by Diana Gardin
Aston was watching him in wonder. “You’re not even my brother. I can’t believe this stuff is coming out of your mouth right now.”
Sam absently brushed a strand of hair out of Aston’s eyes. “Take it slow with her, man. Remember what we talked about? Don’t be that Reed.”
Reed had the propriety to look chagrined as he fiddled with his bottle of beer.
“Aw, come on, man,” Sam said, throwing his hands up. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t!” Reed placed both hands in the air in surrender. Sam looked relieved, and then Reed continued. “Because Tate came home.”
A real groan came from Sam then, and Aston was looking back and forth between them in irritation.
“You knew about this?” she asked Sam, poking a dark fingernail into his chest.
He kissed the top of her head. “Bro code, baby.”
“We’ll see if bro code keeps you warm tonight,” she grumbled. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and her grumble turned into a breathy giggle.
Both Reed and Tamara rolled their eyes.
“Well,” said Reed. “Maybe Tate saved me that time. I’ll take it slow. I won’t try to get physical with her. Maybe I can move a mountain with that tactic.”
“You’d be surprised.” Sam smiled down at Aston.
Now Reed had to figure out how exactly he was going to keep his hands off the hot little exotic package that was Hope.
A tap on his shoulder had him turning around in his seat to stare up at a man he’d never seen before.
“Reed, right?” said the man with a smile.
Reed eyed the man’s artistic look. He wore black jeans tucked into open-laced combat boots, and a red graphic T-shirt with a picture of a conductor poised to direct a concerto. His wrists were covered with black leather cuffs, and the earlobes on both ears were adorned with button-size plugs. Reed glanced back up at the man’s face, and he was grinning. He’d seen Reed’s appraisal of him, and his dark eyebrow rose as if to say, “Approve?”
Reed grunted. “Who’s asking?”
The man reached up to pat the random bleach-blond spikes poking out all over the top of his head, and then held out his hand for Reed to shake. “I’m Phillip Castille. I’m supposed to be on vacation with my wife, but I’m a music producer based out of Atlanta, and I’d really like to talk to you, Reed.”
Reed’s heartbeat was off to the races when the man announced his profession, and he stood, facing Phillip directly. “Yeah, okay. Um, you want to sit?”
Phillip shook his head. “I’m headed out. Let me get straight to the point. I saw what you did up there, and I fell in love. I want you, Reed. In my studio, making a demo. I’m handing you my card—you can think about it or talk to whoever you need to talk to. But give me a call in a few days so we can set something up for the next couple of weeks. Yeah?”
Stunned, Reed nodded. “Yeah! Thank you.”
Phillip slapped him on the back and sauntered toward the door. He didn’t even seem like he realized he had just thrown a grenade into Reed’s life and walked away without watching the beautiful explosion.
Aston squealed as Reed sank back into his seat. “Oh my God! Did that really just happen? Reed! What do you think?”
He just shook his head numbly as he stared at his sister and his future brother-in-law.
Sam hurried to the bar and returned with a tray full of tequila shots, Tate, and Blaze. Everyone was slapping Reed on the back and congratulating him at once, but it was all traveling to him through the sound of the blood rushing in his own ears. He couldn’t think straight; he couldn’t answer their congratulatory remarks.
He’d done it. He’d caught the attention of a professional in the music business, and something real and concrete was going to happen to move his career forward. He knew it somewhere deep in his gut. And excitement wasn’t even the word to describe his current state of being.
He allowed the shot of tequila to burn away his shock, and then a big grin spread across his face.
He’d done it.
Eleven
Most twenty-two-year-olds lived their lives looking forward to the weekend. Hope lived Sunday through Thursday dreading Friday like priests fear the apocalypse.
“You don’t have to go, you know,” said Morrow. It was a familiar discussion between the two. Every Friday at the Center, Hope looked like she was about to partake in her last supper. Morrow argued that she was under no obligation to go and work for Frank’s club. And she explained exasperatedly that it was the only way she would make that kind of money, and that if she weren’t working there Wendy and Frank would kick her out and she’d be too far away from Violet to be of any help to her sister.
And she refused to leave Violet.
Once, when Hope and Violet were younger, Wendy had been found by her two younger daughters bent over the coffee table snorting thin white lines of white powder into her nose. Hope had been appalled, but not surprised. Violet had been too little to understand how off balance their mother really was. She had gone running to her mother, arms outstretched, and Wendy had sat up quickly, too quickly. Her movement had sent little Violet spinning into the wall.
As unstable as Wendy and all of the men she paraded in and out of her and Violet’s life were, Hope would never, ever, make Violet have to suffer through Wendy without her. Even now that Wendy was happily married to Frank, Hope didn’t trust either one of them. She wouldn’t let Violet continue to be hurt.
Hope locked the door behind them; they were the last people to leave the facility on a regular basis, and tonight was no exception.
Morrow gave up the argument, heaving a sigh so large that his broad chest swelled. He shook his head, causing his brown curls to shift around his face.
“So, then,” he said. “What’s the game plan for tonight? You know I always like to know where you are…just in case.”
Hope nodded. Every weekend, Morrow made it clear that he didn’t think that what she was doing for Frank’s club was safe. Silk—the name of the club—wasn’t a job where she would be looked after. Frank, no matter what he claimed, wouldn’t take care of her. It drove Morrow a little off the deep end. And after what had happened with Tyler, Hope was beginning to take his concerns more seriously.
“We’re going to Jet for drinks and dancing. His name is Giovanni, and he’s picking me up at the house. Okay?”
Morrow nodded, his eyes cloudy with troubled anxiety. “Okay. Keep your phone close, and call me if you need anything. I think I know another guy who would appreciate a call, too.”
Hope shook her head, almost frantically. “Reed doesn’t know about this, Morrow. He’d never understand. I don’t even know what I’m doing with him, honestly. I agreed to a date on Sunday, but I know it will never work. I shouldn’t have let him talk me into it.”
“Then why did you?” Morrow shot back. “You’re not the kind of woman who gets talked into things she doesn’t want to do.” His knowing smile irked Hope, and she frowned at him.
“His stupid eyes do something to me,” she snapped. “Now shut the hell up.”
Morrow laughed, and wrapped strong arms around her. “I love you, girl. Be careful. Call me tomorrow.”
“Will do,” she called, climbing into her beat-up little car.
In her rearview mirror, she watched Morrow watch her as she drove away, dreading the fact that in a little over an hour she’d be staring at another man she couldn’t stand over a drink she never wanted him to buy her.
Two hours later, it was so much worse than that.
Her date, Giovanni, had paraded her around at a cocktail event with potential investors for his Internet start-up. He was a silver-spoon-fed, trust-fund kid from Mount Pleasant who was attempting to branch off on his own with no business training whatsoever. He thought he could totally make it on his family name alone, even though he claimed to want to get away from the blanket of an overtly rich ancestry.
Laughable.
And now
his guests were gone, and Hope had to stand next to him at the bar while he ordered shot after shot of high-end vodka. She declined every drink he offered her, and she could tell that he was beginning to get annoyed.
“Come on, Hayley,” he slurred. “One drink. We’re supposed to be on a date, right? I paid a lot of money for you, and you won’t even have a drink with me?”
She only just refrained from shoving his drunk ass crashing back into the barstool behind him. “You did pay a lot of money. For my company. And my name’s not Hayley. It’s Hope. I don’t want a drink, thank you.”
His face flushed an angry scarlet. “What if I said I’m not taking you home until you have a drink with me?”
Rage flared up inside of her. It never changed. These power-hungry men who joined Frank’s club never differed one bit. They all looked different, and were different ages, but inside they were exactly alike. They all had far too much money to spend, and none of them had a trace of morality or spirituality to keep their egos in check. It was disgusting, and Hope felt like she had to take a long, cleansing shower after every date.
Giovanni downed another shot. “Well, I think you’re a pretty boring date. How much would it cost to upgrade my package?”
The gleam in his eye was familiar as he turned around to face the rest of the bar, propping his elbows up on the counter behind him and grinning at Hope.
She took a cautious step back. “Upgrade? The package is a date. There are no upgrades.”
“Really?” His stance was casual. “That’s not what Frank said. And he’s your boss, right?”
Now she was engulfed in white-hot flames of fury. “What?”
Her long, dark hair was piled up on top of her head tonight in an elegant style, and her short navy dress hugged her petite, curved figure perfectly. She shook her head so hard in her anger that a bobby pin flew out of her head and hit the bar beside her.
Giovanni grinned like a fat cat. “You heard me, baby. Your boss said that I could upgrade during the date if I so desired.”
There it was; being called baby by this man sent her hurtling over the edge.
“Let me tell you something, you sick son of a bitch,” Hope spat. “I don’t know what Frank told you, but I’m a person. I decide what I do, not Frank. So I’m telling you right now. I’m. Not. Having. Sex. With. You. There will be no happy endings on this date. You got me, baby?”
He simply smiled harder, if that was possible. “You’re a feisty one. I like that. Too bad I’ll have to talk to Frank and tell him how dissatisfied I am with Silk’s service. I’m sure he won’t be too happy about that.”
Hope was already stabbing the keys on her phone, sending a text to Morrow. “Tell him whatever the hell you want. This date is over.”
She turned, digging her stiletto into the floor of the upscale bar, and exited through the front doors.
When Morrow pulled up fifteen minutes later in his Tahoe, she was shaking from head to foot with anger and humiliation.
Morrow reached over to push open her door, and she hopped in.
“Oh, my God,” she fumed. “I can’t believe Frank! He told that bastard I’d roll onto my back for this date.”
“You did the right thing,” he said quietly. “Glad you called, Hope. You know I’ll always come and get you when you need it. But I don’t know why you’re so surprised. If Frank is suddenly changing the rules on you…well, this won’t be the last time. You know that, right?”
Hope’s brow furrowed while she mulled over Morrow’s words. She turned them over slowly in her mind, and a thick cloud of dread began to creep slowly into her stomach.
There were girls who worked for Silk that provided the service Giovanni was after. Although Hope didn’t interact with the other girls working for Frank’s high-end escort service very often, she knew them well enough to know that not all of them had the same moral standards and values Hope lived by. She knew that a lot of them were in the business in order to pay off student loans or to put themselves though school. They wanted the money, just like Hope did, but they didn’t care as much how they got it. The more of themselves they provided on a date, the more paper went into their wallet at the end of the night. No matter what the other girls said at the mixers Frank sometimes threw for the Silk clients, Hope had decided long ago that she’d never cross that line.
No matter how much money it would add to her growing nest egg.
“Just take me home, Morrow,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
He sent her a sharp glance, then sighed and turned the big truck for the mansion on the outskirts of the city.
Reed, Aston, and Sam sat in tandem around the Hopewells’ huge wooden table in the large, ornate dining room. Reed had sat at this table more times than he could count, but the room never seemed more stifling than it did that night. His mother was staring at him in astonishment, and his father’s frown deepened the lines marring his handsome forehead.
“You’re going to Atlanta?” asked Gregory Hopewell. “To work with a producer?”
“That’s what I said, Dad,” answered Reed, unable to hide his frustration. His teeth ground together as he fought to remain calm.
“But why?” asked Lillian. She kept darting furtive glances toward Gregory. “I thought you’d decided to fulfill your role at Hopewell Enterprises.”
“I said I’d give it a chance,” Reed said slowly. “And I am. But I never agreed to stop pursuing music. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“All right, son,” Gregory said, taking a bite of his tuna tartare and wiping his mouth with a cream-colored cloth napkin. “What am I supposed to do? Should I explain to our associates that you are out of town with your guitar until further notice?”
Reed opened his mouth to speak, but Aston spoke up. “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone, Daddy. He’s the boss’s son, for God’s sake. I’ll take conference calls with clients until he returns. He’s only going to be gone a few days.”
“That’s not the point, Aston,” said Gregory, his face strained. He tore his eyes away from his beloved daughter to stare sternly at Reed. “He’s got to get his life together. This nonsense with music has got to stop. I’ve built an entire legacy for you, Reed; all you have to do is reach out and take it. Music is a hobby. Hopewell Enterprises is an entire future. More than anything, I want you by my side. Just like Aston.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Sir. I know how you feel about Hopewell Enterprises, but isn’t it possible that Reed doesn’t feel the same way about business as you and Aston do? He has a passion, a talent, and the drive to take it somewhere. It’s the ambition that he inherited from you, with all due respect.”
Gregory sighed. “Drive is important. You know I value that, Sam. But family businesses as successful as ours aren’t built in a day. I’ve spent decades on this company with my children in mind. And I want all three of you at its helm one day.”
Aston and Sam shared a special glance; Reed knew that when Sam had first come to Nelson Island, Gregory asking him to learn the business from the ground up had been a source of jealousy and devastation for Aston. She’d recovered from it, and she now truly loved working side by side with her fiancé.
Lillian Hopewell threw a pleading glance at her husband, and then cleared her throat. “We’re ruining dinner with this conversation,” she said firmly. “Reed, good luck in Atlanta. We’ll leave it at that. Aston, tell me how the meeting with the caterers went?”
Reed wasn’t going to be able to sit there for the rest of the meal listening to the women in his life gab about wedding plans. Aston and his mother’s relationship had come a long way, and he was happy to see them planning this event together, but tonight wasn’t the night for him to be a part of it.
He and his father obviously still had leaps and bounds ahead of them in order to mend their relationship. His father wanted a son who was a mini Gregory, and that simply wasn’t, and never had been, Reed. When Sam had entered their lives a few years ago, Reed was hopeful t
hat he was enough like Gregory that his father would lay off Reed, but that hadn’t happened. Gregory was insistent upon Reed graduating from college, that he come and work for the company rather than moving away to pursue his dreams. Reed had relented because he loved his hometown, but he made it very clear that he was still playing and writing music, and if something happened to further his musical career, he was going to follow that path wherever it led.
Reed had lost respect for his father long ago. He only hoped that they could move forward without much more damage being done to their already fragile bond.
He pushed back from the table and stalked out of the room, heading for the front door. When he reached back to close it behind him, Gregory was there to stop the door from slamming shut.
“Dad,” Reed warned. “I’m done for tonight. I’m all talked out. Or should I say lectured out?”
“Reed.” Gregory’s voice was tired. “Why can’t you just accept that this is where you’re meant to be? Nelson Island is your home, not some wild city where a music career may or may not be waiting. I’ve built something for you here. Look at your mother and me. Find a woman like her, settle down. Start a family. Live this legacy I’ve left for you, son.”
Something inside of Reed snapped with his father’s words; he felt like a tree toppling over in a forest after being struck by a violent bolt of lightning.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked, his anger evident in his tone. “Settle down with someone like Mom? Someone who will step out on me repeatedly so I can look like an ass and keep taking them back? No, Dad. That’s not gonna happen. I’m not you.”
Gregory’s head whipped back like he’d been slapped. An angry red colored his stunned face, and Reed turned away. He walked down the steps that led to where his truck was parked just beyond the porch.
He’d said enough for one night. It was time to get a drink.
As he drove, his mind wandered to a girl with long, dark hair and olive skin, beautifully tragic hazel eyes, and a body that made his own sing with desire whenever he laid eyes on it.