Kynley stared at the dancers on the stage. She needed to focus. Sebastian expected over one hundred industry insiders and it would be a huge networking opportunity for them, not to mention a chance at a contract.
He hadn’t had much to say when she’d told him about the vinegar attack at the restaurant. In fact, he hadn’t had anything to say beyond offering rather hollow assurances that it probably wouldn’t happen again and it’d be worth it.
The song was ending and Sebastian nudged her with his elbow.
“They’re going to want you back onstage soon,” he said. “And don’t worry about Dalton, I’ve already found a replacement.”
Her blood turned to ice water. “He quit?”
“He called me this morning,” Sebastian said, unable to keep the trace of smugness from his voice. “I thought you knew.”
“Where is he?”
“I have no idea.” Sebastian shrugged. “He offered to play the party, but I told him not to bother. I told you he wasn’t a musician. We’ve wasted almost two weeks on him and he turns out to be a flake.”
Her heart twisted. Dalton had said he didn’t want to be part of generic pop. He wasn’t a flake; he was simply being true to himself. But still, why hadn’t he called her? The pain in her chest burned.
“Baby girl!” Tyana sang from the stage. “You’re up.”
Her phone was in her hand, ready to text Dalton and demand an explanation. She looked from the phone to the stage, where the dancers stood waiting. Behind them, the lighting techs were positioning the LED Lekos and her sound guys were running speaker wire. All these people working for her, depending on her. If this contract didn’t happen, what would happen to them?
She slipped her phone into her pocket as she got up and made her way toward the stage.
Rehearsal seemed to go on forever, but finally it was over. Kynley pulled out her phone to find a text from Dalton, sent an hour ago while she’d been dancing.
-Can we talk?
Her fingers flew over the keys.
-I was going to ask you the same question.
-Are you finished? I’m waiting outside.
Her heart pounded as she hurried through the ornate lobby of the Villanio and out the front doors. Dalton waited on a bench under a bearded palm, wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt, his hair messy as usual. A breeze sent the leaves waving, making sunlight flicker across his face.
“Hi.” He stood as she approached. “How’s it going in there?”
She glared at him. “I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Dalton sighed and dropped back onto the bench. “I’m sorry,” he said heavily. “I should have called you instead of Sebastian.”
“Why didn’t you?” she demanded, not bothering to hide the anger in her voice.
“I figured he’d need time to find someone to take my place. And I didn’t want to add to your stress.” His mouth twisted. “He promised he’d let me tell you. Guess I should know better than to trust his word.”
“And you didn’t think I’d notice when you didn’t show up for rehearsal?”
“I offered to play the show,” Dalton said simply. “He told me not to. I’ve been sitting out here for hours waiting for you to finish up.”
She sat down beside him with a thump, arms crossed tightly over her chest. They sat in silence several minutes, until Kynley blurted, “But why are you leaving? Especially now?”
He gestured to the ornate façade of the Villanio. “Everything you want is clicking into place. I’d be holding you back.”
“No,” she protested. “You’ve helped me already. You could still help me.”
“How?” he asked bitterly. “Being your backup when your date with a celebrity doesn’t turn out well? Looking the other way while you cuddle with a stranger for publicity? Picking up the pieces when you’re miserable?”
“I won’t be miserable,” she flared. “I’ll be successful.”
The look he gave her was pure sorrow, his brown eyes swimming with regret and pain. “It’s not just the Christian Conner thing. That’s part of it, but it’s more. I’ve been thinking a lot about this and decided I don’t want to go where you’re going. And I don’t want to watch you go there either.”
“What do you mean, ‘where I’m going’?”
“You want to be famous. I get it. And on some level, so do I. But I don’t want to be that famous. I don’t want to live my life in a fishbowl and worry that my girlfriend will be accosted whenever she goes out.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you agreed to join the band,” she snapped.
She wanted him to get angry and fight back, because at least then her anger would feel justified. But he only nodded sorrowfully. “Yeah, maybe I should have. And maybe you should have told me what you were planning.”
“I told you we were trying to reach a bigger audience,” she protested.
He shook his head and guilt pounded through her. She hadn’t told him enough. But how could she have foreseen he’d become so important to her so quickly? That now to think of life without him was like a lump of iron lodged in her throat?
Dalton sighed and jammed his hand through his hair. “Kynley, I sold out to work for my dad and I’ve regretted it every day. I don’t want you to do the same thing.”
“It’s not the same thing. You quit music to do something totally different, something you hate. I’ll still be making music.”
“But will you still love it?” He asked. “You were amazing in Denver. It was … mesmerizing, and the whole place felt it. And even better, you were having fun and doing something you loved. But this …” he waved his hand toward the event center. “… this doesn’t seem like you’re having fun, and neither does that video.”
“I was in the ocean in Oregon. And freezing.”
“I’ve watched your other videos online. They’re great because they’re real. But that …” He groped for words. “It’s not you. It’s a girl in a lot of makeup striking a bunch of poses. I can think of two dozen singers who could take your place in that video and it wouldn’t look any different than it does with you in it.”
Stung, she glared at him. “I already have Sebastian to tell me what to do. You’re supposed to be helping me and instead you’re trying to sabotage me.”
“Sabotage you?” he repeated, astonished. “Are you kidding? I jumped into the deep end because I believed in you.” He paused and gave her a searching look. “Because I love you.”
The world tilted slightly. She’d definitely thought about the L-word when it came to Dalton, but it had seemed too soon. Now, to hear him say it without question, without drama, just a simple admission, threw her off guard.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, not looking at each other. Then he sighed and leaned down to pick up something at his side. It was an L-5 case. “Here, you should have this back,” he said quietly, laying it on her lap.
Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. He was really leaving. “You keep it,” she mumbled. “It’s a gift.”
Dalton shook his head. “It’s a thank-you for something I didn’t do. I was supposed to help you, and I think I’ve only hurt you.”
She worked her fingers over the bumpy pattern of the case as she stared at the parking lot, unable to think of anything to say.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said quietly.
She stayed on the bench clutching the guitar case as he climbed into a waiting cab and drove out of her life.
Chapter Nineteen
Kynley squinted at the self-pay kiosk, reading the instructions. It had been so long since she’d had to pay for her own parking that she’d nearly forgotten how. And she had forgotten to see what numbered space she’d parked the car in. With a sigh, she turned and trudged back up the parking lot until she could see the white numbers painted on the asphalt under her black Jaguar convertible.
The lot at Santa Monica Beach was
almost full and another couple had taken over the parking kiosk. She waited, glancing around a little warily. After the vinegar incident, it was nerve-wracking to be out without Carl or Marco, but she needed some time alone, truly alone. And with her dark glasses and her hair tucked under the hood of her sweatshirt, she doubted she’d be recognized.
The couple in front of her finished and Kynley stepped forward, punching the number for her parking spot into the machine and swiping her card. She paid for two hours, then made her way across the sand toward the ocean.
The surfing must be good today, if the dozens of wetsuit-clad surfers were any indication. They floated in the waves beyond the break, bobbing in the gray water like a colony of seals.
The bench where she’d sat with Dalton the day they’d bought the guitar was occupied by a woman reading a paperback. Somehow her time with him already seemed like another life, someone else’s life.
She’d reached the pier, a long finger of weathered wood jutting into the ocean, studded with restaurants and the amusement park. With a heavy heart, Kynley walked slowly along the deck, passing fishermen dozing in camp chairs, couples holding hands, rowdy groups of kids, and families posing for photos.
A violinist stood halfway along the pier, sawing out a tune she recognized—“My Immortal” by Evanescence. His fingers flew over the strings, making the notes ring so sharp and pure that her throat ached. She stopped to watch as he played, eyes closed, body moving in rhythm to the song, oblivious to anything but the music.
During the road trip to Denver, she’d told Dalton that Amy Lee, the lead singer of Evanescence, was one of her heroes. Because she was a great musician and a fantastic performer, but also because she didn’t use her sexuality to sell records. And Kynley had said it less than a week after she’d been rolling in the Oregon surf pretending to wear a transparent shirt.
Shame bubbled in her stomach, and she continued on until she could find an open spot along the deck. She leaned her elbows on the railing and gazed down into the green water swirling around the pier.
She’d spent several hours that morning Googling Adele, Beyoncé, and other huge stars she idolized. They had mansions around the world, traveled everywhere by private jet, and attended awards shows and exclusive parties draped in borrowed diamonds and designer dresses. They played to huge crowds of screaming fans, debuted new songs on TV morning shows, and appeared on the covers of the world’s biggest magazines. It was the lifestyle she’d always dreamed about.
But along with the fame and money came something else: failed relationships, stalkers and restraining orders, a constant swarm of paparazzi, leaked or faked risqué photos … Kynley had lingered a long time on a picture of Taylor Swift navigating a street in London amid hundreds of flashing cameras. The only thing keeping her from being mobbed was the team of security guards surrounding her, watching her every move. Everyone watching her every move. All the time.
It had felt like the ultimate in glamour and success a few short weeks ago. Now she remembered the sting of vinegar on her face, and it felt like a prison sentence.
She pulled out her phone and sent a text to Gabbi.
-Hey, what are you up to?
After a few tense minutes, the reply came back.
-Not much. What’s up?
-Can you talk? I need help with something.
-Sure. Want to come over?
-On my way.
Kynley turned and headed back down the pier, stopping to drop a twenty-dollar bill into the man’s violin case. He nodded his thanks, but didn’t stop playing.
She hurried to her car, her mood already lifting. Maybe there was a way to fix this.
His plane at LAX was delayed, giving Dalton plenty of time to think as he sat alone in the terminal. Around him, the crowds surged and waned as flights arrived and then departed again, accompanied by the scratchy announcements coming from gate crews over the PA system. He hunched forward and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
The industry party was tonight. Right now Kynley was probably at the event center, maybe doing a sound check, or joking with Gabbi while the stylist did her hair. At midnight, the video would launch and everyone would see Kynley roll around in the water, along with several other shots engineered to get the blood pumping. The images still rose in his mind: at the beach in the see-through shirt … in a warehouse, one shoulder bared by a ripped T-shirt and wearing tight black shorts … lying on her back in a clingy red evening gown with a deep neckline while the camera circled from above, focusing extensively on her cleavage.
It wasn’t anything terribly shocking, and definitely wasn’t as racy as the videos and performances turned in by many of the big-name pop stars. But it wasn’t Kynley. It wasn’t the exuberant, thoughtful, charismatic, and sensitive woman he’d come to know and love in a few short weeks.
Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut and stuck it out. Wouldn’t being with her and being able to partially protect her be better than this? But how could he watch from a front-row seat as her career morphed into whatever it would become now?
He sat in frustrated silence for another half hour. When the gate agent finally announced his flight was boarding, he sighed deeply, then hooked his bag over his shoulder and went to join the line already forming at the doorway.
Chapter Twenty
When the band arrived at the Villanio the next morning, Kynley was only marginally surprised to find Dalton’s replacement turned out to be Leeson. No less smug and surly than before, but Sebastian had obviously promised him enough money to show up and play.
“I’m working with a few other groups,” he told them as they took the stage for the final rehearsal. “Lots of promising gigs coming up.”
Whether it was true or just the usual Leeson bluster, Kynley didn’t care. The lights were too bright and the stage full of dancers felt claustrophobic. More than once she turned, expecting to see Dalton, and fresh pain rose when she remembered he wasn’t there.
Kynley tried not to do much talking on performance days, needing to save her voice for the show. But after the rehearsal, as she faced the band members in the dressing room, she knew her words now would be more important than straining her voice. She wiped her hands nervously on her jeans. From her spot on the couch next to Corey, Gabbi sent her a reassuring thumbs-up.
Kynley took a deep breath. “I want you to know I’m not trying to take over the group. Despite what Sebastian says, we’re a team, and that’s how I want it to stay.” Leeson’s face darkened, and she rushed ahead before he could interrupt. “Sebastian has meetings scheduled tomorrow with all the record companies who will be at the party tonight. He’s not going to be satisfied with anything but a contract.” Her stomach twisted.
“How much will we get for signing?” Trevor asked.
“I don’t know,” Kynley admitted. “But he’s thrown around half a million before, so I’d guess it’ll be somewhere along those lines.”
There was silence as the band members processed this, calculating what their share of half a million would be. And that would be just the start.
She cleared her throat. “I think we should turn it down.”
There was an outbreak of questions, all of them talking at once. Leeson’s voice was the loudest. “You’re the one who wanted this. Now you don’t want to take it?”
Kynley met his eyes. “Yes.”
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because it isn’t us. We started this band to play rock music, not … generic pop.” She winced, remembering Dalton’s words. “I know I pushed you to hire Sebastian and I wanted the change. But I don’t anymore. I want us to write our own music, set our own schedules, and pick our own style. I want us to tour on our bus and be a family again.”
The guys glanced at one another, then back at her as the silence stretched out, thick and heavy.
Kynley blinked back tears. “But it doesn’t matter what I want. It matters what you want. If you want to sign a contract, I’ll go along.” She too
k a deep breath. “Or, if you don’t think you can trust me anymore, I … I’ll step down and let someone else take my place.”
The thought of leaving Jilted Storm brought a sharp ache to her chest, but she squared her shoulders and met their eyes.
No one said anything for a long moment. Then Mick stood up, crossed the room in three quick steps, and wrapped her in a hug, his meaty arms pulling her close. “Welcome back,” he said gruffly.
Kynley gasped in relief as her whole body trembled. Standing onstage in front of thousands of fans had never been as scary as facing these guys in this moment.
“So?” Mick turned to the others. “Do we sign or not?”
“Definitely not.” Trevor crossed his arms over his chest.
“Same,” Corey said.
Mick’s gaze slid to Leeson. “This is what you wanted. Does that mean you want to come back?”
Leeson narrowed his eyes. “I’m not making any decisions yet.”
“There’s one problem,” Trevor said. “We still have to perform ‘Heart Is Breaking’ and if we’re not signing a contract, what’s the point?”
“Let’s do ‘Light Me Up,’” Kynley said softly.
The band members looked at her in surprise. “I thought you hated that one,” Corey said.
She was silent for a minute, remembering the soft notes coming from the guitar as Dalton played it on the bench by the ocean—the way it had sounded so different than it had before. She didn’t like the song, because it was a painful expression of what she couldn’t have. But she had had it, with Dalton.
“I don’t hate it anymore,” she said.
“Cool, so it’s settled,” Mick decided. “You’ll do ‘Light Me Up’ instead, on the piano?”
She shook her head. “Dalton played it on his acoustic.” The L-5 sat in her dressing room, and the thought of someone else playing it sent her heart aching again. But this song needed that instrument. “Could you play it?” she asked Trevor.
The Glamorous One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 13