Hard to Hold (The Hold series Book 2)

by Arell Rivers

  “Kim is a challenge.”

  “She was very disrespectful to you during the prep,” he says, frowning again. “If she were a guy, we would have stepped outside.”

  “Thanks, Tarzan.” I take a long sip of the wine.

  Today was brutal, and Lisa’s article was the last thing I needed. Luckily, I’m still on Strike Two. I can turn my job situation around. I hope. Please.

  “Ro,” Cole removes the holder from my ponytail and massages my scalp. “I want to thank you for all the prep you did with me today. Even the hard questions. Especially them.”

  I set my wineglass down on the coffee table, next to NYC Legends, the book I gave Cole as a thank you for helping me with my car. Seems like ages ago now.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “I’m sorry I had to ask them. But I don’t want you blindsided.”

  “I understand.” He takes my hand and kisses each fingertip, causing sparks to shoot throughout my body. “Did Kim give you those questions?”

  As if. Grimacing, I shake my head.

  “Gruesome?”

  “What? No. I, uh, I thought of them.” I slant him a questioning look.

  He rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. Then kisses me. Before I can pull him closer, he sits back. “You should start your own PR firm. You do amazing work.”

  Haven’t we been over this before? “Not interested. Besides, Greta’s contract has a non-compete clause.”

  “Of course there is. But it’s not valid in California.”

  “What?”

  “I assumed there would be one, so I asked Dan about it. He says they generally aren’t valid here.”

  That’s news to me. But, it’s not like I’ve ever investigated it. I take another gulp of wine.

  “Think about it. You could hire employees who actually like doing PR, rather than those who just want to rub elbows with celebrities, like that annoying Kimmie.”

  Kimmie. Kim would probably be thrilled to know Cole has given her a nickname. I stifle a snicker.

  “Even if the clause is invalid, Greta still could blackball me in the industry.” I need to nip this silly idea in the bud. Again.

  He reaches over and kisses my neck. “I think not.”

  His faith in me moves me to my core. But still . . . “We’ve been here before.”

  “It’s like I said, with A-list clients, your firm can’t be blackballed.”

  “I don’t have a PR firm.” I lean back. “I probably wouldn’t be any good at it anyway.”

  “Au contraire,” he says, his fake French accent causing me to giggle. “I think you’d put Gruesome out of business.”

  That statement quashes my giggles. “Listen, I appreciate your vote of confidence, I really do, but I remember watching Mom struggle with her own daycare business. She was constantly trying to get new clients, do marketing, buy supplies and everything else running a business entails, in addition to working with the babies, which is what she truly loved. In the end, as you know, she filed for bankruptcy. That was awful. But, now she’s an employee at a daycare and truly happy.”

  He gives me an appraising look. “First, you’re not your mother. Second, you have me. Third, you’re already highly respected in the industry.”

  “Listen, Tarzan, I honestly believe working for Greta, no matter how difficult, is the best thing for me. I love PR, but don’t have a mind for business.”

  He kisses the side of my neck. “I think you can do anything you set your mind to.”

  I need to redirect his thoughts. “What do you want, Cole?”

  “You. Always you,” he replies, kissing the other side of my neck.

  “That’s not what I meant, but—” I stop talking when his hand closes around my breast.

  Innocent-looking eyes gaze into mine. “What did you mean, then?”

  I reply breathlessly, “I’ve been wondering lately what more do you want from your career, your life?”

  The leather couch squeaks as he sinks back into it. “You.”

  “I’m here.” I curl up at his side, lowering my head to his chest. “Besides me. Once all this stuff with Lisa is over, I want to help you achieve your next set of goals. Tell me what they are.”

  Outwardly, he doesn’t react, but his increasing heart rate betrays his inner turmoil. I’m not the only one who feels anxious about the future.

  Leaning forward, I ask, “Cole?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replies, averting his eyes.

  Settling back against his side, I say, “You’ve already achieved so much. You’ve won Grammys.”

  “That was my goal for as long as I can remember. I always wanted to win a Grammy.”

  “Now you have two.”

  “Yeah. I suppose a few more would look good on my shelf.”

  The mantle is devoid of trophies. “Come to think about it, I’ve never seen them. Where do you keep them?”

  The answer comes to me before he responds. Cole confirms, “Dad’s house. I gave them to Mom after the ceremony and she kept them in their bedroom.” He runs his hand through is hair. “They belong there.”

  “Julie must have loved seeing them every day.” I rub his arm. “Anything else you’ve always wanted?”

  “To travel.”

  “And now you’re going on a world tour.” He nods, resting his head on top of mine.

  “I’ll arrange good places for you to visit in each city.”

  “I want to experience it with you.” He kisses the top of my head.

  “I’ll work on it.” I’ve never had the time or the funds to travel, but Strike Two better not prevent me. This will work out. It has to.

  However, this discussion isn’t about me. What happens when you achieve everything on your list and you’re not even thirty-three? “Seems like you need some new goals.”

  The Celtic music playing over the sound system fills the silence, until Cole finally says, “I’d like to honor Mom somehow.”

  “That would be wonderful. Your PSA will be released tomorrow.”

  He takes a few strands of my hair in his fingers. “I don’t want her remembered as yet another cancer victim. I want to do more.”

  “Your mom was a teacher. Maybe something with education?”

  He continues playing with my hair. “Hmm. How about music education?”

  “Combining your mom’s profession with your industry. Sounds good.”

  The music crescendos, the instruments seemingly urging him on. “Mom used to complain about music classes being cut in schools.”

  “Want to lobby for their return?”

  “Nah. I’m not into politics.”

  While he thinks, he drops my hair and winds his arm around me. “A foundation,” he says, suddenly all certainty. “I could start a foundation in her name to help underprivileged kids get music instruction.”

  His generosity astounds me. Makes me proud. “You have a big heart, Cole.” I remember melting after I received a call from Cole years ago, when he met Josh and his single mother at a Meet-and-Greet. He enlisted my help in coordinating violin lessons for him, which are ongoing. That single act of kindness revealed Cole’s true nature. And, it’s wonderful.

  “I want people to remember Mom. So many of her students, past and present, came to her funeral and told me what she meant to them. I’ve had important teachers in my life, too. I want to share that joy others. Yeah, this is what I want to do.”

  “Then you will.”

  Turning my head, I unbutton his shirt, finally reaching his skin. I plant kisses all over his generous heart.

  Using a teasing tone for the first time all day, he says, “Before I conquer the world, though, I think I need to start closer to home.”

  I squeal as he pulls my shirt up and starts tickling me. “Stop! Cole. Stop!”

  Undaunted, he continues to torment me. Screaming incoherently, I squirm and kick and wriggle away from his devilish fingers. Cole chuckles and grabs me by my hips. He inhales loudly, then puts his lips to my stomach and blows.
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  Laughing at the tickling sensation, I shriek, “Did you just give me a raspberry?”

  “Yup.” Grinning like a little boy who got an extra scoop of ice cream on his birthday, he does it again. “Two.”

  I flip onto my side to escape, and promptly fall off the couch. “Oof.”

  “Rose. Are you okay?”

  His concern would be touching but for the accompanying laughter. Catching my breath, I grumble, “I’m ticklish.” I get on all fours before quickly turning and planting my butt on the floor. Real graceful.

  “I didn’t notice.”

  He reaches down and extends his left hand. The quivering of his lips gives me pause. He’s trying not to laugh. Hmmm.

  Tentatively, I try, “No more tickling?”

  “You liked it.”

  Shaking my head, I grasp his hand and let him haul me up onto his chest. Taking advantage of my position, I start tickling his sides. He doesn’t even flinch.

  “Not ticklish, baby.”

  How will I ever get the upper hand on this man? “Of course you’re not,” I grumble.

  My attention is diverted from the delicious man under me when floodlights illuminate the pool area. “What the—”

  Emilie walks across the patio toward the hot tub. A bulky, shadowy figure follows in the background. Looking down into Cole’s eyes, still filled with mirth, I kiss his full lips and say, “I think Emilie and Wills have a good idea. Want to join them outside?”

  Wrapping both arms around my waist, he pulls me tight, his erection pulsing against my stomach. He whispers, “I have a better idea. Why don’t we leave them to their own devices and continue this upstairs. In our bed.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” I put my hand on his chest to push away from him, but he tugs me back onto this lap.

  “On second thought, I’m not sure I can wait that long.” He kisses me deeply, scattering any thoughts of an audience.

  Thursday morning

  “IS THAT FROM you-know-who?” Startled, I jump at the sound of Shari’s voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, Rose.”

  “It’s fine. I’m just rushing to get ready. We’re meeting at Platinum before heading off with Cole to tape the entertainment shows.” I follow her gaze to the unopened package on my desk, the one I had picked up last night. I grabbed it, with all of my other mail, from the table this morning before heading to the office. I know the handwriting. “Uh, no. It’s from my mother.”

  I pull the contents from the packaging and take off the bubble wrap. My mouth drops open. “What the heck? Why would she send me this?”

  Shari peers around my arm to look at the framed photo of Marco and me from our Senior Prom. She giggles. “Nice hair.”

  “Big bangs were all the rage back then. Not sure why.” I peer into the wrapper and pull out a note.

  “Is this the guy who was here the other day?”

  “Yeah.”

  She giggles. “I thought Cole was going to deck him.”

  “It was close.” I skim the note, which says that Marco’s mom was cleaning out her attic and came across this photo. I roll my eyes and start rewrapping the frame.

  “Wait. Maybe you should leave this out on your desk, especially since Starr made that comment in that article.” Shari scrunches up her face.

  Sighing, I say, “You may be right. Maybe if I leave it out for Greta to see, it’ll throw her off.”

  I take the frame back out and set it up on my desk. No, I can’t have Marco staring at me as I work, even if the photo is a decade old. I move it to the credenza behind my desk, facing the doorway. Better. I won’t have to look at it, but anyone entering the room will definitely see it.

  “Are you ready for today?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Cole’s as prepared as he can be. It’ll be good to put all this behind us.” Maybe I’m just more wound up than usual, but I don’t censor my thoughts. “I hope Kim doesn’t say anything stupid. I wonder why Greta keeps her around.”

  Shari furrows her brow. “You don’t know?”

  I cock my head. “Know what?”

  She steps closer and lowers her voice. “Kim is the niece of Greta’s modeling agent from back in the day. The one who launched her fashion career.”

  No wonder Kim can do no wrong. In that case, there’s little chance I’ll ever get her off Cole’s team.

  After Shari leaves, I collect all the paperwork needed for today. With everything in hand, I slip my laptop into its case, grab my purse and head over to Kim’s office. Knocking—although I’m not sure why, as she never affords me that courtesy—I open the door and walk in. She’s on speakerphone.

  In a clipped tone, Kim barks, “Make sure she’s on time.”

  If I were on the receiving end of that order, I’d be sure to arrive an hour late just to spite her.

  Kim taps her embellished fingernails on her desk. “And have her wear something sexy but smart for the live show. She won’t be on camera, of course, but I’m sure photos will be taken of them together. I don’t want her to embarrass Cole.”

  What? Is she talking with Emilie’s people? Like that? I mouth “Emilie Dubois?” Kim nods once.

  Over the speakerphone, a woman says, “Emilie is not the one doing embarrassing things.”

  Kim’s face takes on a decidedly prissy expression. I’d better head this off at the pass. Clearing my throat and ignoring my unprofessional colleague, I say, “Hi. This is Rose Morgan, another one of Cole’s account reps. We’re very happy that Emilie is on board with this plan. She’s been doing a wonderful job, and I’m sure she will continue to be an asset for Cole. I’ve noticed that her Q Score has gone up nicely in the States, which you must be happy about. Do you have any questions about the show we’ll be taping tomorrow?”

  During the brief discussion with Emilie’s rep, I smooth over any hurt feelings and give some particulars about tomorrow’s show that Kim should already have passed along. For her part, Kim does nothing but huff and give me dirty looks. I don’t care that you’re protected by birth, I’m doing my job properly.

  After the call ends, Kim flips her ponytail and says, “Feel better, Pollyanna?”

  If I were prone to violence, I would punch Kimmie in her heavily lip-glossed mouth. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to calm my anger. One. Two. Three. Then I look at my watch and respond, “I came by to see if you’re ready to go. We need to head over to Platinum.”

  “Of course I’m ready.” She picks up a blank notebook and a purse that has the brand name imprinted all over it.

  Greta meets us in the hallway, designer bag slung over her shoulder. She looks back and forth between the two of us. I’d better not be cut out of this meeting. Cole would pitch a fit. Plus, I’ve done most of the legwork.

  Stepping toward the door, Greta says, “Ready?”

  I nod and exhale in relief. The three of us pile into the limo Greta arranged, and it comes as no surprise when Kim’s the one who sits next to our boss. I tipped Jared off about today’s activities, so he follows in his car.

  Soon we’re in Platinum’s offices, in the same conference room where we selected the photos to be included in the “No One to Hold” video. Was that only a week ago? I’m setting up my laptop and arranging my paperwork when Cole, his agent, Russell Waldock, and his label A&R rep, Jon Merkin, walk in. A couple of other people from Platinum also join us. Wills takes a seat in the back of the room. Jared stayed in the lobby.

  Russell, seated at the far end of the table, starts the meeting. “Greta, I want to thank you and your team for the outstanding job you’ve done in managing the Starr situation.”

  My shoulders lower in relief. Thankfully, Starr’s so crazy no one believes her. Even on the rare occasions when she’s telling the truth.

  To my left, Greta basks in the praise. “I was able to quash most of the stories. Just The Gossip ran her story, but no one believes anything in that rag anyway.”

  Across the table, Jon nods. “Well, it’s my understanding
that by tomorrow, the whole world will know that this Starr woman faked it.”

  Seated next to him, Cole grumbles, “She was able to hack into the court’s computers, but she can’t fake the wedding chapel’s lack of paperwork.”

  Greta says, “That’s right. And that brings us to the reason for today’s meeting. We’re going to get your publicity back on track.” She slants me a sideways look. “Your Public Service Announcement for the American Cancer Society is scheduled to start airing today.”

  Ignoring the prickles running up my spine, I click on the link for the PSA. Clearing my throat, I confirm, “Yes. The first airing will be in five minutes.”

  “Wonderful.” Jon instructs his associate to turn on the television. He continues, “The video for ‘No One to Hold’ is ready to roll. I’ve scheduled it to be released on Tuesday.”

  Kim jumps into the conversation. “Can it be pushed up? Cole’s going to perform that song on Evening with Eddie tomorrow night.”

  Way to go, Kim. You don’t blurt stuff like that out in a huge meeting, especially when you’ve never met the players before. Besides, this schedule is how Cole always releases his new music—drop the record, follow up with the video a couple of days later. Jon’s eyes narrow. Cole’s jaw twitches.

  “Kim, right?” Russell responds. Kim nods. “Fridays are the release day for new music. Cole’s going to use his TV time to debunk his marriage to Starr and debut his latest single. He’ll also disclose the video’s premiere details. That way, his fans have something new to tweet about.” Russell’s eyes swing to Greta.

  “But I thought—” Greta places a hand on Kim’s arm, effectively muzzling her.

  Greta says, “Sounds good, Russell. I’ll make sure the fans are begging to see the video.”

  I jot down a note about this, although I’ve already done most of the legwork for this project. Checking my watch, I say, “The PSA should be starting any second.”

  Everyone in the room turns toward the television, and someone amps up the volume, Cole’s delicious image flashes across the screen, followed by the photo of him with Julie at the Grammys. My eyes connect with Cole’s, which are brimming with raw emotion. I wish I could hold him now, but have to settle for puckering my lips into a silent kiss. He catches it with his right hand. No one notices our exchange, too wrapped up in what’s playing on the screen.