I knew Xander had changed. Matured. Settled down, so to speak. He was with my sister. But even at the height of our fame with Alive, and the height of his bed-hopping phase, I never saw him as competition for women.
Maybe because the women I wanted usually didn’t want him.
If I had to choose a man to compete with for a woman’s attention, it definitely wouldn’t be Trey Jones. I didn’t enjoy losing, for one. And if Trey and I went head-to-head for a woman, obviously, these days, I’d lose. He was just way too confident. Totally at ease in his business tower, and probably just as at ease hanging out with a girl like Taylor in her old apartment, drinking beers while she blasted Metallica and sucked him off.
I realized they were all looking at me. They’d all sat down and I was still standing there, just staring blankly at Trey. I was barely fucking breathing.
“Cary?” Taylor said softly. She started to get up, and I sat down.
She sat back, but kept watching me.
I took a deep breath. What the fuck was that? I got my ass all the way up here, then fucking froze, nanoseconds after we walked into the room, because I watched her shake Trey Jones’s hand?
Yeah. Because you know he’s normal, and you’re not.
Because he could give her things that you can’t.
I wanted to get right the fuck up and leave, right then, but I didn’t.
“So, it’s nice to see you again,” Trey said, to Taylor. And it hit me…
“You’ve met before?”
“Just once,” Taylor said. “At a party.”
“Xander’s place, right? You were there with…” Trey snapped his figures like he was trying to recall it. “Danica? Ashley’s girl.”
“Yes. She’s my best friend.”
“You know Courteney, too. Am I right?”
“Wait. You’re Larissa’s brother! I just put that together.”
Trey laughed. “Yup. That’s me. Hope she didn’t say anything bad about me.”
“I’ve just met her a couple of times through Courteney. I totally forgot she had such a cool older brother.”
“Taylor is my assistant now,” I interjected, “and I’m training her to work with me in the studio, more like a studio manager.”
Taylor’s eyes went wide. Maybe she thought I was kidding about that protégé thing.
“Very cool,” Trey said. “That’s quite the gig you’ve landed, Taylor.” Then he gave me the slightest congratulatory smirk, like, You’re fucking her, aren’t you?
Perceptive.
“So what have you been working on over here, Trey?” I baited him. Might as well get his self-congratulatory sales pitch out of the way. I knew it was coming. “I’m sure Taylor would like to hear about your artists. She’s a big music fan.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of music do you listen to, Taylor?”
“Anything good,” she said, and he laughed.
I sat back and watched as he casually bragged to all of us, under the pretense of bragging to her, about the other artists he’d signed recently, a couple of singles his artists had on Billboard right now, the Grammy nomination. He looped Brody into it several times, riffing with him about the local music scene, how diverse it was and how it had blossomed in recent years—thanks to him and Brody, of course. Trey definitely acted like a man who had all morning to explain his business to my assistant, maybe because she was my assistant, and maybe because she was hot, but either way, I knew none of us had that kind of idle time.
As for Taylor, I wasn’t sure why she said she was nervous in the elevator. She didn’t seem nervous. She had natural instincts, she was articulate and quick with words, and clearly she was used to working with VIPs, executives. If she was intimidated by Trey or Brody, or the conversation, she didn’t show it.
I was so focused on her, it kinda took the pressure off me. Just like back in the days when I’d gone pretty much everywhere with Gabe, I functioned better with her at my side.
Besides that, she was the best kind of distraction. All I had to do was focus on her deep-sea eyes, her easy smile, and I felt better.
Trey was still talking, and while his credentials were impressive enough to get us all in the room, I didn’t really listen. I already knew more about him and his business than he was willing to offer up. Like the fact that there was no way his artists generated enough bank to carry this office, which meant that Brick House Records’ fancy, sky-scraping digs with the killer view were at least partially funded by Trey’s other endeavors, and that meant they were for show. This was show biz, right? And guys like Trey always wanted you to feel like you needed them more than they needed you.
But that was bullshit.
And Brody knew it, too.
If the Players were allowed to do what they were capable of, and they stuck with Trey over the course of their career, they’d put Brick House Records on the map. Secure them a serious presence in music and, more importantly, in rock music, which was where Trey started out, and likely it was where his heart still beat.
He wanted us here as much as we wanted to be here.
“I’m always looking to spread our wings here at Brick House. Diversify.” He was still going on with his sales pitch when I tuned back in, but I’d had all I could take of the let’s-jerk-each-other-off small talk. “We’re excited as hell about having our first hard rock album on the label—”
“It might not be a hard rock album,” I cut in.
They all looked at me.
“What?” Trey said.
“It might not be a hard rock album,” I repeated. “It might not even be a rock album.”
Trey smiled his charming smile, like maybe I was joking. “The Players are a rock band, are they not?”
“Presumably. They just formed. I guess we’ll see.”
“I’ve been promised a rock album, brother.”
“Well, they probably shouldn’t have promised you that before I got in the room.”
Trey’s smile kinda faded. “I didn’t know it was an option to get you in the room.”
“Here I am.”
Brody shifted in his seat, like he was gonna say something, but didn’t.
“I need an album, Cary,” Trey informed me. “By December. That’s the deal. Beyond that… you’re gonna start running up a bill that the Players are gonna have to pay for. That kind of debt can drown a band before they even get their heads out of the water.” He looked over at Brody.
“You’ll have your album,” I said.
Trey looked at me again. “And you don’t even know what genre it is yet. It’s July, Cary.”
“Fuck genre.”
Brody cleared his throat. I didn’t bother looking over at him. I knew Brody Mason well enough to know he didn’t really care about this dance with Trey. We had contracts locked down, and he stood behind his talent. This was just a bunch of peacock strutting bullshit, dudes whipping out their dicks and rulers to size up who was the alpha in the room.
In terms of actual power in the music industry, Brody was the alpha in the room. Dirty was the hottest ticket in town, and they had been for at least the last five years. Everyone knew this. This whole conversation was probably amusing to him. I was surprised he hadn’t sent some underling to sit in on this meeting, but hey, he probably just couldn’t resist the opportunity to experience a rare Cary Clarke sighting in the wild.
Trey was still staring at me, sizing me up, though he looked mildly amused himself. Possibly just happy to see me here, no matter what came out of my mouth. We’d always been friendly.
Still, this was business, right? And I wasn’t naive about the reality that with a man like Trey, business always came first.
“How many albums have you played on, Trey?” I asked him. “Written? Produced?”
He sat back in his seat and studied me. “I don’t play anymore, brother. You know that.”
I just let those words hang in the air for a long moment to make sure he heard them.
“Let’s just let the album f
low, yeah?” Brody spoke up. “The album will rock, Trey. Can we all agree on that?”
“Yeah. We can agree on that,” I said. Then I got to my feet, and I told Trey, “You’ll have your album, and it’ll probably even be on time. It’ll be a whatever-it-is album. And whatever it is, it’ll be brilliant. I can guarantee you that. I can’t guarantee you anything else other than that. Give us a chance to deliver on that, and we’ll deliver.”
Trey was silent, considering that.
“And by the way, if you’ve got any more notes on creative, of any kind, you can send them to Taylor. Your assistant has her email.”
Trey smiled, slowly. Then he got to his feet. “Sure, Cary. You work your magic, we won’t have a problem.” He offered me his hand. Yeah, he just ate that shit. In front of witnesses.
Which meant he was giving me one chance to deliver, and if I didn’t deliver the magic, his A&R monkeys would be so far up our asses, the members of the Players wouldn’t be taking a shit in that studio without his approval.
I shook his hand.
When I turned around, Taylor and Brody had stood up, too. I shook Brody’s hand.
“Take care, Cary,” he said, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Then I headed the fuck out and Taylor followed. I’d had about all I could stand in that room.
When we headed back through the halls to the elevator, I noticed Brody stayed behind. Pretty solid chance they’d be talking about me, again, as soon as I left the room. Knowing it just made me want to get out of there faster.
We blew past the reception desk and got into an elevator. Taylor stole a couple of glances at me, but she didn’t say anything. As soon as the elevator doors closed, I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to breathe again.
Four in. Hold four…
Taylor turned to me. “Am I allowed to say that was hot?”
“Fuck yes,” I breathed. I grabbed her velvet blazer and kissed her. Her body softened against mine, and she moaned as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. When I broke the kiss, I pressed my lips to her jaw, to her throat, and she clutched at my back.
“Cary. Why did you tell them I was going to be your studio manager?”
“Because you are. If you want to be.” I looked into her eyes. “Do you want to be?”
“I… I didn’t even know that job was available.”
“It’s what Merritt does at Little Black Hole.”
“But that’s an actual studio. With people in it.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re saying my home studio isn’t an actual studio? And I’m not people?”
“I just didn’t know you needed, or wanted, a studio manager.”
“You can give yourself whatever title you want.” I took her face in my hands and kissed her soft lips. “But I’m not gonna waste your talents on fetching coffee and sorting emails.” I kissed her again, lingeringly, and I could practically feel her swoon.
Yeah, so maybe seeing her in a room with the likes of Trey Jones, superbachelor, had shocked me to crank it up a notch.
I wanted her. So I was gonna do everything I could to keep her, as long as I could. Even if it meant trying even harder to act like a normal person than I was accustomed to.
I dragged my lips over hers again, feeling her heartbeat against mine.
Stay.
Then I let her go, because we were almost at the lobby and I needed to put my sunglasses on.
“Funny,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve had so many bosses who’ve been happy to waste my talents on those things. And worse things.”
“Well, maybe your other bosses were assholes.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
I took her hand. And this time when the elevator doors opened, I didn’t let go.
Chapter Sixteen
Cary
Rescue Me
“Just a few… more… steps.”
Taylor led me out into my backyard with a silk sleep mask over my eyes, so I couldn’t see shit. It was about ten o’clock and I’d just finished working for the night. It was quiet in the neighborhood, as usual, but she had music on in the yard. Not super loud, but I could hear Jack White singing “I’m Shakin’” all the way in the living room, and it got louder the closer we got to the pool.
I was surprised I could hear it at all over my heartbeat pounding through my bones. My limbs were fucking vibrating with the adrenalin punch. I didn’t particularly like being blindfolded and led into something I couldn’t see, even if it was just my backyard. Anxiety, for me, was often nonsensical like that. One minute I’m walking into a business meeting downtown with very little issue, and hours later I have trouble walking into my own backyard.
That unpredictability was one of the strongest arguments for just staying put in my controlled environment. Why take the risk of having a panic attack in public?
I was pretty sure, though, that Taylor had no idea how nervous I was right now, and the song wasn’t meant to be spot-on.
“If you’re about to shove me into the pool,” I said dryly, trying to keep my voice steady, “let me know so I can haul you in with me.”
She stopped me with a hand to my chest and slipped the mask off for me. I almost shuddered with relief. “Ta-da!”
I stared at the pool, and the bar cart she’d wheeled over to it.
“What is this?” I asked her as I looked around.
“It’s the scene of our pool party!” She waved her arms at the patio around us, glowing in the warm light of the golden lanterns. The pool looked vividly turquoise in the night, kinda like her eyes, and the music flowed from hidden speakers on either end of the patio. It really was a sweet setup for a party.
The backyard was half the reason I’d bought this house. Back then, I’d planned to have a lot of parties here.
“Too bad I never throw parties,” I deadpanned. I definitely looked for it, just in case, but there was no sign of anyone here but the two of us.
“I’m throwing one for you,” she informed me.
“What?”
I looked her over in her gauzy pink cover-up thing, which really didn’t cover up her black string bikini at all.
On the way home from the meeting at Brick House, I’d tried to make out with her in the back of the car—she’d stopped me out of respect for Liam, a respect that escaped me when my hand slipped between her legs and felt her heat through her jeans. When we got home, she’d deposited me in the studio to work, interrupting me only for dinner and then sending me back to work. Which was good, because if I didn’t get at least a few hours of work in before she lured me out here, I would’ve felt guilty and stressed.
Honestly, the meeting at Brick House today took so much out of me, I either needed to fuck her or bury myself in work to feel better.
But the girl had flawless timing. When she came to collect me from the studio, I was just about to tear myself away from work anyway and see what she was doing. I’d heard her going in and out of the house and making noise in the kitchen, and talking to my cat in a sweet, indulgent voice.
She’d sent me upstairs to change, and when I came back down, she’d whispered, “Trust me,” as she slipped the eye mask onto me. And the anxiety had closed down around me in the blackness. She’d led me out here, and I followed, my heart racing. I didn’t like being led into who-the-fuck-knew-what, but I wanted to trust her. I wanted her to fuck me again and I really didn’t want to fuck any of this up by having a meltdown on her over nothing.
So I thought about what a normal guy would do in this situation—crack jokes? Flirt with her? Play along and be nice? And I bit my tongue. Actually, I bit into the side of my mouth and sucked back quiet, belly-deep breaths through the taste of blood.
I was half-terrified there was gonna be someone else out here, someone I wasn’t prepared to see, or just too many someones. But right now, I didn’t even see my cat.
Taylor looked at me expectantly, waiting for some reaction.
“You can’t have a p
ool this nice and never have pool parties, Cary,” she scolded me, teasingly, when I didn’t react at all. She couldn’t taste the blood in my mouth or feel my bones shaking.
I wanted to sit down, but she was standing, so I stood.
I forced the words out. “Is someone coming over?”
Her smile faltered. “No. Of course not.” She drifted her fingers lightly down my arm. “Just you and me. Come on.” She led me over to the bar cart. On top, there was a platter of bakery bread cut into chunks, a bowl of dill pickles, and a full bottle of Crystal Head vodka.
She’d gotten this stuff for me?
“Did I get it right?” she asked me. “Is the bread supposed to be slices? I thought chunks would be easier. And I got the mini dills.”
I studied the offerings, just trying to bring my heart rate back to normal as the anxiety subsided.
No one’s here.
The beautiful woman put on a bikini and brought you alcohol. It’s called a date.
Fucking relax.
I lifted my chin at the skull-shaped vodka bottle. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s vodka.”
“Aren’t you Polish?”
“Uh.” She looked lost. “My grandparents are.”
“With a name like Lawczynski, I thought you’d know. Never buy any vodka that isn’t Russian or Polish.”
She blinked at me. “Why?”
“Ask your grandfather.”
“Huh?”
“What the hell do Canadians know about making vodka?” I wandered over to the pool as I stripped off my shirt.
“But it comes in this cool crystal skull bottle!”
I said nothing. I watched her eyes follow my hands to my swim trunks, which she’d told me to wear. “So, is this work time or play time?”
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 25