by Cari Quinn
Time for her to rip a page out of his relaxed playbook.
LS: Sure you haven’t drunk from the same fountain Jazz and Harper have? You’ve been food-obsessed lately.
Nick didn’t reply for so long that she had to get ready for her meeting with Donovan. Perfect timing. She’d just had to make a pregnancy joke, right when she was going for an attitude of blissful ignorance of all things related to settling down.
And c’mon, that wasn’t Nick. He’d shown her many different sides to himself over the past year, and he had hidden depths she’d never guessed when they were snarking and rolling their eyes at each other over a conference table when it came to Oblivion business. True, he’d taken to a committed one-woman relationship with the zeal of a missionary, but that wasn’t the same as doing the whole husband-and-father thing.
If need be, she could skip the husband part for a while. She’d seen all too well how little that paper meant if both parties weren’t invested. The kid one? Unfortunately, that was a limited run engagement, and the egg timers in her pelvic region weren’t content to bide their time.
She grabbed her iPad and deliberately left behind her phone in her desk drawer before heading toward the conference room. She needed to be on point for her meeting with Donovan, not dwelling on what Nick might be thinking. More than likely, he’d wandered off to work on another song, or another guitar student had shown up, or who knows what. Whatever he was doing, his silence probably had nothing to do with her whatsoever.
Besides, she had work to do.
Five minutes later, Donovan stepped into the room and shut the door. “Morning, Lila. No coffee?”
“I forgot to grab some from reception.” She started to rise.
He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just used to seeing you with coffee in hand.”
“I’m trying to watch my caffeine intake. It got to the point that I was mainlining the stuff.”
He smiled and took the seat opposite her. “I know what that’s like, especially on a transatlantic flight. Speaking of, I’d like you to accompany me to my next meeting in London in January. I’ve scheduled some talks with new investors that I think would benefit from your touch.”
“Really.” She tapped her nails on the edge of her iPad. “Which investors are those?”
“Actually, they’re two guys I grew up with and played with in the pubs. They were in my first band, Soldiers of Fortune.”
Many of the artists Donovan signed had no idea he’d once been in a band of his own. Several bands of his own actually. As a former guitarist himself, he understood being a musician from the inside out.
She was surrounded by bloody guitarists, while the guitar Nick had given her last Christmas languished in her closet because she was too afraid to take it out and try to learn.
Nick was giving guitar lessons now, to select students he deemed worthy of his time. Once word had gotten out that Oblivion’s lead guitarist was even considering taking on students, he’d been swamped with requests. His roster was as long as her arm. Twice as long, probably. If she even gave him the slightest inkling she was interested in lessons, he would clear his calendar in a heartbeat.
But she was scared, so she said nothing. Failing at something she loved—even if it was only in theory in this case—seemed so much worse than not giving it a shot at all.
She could extrapolate that to other things she loved and was worried about failing at. Like, oh, a relationship. One that could be forever or for a short time, depending on how she played her cards.
“When in January?” She tapped her iPad out of sleep mode and flicked to her calendar app. “For how long?”
“Probably three or four days. Does that work for you?”
She started to say yes, until she remembered that was the first month Oblivion would be officially back together after a year. Although Nick had kept in near constant contact with Jazz and Gray—to the point that she’d seen Gray in her kitchen almost as often as Nick some weeks, which still surprised the hell out of her considering their past—he rarely spoke to Deacon, and he’d definitely steered clear of Simon, Twitter forays aside. She’d hoped Simon agreeing to go to Nick’s house with her the night Mr. Crandall passed away would be a new beginning for them, but it had ended up being a very brief pause in a much longer war.
Oblivion getting back into the groove after so long would definitely take some doing. Bottom line, she didn’t want to leave Nick on his own during that first challenging month, job or no job.
Her priorities might’ve taken some time to fall into line, but she had them straight now. Talking to Tori had just emphasized the reasons she’d called this meeting today.
She’d called it, not Donovan. Because it was time for things to change. Or else she would just have to find another way to do what she’d grown to love with all her heart—representing artists. Even if the artists she’d be representing going forward weren’t the ones who owned the largest share of her emotional real estate.
Not just Oblivion. There was Rebel Rage, who she took great pride in despite their cocky, opinionated lead singer, Johnny Cage. Maybe because of. He was definitely a musician’s musician. She wouldn’t be surprised to see him with a picket sign someday, campaigning for artists’ rights.
There was also Warning Sign, her stepson Michael’s new band with Jazz’s sister Molly as lead singer. The past year had brought more strife than progress, since Molly had come in to their arranged set-up and expected to be given carte blanche. Not so much. Then there was the fact that they didn’t have a dedicated drummer.
One recent positive—at least so far—was that Nick’s sister Ricki had joined as a secondary guitarist, which reduced some of Ryan’s efforts to fill in all the holes in the lineup as well as handle the arrangements. Ricki was super green, though, and more than a little unsure. They’d also hired a bassist, if he stuck around. The guy was having serious trouble jiving with the others. Now they had to find a dedicated drummer.
She represented other bands for the label too, either in a lead role or supporting. Some were just finding their feet. Other bands she’d signed were blowing up in a major way, like Brooklyn Dawn. She wanted to ensure the single they’d just released stayed at the top of the charts, so that by the time their new album dropped later next year, their name would be on the tip of everyone’s tongues.
Hello, Swiftys, your new band—with extra added edge—to glom has arrived.
If she had her way, she wouldn’t be leaving Ripper Records for a damn long time. But ultimately, that was up to Donovan.
“I have to be straight with you.” Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands over her iPad. “I’m living with Nick, and I have been for months.”
Donovan leaned back in his chair. “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to know this already.”
Prepared to launch into her preplanned speech, she nearly missed what he said. “You, uh, what? Huh?”
His light laughter took her by surprise. “Lila, I’d like to think we’re friends along with work associates. Is that true or am I off-base?”
“If by work associates, that’s your delicate way of saying you’re the overlord and I’m a pawn, then yes, yes we are.”
His smile faded. “That’s not the case. I always tried to make sure you understood how much weight I gave your opinion. Are you telling me that I’m wrong?”
“I know you have rules in the sand, and I’ve been skirting them for a year. Forget skirting them.” She forced herself not to fidget, unwilling to even give that much of a tell. “I’ve been laying down on them, legs up.”
“Well, there’s an image.” He coughed into his hand. “Nick’s influence on you is obvious even if I didn’t know the particulars. Your speech never used to be quite so…colorful.”
“I was repressed,” she said flatly. “Now I’m not.”
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Tell the truth, Lila Lee.
“Okay, that’s a lie,” she said, causing Donovan’s bro
w to furrow just as soon as it had smoothed. “I’m getting there. I’m still too used to shutting off my feelings and focusing on work. I do that because I love it. I love music so much that the idea of being away from it for even a few days causes something inside me to wither and die.”
Her version of telling the truth evidently came with a healthy dash of purple prose, but whatever. She was rolling with it.
“Why would you have to be away from it?” Before she could reply, he tilted his head. “If you’re planning on tendering your resignation, I won’t accept it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I simply won’t allow you to quit. You mean too much to this company and our artists, and I refuse to let you go.” He leaned forward. “So name your price.”
Though she’d had no intention of quitting, what she required was all too clear. “Nick,” she said quietly. “He’s the one thing I can’t give up. I won’t.”
“And you think I have no sympathy towards your feelings?”
“I think you made your stand on the subject quite clear when you demanded I end my dalliance with him.”
“Which you did for how long? A week? Two?”
She refused to back down from his steely gaze. “I broke your trust, and for that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for being with him. He’s…a revelation.”
Donovan held up a hand. “Stop right there. Friends or not, we do have boundaries.”
Her lips twitched. “Your eardrums are safe. Just because I’m seeking my personal liberation doesn’t mean I’m turning into one of those women who bores everyone else with intimate details of their relationship. I’m just saying that I refuse to put work ahead of him. I’ve done it for the past year. No one knows we’re together.”
“Except for The Tattler,” Donovan said drily. “Check out page twenty-two of this week’s issue.”
Her eyes widened as delight and concern battled for dominance inside her. “Good angle or bad?”
“They’re making it sound as salacious as possible, which as we know always helps move units. Between the talk about you and Nick, and Nick’s insistence on letting his fingers do the walking on Twitter, interest in Oblivion is peaking again right before they come back on the scene.”
“Which is what we want,” she said cautiously. Salacious wasn’t her favorite word, especially when it involved her, but any press was positive press, depending on spin. And she was extremely experienced at spinning the hell out of anything she got her hands on.
Being the subject was new, she had to admit, but hey, she’d work with whatever came her way.
“Yes, it is. And no, you being with Nick is not a deal-breaker when it comes to your continued employment at Ripper Records.” She was about to sigh in relief when he reached for the phone at one end of the conference table and pressed a button. “Madeline, send in Dex Munroe.”
At her sharp intake of breath, Donovan smiled, a man in complete control. As always. “Now it’s time for you to learn my price, Lila. You’ll be working with Dex Munroe for the benefit of all of our artists.” At the knock on the door, Donovan flicked his wrist. “Come in, Dex.”
Lila shut her eyes. Dream job, still in hand. Work environment?
Just went to shit.
3
Nick
Friday nights were meant for wild times with hot babes. Babes, not babies, one of whom actually was hot because he’d been running a low-grade fever all evening.
One of whom, because oh yeah, they were babysitting not one boy, but two.
Two babies in one apartment. What fresh hell was this?
“Stop pouting.” Lila juggled Dylan on her lap as she unsuccessfully attempted to get him to drink from his bottle. The slightly feverish one kept shoving it away with an inhuman wail. “They’re only here for a few hours.”
Nick nudged at the bassinette at his foot that held baby Axl. Not Rose, Axl William Adams Scotsman, the charge of Chloe and his former bandmate Snake. At least Axl was asleep, which meant he couldn’t call Nick “Da” for the moment.
Creepy as fuck. And a little bit cute, but still creepy.
“I’m not pouting.” Yeah, it kind of sucked he was certain Lila was referring to his pouting and not the babies. “Much.”
“Yes, you are, and may I remind you that Axl was a last minute addition? You could’ve told Chloe no.”
“It’s just a couple hours so she can go to a movie. No big deal.” Or it wouldn’t be, if he stopped bitching. “She already pays for a sitter so she can go to work every day. You know she has no family left.”
“I do. I also know you’re sweet on that kid and won’t admit it.”
Nick glanced up, prepared to have to defend himself against claims of Axl adoration when he caught the gleam in Lila’s eyes as she juggled bottle and squirming baby. Toddler now, as evidenced by the fact that when Dylan launched himself off her lap, he shambled like a drunk across the room to seize Spot, the cat.
And the cat’s tail.
Spot hissed and hightailed it under the couch, and Dylan immediately fell on his overall-clad butt and started to laugh.
At least someone was amused by Lila’s cat.
Nick glanced at Axl, who was slurping contentedly on his bottle with his eyes half closed. Dylan tended to run around like a lunatic and other than the occasional glance, Axl seemed to pay him no mind.
Smart kid.
“He’s not a bad baby,” Nick said finally. “As babies go.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Anyway, you were the one who told Chloe we could take care of both of them. You don’t even like Chloe.”
“That’s not true.” But her eyebrows pinched together, meaning hell yes, it was so true.
Not that Nick fully blamed her, considering how Chloe had inadvertently caused some early strife in their relationship, though that fault belonged strictly with Lila’s PI-hiring stepson. Nick had never raised the subject of Michael’s inappropriate interest with Lila, because she would’ve raised a similar line of inquiry about Chloe—who Nick had, in fact, banged one single time way back in the dark ages of high school. It simply wasn’t worth the trouble.
Relationships were all about picking one’s battles. Since Michael didn’t seem to be harboring feelings in Lila’s direction now—or was smart enough to hide it when Nick could kick his ass—there was no point in dredging up old issues.
“Okay, let’s say you do like Chloe, which you do not, but let’s pretend. You still were the nice one who said she could drop off her baby and go watch some chick flick.”
“She’s a young mother. She deserves time to herself now and then. Besides, he’s so cute.” Lila scooped up Axl and dislodged the bottle from between his lips, therefore disrupting the baby harmony. He let out a howl that made Dylan’s eyes go wide as he again toddled to his feet.
“Had to do that, didn’t you?” Nick muttered, grabbing the remote. There was only one thing that would settle down the troops.
He surfed to the kids’ channel and some cartoon show about trains was on. Good enough. Dylan promptly fell back to his butt, in a near catatonic state as he stared unblinkingly at the TV.
On Lila’s lap, Axl continued to fuss.
Nick sighed. “Give him to me.”
Lila lifted a brow. “You think you can soothe this child better than I can?”
“I know it.” He didn’t want to sound smug, but some truths were self-evident. “The boy is a born rock and roller. I have ways of making him calm down you can’t imagine.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh, it’s so.” Nick made a gimme gesture with his hands. “Hand over the kid.”
She rose from the armchair and carted Axl over to Nick, placing him in Nick’s arms as gently as she might lay down a feather. But Axl was already bumping his butt and flailing his hands, because he knew what was coming next.
“Okay, okay, hang on. Gotta get you in position.” Nick picked him up and set him in a semi-sitting up, semi reclining pos
e against the pillow at the other end of the couch. Lila made a noise, already moving forward to guard him so he didn’t take a header off the side of the sofa.
Nick pretended to strum an imaginary guitar. That was all it took.
Axl squealed and pushed at Lila’s hands, his attention riveted as Nick launched into a rocking rendition of “Birthday” by the Beatles, complete with air guitar. Lila just stared.
Even the cartoon-catatonic Dylan inched closer to watch, his big blue eyes growing wider with every passing second. Clearly, he recognized what Nick was doing, since Dylan’s own father toted around a guitar as if it was an additional appendage.
When Nick finished, Dylan clapped his hands and Axl gave a toothless grin and bounced up and down. Nick recognized what he wanted.
More, more, more.
“You’re relentless, kid.” Shaking his head, Nick launched into another song that he’d discovered through trial and error that Axl enjoyed. “Fight for Your Right” by the Beastie Boys made Axl’s eyes wheel in his head and Dylan toddle forward to bang his chubby hands on the edge of the cushions.
When Nick finished, he glanced at Lila. She had her fist pressed to her mouth and appeared to be in physical distress.
“They like it,” he said uncertainly, wondering if he’d violated some essential child-rearing tenet without even knowing it.
No pleasure gained from rock music until at least kindergarten, unless you want the kid to end up in a band with a Mohawk and a joint clamped between his lips by the age of sixteen.
Nick waited until Dylan crawled back over to the rug in front of the TV before he picked up Axl and settled him on his lap. He gave the baby back his bottle then stuck his hand out to his shell-shocked girlfriend. “Come sit with me.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m good here.”
“He’s fine. I didn’t break him. See?” He poked Axl’s belly. The kid spurted out a little milk around the nipple of the bottle but he giggled just the same. “All in one piece.” He brushed an absent kiss over Axl’s cap of downy blond hair. “He’s a milk junkie though.”