by Hero Bowen
“And don’t get it twisted—I’m the one who broke up with him! I was one chart he couldn’t climb, though he tried soooo hard,” she continued, to an explosion of hoots and hollers. “Best thing I ever did for you, wasn’t it, honey?”
Miles shuffled awkwardly, and though he and Nadia had no love for one another, she wished she could’ve hustled him out of there, bodyguard-style, as fast as possible. But Croak was still standing close to Miles, and she couldn’t think of a way to get them out without revealing her presence.
“Pussy got your tongue, Miles?” Monique teased, sauntering across the stage. “Then let me tell y’all the story of Miles Hunter. The untold scoop. After we broke up, he goes on to this stratospheric solo career and becomes Mr. Billboard. I like to think he did it to spite me. Funny thing is, he used to play lead guitar for us. But like John Lennon supposedly once said about Ringo Starr, though I’ll bend it for the occasion, ‘He wasn’t even the best guitarist in the band.’ I let him take lead because we were seeing each other, and his singing—yow, y’all sing better than he ever did! But now he’s a rock god. NME’s words, not mine. So, either he’s a fake, or he sold his soul to the devil way back when.”
The crowd oohed again, putting Miles on the spot. Nadia couldn’t imagine having that much attention on her; even experiencing it secondhand threatened to make her break out in hives.
“Why don’t you play with me, for old times’ sake?” Monique suggested. “Any song of your choosing. I’ll even let you fiddle with my guitar.”
To Nadia’s surprise, Miles walked forward, and the crowd parted to let him through. When he reached the stage, he clambered up and held out his hands for Monique’s guitar. She gave it to him, wearing an amused smile.
“Do you know any of my songs?” he asked into the mic.
She burst out laughing. “You kidding? I turn the radio off when your voice comes on.”
The crowd chuckled, but a lot of them looked at Miles with eager eyes. They’d come here to see a local band who, by the looks of it, had stayed local, and they were getting an internationally renowned celebrity for the price of their entry ticket.
“I don’t need it, honey,” Miles mimicked. “When I sang with you, I was still a boy. It took you breaking up with me to turn me into a man, and that’s where I found my voice and my talent. You should know it’s hard to shine when you’re always standing in someone’s shadow.”
Monique gave him a soft, private smile, her tone suddenly sincere. “Well, the spotlight shines brighter when you’re used to the dark, you know.” Then she bounded back into performer mode, grinning to the crowd. “Let’s see what this big shot has got to show for us!”
Miles put the guitar strap over his head and took a fresh pick from the mic stand. “All right, I’ll choose a different type of crowd pleaser, since this is a one-off.” He strummed a chord and smiled. “Band, play with me if you know it. And you folks, sing along when it feels right! This is for my country music fan.” He looked out into the crowd and met Nadia’s eyes, his lips turning up into a smirk. Her stomach fluttered unexpectedly at the public ribbing, even if the crowd didn’t get it.
He jumped straight into the opening chords of “Friends in Low Places,” prompting Monique to let out a howl of glee. Cheek to cheek with him in front of the mic, they started singing with a fresh, rock-and-roll spin on the Garth Brooks classic. Miles took the melody while Monique boosted it with some flawless harmonies, wagging her arms in a comical interpretation of a line dance as the band caught up.
At the end of the first verse, the two singers gave each other a friendly nudge. By the time it got to the chorus, the crowd had started to sing along, toasting with their cups of beer and whiskey and cheering whenever the lyrics mentioned it. With each repetition, the crowd grew louder and louder, until even Nadia got a little swept up in the moment. Despite the circumstances, a small bubble of happiness swelled in her chest—not quite the same as the wish rush, but pleasant, nonetheless.
A brief reprieve she was only too glad to enjoy after a day from hell.
But she wasn’t the only one feeling the party spirit. Apparently giving up on being able to corner someone as famous as Miles—or perhaps just planning to send him the bill—Croak wandered away from the bathroom hallway to mingle with the same cluster of pretty women who’d been marveling at Miles’s good looks. Nadia took advantage and slipped out of the club.
On the street, she spotted Miles’s black Mercedes parked up against the curb where it was guaranteed to get a ticket. Not that she cared. She ran straight for it and tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Confused, she peered into the front passenger window to find the driver’s seat empty. Jack had clearly wandered off, which meant she’d have to wait until Miles’s impromptu concert was over. By the sound of the deafening cheers that exploded a few minutes later, she figured she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer.
“Hey! Where did you go?” Miles called, running out to meet her with the ovation still in full swing. “I thought you left without me.”
She smiled. “I had to take my chances while Croak was listening to your Garth Brooks impression.”
“Did you like that?” He beamed, his face the picture of elation.
She gave a slight shrug. “I kind of had fun. It looked like you did too.”
“I like more intimate concerts in smaller venues, but they don’t pay the bills, and the managers don’t like it when I come up with ‘wild’ ideas. That might’ve just changed my mind, though.” He tilted his head back and drew in a deep, satisfied breath. “If Prince did it, so can I.”
She side-eyed him. “Yeah, but Prince was an icon.”
“Give me time,” he retorted.
Nadia leaned back against the car. “So, that was the ex, huh? You didn’t know she was still playing here?”
“I’m just glad she’s still playing anywhere. She always had a stellar voice.” He gestured at Nadia. “Enough of that. Did you get the address? I only got up onstage to buy you some extra time. I wouldn’t have risked getting in trouble with Monique, except I knew it would piss off that Croak guy and keep him distracted longer.”
She nodded. “I had it before you wandered onstage. We have to get there at nine twenty tomorrow morning. There was a code on it too, but I don’t know what it means.” She showed him the picture on her phone.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m getting that warm, wishy-wish feeling from it.” He folded his arms across his chest. “See, I told you there was a reason it led me here. We couldn’t have gone to the drop-off point without the password.”
Nadia glanced back at the bar’s doorway, eager to get moving. “The trouble is, Jack isn’t here.”
“I’ll get him. Watch.” Miles tugged on the door handle a few times until the ear-splitting screech of the alarm filled the air.
Nadia gaped at him. “What did you do that for!”
“You’ll see.”
A moment later, Jack came running out of the alley next to the bar, stubbing out a cigarette as he went. He was flushed, his forehead slicked with sweat. Nadia wondered if he’d met a special someone down that hidden passageway and enjoyed more than a rush of nicotine.
Jack swept his hair back as he approached. “Sorry about that. I thought you’d be gone a whole lot longer.” He raced around to the driver’s side and got in, killing the alarm and popping the locks to the back seats.
Nadia’s gaze lingered a few seconds longer on the alleyway, hoping to see the face of the backstreet lover who’d gotten the driver so hot and bothered.
Sly dog. It seemed like Jack had bigger rock star tendencies than Miles did, if he could pick someone up in such a short span of time. Maybe Jack had offered to take them for a ride in his souped-up Mercedes sometime.
Her heart jarred in her chest as her gaze trailed back to the bar’s entrance. Croak had emerged, and he was staring at them. Her head snapped back around, but there was no way he hadn’t seen her. Mutterin
g every expletive under the sun, she tugged on the door handle. If Jack had just stayed put, Croak wouldn’t have seen her with Miles.
“Clover Eyes!” Croak said, walking toward them.
Nadia yanked open the back door and dove inside, with Miles hopping in after her.
“Drive!” she barked.
Jack turned around in his seat, scowling.
“Give him a break,” Miles said, “he—”
Nadia stabbed a finger toward his window. “Croak just saw me!”
At that moment, Croak’s voice vibrated through the windows. “Looks like you’ve chosen a side, Miles Hunter! If you think fame and money can save you, you’ve got another thing coming.” He continued his approach to the car, spurring Miles to take a less subtle approach to getting the hell out of there.
“Shit! Jack, go.”
The engine growled to life, and they rocketed away from the curb, leaving Croak in their dust. Nadia bit back a snarl in Jack’s direction. It wasn’t really his fault, but if he’d stayed at the car, they’d have been gone before Croak saw them. If Valhalla hadn’t told the Wishmaster already, then Croak would—it was now abundantly clear that Miles Hunter and Nadia Kaminski were in cahoots.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Miles muttered as he scratched his temple. He tapped his fingers on the window ledge. “Nothing we can do about it now. He didn’t see you with the buyer, so I reckon we’re still good. If not, I can feel things out and we’ll try a different track, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. Either way, I’m getting my wish back. When someone steals from you, they’ll always try to take more the next time, so you got to show them you don’t mess around—and you take back what’s yours. So long as their guns aren’t bigger than yours, and there aren’t more of them.”
Nadia pursed her lips. “I hate to break it to you, but there are more of them. And most of them have guns.”
“I’m being philosophical here, not literal,” he retorted. “And I wasn’t born yesterday. There’s only one criminal underworld, you know. The only difference between groups is what product they’re moving. They’ll fleece you for all you’ve got if you let them, but I’ll be damned if they’re going to punish me for trying to take back what I earned.”
Jack looked through the rearview at them. “I’m not gonna ask questions about what’s going on, but we running the tires off the Mercedes tomorrow too?”
Miles yawned. “Yeah. Come around about quarter after eight.”
“Will do,” Jack replied. “We goin’ far?”
Miles batted the question away. “Don’t worry about it. Man, what a day it’s been.” He turned to Nadia. “You want Jack to drive you back to your—oh, damn. I’d forgotten about that.”
The red in Nadia’s cheeks rose. “It’s fine. You can just drop me off at a hotel or something.”
“You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” he said. “I’ve got plenty of spare bedrooms.” He offered her an olive-branch smile. “Rock star, remember?”
“I thought you preferred ‘musician’?” she replied, contemplating her options—or lack thereof.
Miles chuckled. “I was trying to be self-deprecating so you’d be comfortable.”
“That’s your idea of self-deprecating?” She shook her head, but in the end, she knew she had no choice. She used to have enough of a social life to avoid a hermit label, but ever since Nick died, she’d drifted further away from all the people she’d once called friends. “Fine. I’ll stay in your swanky penthouse, or wherever you live when you’re in Savannah.”
He nodded to Jack. “Might as well end the day weird, since that seems to be the pattern.”
A thousand quips pinballed through her mind, but only one word tumbled out. “Thanks.”
Miles grinned at her. “You’ve sure been telling me that a lot today.”
For once, she decided to keep her snarky comebacks to herself and gave him a genuine smile of gratitude. He deserved that much, especially considering how he’d swallowed his ego and sung Garth Brooks for her.
Chapter Fifteen
From the outside, Miles’s opulent summer home looked like a lighthouse had mated with an Arabian palace—all stark-white exteriors with arbitrarily placed rounded domes and polished marble.
“My actual house in Malibu is homier,” Miles had insisted self-consciously as they’d pulled up to the imposing beast. Even the driveway had taken a few minutes to drive along. “I wanted a ‘historic’ home in Savannah, like yours, but this one is more private. I gave up style for security.”
After they’d arrived, Miles left her to sit alone in the lounge while he prepared a nightcap for both of them. Nadia perched stiffly on a rigid leather couch, terrified of moving a single cushion out of place. She gazed out the giant windows at the glinting water beyond the spiral-shaped pool, which looked like it might unfurl and dive into the river at any moment. Plenty of women would probably die for the chance to be where she was, but she’d only agreed to have a drink with him in hopes that it would help her sleep. After what had happened with Basha and Grace, she needed something strong to keep her mind from wandering back home.
She observed the jagged sculpture to the far side of the lounge. It appeared to be an angel of some kind, crafted out of knives, which didn’t exactly scream “make yourself at home.” On the opposite wall hung the so-called fingerpainting that Dr. Fitzpatrick’s wife had created, which at least provided a splash of welcoming color.
“Here you go.” Miles plopped down beside her on the couch and handed off a strangely shaped glass filled with a dark, reddish-purple liquid. The vessel reminded her of a tiny teapot, with a serpentine spout curving upward.
She eyed it. “Uh, how do I drink it?”
“With your mouth,” he teased and got a cold glare in return. “You sip it through the glass straw. I got these as a gift, though I don’t remember who from. A fan, probably, who read in an interview that I like port. They know more about me than I know about me.”
Nadia pulled a face. “You washed them first, right?”
“Thoroughly,” he confirmed. “Well, my housekeeper did. At least, I assume she did.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she put her lips to the built-in straw and sipped up some of the heady, sweet port. Once she drank some more, the liquid coated her throat and took away the urge to splutter.
A smile spread across her face. “You know what, that is good.”
“I told you,” he replied proudly. As he sipped his own drink, Nadia suppressed a laugh. From her angle, it looked like he was puffing on an antique pipe.
They drank in silence, and before she knew it, the glass was empty. Her body felt looser, and even the couch seemed a little cozier as she sat back against the cushions she hadn’t dared to touch. She supposed her tolerance must’ve gone down a fair bit; she had tried to avoid booze as much as possible since Nick died, in case it led her down the slippery slope that her grandfather, Basha’s husband, had helter-skeltered down.
The thought of Nick brought wishes to mind, as it always did these days.
“Have you figured out what you want to spend your third wish on yet, if we manage to get it back?” Nadia asked.
Miles looked up from where he’d been staring a hole in the floor. “Actually, yeah. The whole thing with Monique got me thinking.” He lifted his chin confidently. “I’m going to wish for love.”
Nadia groaned. “Wishes can’t make someone fall in love with you. You wish for that, you’ll end up with a bad case of the unrequiteds.”
He leaned back. “Yeah, yeah, I know all that. My mom used to say you can only make yourself more lovable to a person. But by then, you might not even recognize yourself.” He shuddered. “That freaks me out, man, to think of losing myself to another person that way. What I want is to find the perfect girl and live happily ever after, forever and always. All that good, mushy shit.”
“Earth to Miles—you already made a finding wish,” she reminded him. “That’ll serve you b
etter than a love wish. Take it from an old pro who’s seen a lot of wishes and loves, good and bad. A love wish will just cause you tears, and maybe the need to run away from folks who find you a little too adorable.”
Miles sipped the rest of his drink. “Nah, that’s where you’re wrong. The ‘find anything’ wish can help me find a woman who’ll fall in love with me, but it won’t give me the rest.” He grinned. “I thought about wishing for a magic tongue, but I already have that.”
“Bad idea, even as a joke. There are a couple of outcomes to that: verbal diarrhea, a tongue with a mind of its own, or one that lets you deliver some stinging comebacks. The last one sounds all right, but sometimes, saying exactly what you want at the right moment comes with a slap of guilt afterward,” she informed him, watching reflective shards from the sculpture knives flash against the far wall.
Miles laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I chose to think you weren’t heading into arrogant asshole territory,” she retorted, the discomfort sneaking back in.
He lurched back up and waved his hands at her. “Nah, nah, nah, don’t get me wrong here. That was me lightening the mood, since things were getting a little too real.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “What I really want is to have a happy, lifelong marriage with the sexiest, smartest, funniest woman on the planet—in that order.”
“What about kindness, sincerity, generosity? And what if she’s already married, whoever this impossible woman is? You’d be screwed then.”
Nadia tapped the side of her port sipper, contemplating whether he was greedy or just trying to find fulfillment like everyone else. Even with fame and fortune, he still needed more. But she wasn’t sure if love would fix that either. From her counseling sessions, she’d learned that some people, no matter what they did, wound up disappointed.
He shrugged. “True love, whatever that is, is worth fighting for. Anyway, you’re not going to change my mind. This wish I’ve got in mind feels . . . different. It feels right.”