by Kate Stewart
“We need to nail this last song down.” Rhyson glances at his watch. “And quick. Kai has an ultrasound today, and I’d much rather see my baby than go through eight more songs when we only need one.”
He points to Bristol, his look only half playful.
“You get no say this time, Bris.”
“What?” She frowns and pushes out her bottom lip a little. “Why not?”
“Because you love everything Grip writes,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re no help. We’ll be here all day.”
Her eyes flick to mine and then down to her iPad. She knows it’s true. I’ve never been more certain of anything than I am that Bristol cares deeply about me. I wasn’t guessing last night when I said she watches me. She does. I know she wants me, but a lot of girls do. None of them care about me the way Bristol does, though. The same bottomless devotion she has for her brother, for her few close friends—hell, even for her mother, who doesn’t deserve it, she has for me. She hides it in friendship and excuses it with business, but every time I catch her looking, I know the truth.
“So I think I have the final song.” Rhyson starts tapping the iPad in front of him until the first strains of the track fill the conference room. A song I never meant anyone to hear.
“Oh, not that one.” I go into the shared folder, searching frantically for the file he’s playing so I can shut it down. “Rhys, not that one. Let’s not—”
“This one is the best option.” Rhyson tilts his head, a look of consternation on his face. “Can we just hear it?”
I don’t have to hear it. I know every word.
I fell for her before the beat dropped.
Between the verses and
After rehearsal and
In sixteen bars I was intoxicated
After sixteen bars, me and her was faded
Had our first kiss on a Ferris wheel
We was on top of the world.
I’m on top of the world
(When I love her)
Top of the World
(When I hate her)
Top of the world
(When I take her or leave her)
With her I’m on the top of the world
I roll her up tight in my blunt paper
Inhale her like smoke, in my lungs she’s a vapor
‘Cause she always on the run
Making me hunt, making me chase
Making me run like it’s a race
Making me work like it’s my job
Even when she bottom she come out on top
She be on top of the world
I’m on top of the world
(When I love her)
Top of the World
(When I hate her)
Top of the world
(When I take her or leave her)
With her I’m on the top of the world
At the last note, Max starts a slow clap. Everyone around the table joins him. Everyone except Bristol, who stares blankly at the shiny conference room table.
Shit.
“I love it,” Max says. “Rhyson, you’re right. That’s it. Man, the lyrics are so clever. It’s infectious. Now that’s a hit.”
“And what’s the song you’re sampling?” Sarah asks. “Was it Prince?”
“Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat. “’I Wanna Be Your Lover.’”
“As soon as I heard it,” Rhyson says. “I knew it was the one. Maybe we should take this one to the wide release, too? Bristol, we should see—”
“If we’re done,” Bristol says abruptly, cutting off Rhyson’s suggestion. “I need to get back to my office.”
It goes quiet, and everyone stares at her, but she doesn’t stop. She grabs her phone and walks quickly toward the door.
“Sarah,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Could you go over that last item on the agenda?”
“Um, okay.” Sarah’s wide eyes scan the agenda Bristol left. “Here we are. Bristol wants to—”
“I gotta go, too.” I push back my chair and stand. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Before anyone can stop me or ask questions, I’m out the door and racing up the hall to catch her before she leaves. I round the corner and come to a halt. Bristol leans against the wall, head down. I approach slowly, cautiously, like she’ll run off if I startle her.
“Bris,” I say softly once I’m right in front of her.
She stiffens, raising her lashes to reveal the accusation of her eyes.
“How could you?” she asks, her whisper knife-sharp.
“It was just for me.” I grab the end of the braid hanging over her shoulder. “No one else was supposed—”
“But the song’s about us.” She jerks back, freeing her hair from my fingers. “About me. How dare you?”
“How dare I?”
Now I’m pissed.
“Those are my thoughts. My ideas. My music, Bristol. No one dictates how I express myself. Not even you.”
“Even when those thoughts and ideas are about me?” She presses her eyes closed and flattens her palm to her forehead. “What happened then was private, and you’ve put us on display for anyone shopping at Target.”
“I didn’t mean to. I’d forgotten about that track until Rhyson started playing it.” I squat until I’m eye level with her, even though she still doesn’t look at me. I lift her chin until she has to. “It was for me, not anyone else. Music, writing—it’s how I process what I’m feeling. Always has been. You know that. That’s how I was feeling, what I was thinking, and I needed to get it out.”
“How you were feeling.” Now that she’s looking at me, she isn’t looking away, and her eyes sear me even before her words do. “You hate me? In the lyrics, you said when I hate her. That’s how you feel?”
There’s startled hurt in her eyes, but I won’t lie to her.
“Maybe that day, that moment.” I shake my head. “But no. I don’t hate you. How you make me feel? I hate that sometimes.”
“How do I make you feel?”
Alive. Tortured. Exhilarated. Hungry.
“Confused,” I say instead. “Frustrated.”
“What’s so confusing about no?” She glances down at the shiny hardwood floor at our feet. “I’ve been telling you no for years. I mean it.”
“What’s confusing is that no matter what you say, I know what you feel.”
“And you know this how?” She looks up, one imperious brow lifted. “A few kisses on the roof one night when I was high?”
All those walls are firmly erected. No gaps. No cracks. We’re back at square one. Judging by the indifferent look on her face, we might even be pre-square one. Have I been fooling myself all these years?
But despite what my eyes tell me, my gut says she has no idea what to do with the way I make her feel. All my instincts tell me Bristol wants me, and fuck if I understand why she won’t give us a chance. Maybe she suspects what I know for sure. If I ever get her, no way in hell I’m letting her go. That gap last night showed me what’s behind that wall, and I want all of it.
She lures me closer without trying. Her scent, her warmth, her softness, her toughness entices me to lean into her. The feeling of last night, the want, rushes through me again. My hands find her waist, and I imprint my shape into hers against the wall.
“Grip, no.” Her breath shivers over her lips, and she turns her head away from me.
“Why not?” I run my nose up and down her neck until she shudders under me. Her body is honest with me even when she hides the truth. I want her truth. I have to know.
She wriggles free, stepping away and pacing a tight circuit in the corridor.
“Bristol, about last night—”
“The other song, ‘Bruise,’” she cuts in, stopping her pacing to face me. “It’s fantastic.”
Not-so-deft change of topic. I’m not sure if it was because she was genuinely interested in the song or afraid of what I would say next.
“Thank you.” I slip a fist into my pocket and lean against th
e wall to watch her
“And your cousin Chaz who was shot by his brother, the cop.” Her eyes fall to my left forearm where Chaz’s name is inked into the skin. “They’re Jade’s brothers?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t imagine what you described. When I think about that happening, you getting stopped like that over and over again . . .”
Bristol bites into her bottom lip. She turns her head to stare at me, sadness saturating her eyes.
“Can you just tell me when all my privilege makes me clueless?”
Damn her. Every time I think I might be able to get past this girl, move on to someone who will actually tell me how she feels, she does this. Shows the tender under all that tough and reminds me why not one day has gone by in eight years when she hasn’t at least crossed my mind.
“I can do that,” I promise quietly.
“Good, I—”
“There you are. I was looking for you guys.” Rhyson strides down the hall toward us. “You both bailed on the meeting. What gives?”
“Sorry. You’re right,” Bristol says, eyes cool again when she looks at me. “I have too much to do to be standing around. Gotta go. Grip, I’ll email you about the Target spot. Should be later this week.”
I just nod and watch as she walks away.
“What’s wrong with her?” Rhyson asks.
“What’s wrong is your timing is shit,” I snap.
I love Rhys, but this is one time I want to strangle him.
“What’s crawled up your ass?” Rhyson frowns and starts walking. “Can you tell me while we walk? I don’t want to be late for Kai’s appointment.”
“Sure.” I match my long stride to his. “I wish you’d checked with me before you played that song.”
“Everyone loved it.” He jabs the down button for the elevator several times.
“Not everyone.” I give him a wry smile. “You do know that doesn’t make the elevator come any faster, right?”
“Maybe we should take the st—”
The ding of the elevator doors opening shoots down that suggestion.
“Who didn’t like it?” he asks as we board.
“Bristol didn’t.”
“What?” He frowns over eyes just like his twin sister’s. “Why would Bris not like it?”
Do I really want to do this? All these years I haven’t talked about this with Rhyson. After the drama with my almost-ex-girlfriend/close-call baby mama, Bristol wanted to put that week behind us, including not telling Rhyson about it. It was kind of awkward anyway, so at first, I was cool with that. Now it just seems stupid that he doesn’t know after all these years.
“Bristol doesn’t like the song because it’s about her.” I run my hand over the coolness of my scalp, half-expecting to encounter locs hanging down to my shoulder. “The song, it’s about us.”
We’ve reached the building’s underground parking garage. As soon as he steps off the elevator, he stops abruptly.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Genuine confusion clouds his expression. “When did you ever kiss Bristol at the top of a Ferris wheel? Is that like a metaphor?”
“No. Dude, I literally kissed your sister at the top of the Ferris wheel.”
Rhyson looks torn between losing his lunch and punching me in the face. This might actually make the awkwardness worth it.
“When was this?” he demands. “You and Bristol? Is this recent?”
“No, when she was here for spring break. Remember we went to that carnival?” I sigh. “Don’t worry. It hasn’t happened again. Unless you count last night.”
“Last night?” Rhyson’s mouth falls open a little, even as he starts moving in the direction of the Porsche Cayenne in his parking spot. “What the hell? Tell me.”
I may be enjoying this too much. Rhyson always has his shit together, so seeing him thrown for a loop is rare and wondrous. To be the cause of it, even better.
“I left my bag here yesterday, and she brought it by my place last night.” I pat the hood and deliberately turn to leave, not actually expecting to get very far. “Well, I know you’re in a hurry so—”
“Marlon.” Rhyson leans against the SUV with his arms folded and a frown on his face. “Cut the crap. Talk.”
“We kissed.” I lean beside him against his car and shrug. “That’s it. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” He lifts a skeptical brow.
“For now.” I grin as salaciously as I dare considering Bristol is his sister. “There’s always tomorrow.”
“Let that shit go.” Rhyson blows out an exasperated breath. “I don’t want this affecting your working relationship at such a crucial time. Your album’s about to drop, and Bristol’s hand is in every aspect of it. If you pursue this, it could get awkward. We can’t afford awkward right now.”
His phone rings with his own song “Lost”, Kai’s ring tone.
“Damn.” He glances at the screen. “That’s Kai. Probably wondering where I am. She’ll feel better if I’m in motion.”
“Then by all means get in motion.”
I step back when he starts the car and pulls out of the space, driver side window still down.
“Don’t forget what I said about Bristol, okay?” He gives me one last worried look.
“What? You mean to go for it?” I ask, hoping to see some hackles rise. “Got it.”
“Not go for it. Did you not hear a word I . . .” He studies my face and must see the humor there. “Screw you. You know I’m right. Leave it alone.”
Leave it alone.
That’s what my mom used to say when I’d pick at my scabs. She warned me it would only take longer to heal, but it was a compulsion, a fascination. It’s the same way with Bristol. I’ve been pulling this scab off over and over for years.
If I have to leave her alone for this to get better, maybe I don’t want it to heal.
Chapter Six
Bristol
“YOU’VE DONE A great job with everything, Bristol.”
The praise comes from Will, Qwest’s manager, as we check the set list for tonight.
“Thanks,” I murmur without looking away from the document detailing the songs and cues for the performance Qwest and Grip will give soon. “Are your rooms okay?”
“That would be an understatement.” His dark eyes laugh at me when I finally look up. “The Presidential Suite at The Park-LA is a little over the top, wouldn’t you say?”
“The Presidential Suite?” I frown, mentally scrolling through the email I sent Sarah about accommodations for Qwest’s team. “I’m glad you like it. I just don’t remember reserving it for you.”
“Yeah. It’s a three-bedroom suite.” It’s his turn to frown. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Probably just a mix up. No problem.” I catch Sarah’s eye across the room and flick my chin so she knows I need her before looking back to Will. “Is Qwest settled okay?”
“Um, yeah.” Will’s face broadcasts his reluctance. “She really wants to hang with Grip tonight instead of doing that interview, though. Any update from the reporter?”
Translation. She really wants to sleep with Grip before she goes back to New York. That’s her business and his, not mine, I remind myself and draw a deep breath to support the words I need to say.
“I’m trying. I’ve left Meryl a message and am just waiting to hear back.”
“Waiting?” Will glances at the platinum watch on his wrist. “She needs to let us know soon.”
“Believe it or not,” I say sharply, despite the control I thought I was exercising. “My job description as Grip’s manager does not include arranging booty calls. So yes, waiting to hear back. And if Qwest needs to hear that from me, it’s a message I’m more than happy to deliver personally.”
Will holds up both hands, his teeth flashing white against his goatee and dark skin.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He takes my hand and squeezes. “You handle Meryl. I’ll take care of the booty call.”
�
��Sounds good to me.”
“You must admit,” he says, his eyes persuading me to smile. “It is an awful lot of booty for one person to manage.”
I laugh before I catch myself. Qwest’s ass is the stuff of legends. Jaws drop over it. My laugh withers in my throat when I think of Grip spending the night holding on to that ass.
“I’m just trying to keep my artist happy,” Will says. “So don’t flip.”
“Flip?” I find a polite smile from somewhere. “You’ll know when I flip, Will. I’m far from flipping. I’ll have an answer for you before the show is over.”
“Grip’s lucky to have you.” There’s sincerity in his eyes, which is something we don’t find much of in this business.
“Qwest is lucky to have you, too.”
Because God knows she and I would kill each other.
Will knows hip-hop, but he knows business even better. Armed only with his MBA and hustle, he started a small management firm just a few years ago. Qwest was his first act, but he’s parlayed that into several others, and recently merged with Sound Management, one of the largest firms in the business.
“Congratulations, by the way, on the deal with Sound,” I add.
“Thanks.” Will’s smile is instant and tinged with pride. “Ezra Cohen asked me to tell you hello. I didn’t realize you knew him, though I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I interned with Sound in New York and worked some at their office here in LA when I first moved. Ezra’s been a mentor of sorts to me over the years.”
“I guess with parents like yours, making those connections is easy, huh?”
I stiffen at his words, resenting any assumption that my parents’ success managing classical musicians fast tracked me.
“He actually wasn’t familiar with my parents at all. He’s mainstream. They move in classical circles.” I clip each word. “I applied for the internship like anyone else and busted my ass once I got it.”
“I’m sorry.” Will’s dark eyes search mine, and he grimaces. “Look, real talk. I’m the only minority at the Sound Management partner table, and most of them think I’m Ezra’s answer to affirmative action.”