Husband Stay (Husband #2)

by Louise Cusack

  The song I wanted to sing was a flat-out crazy choice. If I wanted to be represented, I should pick something popular that she’d immediately visualize as part of an album.

  But… I didn’t.

  I loved this song because I sang it to my nieces as a lullaby, and really, I wanted to live or die here with something authentic to me. Despite all the money worries and the nerves, it really came down to that.

  So I smiled, just the way I did to those adorable little mischief-makers when I had them all sleepy and tucked up in bed, and then I started. “Amazing grace….”

  Rosie’s eyes opened a little wider and I knew she was thinking tough song but I just kept right on singing.

  A door opened behind her and soon there were a handful of people watching me. She didn’t turn. She just kept nodding like a slow metronome. But her smile, that had started small, was growing.

  I adored the song, and I gave it everything I had, soaring into the highs and working the lows until I tailed down to the final line, feeling more than a little emotional.

  Even before I’d stopped, however, Rosie stood and started clapping. Her staff behind her burst into wild applause with whistling and woohoo delight.

  I was grinning like an idiot when Rosie gestured to my seat and I was happy to resume it with my jacket across my lap. I felt like laughing and crying all at once, and I wished then that I did have a drink so I had something to distract myself with. But I settled on swallowing a few times.

  Rosie waved at the staff and said, “Get out of here so I can sign her.”

  They left with a few catcalls and You better!

  She pretended to be impatient to see them gone, but she was still smiling when she turned back to face me and said, “Impressive. And awesome. My mind is officially blown. No wonder Noah wanted to sing in behind you. You’d make anyone sound good.”

  Then she leant back and folded her hands in her lap, composing her face into a completely unreadable mask. “But that’s praise enough for the moment. You know you’re good.” She nodded, and I nodded back. “Do you write music?”

  “No.”

  “But you like blues. You sang Renee Geyer for Noah, and Amazing Grace can skate right into that genre. Jazz?”

  “I love Jazz—”

  “And it loves you. Your voice has jazz written all over it.” She was really starting to sound enthusiastic. “If you’re going to sing covers, I’d like to look at some classics like Summertime, Unforgettable, Georgia.”

  I wanted to sigh. “That sounds perfect.” I’d grown up listening to my dad’s Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra records. He’d always encouraged me to sing along. It would be magical to create an album of songs he already liked.

  “That’s good,” Rosie said, and made notes on her tablet. “We can refine that into a distinctive area for you.” Then she took a breath and looked up. “So this is where you tell me what you’re looking for in an agent. What sort of career do you want?”

  “A successful one,” I said, and she grinned. “But I want to get married again, and have children this time. Soon. So I’d like to be able to combine a career and mothering.”

  She pressed an icon on her tablet and then handed it over. It displayed a portrait of a man who looked ten years older than her, holding a baby, with two toddlers beside him. “My husband,” she said. “He runs the house.”

  “You have children?” I don’t know why it was a shock. She was probably in her thirties, like me. But I’d never imagined her as a mother. She was too hip. “Do you miss them when you’re away?”

  She nodded. “But Dave is amazing with them. He’s a scriptwriter, so he fits parenting in around his work.”

  “And you’re the breadwinner?”

  It was probably a rude question, but she nodded readily enough. “For now. When the girls are older it might be different.”

  I handed the tablet back. “I’m not sure I’d find a man as accommodating at that.”

  “Well, he wasn’t to start with.” She gave me a wry smile, but it got me wondering about Doug and the fact that he’d probably be a great stay-at-home dad. Maybe I could be the breadwinner and…

  Maybe I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. We hadn’t even had our pretend date yet.

  “So, you want fulltime singing now,” she clarified, “and part time when you’re a mother?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Okay. If you’re happy to sign with me, I can get started on some promotion, leveraging your connection to Noah.”

  I suddenly remembered the videos of us singing together and knew I had to ask. “The comments under the videos of me on YouTube. Have you seen them?”

  She shook her head. “Let me look at them now.” She flicked a few icons on her tablet. Then she was leaning back into her chair, nodding, her face screwed up in what I hoped was distaste. “Fuckers.” She flicked a few more times and then put the tablet back down. “Okay. There are some particularly ugly suggestions in that lot.”

  I couldn’t help raising both eyebrows. I would have called I’d like to fuck you with a jackhammer a little more than ugly. Still, “You’ve probably seen things like that before.”

  She nodded. “Have a look at any amateur Kylie Minogue clip. Or better yet, Christina Aguilera. For some reason she really brings the creeps out of the woodwork.”

  “So it comes with the territory?”

  I wanted her to say no, but instead, she shrugged. “When you become public property, trolls will have a go at you. However, we do have some control. With official video clips we can delete offensive comments.”

  I hadn’t realized that. “Then my friend Jill can just delete those comments off?”

  “Sure.”

  Okay. That made me feel better straight away.

  “Live appearances are different,” she went on briskly. “But I’ve got a solid team on security. They’d have you covered from pick up to delivery home, even if you go partying afterwards—”

  “I don’t… I’m not a party girl. And…I’m not sure about live appearances.” I wanted to say I’m scared of live appearances after what you’ve just said, but I held that in.

  “You don’t like live performance?” She wasn’t frowning, but her expression was carefully blank. “I thought you were already singing at a club in town.”

  “A tiny club.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “I can see those video comments have unnerved you, but we can work around that. Television appearances to start, with video clips and singles straight to sale.”

  “Like an indie singer?”

  I hadn’t realized that was an option.

  Rosie smiled. “Agencies are starting to manage their clients across unconventional platforms. The indie path might work for you. You’ve already got a YouTube audience. If we can capitalize on that quickly, we might be able to build you from the ground up.”

  “So no big public appearances?”

  “Not to start. I would love to get you on a few of the talk shows.”

  I nodded, but I was remembering my mother complaining about my vanity, and I couldn’t help visualizing her watching me on television with an ugly sneer on her face. I suddenly wondered how all these changes would affect our relationship, assuming we still had one.

  Silence stretched on for a few uncomfortable seconds before Rosie said, “I don’t want to jinx myself, because I’m already in bed with this, Angel. But do you need twenty-four hours to think about it?”

  “Yes.” I felt my shoulders relaxing immediately.

  She stood and held out a hand. “Don’t keep me waiting longer than that, okay? I really want us to work together.”

  “Me too. It’s just happening so quickly.”

  “Often does,” she acknowledged, then she led me to the door, but stopped with her hand on the doorknob. “Ring me if you have any questions.”

  I nodded.

  She tilted her head to one side and considered me for a couple of seconds before saying, “Is there a re
ason you haven’t mentioned money?”

  I had a second of wondering how truthful I should be, then I realized I trusted her, so it was probably sensible to just blurt out the embarrassing truth. “I’m not a business woman’s bootlace, I’m afraid. All I know about the industry is what Bernie paid me to sing in his club.”

  “Too little, I’ll bet,” she said, nodding. “And that’s not a problem. I know people who can help you with that side of things. I trust them with my business interests, so they won’t screw you over. You won’t have to worry about that if you sign with me.”

  “I’m leaning that way,” I said, looking her straight in the eye. “I think I can trust you. And Noah Steele trusts you, clearly, or he wouldn’t have recommended you.”

  Her mouth quirked at that, a minimalist smile. “So my father’s reputation has nothing to do with it?”

  I had done a bit of background research, so I knew that Tatts wasn’t her real name. Her father was Marlon Tattersall, the eighties showman who’d brought International acts to Australia and opened up our country as a musician’s touring destination. He was revered in the industry, but she hadn’t taken over his business when he’d retired. She’d set up her own agency, taking Australian talent to the world instead. She was part of an incredible legacy, and to be honest, I felt excited to simply be talking to her.

  But more than that, having met her and liked her, and knowing she was right here in Sydney, I was swayed. Working with her felt a million times easier than having a big US agent doing everything remotely. And if Rosie’s talent list was anything to go by, I’d be in great hands.

  I’d promised myself I’d go with my gut, so really, I should just put her out of her misery. But I couldn’t stop myself thinking there were ramifications I needed to understand. This was my whole future we were talking about. Surely that warranted twenty-four hours of serious contemplation.

  So I shook her hand and walked away, intent on going home and making up a pros and cons list, with a side of deal breakers to discuss. I planned to ring Jill as well, and get her to help me think this through. But as I exited the elevator into the lobby of the building, I suddenly remembered Jack and the forms—not something likely to promote clear-headed thought.

  But I needed the money, so I put on my heavy yellow jacket, tugged it down over my cast, and headed for the taxi rank, wondering which version of Jack I’d be meeting this time!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The waiter put our drinks down as Jack said, “I accidentally left the papers in my room…”

  Accidentally.

  He had a twinkle in his eye that was so annoying it set my teeth on edge. But he was also casually gorgeous lounging back in the booth of the trendy bar that reception staff had directed me to, after he hadn’t been in the lobby as arranged.

  “…so I thought we’d have a drink first.”

  He was wearing a loose white shirt tucked into jeans and I couldn’t stop staring, as if he was a dessert I was looking at after a sugar-free diet of…what? Two days? Had it only been that long since our incredible sexual encounter?

  Fritha had texted me on the way to the hotel, asking me if I’d slept with Jack again, and I was determined to prove to her that I wasn’t some trembling flower mesmerized by the first man to give me an orgasm.

  Although that appeared to be true.

  I straightened my shoulders on my side of the booth and said primly, “I’m on a schedule. I’m afraid I don’t have time—”

  “You’re lying. I can always tell.”

  I took a nervous sip of wine, wondering if he could. Watching someone’s sexual reactions might tell you a lot about them.

  Too much.

  He shifted his whisky on the table between us and I couldn’t help noticing how long his fingers were. In fact, for some reason I became fixated on them—and what they could do. The next thing I knew, my breasts were tingling and, as if he could read my mind, he glanced down and smiled. “Your nipples are up.”

  I spilt my chardonnay in my rush to look down at the top of my yellow chiffon dress, and damn him, he was right. I should have left my jacket on, but it had been so hot in the taxi, and then I’d been flustered when I couldn’t find him in the lobby. I put the drink down and shook my fingers off. “It’s cold in here,” I lied.

  “Right. You want me to lick those fingers?”

  I stopped fussing and stared across at him, feeling the throb of arousal start low in my body. It wasn’t cold at all. In fact, if it was any hotter my cheeks would ignite.

  “Thank you, no,” I managed to say. The dimly lit bar was not well patronized, so for a second it felt like we were alone in a world of plush brown leather, unobtrusive jazz and the erotic scent of liqueurs drifting over from the bar. Unfortunately, that made me think about sex on the table.

  Something must have shown in my eyes because he said, “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll think you’re lying again, Angel Baby.”

  I swallowed thickly and said, “Pardon?” He’d made it worse by calling me Angel Baby. No one had ever called me Baby, and as far as endearments went, that one seemed unutterably sexy, particularly when it rolled off his delicious tongue in that familiar western drawl.

  But before I could regroup, he leant closer and said, “You’re looking at me as if licking is very much on your mind. Am I right?”

  Lie, Angela. Flat-out lie.

  I seemed to have lost my verbal skills, so I shook my head.

  He just grinned, as if I’d confirmed something that amused him. “Fight it all you like,” he said, leaning back on the lounge and draping an arm along its back. “Your eyes tell me what you’re really thinking.” He took another sip of his neat whisky and licked his lips. Deliberately, I was sure.

  I forced myself to glance away, focusing on my drink which I determined to finish quickly so we could move on to the paperwork. Because otherwise I might do something incredibly stupid, like say what was on my mind. Yes, Jack, you’re right. All I’ve been thinking about since I saw you is the smell of your body, the taste of your lips and the mind-blowing orgasms you gave me with your clever fingers and your wicked tongue.

  Even in my dreams he was smiling that cocky smile, telling me he knew more about my body than I did, and making me come again and again. And when my mind drifted, I’d remember how it had felt when he’d lain above me, his fingers thrust into my hair, gripping my scalp as he kissed me and plunged into me again and again.

  I wasn’t sure why I would fantasize about his orgasm rather than mine, but I could tell it was dangerous, because in that moment of his vulnerability, I’d felt tenderly toward him, and replaying that over and over in my mind had reinforced the idea that underneath his sexual bravado was a genuine human being. But was that true?

  For all I knew, he was a man-whore who didn’t have the emotional capacity for a serious relationship. I knew some women found that idea sexy, but I had enough self-respect to not want to be a notch on some stud’s bedpost.

  Of course, I could be completely wrong about that. He might have had a long-term girlfriend who’d taught him his way around a woman’s body. They might have recently broken up.

  Or he might still be in a relationship.

  I felt my pulse slow as I considered that option. It was sick-making, but I hadn’t asked if he was single. I’d just commented on him being experienced and he’d said, We’re not going there. For all I knew, he could be married, as Danny had been when he’d been sleeping around.

  It was a shocking thought, and I couldn’t help saying, “Are you…married?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean, married like you are? Waiting for your twelve months to be up so you can get a divorce?”

  “No.” I blushed to the roots of my hair, hoping Sister Carmel never heard about this. I considered myself single. I hadn’t seen Danny in six months and there was no way I was reconciling with him. So in my mind it was okay to have sex, despite Jack’s teasing. “Separated is almost single. I’m
asking you if you have a wife at home?”

  He shook his head, and I felt my breath ease out as my shoulders relaxed. I’d really got myself wound up about that. But he was looking at me thoughtfully now, his beautiful brown eyes narrowed.

  “The only reason you’d ask me that is because you’re thinking of having sex with me again.”

  “No.” I was such a compulsive liar around him. How had that happened? “I just…was worried about we’ve already done.” I could feel myself blushing as his eyes narrowed further. “If you were married, that would mean I’d—”

  “No.” There was no sign of humor in him now. “You wouldn’t be in the wrong. You would have been innocent, like the women your husband tricked into having sex with him.”

  Abruptly the heat left my cheeks. “My marriage is none of your business.”

  He shrugged. “Then how is my marital status your business?”

  I stared at him for several seconds, convinced that his argument was wrong, but not able to sort through the logic of how. When I was around him, it was so hard to concentrate. I settled on saying, “We’re both single. That’s the main thing.”

  He leant back in the booth again and tilted his head, watching me closely. “Is it? The main thing?”

  I shook my head. Was it a trick question? “What else—”

  “Because, for a while there, it looked like you were falling for me.”

  “Falling…?” I managed to say, blinking at him in astonishment.

  “I was surprised, I have to admit,” he went on blithely, “Because we hardly know each other, but…” He shrugged. “The way you were looking at me after those orgasms. It wasn’t just sex.”

  I was actually too shocked to be outraged, so it was probably safer to stick with facts. “You’re right. It wasn’t just sex. It was sex with orgasms. That was new to me.”

  “So you’re not in love with me.”

  I wanted to laugh out loud, but I was still too stunned by his assumptions. “No. I’m quite sure I’m not in love with you.”

  “Then it is just sex?”

  “It was,” I corrected.

  “So…not leading anywhere.” He leant across the table and placed a large, warm hand over mine, turning it over so his fingers could stroke my inner wrist. “Nothing of the heart. Just hot…throbbing…satisfying…toe-curling sex. No strings attached.”