by Rayne, Piper
“No.” I shake my head. “We only have a week before the parade, so it’s not like we have a lot of time.”
“If you want to stop at any time, just say so, okay?”
His hand falls to my thigh, and I stare at it, unsure of whether I should be happy I put on my comfy shorts after dinner or not. My body warms under his calloused fingertips. Did he get those from playing the guitar or working with the knobs on soundboards most of his career? Not that I care. All I need to worry about right now is how scorching hot they are on my bare skin.
“Okay, I will.” I shift in my seat. He retracts his hand, and I force a smile. “You said I need more control?”
Standing, he heads toward his guitar, but instead he grabs his phone and the remote.
“Let’s deal with the lyrics first.” Sliding onto the couch next to me, he extends his legs out on the chaise part of the sectional and points the remote at the television. “Okay, this song is all about living in a small town. Surely it resonates with you?”
He finds the video on YouTube on the TV.
“I’ve never had a serious relationship,” I admit, feeling the age gap between us more than I ever have.
“Never?” he asks, his thumb pausing mid click.
“No.” I shake my head.
“You’re young, I suppose, but I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
He stares at me for a good minute, seeming to wrestle with something. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
“It’s not for me to notice, but you’re a beautiful young woman. And you get along with kids. And you can sing.”
A nervous laugh escapes and I bump my shoulder to his. “I’m not sure ‘gets along with kids’ and ‘vocal talent’ are on many guys’ checklists for girlfriends.”
“They’re on mine,” he says, and my laughter stops. His eyes widen as though he didn’t mean to say that, and he backtracks. “I mean if I was looking. Which I’m not. And I pay you to be my son’s nanny, so that wouldn’t be on the up and up, not to mention your brother.”
“You can stop listing all the cons now.”
He shakes his head. “Man, I am zero for two tonight. First I insult you with my critique and now I’m…” He shifts and faces me, lips pressed together. “I shouldn’t say this… but I can’t deny that I’m attracted to you. But the fact remains—”
“We can’t. I know.” I play with my fingers in my lap. “I’m attracted to you too, for what it’s worth.”
I glance up and I swear it looks as though my statement has knocked the wind out of him. He takes a second to recover.
“So we’re in agreement that we’ll ignore whatever this is and pretend it’s not there?”
“I guess so.”
He nods and clicks on the video. Brantley Gilbert fills the screen.
I know we’re doing the right thing, but I so desperately want to straddle him right now and feel those calloused fingers graze under my sweatshirt and over my nipples.
After clearing his throat, he says, “Let’s watch the video.”
The video depicts every classic small-town love story.
“This is kinda like my brother’s story.”
The video ends and Griffin stops the next video before it autoplays. “How so?”
I shrug, not about to talk about another case of forbidden love. Not that the feelings I have for Griffin are love. They’re lust. A helluva lot of lust that has had me pulling out toys I’d long forgotten about with the hopes I’ll find one to fill his imaginary void. “I think he’s still in love with the one who ran away.”
He nods. “Love is powerful. That’s why ballads sell—people feel the truth in the vocalist’s voice and the words. Take Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep.’ She’s amazing, but the lyrics resonate with everyone who has been scorned. Tell me about a song you connected with recently?”
I’m probably about to out myself, but I trust Griffin knows what he’s doing. “‘Fight Song’ by Rachel Platten.”
“Why?” He leaves me on the couch and ventures into the kitchen, then comes back with two beers.
“Because I’m not getting what I want out of life.”
“How so?” He twists the caps off using the edge of his shirt, giving me a glimpse of his treasure trail. That does nothing to dampen my arousal for him, but it works to dampen my panties.
He passes me a beer and I nod my thanks. “Sometimes I feel like I’m lost, and that song gives me this hope that others who have been in my position before have won. That I just need to fight harder if what I think I want means that much to me.”
“And what do you want?” He sips his beer and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. How is that sexy?
“I want to sing.” I speak the truth, worried he’ll see through me. See that I went around the truth last night.
He smiles. “For?”
“For the world.”
His smile grows and the anxiety living inside me calms. “Then let’s get to work.” He sets his beer on the table and presses his phone on. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappears to his office and returns moments later with a printed piece of paper. He hands it to me and sits next to me with a pen twirling through his fingers. “These are the lyrics. Since it’s not love you can connect to, we need to find something else for you in this song. If we had more time, I’d suggest writing a song specific to you.”
“Do you write songs?” That’s something I don’t know about him.
“A little, but I have a lot of friends who help, and if that fails, I know people to buy them off of.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He laughs and taps his pen to the paper. “It doesn’t matter anyway. This is the song, and we need to make sure when you and your brother get on that float, everyone is talking about it afterward.”
“It’s just Lake Starlight,” I say with a shrug.
“And High Aces Record Label.” He raises his eyebrows.
I drop the paper. “Oh no. I can’t do that.”
He laughs. Where is the man who said he was out of the business? “Why not? You said you want to sing, right?”
He’s right, but now that the opportunity might be here, I’m afraid. Afraid it’ll end up like it did when I was in LA—failure.
“Yeah, but—”
“I’ll have you ready. I promise.”
“Have me ready?”
“Yeah, you need some tweaks, but I can get you good enough for Van and Trey.”
“Good enough?” Ugh, so I am a shitty singer. “Why are you doing this?”
He slides closer to where I’ve slid into the corner of the couch. “I see something in you.”
“You just said ‘good enough.’”
He shrugs one shoulder. “You have some things to work on, but you have a rawness I think they’ll love.”
I bury my head in my hands.
“I thought this is what you wanted?”
I spring to my feet. “I did. I mean, I do, but you can’t just stroll into town and make promises like a huge record label coming to see me sing on a float. This is all happening too fast. It feels too easy.”
He leans back on the couch and brings the beer bottle to his lips. “It might seem easy, but you haven’t gotten anything yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Just because I work with you and tweak what needs to be tweaked doesn’t mean anything will happen.”
“Everything you’ve touched has hit platinum,” I deadpan.
“Not true. I’ve had failures too. I’ve watched dreams shatter and then sour.” He pats the seat cushion next to him. “Listen, we’ll take it slow. If you really don’t want Van and Trey to hear you, then I’ll keep them away from the parade.”
I sit down, my back straight, my legs pressed together. “I still don’t understand. Why are you helping me?”
He takes another pull of his beer. “I don’t have an answer for you. I thought coming to Lake Starlight would be a fresh start. Get me out of music. But then I heard yo
u sing, and I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways I could help you. I was excited to see what we could do together. That’s only happened a handful of times in my career. To put it as simply as I can, I enjoy being driven to work on a project.”
“Does that mean you’re giving up on the sink?” I grin.
He looks behind us at the kitchen as though the sink is an actual person. “Oh no. The sink and I are not even close to being finished yet.”
We both laugh, and it eases the tension and anxiety between us.
“So read the lyrics and find a reason this song can mean something to you. Find something to connect to.” He hands me the paper and pen. “We’ll start tomorrow after you take Maverick to school. Can your brother meet us at some point?”
“Um.” I stare at the piece of paper. “He’s a firefighter in Anchorage. I’ll talk to him.”
“Perfect.”
“You just dive right in, don’t you?”
His grin is wide and contagious. “When I see something I want, I’m rarely detoured.”
I should only be thinking about my singing career, but I can’t help but wonder if that extends to personal relationships as well. Shaking my head, I grab the paper. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Goodnight.” He clicks on the television and scrolls through the channels as if we didn’t have a life-changing conversation just now.
It’s then I realize, it’s only life-changing for me. To Griffin, this is like getting a coffee.
He’s about to hand me the opportunity to make myself a success. But I’m worried because I have a habit of destroying most things that fall into my lap before anything good can come from them. The lie by omission that I told Griffin about only being his nanny for the money lights up where I stored it in the back of my brain, a silent reminder.
This didn’t fall into your lap—you forced it to happen.
Fourteen
Griffin
After Phoenix leaves to take Maverick to school, I head to my office and boot up my laptop. All night I debated whether I should look into Phoenix’s past. To google her and see if I can find out anything more about her.
The cursor blinks in the empty box on the Google search engine, and I lean back in my chair. It blinks and blinks like a metronome keeping time while my conscience yells at me for doing this.
Straightening my back, I let my fingers land on the keyboard and tap lightly, not hard enough for a letter to pop up on the screen.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
I type in Griffin Thorne instead of Phoenix Bailey.
My Wikipedia page is the first result, but I don’t need to read about how I was brought up by a carpenter and a school guidance counselor. Nor do I need a reminder that I was married to Maggie Cooperton and share a son, Maverick, with her. All of that, I’m well aware of. But what I notice are the headlines of “Cammie Sanchez leaves Griffin Thorne after two hit albums,” “Tyler Vaughn’s newest single a disappointment,” and of course my favorite, “Griffin Thorne, music’s biggest sellout.” Then comes the article discussing me relocating my son.
I slam the lid of the laptop and my chair rolls out as I abruptly stand. Pacing the length of my office, I end up pushing open the doors to the small patio that overlooks the mountains and I admire what brought me to Alaska to begin with.
A fresh start and a better life for my son.
Maybe my wish is being granted differently than I’d planned. Perhaps Phoenix is my fresh start.
I should’ve never admitted last night that I’m attracted to her. I’ve felt guilty ever since. Denver would probably wanna kick my ass if he knew. But part of me wanted to know where her head was before we started working together. There’s a transference theory when you work so closely with someone on something creatively. I don’t want her transferring her feelings toward the process onto me, though it seems I’m not alone in my attraction.
“After Cammie…” I shake my head.
“I’m back!” Phoenix yells into the house.
In the last week, she’s really become more comfortable around me, and I like the uninhibited version of her.
I need to quit it with this bullshit. She’s eleven years my junior, my employee, and my buddy’s kid sister. I wish I’d installed the music studio before I moved in. This would be easier if we were separated by glass.
I leave my office and make my way to the couch in the great room, grabbing my guitar. She pours herself a coffee and opens the fridge, grabs the milk, and adds a dash to her cup.
“Are you purposely delaying?” I ask, strumming a few chords of the song.
“No. I’m getting coffee. It’s just after eight am. I need it.” She walks over, sipping from the cup as though she didn’t already have a to-go mug of it when she left.
“Did you think about what I said regarding the song last night?” This is where I’ll get my answers as to what she’s about. Not with a Google search.
“I suppose you’re used to working so closely with someone?” she asks. Unsure of what she means, I’m silent, trying to process, when she adds, “I mean, all of this is making me feel vulnerable. I don’t do well with vulnerable.”
I place the guitar on the cushion beside me. “I’ve noticed you shut down a few times.”
Her gaze rolls to the side, but I don’t say anything. She crosses her legs and my eyes track the movement too closely because when my gaze slides up to her face, she’s smirking.
I clear my throat. “What is it?”
“It’ll sound stupid.”
“Nothing is stupid.”
“I don’t really believe in that whole notion,” she says. “Nor do I believe that there are no stupid questions—there are.”
I chuckle. “Okay then, I promise not to laugh if it is stupid. That better?”
“I think it’s this town that makes me feel vulnerable and that’s what the song is about, so…” She inhales deeply. “After high school, I tried to run away from the memories.”
“What memories?”
A grin appears, and she shakes her head. “Are you a therapist? I feel like I should be lying down and you should be scribbling notes on a pad of paper.”
“Would that make it easier for you?”
“You having to be a little vulnerable in return would.” Her eyes lock with mine.
I’m pretty sure she’s not joking. Some women are open books, but I think Phoenix is out of her element here, and I don’t think it’s her age. I think she usually holds everything very close to the vest. But I also think that if I can dig down far enough, I can discover her biggest fear and help her tap into it when she’s performing. That would only make her a bigger star.
“Okay, I’ll share something about myself that no one knows if it’ll make you feel better.” I take the guitar and put it back on the stand. “You first though.”
She seems to think it over and surprises me with her next question. “Can I take you somewhere?”
“Like where?”
“You like the outdoors, right? I thought we could go hiking.”
“Hiking?”
“It’s only a day trip. We’ll be back in time to get Maverick. Unless you have something else to do.”
I motion to her. “You’re the only thing on my to-do list today.”
A beautiful blush fills her cheeks.
“Sorry. I meant—”
She giggles and stands. “I know what you meant.” She walks over to the stairs and I follow.
“Good. I swear you’re going to have some good stories to sell whenever you leave here. Though I guess that NDA helps, right?” A dark chuckle escapes my throat.
She stops at the bottom of the stairs, blocking me from going up to change. “I’d never do that. I realize you barely know me, but you can trust me. Whatever you tell me, I won’t tell anyone. I know for someone in your position…” Her words trail off.
I smile at her, tucking the one strand of hair that fell out of her ponytail behind her ear. “You’re a rare crea
ture, Phoenix.”
“People have been telling me that my whole life.” She walks up the stairs, leaving me with the perfect view of her ass in those leggings.
Do I have time to beat off before we go hiking?
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, we’re halfway up a hiking path that will take us toward a glacier.
“This is something I love about Alaska.” She extends her arms and lets the sun sparkle against the small amount of makeup on her face. “Any day you need to get away, there’s a beautiful scenic area waiting for you to explore. You can hike, kayak, bike. This is when I’m jealous of Denver and Cleo.”
“Yeah, they don’t have a bad gig at all.”
Watching the chip fall off Phoenix’s shoulder only makes her more appealing.
She circles around to face me. “But life in Lake Starlight comes with the good and bad.”
We fall into step beside each other. Since it’s a weekday, there aren’t many people around. We’ve only passed a couple of people on the trail.
“Give me a bad.”
She inhales deeply. “My parents’ deaths, obviously. The stories that circulated afterward. The way this town thinks they need to make up for them dying so young.”
We continue on the path that’s becoming steeper by the step. Thank God I work out regularly. “Why is it bad that the people in town care?”
She shakes her head like of course I don’t understand. “Because sometimes the people who act like they care are the same ones talking behind your back.”
“That’s anywhere. Big town or small. When Maggie and I divorced, rumors were all over the place about affairs, money problems. That I wasn’t comfortable with her making so much money and taking all the fame. And then they brought Maverick into it.”
She touches my arm. “I know. I’ve read them.”
I nod because of course she has. “You getting upset over a few thousand people doesn’t compare to the whole world. They’re in my business, and the tabloids lie constantly.”
She leans closer and lowers her voice. “If we’re going to compare, you weren’t eight years old.”