by Elle Casey
I nod, getting it now . . . understanding why he reacted the way he did to his own behavior. Some of the things I saw in those films are starting to make sense. I’m touched that he’s looking at our interactions and measuring them against those between his parents. It tells me he sees me as more than just some woman he slept with.
I sigh and stroke his arm gently. “You don’t know me very well, Ty, but I promise . . . if you spend enough time with me, you’ll eventually figure out that it’s not possible to railroad me. There’s no need to apologize for having emotions and needing to express them.”
He looks at me funny. “You were ready to forgive me without even an apology?”
“That’s what people do sometimes.” I reach up and stroke his cheek. He looks so sad, I just want to wipe it all away and make him smile again. “Just because you’re experiencing an emotion, it doesn’t make you a bad person. And if you lash out at somebody you care about in the process, well, that’s life. It happens. You did apologize, and I already knew you weren’t happy with yourself for doing it, so we’re good.”
“But I never want to be the kind of person who doesn’t regret it and doesn’t apologize after he does the wrong thing.”
My hand drops and I shrug. “Then don’t be that guy. Like I said to you last night . . . you choose. You choose how you react to the things that happen to you and the things you do. You take step one and then you decide what step two is going to be, not me.”
“So, what you’re saying is . . . it’s all on me.”
“Yeah. No matter who I am in your life and whether or not I’m still in your life two weeks from now, I can’t force you to be who I want you to be; and I wouldn’t want to do that anyway. You are who you are, for better or for worse.”
His smile is weak, but at least it’s real. “I hope it’s for better.”
“Me too, but that’s not very realistic.”
His face goes dark. “What are you saying? You don’t think I can be a good person?”
I get closer and take his arm, shaking him a little bit. “Hey . . . leave your bags at the door, Ty. I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying, you are not perfect. You are human, just like me and all those old farts in the other room. You’re going to have emotions, you’re going to experience them, and you’re going to express them . . . and those emotions aren’t always going to be pretty. You have to be okay with that. I’m okay with it. I think the guys in that room are okay with it. But you can’t bring your baggage everywhere you go, assuming the worst of everybody and assuming everybody hates you or is angry at you all the time.”
He looks up, his eyes watery. He starts tapping his foot and then clears his throat. “This isn’t easy for me. Feelings . . . aren’t easy for me.”
I pull him up against me and hold him, rubbing his back. “I know. But the good news is, you’re normal. Life wasn’t meant to be easy. In fact, from what I understand, it’s supposed to be incredibly unfair and difficult for everyone.”
He puts his arms around me and hugs me tightly, leaning his chin down to rest on my shoulder. “Who told you that garbage?”
“Two people who I’m learning to respect more and more every day.” I pat him on the back a couple times and then pull away. “The band is going to give you a fair shake now. Don’t blow it.”
An adorable lopsided grin comes across his face. “Don’t blow it? That sounds kind of ominous.”
“It’s not meant to be. But this is your real chance. They’re going to give you a real shot this time. You’re a hundred percent in. Don’t forget to voice your opinion and say what needs to be said. You are the voice of a new generation.”
“That sounds like the name of a song.”
“If it isn’t, it should be.” I wink at him.
He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”
“Don’t mention it.” Mission accomplished! Yeah! Who’s the superhero? I’m the superhero! There’s a total fist pump coming as soon as I’m around the corner and no one can see me do it.
He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “Are you gonna come in and listen?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve been assigned a new mission. I need to find the best hairdresser in Manhattan.”
“You might want to talk to Lister about that. He’s got a contact list that could fill an entire room if it were on paper.” He reaches up and touches a lock of my hair. “I hope you’re not going to change this, though.”
I look at the hair he’s holding. “What?”
“At the hairdresser’s . . . I like your hair the way it is. Wavy. Soft. No fake color on it.”
My face goes warm with the compliment. “No, it’s not for me. It’s for the band.”
His eyebrows go up as he releases my hair. “That’s going to be interesting.”
“You’re not kidding.” I sigh, imagining visiting Lister once more.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing. I just don’t want to have to see Lister right now, is all.” He’s the chief of the fun police.
He laughs. “Well, you don’t have to. It was just a suggestion. If you have other contacts in the city, go for it.”
“Okay, fine. Go have fun making music. I’m going to go talk to the stiff shirt.”
I start to walk away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back. At first I’m surprised and confused, but then when he leans down, his eyes falling closed, I know what he intends to do. I should tell him not to, that we’re at work and there’s no room for kissing when you’re on the clock, but I can’t. I don’t even want to. I’ve been missing the touch of his lips on mine since the moment I left his penthouse last night.
When we connect, that Fourth of July sparkler lights up in my chest again. We’re just getting into some awesome tongue action, too, when the door behind me opens all of a sudden and a slight gust of air hits me in the back.
“Oh, shit . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” It’s a female voice.
We quickly pull apart and I turn around to face a girl about my age with a bag over her shoulder and a pile of folders in her arms. She has a nose ring, an eyebrow ring, and a strip of purple hair down the middle of her head, like a punk rock Pepé Le Pew.
“Oh no . . . it’s no problem. I was just leaving.” I squeeze Ty’s hand before I turn around to go.
“I’ll call you,” he says.
“Great.” I nod at the girl on my way out as she sets herself up behind the reception desk. She waves goodbye as the door shuts behind me.
Phew. That girl walking in was like a cold shower but without the water. It’s probably a good thing that it happened, because there’s a couch in that reception area, and Ty was looking way too hot—and that vulnerability he shared with me made me want to tear his clothes off and make him forget how sad he was. Damn . . . I’ve got it bad.
I need to call my sisters stat and tell them what’s going on. Maybe they’ll be able to help me get control of my libido . . . or at least help me relocate my common sense that’s missing in action.
I leave the recording studio office and head to the elevator. I guess I’m going over to Lister’s office whether I like it or not, since I don’t know anybody in this town other than Ray the not-so-sexy hot dog man, Mr. Blake the grouchy limo driver, Jeremy the elevator boy, and . . . wait! James. I can ask James the concierge for the info.
I smile, so excited that I actually have a contact in the city and I don’t have to waste any more time hanging out with the most boring man on the planet, aka Greg Lister.
I’ll call my sisters after I have the hair stuff figured out. I’m going to need at least a half hour of private time to catch them up on everything. I shoot off a quick text telling them to expect a call later and that everything is going really well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I enter the lobby of the Four Seasons, searching for James. I’m confident he’ll be able to direct me to a hairdresser who can solve my problem.
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My first stop is the check-in counter. The receptionist directs me to a special office where I find James sitting behind a desk shuffling papers. He looks up at me and smiles. “Hello, Ms. Fields. It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too, James. I’m here to see if you can help me out with something.”
He stands and points at the chair across from his desk. “Please, have a seat. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Cool.” I sit down and arrange my fancy purse on my lap before I begin. “I have a group of men who need new haircuts. These are people who have been living in the eighties all their lives, so I need somebody who can do an updated look but not something so shocking that they can’t adjust to it.”
He folds his hands in front of him, resting them on the desk as he nods. “Let me think about this for a couple seconds.”
I know I’ve come to the right place; he’s not just sending me to any old salon.
He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. “I’m going to give you two names. The first one would be my preference, but the second one is really good too.” He pauses for a moment as he’s writing. “Do you have a special budget you want to stick to? Because the first one is a bit more expensive than the other one.”
I shake my head. “No. There’s no specific budget. Basically, whatever it takes.”
He hands me the paper. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be happy with either one of these. Please tell them that I sent you. Name-dropping will help you get in sooner because they’re usually booked solid for weeks in advance.”
I take the note and stand. “I knew I came to the right man. Thank you so much, James.”
He stands and reaches his hand across the desk to shake mine. “Anytime. Did you get to see a Broadway show?”
I pause on my way out. “Nope. I don’t have time for that right now.” Because I’m a busy businesswoman who works in the music industry! Yeah! “Maybe before I leave.” I feel so professional, so important. I never felt like this at the farmers’ market. I refuse to think about what will happen after these two weeks are over.
“If you need tickets, let me know.”
“Will do.” I open the door to leave, but pause. The man I spoke to in the bar with the long hair is walking through the lobby right in front of me. He takes three more steps and stops, holding out his hand. Another man appears, moving out from behind a screen of potted plants, to greet him. He’s wearing a suit. My jaw drops open when I see who it is.
I pull back into the office and close the door most of the way, leaving it open only enough for me to peek out.
“Is there something wrong?” James asks me.
“No. Nothing.” What are they doing out there? How do they know each other? Did I see that guy in Lister’s office? Is that why he looks familiar?
They’re having an animated conversation. Neither one of them looks very happy.
What should I do? Should I go out there and confront them? Before I can make a decision, they part ways. Lister goes over to the reception desk, and the long-haired man in leather walks away, headed toward the exit. I open James’ door and lean out to confirm the man is gone before I leave the office.
James is right behind me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I don’t want to get him involved in my conspiracy theory, which isn’t even defined in my own head yet. “I’ll see you later, James.” I walk away, headed for the reception desk. I can see Lister’s back from here. He’s speaking with the woman working at the computer. I need to get close so I can listen in.
Unfortunately, I can’t get near enough to hear anything without seeming like a creepy weirdo. I chew the inside of my cheek as I try to decide what to do next. I’m just standing here staring at him, which is no plan at all.
Plan? Why am I thinking about making plans to spy on Lister? My overactive, problem-solving brain is going to take over and ruin everything. I should turn around and leave, locate these hairdressers, and talk to one of them about getting appointments for the band. Whatever Lister does on his own time is none of my business.
The moment my decision is made to walk away, Lister turns around. He stares at me in shock.
“Surprised to see me?” Screw the hairdresser plan. Let’s see him talk his way out of this one.
“I was checking to see if you were available, actually.”
I pull my phone out of my purse and look to see if he’s called. The only thing on my screen is a text from my sisters asking me what’s going on. “That’s funny . . . I don’t see any missed calls from you.” I look up and wait for him to explain himself.
“I was in the neighborhood. I dropped by.”
I tilt my head trying to act innocent. “Really? What were you doing in the neighborhood?”
“Client meeting. Do you have a minute to chat?”
Client meeting? Is he making up stories, or is that man really his client? The man he met looks more like a private investigator to me. But why would Lister hire somebody to follow me around? I don’t know, but I’m never going to find out unless I talk to him and ask the right questions.
“Sure,” I say, acting totally casual. I hope he doesn’t expect me to invite him up to my room.
“How about a cup of coffee in the restaurant?”
“That’s fine. But then I need to get going. I have a lot of things to do today.”
Lister holds his hand out, gesturing for me to precede him. I walk over to the restaurant and let Lister take over. He quickly acquires a table for us.
“I’ll have a cup of tea,” I say to the man standing at the table ready to take my order.
“Espresso for me. Thanks.” The waiter leaves us alone and Lister turns his attention on me.
“Have you met with the band yet?”
“Yes. We had a meeting this morning. In the studio. It went well.” That’s all he’s going to get from me. If he wants details, he can ask his clients. I don’t work for him.
“I wanted to talk to you about the legal settlement.”
I wasn’t expecting this. “What legal settlement?”
“The one that my clients offered to you and your sisters. The inheritance.”
“Oh. What about it?”
He fiddles with the edge of his napkin. Something tells me this tiny gesture is a loss of control for him. He’s nervous about something. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.
“Are you still inclined to refuse the offer?”
“I thought I was perfectly clear about it before.” Is he suggesting that now, because I’m involved with the band, I’m somehow going to want their money?
“I just wanted to be certain that I understood.”
“Just because I agreed to be paid for the work I’m doing now, it doesn’t change anything else.”
He nods, looking very satisfied. “Good. I just wanted to . . . verify.” He reaches up and sticks his finger behind his tie at his neck, moving his collar around a little bit.
Sweating much? “Why?” I ask, watching him closely for more signs of strained nerves.
The waiter arrives with our drinks, ruining everything. Lister takes the moment afforded by the delivery of our beverages to collect himself. His confidence is restored; it’s written all over his smug face.
Maybe Lister thinks he’s off the hook for whatever it was he was worried about, but when he’s done mixing in his sugar and I’ve poured some tea out of the pot, we’re going to have a little do-over.
“Are you enjoying your stay in Manhattan?” he asks.
“Why did you want to be sure?” I ask, disregarding his attempt at redirection.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you this before the waiter came, and I just repeated the question . . . Why did you want to be sure I was still rejecting the offer from the band?”
His finger goes up to his necktie again. “Just clarifying. It’s no big deal.”
Yeah, right.
He drinks his coffee i
n two long sips. How he does it without scalding his throat is a medical mystery.
I might be from out in the sticks, but I’m not as naïve as he thinks I am. He’s nervous about something, and now that he’s figured out what he needed to, he wants to get out of here before I can ask him any more questions. Too bad, Lister. I’m on a roll.
“Who was that guy I saw you in the lobby with?” I ask, knowing I’m turning up the heat.
Maybe I’m mistaken, but it looks like he’s lost a little bit of the pink in his complexion. He uses his napkin to wipe his lips. “I didn’t meet anyone in the lobby.”
I fix Lister with a stare. “I saw you shaking his hand.”
“Oh, that was no one. I wasn’t meeting him here. It was just a chance bumping-into-someone kind of thing.”
I’ve never heard Lister be this ineloquent before, which tells me he is completely full of baloney right now. “He reminded me of Red when I saw him the other day.”
“The other day?” Lister is really paying attention now.
“Yes. He must be staying here in the hotel. I’ve seen him twice already before today.”
Lister checks his watch. “Listen, I need to get going.” He looks at my full cup of tea and the teapot that still has at least two more servings inside it.
I wave in dismissal, done playing this game with him. “Go ahead and go. I know you’re a busy man.” And also totally full of shit and running away from me and my questions.
He stands, pulling some cash out of his pocket and sliding it under the saucer of his small espresso cup.
“I’ll be in touch to check in with you,” he says.
I look up at him, my anger mostly contained. “Am I supposed to be reporting to you?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He presses his lips together and shakes his head before finally answering. “No. You don’t report to me.”
“Then why are you going to check in with me?” He is acting so weird. I wish he would just come out with whatever it is he’s thinking in that sly brain of his.