Mistake’s Melody: Unquiet Mind Book Four

by Malcom, Anne

  She’d always hated me, because I got away with everything she didn’t and she didn’t have enough talent or charisma—her fake tits didn’t count as charisma—to get her any further than answering phones and trying to flirt with the rich single clients trying to find herself a sugar daddy.

  “Mr. Marshall asked me to cancel the flight two hours ago,” she said, still grinning. I wanted to smash her too fucking white veneers. “I assumed you knew.”

  “You know what they say about ass-uming,” I bit out. “Only assholes do it.” And then I strode past her into Mr. Marshall’s office.

  “He’s on a call—” Addy tried to validate her stupid fucking role, but I was well past her.

  Mr. Marshall saw me come striding in, obviously clocked the look on my face because he muttered a quick goodbye on the phone.

  “Who’s suing me this time?” I demanded.

  “No one’s suing you,” he responded, frowning. “That we know of.”

  “Well that’s the only reason my flights have gotten canceled without my knowledge in the past,” I said. “So if I’m not due in court there better be a pretty fucking good reason why bee-sting lips over there canceled my flight,” I bit out. “I’ve been tracking this painting around the world and I’ve finally been invited to the owner’s compound to discuss purchase. This is a now or never kind of thing. I’m losing the gallery over five million in commission if you don’t book me right back on the next flight.”

  “I know all this,” Mr. Marshall said. “Which is why you still work here despite talking to me like that.”

  I rolled my eyes in response.

  “I canceled your flight because I got a call from your doctor saying it was dangerous for you to fly,” he continued. “Despite the fact you curse at me, at clients, come in late, when you do come in and refuse to adhere to the dress code or pitch in for office birthday gifts—I care about your wellbeing. And I know that you don’t, and you wouldn’t have canceled it.” He leaned back in his chair. “So I did.”

  “My doctor?” I repeated.

  He nodded. “Mr. Wyatt...something.” He narrowed his eyes at me, more with his hardened version of concern than anything else. Trevor Marshall was notoriously hard to work for, fifty percent of his new hires didn’t last a year. He usually fired the other forty-nine at some point. But he also had the best contacts in the country and paid his employees well if they met his high standards.

  I did that. I was his longest standing employee since he’d poached me from my first job in Chicago. No one would ever describe him as warm or caring, especially not his three ex-wives, but he was fair and a good man. He didn’t protect feelings or hearts and I liked that about him.

  He was also somewhat of a strange, father figure to me and I knew he cared about my wellbeing as much as someone like him could care about another person.

  “He wouldn’t let me in on your condition, and I won’t ask, because I know you won’t tell more, nor will you look after yourself. And despite what you think, I care more about your wellbeing that one commission,” he said. “As long as it’s only one commission,” he added.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I hissed. “I’m not costing you even one commission and you’ll get your secretary Barbie to stop trolling Tinder and book me another flight while I take care of my doctor.”

  “Do I need to hire you another lawyer?” he asked conversationally.

  “Oh no, I’ll hire my own if it comes to that, which it just fucking might.”

  Then I stomped out of the office in search of the father of my child.

  * * *

  “You asshole!” I yelled, storming into the recording studio, striding toward Wyatt, my blood boiling.

  Sam grinned, leaning back from his drum kit, looking like he was settling in for a show. “Ah, I do not miss that happening to me when I was single.”

  I ignored this because I was focusing on the dick with the bass.

  “You spoke to your boss, I see,” Wyatt said, putting down the bass and running his fingers through his hair.

  “Yes, I spoke to my boss. That’s appropriate,” I hissed, not stopping until my heeled toes lined up with his Chucks. “You speaking to him, pretending to be a doctor is not fucking appropriate. It’s illegal. I can have you arrested.”

  “It’s not illegal to impersonate a doctor,” Sam cut in helpfully. “Just frowned upon. I’ve checked it with lawyers and everything.”

  “Fine, I’ll plant two kilos of coke in your mansion,” I snapped. “Because I’ll have time on my hands considering I missed my first flight to Turkey, and someone bought up all the empty fucking seats so I couldn’t rebook.” Addy had informed me of this gleefully on the way over. “I wonder who has enough money and enough of an asshole bone to do such a thing.”

  “Let’s give them some space,” Noah said, standing from his keyboard.

  “Fuck that,” Sam protested. “This is better than Pay-Per-View.”

  “Sam,” Lexie said, all but dragging him upward.

  He pouted. “I never get to have any fun anymore.”

  “I’ll take you car shopping,” Lexie said, winking at me.

  “Only if you don’t tell Gina,” Sam said. “She’s got this thing about me buying more cars.”

  Lexie’s giggles were lost as the door closed.

  I glared at Wyatt. “You want to explain yourself before or after I break your nose?” I asked.

  “Knew that groveling, flowers or chocolate wouldn’t work with you, so I had to make you mad, then you’d talk to me,” he said lazily, seeming not at all worried about his nose, which I hadn’t ruled out punching.

  I gaped at him. “I’m not talking to you, I’m yelling at you!”

  He shrugged. “And when you stop, I can talk to you.”

  “You’ve done enough talking,” I hissed. “A picture may be worth a thousand words, but a check to buy off me and my unborn child is worth exactly a million.”

  He flinched. “Emma, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s too late to say what you did and didn’t mean,” I interrupted. “We’re not gonna change the past.”

  “How about the future?” he asked.

  I ignored the way my stomach flipped. “What about the future?”

  “I want one, with you, the baby.”

  My heart skipped and I hated that it did. I hated that I had held onto the hope of him saying exactly that, even after he’d shown me differently with his absence, then his presence, more specifically the presence of the check I’d thrown at him. “You have a future with the baby,” I said finally. “I’m not going to be the woman who keeps you from your kid. But I’m also not gonna be the mother that lets a transient father figure breeze in and out of a baby’s life. If you want a future, it’s permanent. And if you can’t commit to that, then I suggest you walk away right now. You’ve got the practice.”

  I didn’t need to say the last part. It was cruel and petty. But I felt cruel and petty.

  His jaw was hard. “I’m not walking away.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  He waited for me to say more.

  I didn’t.

  “What does this mean?” he demanded finally, obviously uncomfortable with the silence, the situation in general. It was strange seeing Wyatt like that. He was always so confident, so self-assured. I derived a pathetic sense of triumph from it.

  “You’re the rock star, you tell me.”

  “Stop.” The word was a plead rather than a command.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop treating me like that, like everyone else does. Like a rock star. You’ve always treated me like Wyatt.”

  It hurt. The pain in his voice. But I had my own pain. “I did. Until you stopped being Wyatt and started being exactly what everyone expected from you. And exactly what you aren’t.” And then I turned on my heel and walked away.

  * * *

  I hadn’t heard from Wyatt since the day in the recording studio. I’d hear
d from Lexie. Asking if I was okay. Sam, telling me I was welcome to come in and yell at Wyatt whenever I liked, and that he’d give me his new Ferrari if I punched him next time.

  And Noah, asking if I wanted to come around for old movies before I went to Turkey. I’d had to reschedule all of my plans, which mean I almost lost the meeting with the contact that would get me in touch with the illusive man who was in possession of one of the rarest pieces of art in the world.

  The almost part was why I didn’t have more of a violent reaction to Wyatt’s meddling.

  I’d managed to reschedule, but had a couple days before the appointment so I had a couple of days to consider Wyatt’s reasoning for meddling in my life, to ignore his calls and to ignore the reaction I had to him fucking with my business in order to make me mad enough to find him and yell at him. He knew me well enough that he knew that was the only way to get me to come to him. To talk to him.

  I hated that.

  I loved that.

  I was conflicted as fuck about that and couldn’t be trusted with my solitude.

  Which was where I was, sharing popcorn with Noah on his sofa, watching Roman Holiday.

  “You’re pregnant, not recovering from starvation, you can share the popcorn with me,” Noah said dryly as I shoved it in my mouth with alarming speed.

  “You’re also rich, you can buy more,” I said after swallowing.

  He grinned. “Touché.”

  A Noah grin was rare and oh so beautiful. He rarely smiled because he had that deep, soulful, moody thing going on. It drove the girls wild. For good reason. He had the angular bone structure of a model, dark hair and a muscled physique that would’ve had me wanting to lick it had he not been Wyatt’s best friend, and also gay.

  Who was I kidding? I still wanted to lick it.

  “You handling things okay?” he asked, eyes on the movie. “I know you’re Emma so your kneejerk response is gonna be you’re handling things fine, that you’ve had worse, survived worse and don’t need help from anyone.” He glanced to me. “But it’s just me now, and I’m not gonna judge you for saying that you’re not dealing that well. You shouldn’t be dealing that well. This is fucked.”

  “Life is fucked, Noe,” I said in response. “In a weird way, all this almost makes sense for me. I was never going to have the traditional family, happy ending. So of course I’ll get pregnant after a one-night stand with Wyatt, one he doesn’t remember, and then have him swing from wanting nothing to do with me or the baby to suddenly think he’s entitled to do things like give me million dollar checks and cancel my flights.”

  Noah blinked. I hadn’t told anyone about Wyatt trying to buy me off, the band was only just thawing toward him, I didn’t want to be the reason the deep freeze started all over again.

  “He gave you a check?” Noah seethed.

  I nodded once, the burn from that still fresh.

  “Jesus, he’s so emotionally crippled he makes me look well adjusted,” he muttered. “He wants you, this baby.” He nodded to my stomach. “He had eighteen years of hearing he wasn’t good enough from his folks, six years of hearing how amazing he was from the masses, and millions of people can tell you you’re worth something, but if it’s one person you’ve always wanted approval from, that’s who you’re gonna believe. I’m not making up excuses for him, ‘cause frankly, I’m disappointed as fuck in the way he handled this shit. We all knew you two were gonna have some kind of fucked-up courtship. That you’d end up together. You’re meant for each other.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right. Wyatt only noticed me because I’ve got tits and an ass and I interested him because I said no to sleeping with him. And he’s pretending he wants me and the baby because he realized he’ll lose the band if he doesn’t.”

  Noah paused the movie. “You actually think that?”

  I struggled not to squirm under his probing gaze. “I don’t think it, I know it.”

  “Jesus, your view on the world is so crystal clear and beautifully cynical most of the time, but you’re blind when it comes to yourself. Your parents have a lot to answer for.”

  “Hey kettle, I’m pot, we both seem to be black,” I said in response.

  Noah and I knew some the sordid details of each other’s history thanks to a little thing called Jägermeister. Which meant I knew exactly how vile his father was. It was the basis of our bond, emotional scars from ugly people that were meant to show us beauty in the world. Nothing brings people together like shared childhood trauma.

  Noah blinked. “You’re not wrong. I’m fucked up. We’re all fucked up.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, and I’m bringing up baby into this fucked up world. To fuck it up appropriately.”

  “You’re not gonna fuck it up, you’re gonna be a great mom,” Noah said, voice firm.

  I raised my brow.

  “Okay,” he relented. “You’re most likely gonna fuck it up a little. But doesn’t mean you won’t be a good mom.” He paused. “And I think Wyatt’s gonna be a great dad if he gets out of his own head.”

  I nodded, thinking of the way he was with Ava, with Zeppelin, the kind of man he was when he wasn’t being an asshole. “He will.”

  Noah regarded me. “He loves you, you know.”

  I scoffed, shoving more popcorn in my mouth for something to do.

  Noah regarded me with those sharp, piercing eyes. “He doesn’t realize it, ‘cause he’s too busy hating himself. But he does.”

  This struck a chord within me, remembering the demons lurking on Wyatt’s face the night of the conception. But I couldn’t think of that. “Can we change the subject?” I requested. “Me and Wyatt and this situation has been taking up my headspace and I’m simply bored of it. Can you please enlighten me with what’s fucking you up lately?”

  The corner of Noah’s mouth turned up. “You got a hundred years?”

  I put my hand on my stomach. “I’ve got like six or so months?”

  He resumed the movie. “Still not long enough. Let’s just pretend Audrey can fix our problems.”

  “I’m down for pretending.”

  I better be, I had a lifetime of it with Wyatt ahead of me.

  * * *

  I was zipping up my suitcase when the buzzer of my apartment sounded. It couldn’t have been my Uber since I still hadn’t ordered one. I was running late on account on all the barfing I had to fit around packing. I didn’t have high hopes for the flight. In fact, I was fucking dreading the flight. Despite the fact I was flying business class, I hated flying. Usually, I was half buzzed by the time I got on the plane and fully buzzed by the time they turned the seatbelt sign off. I was facing a thirteen-hour flight with no buzz and morning sickness. I didn’t have time for mystery fucking callers. Who even turned up to people’s places unannounced anymore? I thought our antisocial behavior brought on by social media had killed all that.

  I hated the little hope that sparked inside me as I crossed the room to the door, the hope that expected it might be Wyatt, to fight for me, for us. But I was the one that fought for myself by pushing him away. I always hated it when girls pushed guys away only because they wanted them to hold them tighter.

  And look what I was doing.

  “Ms. Brian?” The voice through the intercom was unfamiliar and I hated how my heart fell.

  Fucking movies and books. They’d all had us expecting some grand romantic gesture, even if we told ourselves we weren’t. Even when our whole life was evidence no such gestures existed. We all wanted to be the woman in the window with a man playing some bad song out of a boom box on the street below.

  Truth was, no one was that woman.

  And that man didn’t fucking exist.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’m here to take you to the airport.”

  I blinked, glancing down to look at my phone. I didn’t think I’d ordered an Uber, but I was discovering pregnancy brain was a real thing. Or more likely, I was exhausted from not sleeping, from barfing, from doing all that fuckin
g pining over Wyatt.

  My phone told me I hadn’t ordered an Uber. So how in the fuck did these guys know my last name and that I was going to the airport?

  “Wyatt Summers hired me,” the voice continued.

  Of fucking course.

  “Well, he can un-hire you,” I snapped. “Because I’ll be making my own arrangements.”

  “He informed us that you might have a response like this, and he’s instructed me not to leave until we have you and your belongings.”

  I gritted my teeth. Had I really been hoping for communication with Wyatt? And this was his form of it. A disembodied voice most likely belonging to a disembodied suit hired to take me to the airport in some fancy fucking SUV. It was the check all over again. I was being slapped in the face with Wyatt’s money and fame. I wanted to fight this. But I didn’t have the energy and I was already late for the flight. So I buzzed him in, turning to snatch up my suitcase and purse, doing a quick glance around my apartment to make sure I hadn’t forgotten something.

  The old Emma was lying around here somewhere, the old Emma who would’ve refused to let the man in and would’ve scaled down a fucking wall rather than let Wyatt make decisions for her. But she wasn’t exactly lost, more defeated.

  I was just locking my front door when I heard the elevator bing. I turned, expecting some stranger wearing a suit and polite expression.

  I got a super-hot, muscled security expert wearing jeans and a tee that was tight enough to count his abs. He was not wearing a polite expression. In fact, he was wearing a shit-eating grin.

  “Duke, what the fuck are you doing here?” I demanded.

  “Ms. Brian, I’m here to take you to the airport,” he said in that same voice as he’d tricked me with on the intercom. He took my suitcase from me. “Knew you wouldn’t buzz me up if you recognized my voice. ‘Cause then you’d put two and two together that I’m not just here to escort you to the airport, I’m comin’ with you to Turkey. You found that out, you wouldn’t let me in, and you’d try and scale the building or some shit to make sure Wyatt didn’t get his way. That happened, I wouldn’t get paid, and I’d also get Wyatt unhappy with me. We’re friends, he also has a shitty poker face, he’s unhappy with me, I don’t get invited to Wednesday poker and I don’t get to win at Wednesday poker.”