Burnt Sugar (ACE Series Book 2)

by Layne Harper

  Mandy Jean nods. “I respect that. Hope to hear from you soon.”

  Pulling my phone out, I have an alert. MK is staying about five minutes from here. I know exactly what I’m going to do.

  “Where are you going?” Grace asks as I climb into the elevator with the reporter.

  As the doors close, I answer, “To finally find some peace.”

  Chapter Twelve

  MK

  September

  MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

  Help! If you could rename my site, what would you call it? #NoPinkCaddyNeedsAFacelift

  Mandy Jean @ReportersRock

  Shaking my head. Need unspoken prayers. So frustrated right now.

  “Southern Style. Taste of the South. Cajun Princess. Southern Spice.” I rattle off the names that Holden’s firm sent me. I purposely don’t mention Burnt Sugar. It’s still growing on me.

  Shannon takes a sip of her wine as she props her feet on the eggplant purple ottoman. “God, those are so bad that I’m suddenly craving a bottle of Southern Comfort.” A look of disgust distorts her appearance, and she shivers.

  I laugh at her very appropriate joke. She’s still movie star perfect, but I’ve changed into grey cotton lounge pants and the over-sized purple LSU t-shirt that I slept in. Vince and I have a date tonight. He wants to take me to dinner at one of his favorite restaurants. He said it’s a bit of payback for the muffaletta. I can’t imagine what type of food it is, but I’m excited to go. Shannon and I are working until it’s time for me to get dressed.

  “Do you think No Pink Caddy is bad? I mean honestly. You’re taking a nice cut from whatever I make. Give it to me real.” I’m propped up on pillows with my legs crossed.

  She’s quiet for a bit while her eyes check out the ceiling. Finally, she says, “I see their point. I didn’t understand what No Pink Caddy meant and had to ask you. It’s a very southern thing.”

  Nodding, I reply, “That’s fair.”

  “But you’ve also been using it for a long time. I can see why you want to call the store that. But it’s not a good name if someone hits the guide button and is looking for something interesting to watch. It says nothing about who you are.”

  Now it’s my turn to be silent as I contemplate what she said. She’s right. No one would choose to watch No Pink Caddy. It doesn’t make sense. I will not compromise on the name for the store, but maybe I can be open to a different name for the show.

  My head falls back against the headboard as I open my mind to let ideas flow. Words like hurricane, cayenne pepper, crawfish, mint julep, and bourbon ping pong around. I flip and try to piece them together.

  Shannon throws out jazz terms playing on New Orleans’s love of that style of music. I counter with some of our famous dishes like jambalaya and etouffee. We both agree that etouffee is a terrible name for a show.

  “This is harder than naming a baby.” I throw my hands up in defeat. Then I toss out the name that Holden and his team liked. “What do you think of Burnt Sugar?”

  Shannon wrinkles her nose.

  “You use burnt sugar to make caramel and pralines. Holden felt it was sort of a metaphor for my life. Like it was supposed to be sugary and very sweet, but it wound up like burnt sugar. Dumped by the college boyfriend, working for his family’s company, batting zero in the love area, but I didn’t give up. I took the sugar that I thought I couldn’t use and turned it into something new and different. That’s my blog and now, after my breakup, the reality show.”

  Her head turns to the side and her mouth twists as if she’s contemplating what I’m saying.

  I continue, “Pralines are darn tasty. There’s nothing wrong with pralines but they aren’t light or fluffy like cake. They’re dense.” I burst out laughing. “And a little nutty.”

  It’s as if the smooth plaster of her face cracks, and I catch a glimpse of the real Shannon. Her smile is gorgeous. “Burnt Sugar is you—hardheaded and crazy.”

  Picking up one of the hotel bed’s throw pillows, I toss it at Shannon as we both giggle.

  A knock on my hotel door disrupts our light-hearted moment. “Coming,” I yell. I tell Shannon, “They shorted me washcloths.”

  Crawling off the bed, I walk to the door, grabbing some wadded-up ones out of my wallet to use for a tip. My hand grips the door knob, turning it to the right.

  In an instant, I’m sure I’ve slipped back in time—ten months exactly. My mind doesn’t have a chance to register who is standing there before I’m pushed up against the wall just inside my room and his mouth slams into mine. His tongue, not asking for permission, swipes over my clenched teeth. He uses one arm to pin my hands over my head as the dollars tumble to the carpet just like my defenses. His knee works to spread my thighs. He’s frenzied and wild and smells of whiskey and sweat. His hair gets trapped between our lips, and his free fingers yank it angrily away.

  Stunned is an understatement. I never thought I would see or hear from Aaron again, let alone find his tongue attempting to persuade my jaw to unclench.

  This feels surreal and unbelievable as if I’m watching this happen to someone else. I’m numb. Did I fall asleep while brainstorming? Is this the equivalent to a wet dream? The warm breath tastes of Aaron. The lips feel like Aaron’s—soft and full. But surely this is not him. He’s ignored me. He’s done things to purposely hurt me. He’s a bastard who turned his back, leaving me in his cold, dark shadow.

  Finally, my brain registers that yes, this is indeed Aaron manhandling my body, and I’m not okay with it. My head jerks to the side, breaking our kiss. “Get off me. What do you think you’re doing?” My voice is high-pitched and cracks as I try to catch my breath.

  His eyes meet mine as he steps back but not far enough that I would call him out of my personal space, and he doesn’t release my hands. “I can’t help myself,” he pants as he drags his fingers through his much longer than when we were together blond hair.

  Wiggling my hands free, I push him further away as my eyes glance to Shannon. I think I may have shocked the woman who’s seen it all. “Everything okay?” She’s got her cell phone in hand as if she’s not sure if she should call the police.

  Aaron turns to the door apparently just now realizing that there’s someone else in the room. His face is flushed.

  “Is everything okay?” Shannon asks again.

  That’s a great question, and I have no idea. “Shannon, why don’t you head home? I’ll meet you at the airport tomorrow. Thanks for all your help today.”

  Aaron remains facing the doorjamb as if he’s put himself in time out.

  She mouths That’s Johnny Knite.

  Nodding, I roll my eyes. I’m not sure why. It feels childish, but right now, I just can’t seem to process anything so I blame it on the Aaron affect.

  She shakes her head as Aaron keeps his back to her as he walks over to the hotel room window, looking out at my view of the parking garage.

  As soon as the door closes I ask, “Are you crazy?” My voice has lost the squeaky effect, and it’s dropped an octave sounding as if I’m a monster in a horror film. “We aren’t even friends, acquaintances. You have a girlfriend, and I have a new life. What’re you doing here?”

  His hands clasp behind his head, and he leans forward pressing his forehead against the glass. Back muscles strain against the thin cotton shirt. In a deep, soft voice, he gulps, “I can’t move on.”

  My blood pressure must hit stroke levels because my face feels as if it’s on fire. My heart is beating loudly in my ears. I want to hit him. I’ve never in my life so badly wanted to throw a punch, breaking his straight, perfect nose. “Lucky for you, I have,” I reply through my clenched jaw with nails imbedded in my palms. “I waited, Aaron. I messaged you. And called you. I gave you chance after chance and made excuse after excuse as to why you walked out of my life and never returned. You told me you were working to fix yourself. You . . .”

  He turns around, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his worn jeans. His chin
almost touches his chest. Blonde strands of hair shield either side of his face. “You abandoned me.”

  Licking my lips, I reply, “I don’t have time for this or you. Get out of my hotel room, and stay out of my life.” My body vibrates with anger. Aaron’s reappearance is the absolute last thing I need right now.

  “You’re shaking.” When he picks his head up, his cheeks are flushed, and he looks as if he’s aged five years since I saw him last. He takes two steps toward me, but my hand flies out in front.

  “Stop.” Tears slide down my cheeks, and I’m furious with myself for crying. I’ve shed enough tears over Aaron Emerson. He doesn’t deserve any more.

  “Sweetheart, I didn’t come here to make you upset.” His forehead forms a V as if he’s completely confused.

  The back of my hand swipes under my eyes. “Well, you have. Go. Get out of my hotel room. Whatever we had is dead and buried. Go pour your heart out in a new album about the new girlfriend and forget I ever existed.”

  He throws his arms up. “But that’s just it, MK. I don’t understand this, but whatever we had or have hasn’t gone away. I don’t want to think about you. I don’t want to almost puke every time I have to sing the songs I wrote about you. I want to move on also, but I can’t. I’m stuck in MK purgatory where you haunt my nights and fill my days. Where there’s no one else but you. It’s like I was able to push you away, and then all of sudden one little reminder, and I’m fucking obsessed.”

  “Ha,” I scoff as I walk over and flop on the seat abandoned by Shannon. My feet rest on the ottoman as my arms cross over my chest. “Does your girlfriend know you feel this way? If I was her, I’d punch you in the balls. You’re pathetic.”

  He rolls his eyes as they cut to the floor.

  “Get out, Aaron.” I sound as drained as I feel. “My life and my heart are closed. The door with your name on it has been nailed shut.” Swallowing hard, I tell the biggest lie ever told. “You were two weeks that ultimately meant nothing. A good fuck, and that’s it.”

  My heart threatens to break again along the fissures that were just beginning to scab over. His shoulders slump, and his head hangs. I feel as if I’ve kicked a poor, pathetic beast turned out into the streets who once knew love and affection and then cruelly had it removed.

  “I don’t believe you,” he says as he toes an imaginary spot on my carpet with the blunted end of his motorcycle boot. As he moves, my necklace slips from the confines of his blue brushed-cotton shirt. The light catches the silver shark tooth, making it glimmer.

  Before I can stop myself, I charge him like a crazed bull seeing red. My feet move without my brain’s permission. My hand clasps around the braided jute cord. He grasps my forearm, preventing me from yanking it from his neck. His other arm wraps around my back as his lips brush over mine. This time his kiss is chaste, sweet, tender. He repeats the word mine while his soft lips dot my jaw.

  My muscles relax as my body accepts what my brain cannot. My heart recognizes its other half. I melt into his torso. He releases my arm and weaves his fingers into my hair. His groan bounces off the hotel walls when I bite his bottom lip.

  “See, sweetheart? I was so much more to you than just a good fuck,” he whispers in my ear.

  His words snap me back to reality. I step away and smooth my rumpled shirt. “This changes nothing, Aaron. Go back to your tour and your girlfriend. But give me back my necklace first.”

  That smile. The one that makes me want to melt. Well, he gives me that smile. “Never.” He kisses the silver charm. “Come to my show tonight.”

  One would have to be blind or deaf to miss the billboards and buzz in the LA air about ACE’s show tonight. Two sold-out nights. I’ve been doing my best to ignore the billboards, signs, commercials, and fanfare about ACE’s comeback tour. In fact, I didn’t even see the sign right outside of Holden’s office window. Nope. Never saw it.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  He smirks. “You live life like a vagabond.”

  “You used Find My Friends?” I’m indignant and have the overwhelming urge to slap that smug look right off his face.

  He shrugs. “You never deleted me.”

  Of course, I didn’t. Never occurred to me to do so. And now I’m just angry at myself. “Stalker.” My arms cross over my chest. “So all this time you knew exactly where I was but just chose to not find me . . . Return a call . . .Text . . .Nothing.” Turning away from his penetrating eyes, I find an interesting spot on the wall. “Get out.” Although I don’t sound like I want him to leave at all.

  His hand brushes my hair over my shoulder as he stands so close behind me that I can feel the magnetic pull between us. Kisses dot the base of my neck. “I’m an asshole, MK.” He works his way to my ear. “Does it make you feel better to hear me say the words?”

  With barely a shake of my head, I reply, “No. It actually doesn’t.”

  The fire in my gut returns. My eyes narrow as I spin around and into his sculpted chest. He doesn’t step back so I do. “You say a lot of words. Sing them also. You left me to deal with the onslaught of media. You left me in limbo. You made me a fool. I’ve spent too long hating you. Now, I nothing you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” His penetrating glare feels as if it’s boring into my soul.

  I open the door inside my chest where I’ve stored all the unhealthy feelings I have towards him and let the words flow. “It means that I realized to hate you as much as I did was because I still harbored some sort of love. I’ve reached the point that you mean nothing to me. I don’t hate you. I don’t love you. I don’t like you. I nothing you.”

  His smirk is cocky, but the crack in his voice lets me know that he has some doubts. “You responded to my kiss, MK. I felt you.”

  “You left me confused and alone. You sent me the album then never responded. You told me you were trying. I had so many reporters in front of my carriage house that the New Orleans police had to come. I’ve been called horrible names, had my reputation slandered, been harassed by your fans, and my privacy violated. And the whole time you could have done something to stop it all, but you didn’t.” Shaking my head, I add, “I wouldn’t treat my worst enemy how you treated the person you were supposed to love.”

  I watch the man that I once thought I knew transform before my eyes. He changes from the mild-mannered, funny guy who was quick with a provocative comment, eating a bowl of cereal, who always seemed a bit unsure of himself when it came to me, and into the big bad wolf. I got a taste of this side of Aaron at the dinner with his band, but he never turned that anger in my direction. He grows to seven feet tall and bends over me as if his arms are tree branches caught in a raging storm. Then he bellows like a wild man, “You. Gave. Up. On. Me.”

  I back down to no one. Standing toe to toe with him, I poke my finger into his breastbone. “You were high and not rational, even schizophrenic. You’d just gotten out of rehab. I wanted you to go back to your house and sleep it off.” My fingertip bends at an odd angle, hurting like crazy from pushing too hard into his chest. The pain feels raw and real, and I cling to it as proof that this isn’t a dream. “I wanted you to call your doctor and seek his advice after telling him you’d used. I thought we were taking a twelve-hour break, maybe even a day. I had no idea when you left that the next time I saw you again, you’d be releasing an album written about me, and then having to see pictures of some girl draped all over you.” I swallow the too much extra spit and fight to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks again. “I thought we’d hit our first pothole, but we’d work through it.”

  He’s still just as fierce. His blue eyes are almost black. “You told me to be the whole and complete man that you deserve. What’d you expect me to do? Hang around so I could continue disappointing you?”

  I see something new in Aaron’s twisted expression, and my stomach does a funny little flip. For the first time, a tiny crack appears in the metal door protecting my soul from him. “I hurt you,” I whisper.
This is a new revelation. In all the time I’ve spent analyzing what went wrong, it never occurred to me that I was the problem. That I was the one who pushed him away.

  He drops to the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands. I walk to him, positioning myself between his spread thighs, wrapping my arms around his back. His left cheek presses against my worn LSU shirt. “I’m sorry,” I tell him as I kiss the top of his head.

  His arms lock around the small of my back, and he embraces me as if he loosens his grip, I might disappear.

  Our moment is ruined by the vibrating of his phone.

  “Answer it.”

  “No,” he replies with a sigh.

  The phone stops buzzing for a moment, but then starts up again.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles as he releases me, and I walk over to my own phone left on the bed-side table.

  “What?” he angrily asks the person who dared to call interrupting our moment.

  I open the Find My Friends app on my phone and go to delete Aaron but pause before confirming. Closing the app, I open my messages. There’s one from Vince letting me know that he’s picking me up from my hotel at seven o’clock. It’s six-thirty, and I still don’t know what I’m wearing.

  Trying to ignore Aaron’s side of the conversation, I walk over to my bag and rummage through the clothes I brought. I can’t help but overhear Aaron growling. “Fine. Then send a car here. I’m sure the over-paid wardrobe girl has another shitty shirt and worn pair of jeans.”

  I extract a white eyelet sundress from my bag.

  He pulls the phone away from his mouth and motions with his pointer finger. “Awesome. Wear that one.” Aaron’s tone is much gentler. Then his phone returns to the side of his face. “Tell the doctor not to leave. I’ll be there shortly.”

  When he hangs up, I ask, “Why are you seeing a doctor?”

  He rolls his eyes at my question. “No panties under the dress.”