energy went into maintaining her tiny body.
He’d told Remy it was the psychic or him in October. She’d chosen the psychic. So he’d told her to rent her own house instead of camping out at his. She didn’t even like Laurel Canyon, and felt like the vibe on his street, where long ago there had been horrific murders, wasn’t good for her aura. But it had still taken her a month to move, a month where she’d tried to coax him into sex just about every day, even though he knew she’d already started sleeping with her trainer.
Even the sight of the crystal necklace hanging around her slim neck irritated him now. He knew the pink agate, outlined in gold, was there to protect her from evil spirits. What he wanted to be protected from was her.
Why had he thought if he dated a nice, normal, small town girl that life would be any different? Yakima had seemed like a sure thing, a popular local businesswoman whose early life he knew at the micro level. Why hadn’t anyone ever told him she’d announced she was his baby mama twelve years ago?
The answer was simple. He hadn’t stayed in touch with anyone, throwing himself into those one hundred hour workweeks without a second glance. He’d had songs to write and learn, dances to commit to muscle memory, studio time, photo shoots, nightclubs and parties to attend. He hadn’t looked back. If he’d glanced into the rearview mirror, he wouldn’t have liked what he saw.
He hit the steering wheel with his palms then opened his door. It might take a couple of days to get Remy out of his house, but he would deal with Yakima now. He’d taken Remy to a guest bedroom and left.
He rang Yakima’s doorbell after he went to her door. No answer. Where else would she be? At her kitchen? He knew she’d booked the dinner for sixteen, just two nights away.
His boot grazed the brass bird on the pavement next to her door and knocked it over. As he righted it, he saw the house key underneath. Not a safe place to keep a spare key. Anyone might overbalance the statue just like he had. He pocketed the key and went back to his vehicle.
Ten minutes later he’d parked behind her commercial kitchen. He walked around to the front and saw that lights were on. Hopefully Haldana wasn’t there. He couldn’t have a confrontation in front of his cousin. Of all his relatives here, she seemed to like him the best and he needed her support. The thought gave him pause. Was he planning to be so ugly to Yakima that anyone who witnessed their discussion would dislike him?
He rang the bell instead of banging on the door. Keep it together. The memory of the catchphrase from an old Steve Martin movie made him smile. He’d caught it on Netflix a few months ago and the childhood memory of watching Bowfinger with his bros, shortly before their mother died, was one of the anchors that had returned him home. The smile was still on his lips when the door opened.
Chapter Seven
Yakima. Seeing her beautiful, lying face made Bax’s mood dark again.
When she opened the door, her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying. She looked at him dully. He felt a sudden urge to comfort her, when he was the wronged party. Quin must have called to give her the 411.
“Hurts to have the truth revealed, huh?” His tone had
been taunting, and she looked at him, confused. Now he was confused too.
“That you’re a liar? I’m so glad I didn’t make love with you.” Her voice caught. “What a jerk. I should have known you’d never be serious about a small town girl.”
“What are you talking about?” Did she have a mental health condition no one had shared with him?
“Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be at home with your L.A. girlfriend?”
He frowned. How had she met Remy? “Remy and I broke up two months ago. It was in People magazine and everything.”
“I’m much too busy to read,” she snapped. “At least I was in October. My aunt was dying. Besides, Remy is here now.”
“Why were you at my house?”
“I came to consult with you about Saturday. I texted you about it. And I thought I would cook you dinner.”
He saw the light. “Ah, that’s what Remy was eating. I wondered. She doesn’t usually, but your cooking would tempt her.”
Yakima swiped at her eyes. “Don’t try to compliment me when I’m mad at you. It’s annoying.”
“You’re annoyed? I’m raging!” His voice had risen and he saw the alarm in her eyes. But not all the way there, he saw a hint of what looked like guilt in her expression.
“You aren’t raging. I’ve seen raging.”
He put his hand on the doorframe and leaned in. “From who?” he demanded.
She turned. “You’d better come in.”
He stepped in behind her and closed the door. She was right. He hadn’t slammed the door like he would of if he was truly angry. Who was he kidding anyway? She thought he was lying now, and he’d been told she lied about something twelve years ago. “Now what?”
She sat on the bench in the tiny entryway while he held up the door. “Obviously you aren’t getting a hug or anything else.”
“Remy misled you. She’s lonely. I texted her back and I think she took it as a sign.”
“Were you flirting?”
“I didn’t think so, but you know how it is with on again-off again relationships. The signals get mixed, and you do stuff out of convenience and then you’re together again until someone needs to get on a plane.” He shrugged.
“Lifestyles of the rich and famous.” She echoed his shrug.
“No it isn’t, just being single. No one in a relationship like that ends up being the one. You’re just killing time.”
“That’s your opinion?”
He nodded.
“So Remy isn’t the one, but you’ll still probably sleep with her for a couple of weeks until she gets on a plane?”
“No, not this time. I’ve got you.” He frowned. Wait a minute. He was mad at her. Cocking his hip, he said, “Look. I talked to your brother Quin today, and he threw some serious shade my way.”
“About what?”
“You? Being my baby mama back when I left town.”
She spread her hands and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you see a baby?”
“Well, not now. The kid would be about eleven. That is, if there was one, which there wasn’t. We never even kissed. You were sixteen.”
“Plenty of sixteen year-olds getting kissed in those days,” she said blandly.
He pointed to her, then to himself. “Not you and me.”
“True.”
“So what’s the deal? Did you tell lies about me?”
Her eyes went to one side as she considered. He wished he remembered which direction was supposed to be indicative of a lie.
She huffed out a breath and spread her hands. “I had a breakup right about the time you left. He insisted I’d only broken up with him because there was someone else.”
“So you told him I’d knocked you up?”
“No, of course not. He kept firing out guy’s names. Blasted out yours eventually.”
“So?”
“I guess I got shifty.” She licked her lips. “I mean, you were hot and way too mature. That tat, your guitar chops. We mooned over you. You remember my girls, Jess and Amanda? We were like your fan club even before you were famous.”
“So he decided you were pregnant? That’s quite a leap?”
“I said something stupid.” He saw her swallow. “I don’t even know what, exactly. But yeah, my brothers overheard the fight.”
“So you might have said it, but behind closed doors at your house.”
“Exactly. Just a silly fight. Why Quin would tell you that now I can’t say.”
“I don’t think he likes me much,” Bax said.
“He’s a jerk. Ignore him. It’s jealousy. Remember? He played the sax in high school? Thought he was going to be David Bowie or something.”
“Did he try to play?”
“Yeah, he had a band in college. I think they played like three gigs. Don’t you remember that?”
“I vaguely remember him rehearsing,” Bax recalled. Quin was four years older than him. “That would have been the first year we moved there. So he had the band right around when my mother died.”
“Right. So none of the Connollys would have gone to the gigs. Anyway, he’s jealous. Don’t worry about it, and I’m sorry if I lied about you. I mean, really. Me and you? Never would have happened.”
He closed the distance between them. “Not then, but what about now?” His hands went to her hips, squeezed gently.
“Remy?” she said, her voice squeaking. “You have an old girlfriend in your house, that’s why.”
He dropped his voice into his patented seductive register. “You have a house.” He reached into his pocket for her key and handed it to her. “I knocked over your hiding place. You should keep this in a safer spot. Someone you couldn’t trust might have found it.”
She took the key from him. “Thanks. I forgot about that. My aunt was forgetful.”
“Why can’t I just stay with you tonight?”
“We were just fighting, remember?” She squirmed.
“Make up sex is the best,” he growled.
“Oh. My. God.” She removed his hands from her hips and dropped them like they were fresh-from-the-oven hot. “Any relationship that starts with make-up sex is doomed, don’t you think? Go home, Bax. Make an appointment with me to go over your party.”
“You want to go back to just being professional with me?” He felt a tug of pain in his heart.
“Until you get rid of your pretty pop princess. I don’t want her eating my leftovers.”
He chuckled. “No leftovers. Got it.” My leftovers. Sounded like a country song. One he just might write and shop around. He hummed a few bars.
“What?”
“Sorry. You got my writing mojo started.”
She waved her fingertips at him. Unlike Remy’s blue talons, Yakima had practical hands. Short, neat nails with clear varnish. “Go.”
He glanced into the kitchen, saw the counter was full of ingredients: flour, sugar, butter, eggs, cut-up dried fruit. “Baking?”
“Yes, working on the new dinner party. A holiday fruitcake-inspired donut and Baked Alaska for dessert.”
“Sounds delicious. Any overlap between their guest list and mine?”
“I don’t know your guest list. Shall I stop by tomorrow so we can confer?”
“Absolutely.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good night kiss?”
“Send Remy on her way first,” she said. “I look forward to hearing the new song.”
“Me too,” he muttered, staring hard at her. She was serious about not kissing him goodnight? If she was the jealous type, she wasn’t exactly girlfriend material. He needed trust. Girls paid a lot of attention to guys like him and she needed to know it didn’t mean anything.
He sketched a wave and took off, the lyrics for “My Leftovers” already starting to form in his head.
When you left me
Decided you were leftover
We-ll, left over from my deadly broken heart
Need to break it, need to break it
Cast it aside
&nbs
p; The latest in a long, long line
She was pretty,
She was easy, she wasn’t you
We-ll needed to finish off an older break
Need to free her, need to free her
Cast her aside
The latest in a long, long line
When he had arrived in his own bedroom again, he sent Yakima a text from his recharged phone asking her to come by the next afternoon. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Remy, but the party on Saturday night was important too. He was reintroducing himself to Battlefield.
~
The next morning Yakima felt drained, her eyes gritty and her hands sore from chopping. She’d stayed up half the night doing prep work and four hours of sleep put her on the war path with her brother. He wasn’t solely to blame for her problems—Remy Rose hadn’t helped—but Quin had some explaining to do.
She banged on rear door of his head shop, which opened into the parking lot where the dumpsters also were. He had about ten minutes before it opened so she knew he’d be there.
Eventually, she heard slow footsteps, then the door opened. Quin peered out, his hair sliding over his shoulder. He hadn’t put it back yet.
“You don’t look awake. What’s going on?” she asked.
He twisted his thick black strands into a rope and pulled a band out of his jeans pockets before he said anything. “I guess you want to have words about yesterday.”
Her lips trembled. “I want a boyfriend almost as much as I want my business to succeed, Quin. Why would you sabotage me? You’re my big brother.”
“I don’t know,” he said, when he finished with his hair. “I saw red. Bax Connolly has always rubbed me the wrong way.”
“You’re jealous. I get that. But he and I, we’ve been flirting, and I thought it was going somewhere. Now he thinks I’m a creep.” She didn’t mention Remy. Why give Quin more ammo?
Quin stared at her. When had the skin under his eyes grown so puffy? He looked older than thirty-four, which wasn’t normal. Something was wrong.
The Rock Star's Christmas Reunion: contemporary holiday romance (A Charisma series novel, The Connollys Book 1) Page 8