by Caisey Quinn
Okay, well, that might work. At least he had a plan. “Okay, so will you do that?”
“Will I do what?” he asked, his brow wrinkling as he spoke.
“Call Tra, er, Mr. Corbin and ask him.”
Kylie watched as her manager, if he was still in fact her manager, pressed his fingers behind his glasses to rub his eyes and then his temples. “No, I won’t. You signed those papers. You dug this hole for yourself. Now you can pull yourself out of it. If and only if they agree to do this will I consider still being your manager. But so help me, Kylie, if you ever pull some shit like this on me again, not only will we be done, I’ll tell everyone I know to steer clear of your unbalanced ass.”
“Got it,” she nodded. “Thank you. And for what it’s worth…I’m sorry.”
For a moment, the man just stared at her as if trying to make up his mind about something. Then he sighed and turned away from her, exiting the studio and leaving her alone.
Standing there wallowing in her own shame, Kylie jumped when the door opened. The young red-haired guy poked his head in. “You ready, Ms. Ryans?”
“Um, I think I might need to reschedule.”
“HI PAULY. It’s me,” she said into the phone as she sat in her empty apartment. A few new pieces of furniture that she now regretted buying had just been delivered, and if Pauly had already given those documents to the label, she was going to have to return every bit of it.
“Kylie,” he clipped. “What can I do for you?”
“Um, I have a question actually.”
The manager sighed, almost as if he knew what was coming. “Shoot.”
“So Chaz was pretty pissed about me signing those papers. Well, the ones about the song.” He probably didn’t give two shits about the NDA, though that was the one that hurt her the most.
“Yeah, I imagine he would be. I told you not to just go signing things without him and or a lawyer present. For all you knew, you could’ve been signing away every song you ever recorded.”
Jesus. She hadn’t even thought of that. “Is that how it is, Pauly? Nobody really cares about anybody? Everybody’s just out to screw each other?” Literally, in her case. “Because if I’d known I was signing my whole damn career away, I would’ve listened.” Lord did she hate herself for not listening. She didn’t listen to Trace’s advice about her career and she sure didn’t listen when he told her he didn’t do relationships. Or at least her heart didn’t listen. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. This was about business. She had to remind herself to keep her stupid deaf heart out of it.
Another big sigh from the man on the other end. “Look, kid. No one is out to get you. I work for Trace—I do what I have to with his best interests in mind. I don’t always like it and I don’t always agree with it. Is that what you called to ask me?”
She could practically see him checking his watch.
“No, it’s not. I called to see if you still had those contracts or if you’d already given them to the label.”
In the seconds that passed before he answered, Kylie crossed her fingers, said a silent prayer, and wished she had something to burn to the gods of music.
“To be honest, I’m not sure if the label has them or not. I passed them along to Trace. He may still have them.”
Her chest ached to breathe a sigh of relief, but she couldn’t. Not yet. “So um, any idea where I might find him?”
“Hold on,” she heard him say, but she was pretty sure he was talking to someone in person and not her. “Yeah, I think he’s in Macon for a few days. You may want to call out there and check first. But if he’s already handed the contracts over, then there won’t be much he can do for you either.”
“I understand. Thanks for your time, Pauly.”
“Take care, kid.”
She ended the call and scrolled through her phone for Rae’s number. She might’ve found it amusing that she didn’t even have Trace’s number if it didn’t hurt so much. Just as she was about to hit the call button on the screen, an incoming call interrupted her. She didn’t recognize it, but it had an Oklahoma area code. Maybe Lulu had gotten a new phone.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Ryans?” an unfamiliar male voice said. Kylie’s skin prickled. For a moment she thought it might be a reporter calling to confirm whatever crazy bullshit Darla was spouting now.
“This is Miss Ryans. Kylie Ryans,” she told him, placing her finger over the red end button.
“My apologies, Miss Ryans. My name is Kevin Ryder and I’m with Eternal Marble Memories. I received your online payment this morning and I was calling to schedule an appointment for designing Mr. Ryans’ headstone.”
Kylie’s thoughts scattered. She snagged the closest one because it made the most sense.
“There must be some mistake, Mr. Ryder. I didn’t make an online payment, or any kind of payment for that matter.” And there was no way in hell Darla would have paid for her dad’s tombstone and put Kylie’s name as the contact. Eternal Marble Memories was one of the most expensive companies she’d found when researching places to purchase a headstone for her dad. They specialized in custom monuments and the cheapest thing they had was several thousand dollars more than Kylie could afford.
She heard what sounded like the clicking of a keyboard. “Well, someone obviously wanted Robert Kyle Ryans to have the best that money could buy, because I have a receipt here for five thousand dollars along with strict instructions to place anything over that amount on the credit card I have on file.”
“Can you give me the name on the credit card you have on file?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew exactly whose name was on that card. Or she had a good guess at least.
“Um, hang on just a sec—here it is. Looks like the card we charged the payment to belongs to a Tracey M. Corbin.”
Kylie clutched the phone so hard her nails nearly dented the protective cover.
“Miss Ryans, are you still there?”
Was she?
“Yeah. Yes, sir. Um, about the appointment. I’m not in Oklahoma.” You will be soon if Trace has already submitted those documents to Capital. Her snarky subconscious hinted at what she was already in the process of figuring out. Like the overpayment from the tour, this was Trace’s way of relieving his guilt. Because of course he would’ve already turned in those contracts. Why else would Pauly have made such a big deal about getting them signed so quickly?
“That’s not a problem, Miss Ryans.”
Kylie couldn’t think straight. Hell yes it was a problem—the one thing she had plenty of was problems.
“We have an online gallery to choose from. You can place your order online or by phone at your convenience.” Right, okay. Focus, Kylie.
“Um, okay, got it. Thank you.”
Mr. Ryder gave Kylie the website and phone number she needed and thanked her for her business. Kylie mumbled something she hoped was intelligible. Her hands shook as she sat the phone down on her coffee table. Pulling her knees to her chest, she tried to fight off the panic attack that was speeding towards her. If Trace did this, he did it out of guilt. Because he’d probably turned in those contracts, and he knew what she’d been giving up even if she didn’t realize it until Chaz went berserk.
She had to talk to Trace, had to beg, plead, or whatever else was necessary, to get him to get those papers back. Swallowing her pride, she knew it was time to admit that he was right about this being a business. She had to get her shit together and get over her heartbreak so they could record this song together. Just get through this and then you can go back out on the road and forget him. Except she would never really be able to forget him. But that was a crisis for another day.
“CLAIRE ANN, it has to be you,” she pleaded. “He knows Rae will lie for me and he’ll suspect something.”
“Kylie, are you sure this is the right thing to do? You know how he feels about surprises.” The tone of her voice made it clear she was less than excited to be a part of Kylie’s plan. Bu
t after what had happened this morning, there was no way Kylie was going to back out now.
“Claire Ann, I got a call from a place called Eternal Marble Memories today. Trace paid for my dad’s headstone to surprise me. We have…unfinished business.” That was putting it mildly. “I really need to see him. Please, will you help me?”
A sigh came from the other end of the line and she couldn’t help but smile into the phone. “What do I have to do?”
After she’d explained her plan, she held her breath, waiting for Claire Ann’s response.
“You owe me,” Trace’s older sister told her.
“I know.”
SEVERAL HOURS later, Kylie struggled to stay awake on Trace’s couch in his mini studio. She was glad to see that at some point he’d finished the wiring in the recording room because they were going to need it.
When she heard a key turning in the lock she jumped and sat up on the couch, faced the door, and waited. Her whole body tingled nearly to the point of twitching in anticipation. Please do not let him have filed those contracts. Her heart had a plea of its own. Please let him be alone and let him be happy to see me.
The man who stepped through the doorway was carrying a baseball bat. Oh hell.
“Trace?” she asked timidly, unable to see clearly in the dark. It was nearly eleven o’clock.
“Kylie?” he asked, lowering the bat. Thank God.
“Hey.”
He flicked on a lamp and she could see that he was exhausted. His five o’clock shadow was well on into its evening, his clothes were wrinkled to hell and back, and his hair was a mess.
“Rough night?” she asked.
“Rough life,” Trace answered, stepping slowly towards her.
“Yeah, same here,” she said softly.
“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“You know I always have to have the last word,” she said, smiling up at him.
He arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I told you when I was out of a job you’d come home to find me crashed out on this couch.”
Trace cleared his throat. “I guess I didn’t realize you were serious.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t at the time.”
He lowered himself onto the loveseat across from her. “Wait, what do you mean you’re out of a job? I heard you were doing some Flavored Water tour.”
“Vitamin Water,” she corrected. “And I was. Or I am. At least, I hope I am. That’s kind of why I’m here.”
Trace’s dark brows dipped as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not following.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing a very good job of explaining.” Kylie composed herself the best she could and continued. “You were right about…some things. I should’ve listened.” Her mouth went dry. She hadn’t expected it to be this hard. Songs she could write all day. Telling people off when they were acting like asses, no problem. But admitting she was wrong and had royally screwed up sucked. Trying to do it in the presence of the man who smelled like heaven and happened to be sexy as hell? Damn near impossible.
“Which things would you be referring to, specifically?” Trace asked, eyeing her with interest and uncrossing his arms.
Breathe, Kylie. Just say what you came to say. “My getting signed to The Random Road Trip Tour was contingent upon me having a single out, and there really isn’t time to make that happen. But Chaz pulled some strings and the people in charge of booking for the tour said it would be enough if I had at least recorded a song with you, specifically the one that we wrote together. The one I signed away all rights to without so much as mentioning it to my manager.”
Tears began to gather behind her eyes as she realized what a truly stupid and selfish thing she had done by letting her emotions get the best of her. “I don’t have an agent yet, so Chaz was working really hard to help me and I…screwed up.” Kylie choked down the sob trying to escape before it could break free.
Trace raked a hand roughly over his stubbled jaw. His probing glare implored her to keep talking. “I’m guessing since you paid for my father’s headstone, which I’d like to pay you back for by the way, that you’ve already given the papers I signed to the label. Look, I know you don’t owe me any favors—”
“Whoa, hold up a sec. Please tell me what in the ever-loving fuck my paying for your dad’s headstone has to do with my giving those papers to the label?” Trace’s voice was edged with something that sounded an awful lot like anger.
“I may have done some stupid stuff since you’ve known me, Trace, but I am actually not a complete idiot. You overpaid me for the tour because you felt guilty for sleeping with me. You sent a memorial company entirely too much money for my dad’s headstone because you felt bad for submitting the paperwork that ensured I wouldn’t be able to record our song. Surely you knew that would be damaging to me in some way. Even Pauly practically chewed me out for signing them without reading them or consulting Chaz first.” And yet, she’d done it anyways.
Trace leaned forward and Kylie’s head reeled from the closeness. His cologne surrounded her, and the fact that she didn’t smell liquor on him made her wonder where he’d been all night. “You know, for a smart girl, you sure do say some dumb shit sometimes.”
Kylie flinched at the harsh words.
“First,” he began, sticking up his index finger. “You were not overpaid for the tour. You were given the exact amount agreed upon, which you would know if you’d bothered to Read. The. Damned. Contract.” He paused and shook his head. “Second,” he continued, adding another finger to the count, “I sure as hell don’t feel guilty for sleeping with you. I feel bad about the way things went down, yes, but not for anything other than that. Unless you tell me right now, to my face, that you regret it, I will never feel anything but sheer joy about what happened that night.” Trace leaned back and waited for her to say it. But she couldn’t because she didn’t. She couldn’t keep still under the intensity of his stare either, so she squirmed and looked away. He continued with his counting. “And third, I paid for the headstone because I wanted to. Because I owe something to the man who raised the only woman I’ve ever known who can put me in my place. In fact, I owe him a hell of a lot more than that.”
Just like that, the delicate layer left protecting Kylie’s heart began to shatter, splintering and cracking like ice over a flame. Her dad would’ve liked Trace. A lot, probably. But they would never meet.
“Trace.” A sob escaped her throat, so Kylie clamped her mouth shut and put her hand over it. There was so much, too much, she wanted to say. To ask, to understand. She couldn’t let it all out at once or it would crush them both.
The beautiful man across from her sighed and reached out to touch her cheek. “Kylie, you were right about a lot of things. But so was I. And we were both wrong about a few things, too.”
“You brought that girl to my party,” she choked out. Because underneath it all, that was bothering her the most.
“So you could meet her and see that there was nothing going on between us. She was excited to meet you. She was a fan until you got all up in her face with that damned song. Well played, by the way.”
“You called me a shitty life choice.” She tried to lower her head, but his fingers pressed her chin upward, forcing her to keep facing him.
“I called all the stupid-ass decisions I made that drew media attention to my family before I even met you shitty life choices. You just never stuck around to listen to my explanation.”
Oh God. Kylie jerked back from his touch, pulling her knees up and lowering her face to meet them. “Never mind. Forget everything I said. I actually am a complete idiot,” she mumbled without looking up.
“No you’re not. You just feel first and think second. I love that about you actually. But sometimes it can get your cute little ass into trouble.”
Her head snapped up at his words. “You kept saying no one cared, that it was just business, and I kept hearing you didn’t
care and it was just sex.”
“Well…I do care. And if you think that was just sex, then I must’ve done something wrong.”
“But Darla—”
“Fuck Darla.”
Kylie snorted. “Half of Oklahoma already has.”
“There’s my girl.” Trace chuckled and shook his head. “Look, she caught me off guard and I lost it a little. By the time I came to my senses and saw it for what it was, you were writing me off as a fling and I didn’t know what to do about it. So I got drunk, because that’s always been my fallback.” Trace raked a hand through his hair. “And then we really screwed each other, and not in the hot, mind-blowingly amazing way like we did here. More like in the excruciatingly painful, break-each-other-into-a-million-pieces way. But I never wanted to hurt you, Kylie. Even if it was just a fling for you, I’ll never be sorry that we did what we did, and I’ll never try to hurt your chances of having a career.”
He’d thrown so much information at her that she wasn’t sure what to respond to first. Instinct said feelings first. Act on feelings—kiss him, throw self at him. Repeat. Now. But she was learning. She had to stop feeling first and thinking second. That was what had gotten her into this mess to begin with. Handle the business first, heart second.
She wiped away a tear that was in the process of escaping onto her cheek. “If you really don’t want to hurt me, talk to the label. Convince them to tear up the contracts and let us record the song together so that I can get on this tour and get my manager back. Please.”
It was the wrong thing to respond to first. Kylie could tell by the way his bright eyes went dim and the obvious effort it took for him to smile at her.
“I, um, still have the papers. I didn’t give them to anyone. And even if I had, they don’t say what you think they do.” Trace stood and walked over to a table with several folders on it. He grabbed one and came back to her with it extended.