by Jae Dawson
“Love takes risks.”
I slouched against the countertop. I did the risky thing once. I took a leap of faith, right off the cliff that was Jason Stone. And I crashed at the bottom—hard. Could I do the same with Cade? Would he catch me? How could he? His life was elsewhere.
“Just talk to him, hmm? What harm could come from pillow talk?” I rolled my eyes at Mamma’s suggestion. “Find out how he feels.”
“We just kissed. There needs to be pillows to have pillow talk,” I protested. Besides, who jumps from one kiss to my future is incomplete without you, so give up your career for me?
Mamma huffed. “How are you my daughter? No pillow talk, bah! I would have had that delicious man singing in my bed weeks ago.” She tsked and I resisted the urge to gag. Singing in her bed? “Fine, cara mia. You said that these people are here and you don't know why. Find out why. Find out who they are. Talk to him. Communication is the key to every successful relationship.”
I bit back my retort, that I had yet to see her have a successful relationship with anyone other than her essential oil distributor. She did have a point, though. Cade and I needed to clear the air between us. We had left things seriously unfinished. One way or the other, I needed to know where things stood between us.
“Your suggestion isn't terrible,” I finally admitted. “Maybe I'll stop by Cade’s on the way to come see you.”
“Yes! Excellent. And bring food. Men love when you bring the food.”
I knocked on Cade’s red door, a bag full of fresh bagels from the Sweet Flower Bakery in one hand. The bagels were for Gramps. Not Cade. Or so I told myself.
The door opened and I blinked in surprise. It was Devon, Cade’s bandmate. His black hair was mussed, and he wore a pair of black flannel pants and a white tee. Clearly, he’d just woken up.
“Um, hi,” I said. “Is Cade here?”
Devon nodded, stepping back to let me inside. “You’re the girl from last night, right?”
I forced a smile and held out a hand. “Bella Pagano.”
He shook my hand, his nostrils flaring. “Are those Clarissa’s everything bagels?”
I handed him the bag. “Yeah. Well, Clarissa is semi-retired. Her daughter runs the bakery now.”
We moved into the living room. “Indigo? No way. I always pegged her for a travel the world, pop by on her way to Burning Man, type of girl.”
I shrugged. I didn’t know her that well, though I could sort of see Devon’s point. I had heard that Indigo traveled around the U.S. in a Sprinter van before her mother had decided to retire. “She’s working on quite the bakery empire. She’s opened up shops in Silver Firs and even one on the plateau.”
Devon was looking in the bag like a hungry bloodhound. His eyes lit up. “You got the herb and chive cream cheese, too? Shit, I dream about this stuff. Bella, you are welcome anytime.”
I followed him into the kitchen and silently thanked Mamma for her food suggestion.
Devon hollered down the hallway, “Cade, your friend is here! Gramps, come grab some grub!”
“Coffee?” Devon asked me, reaching into the cabinet for a mug.
“That’d be great.” I’d already had two cups at my house, but I never turned down coffee. “So how long are you in town for, Devon?” I asked lightly.
“Not long,” Devon said, as Cade appeared in the hallway—shirtless.
Holy hell, those abs. Those pecs. Those . . . wait. No tattoos? Didn’t rock stars all have tattoos? That was weird. But damn. The way his pants rode low on his hips, and the trail of hair just below his navel . . . A delicious heat caressed up my neck to my face. My eyes blinked slowly, as if in a dream, then focused on a dark blue gaze. One that was satisfied with my silent drooling, a flirty half-smile on his lips.
Arrogant ass.
Oh gawd. Devon was also staring at me humorously too.
I didn’t have time to recover. So, instead, I primed to fight.
I cocked my head, ready to push back when Cade casually lifted a mug, shaped like a butt in a pair of Levi’s jeans, to his mouth.
“Seems you’re kissing your own ass this morning?” I smiled sweetly.
Devon snorted.
Cade crossed the linoleum floor and pecked my cheek. I could feel the warmth of his bare body, even through my own clothes. Don’t faint, don’t faint!
“Only those in our inner circle were ever worthy to drink from the Ass Cup.” He showed it to me. “It’s considered an honor.”
“Still not going to beg you.”
He grinned. “You will. Trust me.”
Rolling my eyes, I nodded toward the living room. “Could we chat for a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Put a shirt on first.”
“Nah, I think I’ll let you appreciate me some more.”
“Mr. Owens. Shirt. Now.” I used my best teacher voice and pointed to the hallway. That did the trick. A couple minutes later, he returned with the Ass Cup in his hands and a black Nirvana tee now covering his gorgeous body. I regretted my decision the moment he walked back in. But . . .
Cade pointed at Devon. “Don’t eat all those bagels, man.”
“You have three minutes,” Devon replied. “And then all bets are off.”
“The man is a bottomless pit.” Cade shook his head as we headed into the empty living room. “Hey, I’m sorry about how things went down last night. I didn’t know they were coming.”
“It’s okay. Who are they?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Bix is our manager, Kenzie’s our publicist.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And they showed up in person to talk to you? Sounds serious.”
Cade shrugged. “The band got an opportunity they wanted to talk to me about face to face.”
“Yeah? What kind of opportunity?”
“Just a show . . .” Cade stared holes into his coffee, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “I don’t know if we’ll take it.”
“Okay.” Why did it seem like he was being purposely vague?
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, looking at me then.
I hesitated. Wasn’t it obvious? Or maybe it was only obvious to me. But to Cade, our kiss was no big deal, not even worth a follow up conversation. My stomach clenched. “I was just . . . wanting to make sure you were still planning on coming to the school board meeting tonight? With everything going on?”
“That’s tonight?”
“Yeah. If you can’t come, I understand—” Even though it would totally throw a wrench in my plans. Cade was scheduled to talk tonight. He was on the flipping agenda.
“No, it’s fine. I told you I’d be there, and I will. I want to be.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded and took my hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s important. I’ll be there.”
A weight seemed to lift off my shoulders with that simple touch. And then settled right down again as the front door banged open and the blonde woman—Kenzie—in her suede thigh-high-booted glory—entered. She hoisted a bag in one hand. “I brought fried chicken and waffles! Yelp says it’s the best spot in Seattle.”
“Shit,” Cade whispered. “She brought food.”
“That means something?” I studied Kenzie again.
“She always delivers bad news with food.”
Bad news? I wondered what was going on.
Devon popped his head out of the kitchen. “Holy shit, what is that divine smell?” But when he saw Kenzie, his face stilled and his eyes darted to Cade.
Kenzie strode over and gave Cade a little cheek kiss and patted Devon on his. Then she turned on her booted heel, her slitted eyes giving me a once over. “Cade, darling, I’m not sure I brought enough for your . . . friend.”
I forced a smile. “It’s all right. I was just leaving.”
“Bella—” Cade called after me, but I was already heading out the door, wishing the ground would open and swallow me and my stupid bagels whole.
Chapter Eighteen
Kenzie paced the room, her phone glued to her ear, her voice rising in pitch and volume each time she spoke.
“What are you suggesting?” She stopped her pacing to glare at the ceiling. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Kenzie this ruffled. My stomach tightened. “That seems harsh, even for you . . . uh, huh . . . yes, I’m not unintelligent and I don’t appreciate—interrupting me won’t earn you any favors with me. I’m not done speaking yet—”
My phone vibrated in my hands.
Dev: K’s going to murder u slowly
Cade: quarter me and put my head on a stake
Dev: RIP
I slid Dev a sheepish half-smile. He arched a brow, but quickly schooled his features when Kenzie glanced his way. Whatever apocalypse was being unleashed on the other side of Kenzie’s phone call, at least Dev and I were talking again. That was a huge weight off my shoulders.
“—that would be a big mistake,” she purred into the phone, “. . . go ahead, end the contract with my publicity firm. You and I both know that would be suicide for Corinth Records . . . I’m the only one holding this all together . . . Ah, I see you finally understand.” She ended the call with a jab of her fake nail against her phone, even though the exec was still talking. Kenzie then leveled a cool stare my way, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her cell phone. “Cade Owens . . .”
My name on her lips was a glacial sound that froze my pulse. “Yes, Kenzie?” I tried not to croak.
“Bix quit.”
“Shit,” Devon breathed.
“Andy and Bale are hunting for a new manager,” Kenzie continued. “The tabloids are already spinning theories as to why Bix Harris would drop Burning Umbrage. And somehow through all this male drama—” her nose wrinkled as she threw out the latter two words “—I negotiated to give you one last chance to save your sweet asses.” She picked up my cup of coffee—the Ass Cup, of course—and took an aggressive gulp. All the while staring me down like a lioness affixed on a wounded gazelle.
My head was spinning. I dropped onto the sofa. Bix quit? I’d been furious with him after our altercation yesterday, and knew I was done working with him. But I’d figured we would have time to find someone new. I didn’t think he would actually leave us. I was looking forward to the satisfaction of firing that dick.
Devon must have taken my silence for guilt. “Things were tense, even before . . . last night. The label wasn’t seeing progress on the album, so they were breathing down Bix’s neck, and he was breathing down ours, and we weren’t having that. This isn’t your fault. Not entirely, anyway.”
I dropped my head into my hands, running my fingers through my hair. God, I needed a drink. I squashed the thought ruthlessly. That’s what had gotten me into this whole mess. “I’m sorry. I’ll bust out a few shitty filler songs to wave in front of the label.”
“You need to do more than that, Cade.” Kenzie pursed her lips. “I didn’t like Bix any more than you did, but he wasn’t wrong to be pissed. What you did, going behind our backs and taking that deal . . . it was shitty. I can’t work with someone who doesn’t work with me. I’ll be damned if I let you ruin my industry reputation and now I’m your interim band manager. So, this is my last bail out. If my PR firm leaves Burning Umbrage, you’ll be singing gigs in dive bars again.”
Devon slouched back on the couch and sighed long and slow.
“The Halloween show is on.” Kenzie punctuated each work. “And you have until the end of October to get those songs in. Not shitty filler songs, either.” She lowered her voice into a syrupy coo, as if I were an adorable child in time-out. “And if you don’t, darling? You’ll have to drag yourself back to L.A. and beg on hands and knees for Corinth to continue investing marketing dollars on you instead of some other hot shit pretty boy. Because I sure as hell won’t be there to fight for you.”
Her patronizing tone rankled me. “I didn’t choose for my grandmother to die in the middle of recording production. Have a heart, Kenzie.”
She waved her hand dismissively, as if I were absurd to suggest she was heartless. “You owe me a whole new wardrobe, four spa treatments, and a trip to the French Riviera when this is all over.” Kenzie slinked my way, her steps sensual and predatory. Sometimes I forgot exactly how powerful she truly was. She wasn’t wrong in suggesting that our public empire rose and fell at her feet. And despite how mad I was, right now I found myself strangely intimidated beneath her daggered gaze. “You’ll also be my arm candy while I shop.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I grit out.
She crouched before me, rigid and balanced despite her stiletto boots, then traced a finger down my jaw. “You will worship me too.”
I clenched my teeth harder. “Define ‘worship.’”
The salacious grin tilting her perfect red lips was my answer. Before I could reply to her not-so-subtle request, she stood and spun on Devon.
“And you, hun, need a haircut.” She gestured at his shaggy, grown out hair and grimaced. “Something more edgy. This look screams has-been-now-homeless bass guitarist, not gold-record artist in his prime. Gross.”
Devon stretched out his legs, a devilish glint to his grin. “I’ll worship you.”
“Not until after your haircut,” she murmured while tapping away at her phone. “And a shave. Darling, even your pathetic facial hair is laughing at you.”
Devon rolled his eyes. “You secretly like my beard.”
Kenzie only smiled—the look entirely flirtatious—before she marched toward the front door. “Devon Hargrave,” she threw over her shoulder, “the next time I see you, your face better be as smooth as a boy band’s or I’ll fly Victor Komikov in to shave your face for you.”
My friend paled. Victor was terrifying and enjoyed watching his subjects squirm while he used an old-fashioned straight razor in a way that seemed straight out of the pages of a horror story. It was if Hollywood and the music industry kept him around simply to ensure their male stars didn’t fight the ridiculous fashion system forced on them by the Kenzies of the world. I couldn’t blame Devon.
“Got it,” his friend replied.
“Cade, hun?” Kenzie’s steely gaze locked onto mine next, a satisfied curl to her lips. “Get rid of that . . . woman. She’s cute, but hot-for-teacher looks desperate on you. No more publicity nightmares, okay?”
The door slammed behind her.
“Uggghhhh,” I groaned before deflating into the couch. I studied the textured ceiling above my head, as if I could find an answer in the splotchy patterns. I was screwed. Didn’t matter what choice I made, I was going to piss off someone. The kind of disappointment that could end careers: mine or Bella’s.
“Maybe—”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “I don’t need Devon platitudes right now.”
“And you don’t need to be a dick.”
I sighed. He was right. “Sorry. I’m . . . I’m at my breaking point, Dev.” I rolled to a straighter position and offered my best friend a sad smile. “Glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Devon grinned at me, then. “Go get Bob.”
“I’m not strumming out my anger.”
Devon rolled his eyes. “Stop being a diva. Use this existential crisis as lyric fodder.”
“Not in the mood.”
“Bob therapy is good for the soul, especially yours, you broody sexy beast.”
I burst into laughter. “Fine. But only because you called me a sexy beast.”
Devon made a kissy face at me as I traipsed by him. But I couldn’t let him have the last word. Just as I passed by, I hit Dev on the back of his head.
“You little shit!” he said half through laughter, then lunged at me. I jumped out of the way and, when I was out of arm’s reach, he flipped me off. I grinned. God, I missed this.
Maybe he was right. Bob therapy would soothe the angst building inside of me. I strode into my bedroom at the end of the hall, a silly smile still on my face. In the corner, a soft beam of sunlight peeke
d through the curtains and touched my Taylor guitar, highlighting each nick and dent.
“Well, Bob,” I said while reaching for my pride and joy. “Time to consult my—”
A loud crash crescendoed across the hall, followed by a yelp.
I spun on my heel. “Gramps?”
My feet couldn’t dash into the hallway fast enough. Shit, shit, shit! The door slammed into the stopper as I crashed into his darkened room. My gaze darted over the floor. When I didn’t spot him, I jogged into the adjacent bathroom and stilled for only a breadth of a second.
Gramps lay on the tiled floor, his face twisted in pain. His ragged breath came quick and hissed between his clenched teeth.
“Where does it hurt?” I asked, kneeling before him.
“My . . . hip . . .”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
My heart thundered behind my ribs and my hands began to shake. This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have left him alone for so long. The past couple days, he’d had more strength than I’d seen in weeks. I had grown too comfortable with his independence while I was dazed by Bella Pagano. And now Gramps suffered for it.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“My grandfather fell. I think his hip is broken.”
I could hear the woman type. “Okay, I’ll dispatch help. What’s the address?”
Devon eased into the doorway, his dark eyebrows creased. “What can I do?”
“Finish talking to the dispatcher for me?”
He reached for the phone and I handed it off, then returned my attention to Gramps.
“Hey,” I whispered to him. “Help is on the way.”
Gramps opened his eyes and I blinked back the burning tears threatening to spill. “Not . . . your . . . fault.”
Now the tears came and I couldn’t stop them.
“Cade . . . can’t stop aging . . . bones. You’re not that . . . powerful.” He winked at me and I couldn’t help the strangled laugh that bubbled out. Only Gramps would wink at me while laying on a bathroom floor while also trying not to writhe in pain.