“Hey, do you play cards?” Dylan asked.
She swallowed the last of her sandwich and looked at him in confusion. “Um…what?”
“Cards. Do you play cards? Like poker or solitaire or gin rummy?”
Did she? Paige had to think about it for a minute before saying, “No. I don’t think I’ve ever played those.”
Dylan’s eyes went wide. “Really? What about board games? You into any of them?”
“You mean like Monopoly?”
He nodded. “Sure. Or checkers, Clue, Trivial Pursuit…”
“I’ve played all of those, but not in a long time.”
He paused, took a drink of his iced tea, and then asked, “What about chess? Ever play?”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I used to play it all the time with my grandfather when I was little. He died when I was fourteen. No one else in the family was interested. Once he was gone, I didn’t have anyone to challenge me.”
Was it her imagination or was Dylan trying hard not to smile too?
“What? Why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re suppressing it,” she said laughing softly. “This is a ridiculous conversation, isn’t it?”
“The part about the chess or my smile?” he teased.
That had her laughing again. Dylan could be charming, and he had a way of making her feel…happy and way less serious than she normally was. “Come on. Something is clearly on your mind. So spill it.”
“I was just thinking how you need a little distraction for when things like this happen,” he said simply.
“You mean lunch?”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “No, I mean when you see something going wrong because other people aren’t doing their jobs and you want to jump in and fix things. You need something to do so you won’t give in to the urge.”
“And you think a board game is going to help with that?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Paige laughed even as she shook her head. “You don’t know me very well. This is who I am. I’m a fixer. I have a compulsive need to take care of things. If I see a problem, I fix it—or I try to.” When he tried to comment, she held up a hand to stop him. “Let me put it this way—it’s physically impossible for me to sit back and watch people struggle without stepping in. I can’t.”
Dylan looked at her with a mild expression. “If you’re too scared to try…”
She huffed with annoyance. “I didn’t say I was scared. I said I have work to do that can’t be ignored.”
Dylan took another drink of his tea and then leaned in close. “Let me ask you something—who’s in charge of this photo shoot?”
“I am.”
“Liar,” he said softly but with a grin.
Another huff. “Okay, fine. Ariel is supposed to be here.”
“And where is she?”
The last text Paige had received claimed that her sister was on her way. But that was…two hours ago.
Dammit.
“She got detained,” she said, although why she was defending her sister, she didn’t know.
“Detained or did she know you’d be here to take care of it?” Dylan challenged.
“Hey!” Paige snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t appreciate what you’re implying.”
With his hands held up in surrender, Dylan took a step back. “Sorry. My mistake. I’ll go and sit over there with Stevie and Alan. Let me know when you’re ready for me.” And then he cleaned up his lunch mess and turned to walk away.
“Dylan…wait.”
Looking over his shoulder at her, he waited.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
He smiled. For some reason, she was starting to enjoy seeing him smile. As much as she hated to admit it, Dylan Anders was becoming a friend with whom she enjoyed spending time. Paige no longer looked at their time together as a chore, but rather a perk. Their conversations were always fun and he was quite pleasant to look at.
Not that she went for the scruffy, rock-star type.
At least, she never had until now.
But Paige was far too intelligent to think that someone like Dylan would give her a second look. He was being nice to her because he had to. Or felt like he had to. They had formed a friendship and that was that. During her Google searches, she’d found a plethora of pictures of Dylan with various models and other beautiful and glamorous women. Tall, thin, sexy women. If there was one thing Paige knew about herself, it was how she certainly didn’t fit into that category.
So what if he remembered her favorite sandwich and made sure she had something to eat? He was being nice. Still…no one else around her seemed to care if she hadn’t eaten. And so what if he was concerned about her stressing herself out and tried to find a helpful solution? He was probably bored and looking for something to do to pass the time and figured, as his official assistant/babysitter, she’d be open to entertaining him.
Only…it felt like more. Like he was a genuinely nice guy who put the needs of others before his own. Or was she seeing something that she only wanted to see? True, it had been far too long since she’d been in a relationship or even went out on a date. Maybe she was a little…needy, in the male-companion territory.
And it didn’t help that he was so attractive.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“You okay?” Dylan asked.
Crap! She hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “I just hate that everyone isn’t here yet. I should probably make some calls and see what’s going on.”
“You mean call your sister and let her know that she needs to call the talent?” he asked sweetly.
And if she hadn’t found his smile so darn attractive, she’d want to slap it right off his face.
“No,” she said with a hint of irritation. “We’re on the clock and people need to get here now. I’m not starting a phone tree. Excuse me.”
As she pulled out her phone to start making calls, Dylan gave a small shrug and walked over to where a couple of other musicians who were now part of the campaign were sitting.
Great. He had to have a sexy ass that looked amazing in a pair of faded jeans.
A-ma-zing.
Fairly grab-able.
“Ugh…I really need to stop thinking like this,” she said with a weary sigh and startled when a voice answered on the other end of the phone.
“Margaret, hello! It’s Paige Walters!” She went into her spiel and explained how they were all waiting for her and then had to stifle a groan when Margaret apologized profusely and swore she was on the way.
As did the other three people she called.
Across the room, she spotted Dylan laughing with a group of people. He looked good—comfortable, relaxed. His dark hair was mussed, and Paige made a mental note to talk to the hair and makeup people about leaving it alone.
It looked good on him.
What must it feel like to be that comfortable in your own skin? She knew from some of their conversations that he was just now starting to feel that way. The time in rehab and his new focus on his life turned things around for him, but still. Paige didn’t have any vices—didn’t have a need for therapy—and yet, she still always felt out of place. Okay, maybe not always, but certainly in some social settings.
Feeling inferior had been a lifelong thing. It didn’t help that she had an extremely charismatic older sibling who just seemed perfect at everything. Ariel had an outgoing personality and a sense of ease and grace in all that she did. Paige learned at an early age that she lacked the talent and social skills—and the good looks—to even compete. So she put her focus on academics, exceling in areas her sister hadn’t.
Unfortunately, her sister also had a ta
lent for laying on a good guilt trip.
It started with her asking Paige to cover for her when she’d break curfew or do the chores Ariel forgot about. It was a pattern that had started early, on and clearly it was still going on today. But how was she supposed to break it? Anytime she’d brought it to Ariel’s attention, things got turned around and Paige ended up being the one to apologize!
Yet another of Ariel’s talents.
Ugh.
Who knows? Maybe spending time with Dylan would be beneficial to her and the way she looked at herself. Maybe she could learn something from him, and when this campaign was over, she would believe in herself all the time and not just some of it.
So for now, she would be the friend.
The buddy.
The work babysitter.
And she’d pray that those dimples and that smile stopped making her tummy flutter all the time.
* * *
When Dylan got home later that afternoon, he tried calling Riley, but his call went to voicemail. Feeling slightly unsettled, he called Matt Reed, the guitarist for Shaughnessy and another close friend.
“So…what are you doing, reading poetry and crap?”
Dylan rolled his eyes and let his head rest on the sofa cushions. “No, that’s not what I’m doing. Weren’t you listening at all?”
“I am, I totally am, but I’m still confused. This is a literacy thing, but you’ve yet to do anything that has to do with reading. So, what gives?”
Dylan explained the entire layout of the campaign, how they were in the staging part of it with taking publicity shots and shooting the promos. “Once all that is done, we’ll have events to go to where we’ll be speaking a little and promoting the cause.”
“Events? You mean like book clubs?” Matt asked with a chuckle.
“If you’re gonna be a dick, then I’ll say goodbye now,” Dylan said, feeling irritated.
“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” Matt said and then cleared his throat. “How are you feeling with all this? You’ve been holed up alone for a while. This has got to be a little weird for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, this is the first social thing you’ve done in about six months,” Matt began. “Then—and don’t take this the wrong way—this is something that is so different from your usual thing. We never did publicity stuff like this alone. Well, Riley did some, but for the most part, we did everything as a group. Now you’re out there solo. And for a fairly…normal cause. There is nothing rock-and-roll related about it.”
“Nope.” And really, it had been one of the things that appealed the most to Dylan. There was less of a chance for anyone to get on him about his past this way. True, Stevie Campbell and Alan Day were musicians—but they were more of the soft-rock scene. Nothing hard or partying about either of them. It was nice to talk shop with them earlier, but other than their craft, he had nothing in common with either of them.
“Are you going crazy yet? How much time do you have left?”
“It’ll be three months when it’s all said and done.”
“And it will take care of your community service stuff?”
“Yup.”
“Damn. It seems like a long time. Hopefully you’ll meet some people who make it a little more tolerable.”
“Well…the chick who’s acting as my handler—”
“Oh God. You’re not sleeping with her, are you?”
“What? No! Why would you even ask that?” Dylan croaked.
“Dude, that’s totally your MO,” Matt chuckled. “So what’s the deal? Is she old? Fat? Married? No…wait, that one hasn’t stopped you in the past.”
“Shut up,” Dylan murmured. Everything Matt was saying was true—there had been far too many years when Dylan hooked up with women he shouldn’t have. But he was a different man now and hooking up with Paige—sleeping with Paige—was…
Well, he wasn’t going to allow himself to go there.
It was bad enough that his subconscious seemed to want to go there nightly. There had been several very…explicit and erotic dreams where Paige was the star. And in each and every one of them, he took great pleasure in taking those big glasses from her face—a face that was flush with excitement and her lips were red and glossy and making a perfect O because she was in awe of what they were doing.
Once the glasses were off, he found it was sexy to slowly remove the crazy layers of her wardrobe. Seriously, the woman wore layers of scarves, sweaters, tights, skirts, and large chunky jewelry. In his dreams, it was like opening up a present—taking each one of those items off her was a sensual experience. He almost groaned at the image that was now right in front of him and had to force himself to stop. She was off limits and he wasn’t going to go there with her.
No matter how much he wanted to.
It was hard work to make all these changes in himself, his life, and not sleeping with every available woman was part of it. He needed to show some self-control. And besides, Paige was barely tolerating him. She was heading up this campaign—no matter what anyone else at her agency thought. And sleeping with the boss, so to speak, was definitely not something he wanted to be known for. Especially not after he’d worked so hard to clean up his act.
So he didn’t allow himself to even think of Paige as a woman, let alone an attractive one, when they were together. She wasn’t even his usual type, but it turned out his usual type wasn’t particularly good for him.
Or maybe they were never really his type at all.
Right now, Paige Walters seemed more and more like the perfect woman for him. She was funny and attractive, and he loved hanging out and talking to her. Dylan loved how she wasn’t afraid to eat what she wanted and how she owned up to her own shortcomings and mistakes. She was honest to a fault and took care of everyone around her.
Honestly, she was too good for him and he needed to remember that too.
“Enough about me,” he said, realizing both he and Matt had gone quiet. “What’s going on with you? How’s Vivienne?”
“She’s great,” Matt said, and Dylan could hear the smile in his friend’s voice. “We’re heading to Paris next week to see her parents. It’s a big step for her—this is the first time she’s taking the trip willingly.”
“She doesn’t get along with her parents?”
“She does now. But for years, her trips to France tended to end with her feeling inferior to her brother and then being depressed for weeks. She and her mom finally started having a better relationship, and I’m hopeful this visit will be a good thing for all of them. Plus, you know, Paris. It will be nice to go there and not have to work.”
“I’m sure. I know we’ve been there on tour but for the life of me, I don’t remember it,” Dylan admitted. “How messed up is that?”
“Very,” Matt said and then chuckled. “I’ll send pictures.”
“Thanks,” Dylan replied, laughing too. “So what else is going on? Things any better with your dad?”
Matt sighed loudly. “I’m trying, I really am. But sometimes it’s hard to get past the memories, you know? We’re seeing a family counselor—can you believe it? Me and him go together three times a month, and on the fourth visit, his wife and daughter go with us.”
“Why? I mean, they don’t have anything to do with your issues with your father. Seems like if he needs help with his wife and kid, you could skip that week.”
“I thought so too, but apparently this is to help us learn to come together as a family unit.”
“Is it working?”
“Not yet,” Matt said wearily. “Don’t get me wrong. I like his wife. I adore the kid. But it’s normally when I see him being this great guy with them that I tend to lose it.”
“Sounds about right. What does the therapist say?”
“She says my lashing out is normal, but I need t
o find another way of expressing my emotions.”
Dylan couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow. How very textbook of her.”
“I know, right?”
“So have you? Found another way of expressing your emotions?”
“Vivienne bought me a punching bag,” Matt replied with a laugh. “When I get home from a session, I go right to the home gym and pound on it for a while. It’s not the best solution, but it’s something.”
“Maybe I need to do that.”
“Get a punching bag? Why? Who are you pissed at?”
Dylan laughed again. “I’m not pissed at anyone, but working out might be a good way to fill this downtime. I’m telling you, I would love to get together and jam with someone, anyone, but you’re all the way in North Carolina, Riley’s busy, and… Wait. Has anyone heard from Julian?”
“I talked to him last week,” Matt said. “For the first time in ages, he seemed like his old self. Like he finally saw through all of Dena’s nonsense and he was ready to be done. I think it’s safe to say the wedding is on hold indefinitely and it probably wouldn’t take much to get him to come out and jam someplace.”
“Oh man… I would love that. Would you and Viv be willing to fly out here for a week or something?”
“We’ve got the Paris trip first, but after that, I’m totally open to it. If you get a chance, talk to Riley. And maybe if both of you call Julian, we can get something together for around the middle of the month. What do you think?”
“I’m on it! Once we have a date, I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect!” Matt said happily. “All right, I’ve gotta go. Viv is making my favorite Mexican food for a late dinner, and it’s almost ready. Take care of yourself, Dylan. And behave!”
Dylan said his goodbye with a laugh, and when he hung up, he was still smiling. Talking with his friends—his real friends—did that for him. And just knowing he could look forward to seeing them all in a couple of weeks and playing music with them was enough to lift his spirits.
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