by B. B. Miller
I sit straighter and return his penetrating gaze. “Yes, I believe he will follow through, regardless.”
Silence reigns for a beat, and then his eyes crinkle in wry amusement. “Oh, Abby,” he says with a chuckle. “You’ve been really worried about this, haven’t you?”
“Well . . .” I trail off, surprised by his response. “I realize how it might look, and I don’t want you to think—”
“I think that you’re one of the hardest working people I know. What’s Your Dream has flourished under your direction, and the entire board recognizes that.” He smiles kindly. “People form attachments through their work all the time. It’s been what? Two years since you’ve taken a real vacation? Go and have fun. I’m sure Nadia and April can muddle through without you for a week or so.”
My smile falls at the mention of Nadia. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to make sure you were aware of my situation. One member of my senior staff has expressed concern about the appropriateness of my date—I mean, being friendly with—a client we’re negotiating with for a dream.”
He looks surprised for a moment, and then frowns. “I see.” After a beat, he shrugs and looks at me directly. “You’ll keep work and play separate?”
“I can’t guarantee that everyone will see it that way,” I say, tapping my finger on the table. “But yes. I promise.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Leaning forward, he gives me a sly smile. “You’re really dating Kennedy Lane?”
I feel my face light up like a stop sign. “Well, no, not really, I mean, I wouldn’t say dating. I just . . . um, we’re friends.” My stammering dies out as his chuckles fill the room. Oh, God, shoot me now.
“Friends, huh?” He leans back in his chair, his amusement written on his face, and I finally feel my shoulders relax. “Well, whatever it is, I hope it works out for you. Just . . .” He pauses, searching for the words. “Getting your picture taken leaving a nightclub at midnight is one thing. Just don’t end up splashed across the Internet naked in front of Buckingham Palace with a goat or something. Okay?”
A snort escapes me, and I clap a hand over my mouth as he laughs again, making his moustache quiver. My relief is almost tangible, and I give him a wry smirk. “Well, that certainly gives me some room to maneuver.”
“So what’s this big news you have for me? You aren’t switching to Make-A-Wish, are you?” Maddie raises her wineglass to her lips. We’re sitting at the bar in one of our favorite restaurants near Fisherman’s Wharf in jeans and T-shirts. At least I’d grabbed a stretchy, flowing cardigan on my way out the door, so I didn’t look too sloppy. Maddie had shown up at my apartment for wine Wednesday, only to say she was taking me out for some much-needed girl time. She couldn’t have been more right.
“No, nothing like that.” I take a sip from my own glass, stalling. My confidence has surged since my meeting with Ralph. Knowing I have him in my corner has laid my last worries to rest. But I have no idea how Maddie will react.
“Moving to Maui?”
“Of course not.”
“Dying your hair blue?”
“Not this week.”
“Won the lottery?”
“No!”
“Well, spit it out, then!”
The words tumble out. “I’m going to London to meet Kennedy Lane.”
An instant later, I’m thumping her back with a fist as she coughs and snorts a mouthful of merlot. “What the fuck?” she squeaks, after finally catching her breath. “Are you shitting me? What happened?”
In a low voice, I give her a quick synopsis of everything that happened with Kennedy yesterday, from our meeting, to the trip to Chinatown, and what happened afterward. I gloss over the more intimate details, but can feel my blush almost become a living thing, as her eyes get wider and wider.
I gape at her in surprise when her shocked expression gives way to a triumphant laugh. “I knew it! I knew there was more between you than you claimed!” she crows, throwing in a fist pump for good measure.
“Maddie—no, there wasn’t!” I hurriedly correct. “There wasn’t, until yesterday. It’s been strictly business.” But she merely chuckles and looks at me fondly.
“Oh, please. The man has been wooing you for weeks.” She rolls her eyes at my dumbfounded expression. “What do you think all those texts, videos, and songs were about? And the night in New York? He may have an army of groupies fighting to be with him, but do you honestly think he spends that kind of time and attention on them?”
My mind quickly flits over all of his messages, his playful banter, and those songs . . . snippets of the most beautiful, soulful, and poignant songs . . .
“And you!” she barrels on. “Your eyes light up like it’s Christmas every time you talk about him.”
I gape at her. “They do not! You’re exaggerating.” She rolls her eyes and waves over the bartender. After ordering something I can’t hear over the laughter of the man behind me, she looks back at me with a satisfied smirk.
“Deny it all you want, sweetie, but you know I’m right.”
I huff in frustration. April said almost the same thing this morning. Which, after yesterday, makes sense, I guess. But not before! We were just networking, and he was trying to convince me to . . . to . . .
Oh, for the love of . . .
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling like a Class A idiot. How could I be so dense? Okay, so I finally realized yesterday that he wasn’t thinking of me like his sister. But did that really mean that he’d felt more than that the entire time? Certainly not the first time we met—that was awful. When did it change?
I’m a strong, independent woman with above average intelligence, and I pride myself on my ability to see to the heart of an issue and perceive the intentions of those around me. It’s an invaluable skill that’s never failed me, except that once with Lucas. And again now, apparently—doubly so, in fact, because I didn’t see my attraction for him turning into something else, either.
Closing my eyes, I easily recall the intoxicating feel of him wrapped around me in my bed, the air smelling of his delicious spicy scent and sex. With a shiver, I groan in frustration.
“Okay, I like him. Happy?”
She snickers. “Fine. I’ll take ‘like’ for now. It’s enough to win me that bottle of wine from Terri.”
“You made a bet with my mother?” I shriek in indignation, before wincing and shooting a look around. Fortunately, no one seems interested in my outburst. “Did you tell her who he was?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course not. You needed to figure out how you felt first. We simply had a feeling that there was more going on than you wanted to admit or were aware of, that’s all. She thought it was going to take you months yet.”
Awesome. “Her faith in me is touching,” I comment dryly.
“Oh, suck it up, Walker. She just knows you—better than you know yourself, sometimes.” The bartender reappears, setting a small tray of shots before us. I eye them suspiciously, to which she huffs an exasperated sigh.
“Come on. I thought we needed something more substantial than wine to celebrate your epiphany.” Without preamble, she grabs a glass and downs it with only a slight flinch. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow night. I’m taking the day off to do laundry and pack.” The thought lifts my spirits, and I mimic her, although I can’t repress my violent shudder as the fiery cinnamon liquid slides down my throat. “Good God, what the hell is that?” I cough and fan my flaming mouth.
“Fireball,” she says, unconcerned. “Don’t worry—you said you have tomorrow off. You’ll recover before you have to deal with packing, I promise. Speaking of old baggage, what did Nadia say when you told her?”
Scowling, I take another shot—I need it to deal with the thought of Nadia. “I didn’t have a chance. She called in sick today,” I growl, smacking the empty shot glass on the table. I didn’t want to leave that situation unresolved, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
“Oh, I won’t. I’m hoping she’s licking her wounds and remembering what her job is really about. If she hasn’t pulled her head out of her ass by the time she gets back to work, she’ll discover I’ve put a little kink in her game.” I describe my meeting with Ralph, and the sense of relief I felt earlier returns.
Maddie laughs at Ralph’s final words of advice. “That’s brilliant! What else did he say?”
“He made me promise to bring him some mustard from Fortnum and Mason.”
“Well, if a personal condiment delivery is his biggest concern, I’d say you’re off scot-free. Cheers!” We clink glasses and slurp another shot. I notice vaguely that it’s not burning as much now as it goes down. In fact, it’s rather tasty.
“So, what does Mr. Rock Star have planned for you in London?” She wiggles her eyebrows, making me laugh.
“I have no idea.” A sudden panic hits me, and I clasp her hand tightly on the table. “God, Maddie, am I doing the right thing? Tell me this isn’t going to be the biggest mistake of my life.”
She tuts softly and covers our joined hands with her other hand. “Of course you’re doing the right thing. You like him, yes? I mean, really like him.”
“Yes. More than anyone in a long time,” I say softly, her reassuring smile lessening my anxiety.
“Then don’t worry. You’re the hardest working person I know. You deserve a little fun,” she urges, giving our hands a little squeeze. “Trust yourself, and do your best to trust him, too. You’ve said he’s working on his problems, right? Give the guy a break. And give yourself one while you’re at it.”
Looking into her sparkling blue eyes, I feel the weight on my shoulders lift. She’s right. Kennedy and I both deserve a break.
“Thanks, Maddie.” I wrap my arms around her in thanks.
“So . . .” She smiles devilishly at me—always a bad sign. “Do photos lie? Is he as gifted as he seems?” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I gasp, my face instantly heating. “Come on,” she pleads. “Tell me! Does he live up to the image?”
“Maddie!” I look around to make sure no one is hearing us. Then, with Fireball-assisted courage, I fix her with my own smirk and deliberately cock an eyebrow.
“I knew it!” She lifts our last two shots and hands me one.
“To fuck-hot rock stars and firemen!” she offers, and we knock back the last of the lethal brew.
I hate Fireball with the heat of a thousand suns. As Maddie promised, I have recovered enough to board my plane, although it took me most of the morning to bring my killer headache into submission. What possessed me to think shots were a good idea? Oh, wait—it was my realization that I’d been a complete idiot. That I’ve fallen in deep like with someone and had absolutely no clue. Brilliant.
The flight attendant gives me a perky smile, and I plop down into my business class pod. Thank God for air-mile upgrades. I’ll be able to sleep most of the flight. In due course, I feel the surge from the engines that make me sink back into my seat, and then the sudden shift in vibration as we leave the earth and steadily begin to climb.
Watching the clouds rushing past my window, my thoughts automatically turn to the complex man awaiting me. There will be no alcohol for me this trip. If he’s not drinking, I won’t either. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for either of us. I certainly won’t miss it; more importantly, I don’t want to waste any time dealing with even a mild whiskey headache. My heart races as I think again about what I’m doing. I’ve never taken a leap of faith like this. Kennedy’s shy smile and the light in his eyes when I told him I’d meet him tells me that maybe, just maybe, I should’ve leapt sooner.
After the inflight meal and doing a little work on my laptop, I recline my seat and snuggle under the lightweight duvet. Seriously, whoever invented these sleeping pods deserves a medal. Popping in my earbuds, I replay the new song snippet he sent me this morning. Well, last night, really, but I wasn’t in any shape to notice then. It’s beautiful, seeming to fit his deep voice perfectly.
Come on, baby all we got is time
But how long you gonna wait ‘till I can call you mine
How long until he can call me his? A thrill runs through me as I tuck my phone away, his soulful voice echoing in my mind. Something tells me it might not be too long.
It takes forever to get through passport control. By the time I exit, I realize I’ll barely have time to get to the hotel to shower before I meet him at the arena. I slept most of my flight, so I’m feeling pretty alert. Searching for my name in the sea of signs, I finally locate my escort. He’s tall with a blond buzz-cut and is built similarly to Kennedy’s bodyguard, Tucker.
“Miss Walker?” he asks politely when I stop in front of him. “My name is Colin. I’m sorry, but due to the delays in passport control, I will need to take you directly to the arena after we’ve fetched your bags.”
“Oh, all right,” I concede. Dismally, I look down at my hoodie and tennis shoes. “Can I make a quick stop in the restroom after I pick up my bag?”
“Certainly.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m brushing out my hair and pulling it up into a loose bun. I’ve freshened up as much as I’m able to in an airport bathroom, and changed into black skinny jeans tucked into my favorite tall boots, a white V-neck T-shirt, and a black blazer. Quickly looping a long, silk red scarf loosely around my neck, I’m as ready as I can be.
I’ve never been to the O2 before, and my nerves are at an all-time high. The entire band will be there. What will they think of me? Do any of them have girlfriends, or will I be the only non-groupie there? I toy with the ends of my scarf anxiously. I have no idea what to expect, and I’m chastising myself for not quizzing Kennedy earlier. Since when have I been this unprepared?
The lights in town are already coming on as the daylight fades. I eagerly watch the familiar sights fly by my rain-streaked window. Colin isn’t wasting any time. He doesn’t talk much, and the silence is feeding my nervous energy. Soon the huge round building looms before us, and I smile to see the band’s name up in lights. The place is a massive hive of activity. Minutes later, Colin and I are at the artist’s entrance, and I’m being escorted deep into the bowels of the arena. Finally, we reach a door at the end of a series of hallways. There’s a guard standing outside, and I nervously finger the VIP credentials hanging around my neck that Colin provided.
“Mr. Lane is waiting, Miss Walker,” Colin announces and my heart rate skyrockets. I square my shoulders and nod to him.
Time to face the music.
Kennedy
BACKSTAGE AT THE O2 has been a whirlwind of chaos. At the meet-and-greet, we see everything from diehard, devoted fans who have us signing everything in sight, to the typical groupies wearing next to nothing who not so subtly slip their phone numbers into the back pocket of my jeans.
We can feel the electricity of the crowd as the arena fills, while the best crew in the business rushes around with last minute equipment adjustments. To put on a show like ours, takes an army of people, and that’s not counting Tucker’s amped up security detail.
Brodie has kept busy for the majority of the day, orchestrating the entire setup including the addition of the baby grand piano I threw at him a couple of days ago. We typically don’t incorporate one, but we decided on a few acoustic versions of some of our biggest hits. People don’t expect me to play the piano, and it’s going to cause a stir, shake things up by taking things down a notch.
“Any word on Abby?” I ask Tucker as he leads me to the dressing room, stopping in front of the door.
“I think I’ll keep you in suspense. I like seeing you sweat.”
“Did I mention you’re an asshole?”
“Several times today. But you love me, sunshine.” He pauses, setting his hand on the door handle. “You’ve got twenty minutes. Use them wisely.” With a smirk, he pushes the door open and ushers me inside,
closing it quickly, to take his place outside.
Furrowing my brow at his weird behavior, I turn to scan the dressing room, and when I spot her, it feels like the breath has been knocked out of me. Just the sight of her reflection in the mirror across the room, wide-eyed and obviously nervous, does things to me I can’t understand.
My heart hammers, every inch of my skin buzzing with intensity, the energy pulsing raw and electric between us. It feels like months since I’ve seen her, touched her, heard her voice, and now she’s here, all mine in my dressing room.
Her plump lips part slightly as we stare at each other in the mirror, and I take an appreciative sweep of her outfit. I can’t help the smirk when I see the boots, my gaze traveling over her tempting curves poured into black jeans, her hair piled up under one of my tattered cowboy hats. She’s been in here a while if she’s managed to rummage through my wardrobe, and I could kill Tucker for keeping me from her. Not wanting to waste a minute, I close the distance between us, striding across the room to her.
She takes a deep breath and starts to turn, but I stop her. “Don’t you dare turn around. I want you to watch.” My gaze lingers on the swell of her breasts, rising and falling quickly under her simple white shirt. “I’ve been thinking about you all fucking day.” I brush my fingers along the exposed nape of her neck, her gaze dark and hooded, locked to mine in the mirror. She’s so soft, so fucking perfect.
“Yeah?” It’s a breathless whisper from her lips as she shudders at my touch.
“Mhmm. I want you naked and aching for me.” I slide my palm along the column of her neck, watching her eyes widen as I bend to press my lips against the sliver of exposed skin at her shoulder.
“Right now?” She swallows loudly before wetting her lips.
“Right fucking now,” I mumble against her skin. It’s a full-on assault to my senses, breathing her in like she’s the air I need, my eyes sliding shut to savor her. I feel her tight body tense against me, and I open my eyes to find hers trained on the door. “No one’s coming in.”