Wilde About Brant - The Brothers Wilde Series Book Two

by Cate Faircloth

  “I don’t wish that. I just… I thought us dating was a bad idea for me before. Now, I’m sure of it.”

  “Why, because I’m famous? That’s discrimination.”

  I laugh through my tension. “No, because it could get complicated so easily. Work is very important to me. I worked too hard to get here, and I have… things to take care of. Nothing can get in the way of that.”

  “So, don’t be my lawyer then.”

  “Everyone here will find out I repped you for thirty seconds and make up their own shitty stories about what happened. People talk. I’ll represent you, and I won’t get distracted.”

  “You mean you won’t say yes to a date.” He gleams.

  “I mean… that’s exactly what I mean.”

  Brant chuckles and shifts closer to me. My breath hitches as he gets close enough to kiss me, but he doesn’t.

  His hand comes across my legs and presses into the couch as he leans closer.

  “Last night wasn’t it, Cora. You’ll realize that?” His lips press to my ear, and I shiver concerned that the door is still open.

  “And then I’ll help you remember it. Besides, I haven’t even tasted you yet.” He kisses me just under my ear, and I mewl as I breathe out slowly.

  My fingers wring together, and he pulls back to watch my expression. He smiles because he seems pleased.

  “We’ve both got work to do, I think.” He stands, licking his lips as he looks me over like he wants to memorize me.

  “Damn, you’re so fucking gorgeous, Cora.”

  I blink at the way he grunts my name, the way his perfect voice cloaks it. His voice and its perfection make a lot of sense now that I know he is a famous singer.

  “I’ll…” I swallow, “I’ll look over your contract today and have my notes on it by tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” He nods. “And I don’t sign anything for less than five million dollars.”

  I hide my gaping expression at him as I stand up. “Got it.”

  He laughs with another look at me before he turns to leave. His departure from my office almost makes me sad.

  It must be because I won’t look at it the same way ever again.

  9

  Brant

  Cora is proving to be a challenge. I don’t even know why I won’t give up when she tells me to. I’m not just stubborn. It’s that I know I have to be with her somehow, more than getting to know her and dating her.

  My music is the only way I can get out how I feel. I skip studio time, anticipating Julia’s disapproval, and head back to the house. But I stop and get a burrito bowl from a good Mexican place down the street. All I can think about is bothering Cora. I mean, trying to talk to her.

  Once I eat and relax in the music room, I get started on one of the songs I was working on before. I’m thinking it will end up being full three songs all about this one woman who has all but set my soul on fire. I haven’t felt anything besides music and routine since I stopped all the partying and drugs. Once I did, it was like I lost who I was and forgot about everything.

  My dad dying was more than hard on me, and it still is. It was the harsh and fast realization that I’m the head of the family now, and I never felt ready for it. That didn’t matter because I crashed and burned right after we buried him. Maybe if I didn’t go on tour right away, it would have been different. But I went on tour anyway and tried to numb the pain just to step on stage. And it was the worst mistake I ever made.

  I’m better now, but I gave myself something I have to deal with for the rest of my life.

  My session gets interrupted by the buzzing of my phone.

  “Hello?” I answer, not looking at the caller identification. Only a select number of people call me these days anyway.

  “Brant, why did you skip studio time today?” Julia has her scolding tone on, and it only makes me want to laugh. I drop my pen and pad on the table and lean back in my office chair.

  “I had plans.”

  “Yeah, studio time. You know the label has to pay in advance. You can’t just skip whenever you want to. Are you…”

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m just really tired. If it makes a difference, I did send you an email about it.” I chuckle.

  “I didn’t get that email.” She sighs. I hear some rustling on her end, so I know she is in her office doing something. “Anyway, you do have to come for a raw recording of your new song. Have you finished it?”

  “One of them. There will be three.”

  “Wow, I’m surprised.” She giggles.

  I don’t know why she says that, but I don’t call her on it. “Me, too. I’ve fallen across some inspiration. Thought I would get it down.”

  The last song I wrote with actual personal inspiration was about Dad dying, and it was well received because at least everyone has, at some point, gone through that. It was the best- selling song on the album, and the label wanted to release it as a single too, but I decided against it. I wrote it to stay with that album—the first album I toured with after Dad died, called ‘For This.’ I don’t know what I’ll call this tour yet since it will be based off of singles and hits from the last album. But honestly, the PR team goes through all that and figures it out.

  “Okay, well, that’s great then. Rick will be happy. Are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice gets all serious, and I hate when she does that. I relent because Julia is the only one who knows about that, and she kept it from everyone for me. I’d have had a media field day if she hadn’t, my career probably tarnished forever.

  “Yeah, I am. Just…” lonely, tired, “… I just want to finish this song.”

  I hear her smile in her voice. “Yeah, I know how you get when you have that itch to write. I guess I’ll leave you to it. I just got worried, you know, when I didn’t see you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about me. Scouts honor.” I chuckle.

  “Okay. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  I hang up and shake my head at her. I’m lucky I have a good assistant. One who doesn’t just manage me as a talent figure, but actually wants to be there for me as a person. It doesn’t come easily.

  The last few verses get wrapped up, and while it’s a super rough draft, it is a draft. Finally.

  Mom calls, and I talk with her for a bit, and before I know it, it’s dinner time, and I haven’t done anything besides write. It’s my job, but I still feel unproductive. I think I am just trying to get back into a routine after coming back from tour. That, and I try very hard not to talk to Cora, but I do anyway.

  Brant: Hey, what are you doing?

  I read the message after I send it and feel like it’s junior high or something. I’m all worded out.

  Cora: What kind of hit-up is that?

  I have to say, I’m surprised she replied. And so quickly too.

  Brant: That was fast, were you waiting for me?

  Cora: No. I just have my phone with me…

  Brant: So is that what you’re doing, your phone?

  I get a long pause instead. I chuckle to myself and head down to the kitchen. One of my frozen meals looks good enough, so I pop that in the oven and let it heat up. Airing on the side of caution, I skip the alcohol and go for one of my sparkling waters.

  Cora: No. I’m watching television.

  Brant: I didn’t take you for a TV person.

  Cora: What would I be doing?

  Brant: Reading law books or something.

  Cora: Wow, and I expect you to be getting trashed in the studio.

  I read her message and swallow cold. Maybe it’s too close to home, or maybe I just realize how I became a stereotype. Sure, I don’t do it now, but my past is just as much a part of my future as ever.

  Brant: Can’t argue with you there.

  Cora: Why did you text me?

  I laugh.

  Brant: Because I wanted to talk to you.

  Cora: I told you, there can’t be anything going on between us.

  Brant: You say that, but I don’
t believe you. Plus, there already is something between us.

  Cora: Oh, please don’t start talking about some connection from one night…

  Brant: I will if it’s valid. And it is.

  When I don’t get a response through my meal, I decide to double text. I think one of my kid brothers would say that’s a big no-no, but I don’t care.

  Brant: Look I’m not asking you to cut and run over here for me. I want to date you, woo you with my charm.

  Cora: Brant, I don’t have time for dating.

  Brant: You have time to talk to me now.

  Cora: In fact, I don’t. Good night, Brant.

  Brant: All right, doll, good night.

  Denying licking my wounds would be a waste. I clean up after myself and head to my theatre room for a movie. Halfway through, I’m just bored, inclined to reread texts or read an actual book. Maybe I need a new hobby. I love music and playing the guitar, but I can only be so inclined to do it all the time.

  Since my career has taken off, I honestly can’t remember a time that I had stuff to do besides music. That’s why when my phone goes off again from a contact I probably should have deleted and blocked, I foolishly entertain it.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “Sup, Brant, it’s Jackson.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I know. What’s up?”

  There are only a few things my old party and illicit drug contacts could be calling me about, so I don’t even know why I asked.

  “I just wanted to hit you up and see if you can make an appearance at this party tonight. A new club opening.”

  My eyes close as I inhale sharply. That was the thing with him, he is a club setter or something like that. He books club appearances from celebrities and whatnot for new clubs and current ones. Most of the time, I get paid a fee, but I don’t go because I need that extra money. I used to go because it filled the gap between sleep and concerts.

  “Not sure about that. You know I got clean.” I scratch behind my head. The unease creeping up my neck isn’t something I should ignore, but I do anyway. The temptation is already back, and I’m already fighting it tooth and nail. Just sitting here in my house and imagining seeing that stuff again makes me think I already have it.

  “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make an appearance. I’m talking a huge fee. You show up, and you don’t even have to perform.” He laughs, and a nervous chuckle leaves me.

  I admit, it sounds good to be paid to show up somewhere, but that’s the problem. As soon as I started getting into stuff without my manager or assistant being the one to officiate it, shit went bad. That’s how I found Jackson in the first place. I was in a dark spot, and he was in the right spot for his own interest. For a while, he was the best toxic friend anyone could have.

  “I have a busy night, Jackson…”

  “I don’t hear a no, and I bet you’re just sitting in your pompous living room doing nothing. Look, I swear, man, nothing but good alcohol and girls. No autograph shit either.”

  That makes me laugh. I think the only reason I say yes is because I figure I have to be able to live a normal life without getting hammered. I still drink, so I can still go to a party. Doing nothing would only make me want something even more, and that was definitely the last thing I needed.

  Cora has already made herself clear or tried to anyway. I know she can be good for me because if I were with her, I wouldn’t even be thinking about scratching my itch again.

  “Awesome, man, I’ll text you the addy.”

  “Great. See you.”

  A deep sigh leaves me as I get up from the couch. I swear I hear something crack, and I know I’m getting old. My body might be telling me to stay my ass at home, but I ignore it and get ready to go. Jeans and a Henley work for this kind of stuff, so I wear that and follow the address to the club.

  It’s chaos as soon as I walk in. I know it just opened because the bar still has tape on one edge. The staff is walking around looking like they don’t know what’s going on, and when I ask where the private lounge is, the guy is clueless. But I find it and walk in to see Jackson past hammered and women surrounding him trying to get there.

  “There you are, about time, man.” He staggers up, always dressed in a linen top and jeans like it’s a uniform. We shake hello, and I try to ease up a bit. So far, it looks like a regular club night.

  “Hey. So, this club really is new.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, but they pay well.” He shoves a beer in my hand, and I drink it before checking. It tastes normal, and I doubt he’d fucking drug me or something.

  “Anything I’m supposed to say?”

  Jackson laughs and tugs me down on the black leather curve seat around a huge table.

  “You forget how this works?” He clicks on his phone and shows me live the Twitter and Instagram feeds. “Already know you’re here, man.” Jackson whistles to one of the wait staff standing by, and he leaves without coming for an order, so I guess he knows his usual or he had something planned.

  “Relax, you look old.” He nudges me, and I laugh it off and drink more beer.

  “Because I am.” I finish off my beer. Just then the guy comes back and sets down a tray with various shots on it.

  I had forgotten about the women around before, but when one of them sits next to me with her hand on my thigh, the feeling I get is undeniable—like I’m stepping out on Cora or something. Cora, who tells me to leave her alone and give up on trying to be with her. It’s absurd, but I still let her down with an easy smile and move her hand.

  We go through shots, music blaring, people still asking for an autograph. I knew it would be like that, and I don’t mind it by now. Getting out of the house and having a good time is nice. My mind is still half with Cora and her dodging, the rest wondering what I’m actually doing here.

  Maybe I have outgrown this. Watching Jackson get hammered and flirt has me wondering if I was ever really like that because the sight is way too wild for me. Girls love him for his conventional and handsome looks. During the day, he looks like a boring financial analyst or something, but at night, he is like that. I can’t count how many more shots he coaxed me to take, how many more drinks.

  It wasn’t laced with anything, but I know I drank way too much when I hear sirens off in the distance, but the correlation doesn’t quite come through until later.

  “DEA!” A man shouts, and I wonder why.

  I don’t figure it out before things end up just kind of blacking out.

  Metal. A shitty smell that might actually be shit. My eyes trickle open to a headache and incredibly sore body, then an incessant tapping on metal makes me nauseous.

  “Up you go, pretty boy.” The voice is heavy, gargling.

  I turn from the bench to look out through metal bars and realize I’m in jail. My head hangs as I run every scenario through my mind. Wondering what the hell happened and hoping someone didn’t tweet or gram about it.

  “What happened?” I squint at him as I try to stand. I’m wobbly, I feel half-drunk but like I slept it off some.

  “Club got busted for drugs, but you passed the drug test, so you’re free to go. On bail. You gotta make a phone call.” His belly juts out, and he shifts impatiently like he would rather be somewhere else. I would too.

  “When did I take a drug test?” I rub my head like it will make the gnawing ache go away. I knew I was too old to be doing this shit, too far beyond it, and I did it anyway. I curse myself as I stand up to face him.

  The cop is already unlocking the gate. “Before you passed out. Let’s go.” It swings open with a dark creak, and I follow him out.

  “Can I have some water?” I ask him.

  The hall is narrow and between more cells. I see other people in there, no idea what they did, but I don’t see Jackson. If he got out on bail, then he must be gone already. Didn’t care to post mine too, but hey, that’s what guys like him would do.

  The cop points to a water fountain by the phone, and I’m probably sucking at
it for a good minute before I make the call.

  “You don’t have to cuff me?” I ask him.

  The cop shakes his head and gives me a semblance of a smile.

  “No, you don’t seem hostile. Make your call.” He nods at the phone where I can literally see handprints and other questionables.

  “Thanks.”

  My first thought is to dial Julia. But I… if she finds out about this, I’m done. She will have me back in weekly meetings and monthly drug tests. I didn’t take anything, I only drank. But credibility is out the window for a guy like me in these situations. Julia is out of the question, so that leaves Rick and my personal assistant.

  Before, I told myself I was a lush for doing it, but I memorize shit easily. I know Cora’s number because it’s phonetically easy, like music. So, I dial it and hope she answers, the clock tells me that it is past midnight.

  “Hello?”

  I want to smile at how cute she sounds tired, but everything hurts way too much.

  “Cora, it’s Brant.”

  “What… Brant?” She breathes out, and I know she was asleep. I feel shitty even calling her, but I couldn’t call anyone on my team. My family is all on the other end of the continent.

  “Yeah, um… I need some help.” I scratch my head and see the cop tap his watch.

  “What is it?”

  “I was out at this club that got busted for drugs. I was hoping you could bail me out. I’ll pay you back immediately, I just… well, I can’t call anyone on my team because they can’t find out. I can’t explain why right now. Just… will you help me?” I plead, not bothering to lay on any charm because I am just desperate, so I plead with her.

  She groans, and I hear her sigh again. “Yeah. Okay. What precinct?”

  I ask the cop and tell her.

  “I need thirty minutes,” she says. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you so much, Cora. Thank you.”

  “Uh huh.”

  I get ready to hang up before I hear her mutter, “Fucking rock stars.”

  10