Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two

by Regent, Renee

  I kept scanning the crowd, which was starting to thin. Melanie had either left without saying goodbye or decided to spend the rest of the evening upstairs with Sacha. I couldn’t compete with a cute baby, so I decided to find my uncle and pay my respects before heading home.

  The door to my uncle’s office was closed. I turned away, downing the last of my drink.

  “He’s in a meeting, dear.”

  My Aunt Angela, John’s wife, stood with a group of ladies about her age who were now assessing me. I approached, bowing dramatically, and they tittered.

  “Good evening, ladies. Aunt Angela.”

  My aunt touched my arm graciously, for only a moment. She wasn’t as obvious about it as Aunt Margaret was, but she also liked to fix me up with her friends’ daughters. She turned to the women and whispered, as though I couldn’t hear.

  “I don’t mean to make my nephew uncomfortable, but he’s still unattached. Can you imagine? Look at him.” Three doting women smiled at me as though I was a puppy. I had to get out of this, but Angela continued her bragging. “Not only is he successful—he works for us, of course—but he also plays the piano beautifully. Won’t you treat us to a song, Spencer?”

  She gestured a hand toward the white grand piano in the corner of the room. I’d played it many times, but it had been a while. I preferred to play when I was alone, writing songs that would never be shared. It was my escape, my release. It was how I unwound, how I coped with the demands of life.

  The women clapped their hands and pleaded, so I gave in. I crossed the room and sat on the cushioned bench, raising the lid to expose the keys. I hesitated, drawing out the moment, amused by the attentive gazes of my aunt’s friends.

  My fingers splayed across the keys, playing the opening notes to an old standard song, made popular by the late Frank Sinatra. I figured the ladies would like it, and they did, coming to stand closer to the piano. Heads began bobbing, and feet were tapping as the melody built up to the chorus.

  By the end of the song, I was getting into it, and my mood had lifted. Making music was the one thing I enjoyed most of all, more than any of the decadent pleasures I had tried in my life. I was good at it but had never pursued it beyond casual fun. Other responsibilities had always taken priority.

  As I pounded out the final notes of the song, I caught sight of Melanie coming into the room. My heart beat faster as she leaned against the wall and smiled at me. I stood to bow, thanking my audience, which had grown as guests wandered in search of the music. Shouts for an encore followed.

  “That was fantastic.”

  “Well done.”

  “Play another song. Please?”

  I glanced at Melanie. Her dark eyes glittered in the lamp glow, and the curve of her lips suggested she was enjoying my moment in the spotlight. Whether it was admiration or amusement, I wasn’t sure. But she stayed where she was, so I sat down and caressed the keys once more.

  This time, it was a more modern piece, one that was popular in the nineties. It started out slow and the tempo increased and gained momentum, and when I reached the chorus, several people were singing the lyrics.

  I was having fun. I enjoyed the way music brought people together, if only for a moment. When the song ended, I looked up to find Melanie had moved closer. She was sitting on a chair, her legs crossed. Her cherry red high heels matched her lips, and I couldn’t stop the mental image of kissing her. I thanked everyone for listening, and I stood, walking toward her. It was clear she wanted to resume our conversation.

  I hoped.

  “There you are. I thought you’d left.”

  The hands in her lap were empty, and I noticed no ring on her slender fingers.

  “I was upstairs. Feeding the baby.”

  “Would you like another drink?”

  “No, thank you. How about another song?”

  The crowd had dispersed, and only a few people lingered in the living room. It seemed the end of my performance had prompted many to leave. Which meant a moment or two alone with her.

  “Sure. If you’ll sing.”

  She didn’t hesitate and in seconds was sitting on the plush piano bench. She patted the seat, indicating I should join her. I did, enjoying the subtly floral scent of her perfume. We were inches apart. This was going better than I had hoped.

  She suggested a few songs, which I didn’t know. I countered with an old blues number and was surprised she knew it. It was one of those sultry, southern life-in-the-delta type of songs that really needed a voice to make it come alive.

  I touched the keys, setting the pace. Melanie closed her eyes, waiting for the upbeat. I watched her face as I played, eager to hear her sing. Sacha had mentioned Melanie had a band and played professionally, so I figured she had the chops to pull this off.

  Her smoky voice pulled out the first few notes, setting the mood of the song. Anguish and sorrow, hard work and heartbreak. It wasn’t the words themselves but the emotion she gave the notes that really nailed it. When she opened her eyes, her volume increased, rising with the chorus. A few guests had wandered back to stand in front of the piano, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the beauty next to me. A thrill rushed down my back as she hit a high note at the end of the bridge, holding it out before pausing, only to dive into the last verse. She added some guttural grunts to the end of the song, emphasizing her control of the material while still having fun with it.

  Damn, the girl could sing.

  As my fingers slid over the keys, hitting the last note, she smiled and leaned against my arm, laughing. The guests politely clapped, a few of the men whistling. She stood and bowed, nodding to the small crowd.

  “Where have you been all my life?”

  It was a corny old line, and it came out of my mouth before I had a chance to think. But I meant it. I’d heard many women sing during live performances, including a few famous ones, but something about Melanie and her grungy-angel voice had touched my soul.

  She rolled her eyes at me, but there was a pink tint to her cheeks.

  “I’ve been around. Singing. Hoping to become successful at it.”

  “Can we do another?”

  “Sure. I can do this all night.”

  Her wry smile hinted that she didn’t mind being with me “all night.” At least I hoped that was what it meant, because I was definitely down for that.

  * * *

  Melanie

  Now I was in my element. No microphone and a scant audience, but that didn’t matter. I was singing my heart out, as I always did. There was no halfway, no phoning it in. I put everything I had into my interpretation of a song, otherwise, why bother?

  Spencer knew what he was doing. He played like a professional, adding fills and extra notes to lift the song to another level. Yet he never outshone me once, letting me run. It was always a challenge to play with someone new, but I liked how we sounded together.

  And here I thought he was just an arrogant rich guy. The dude had a bit of soul.

  “Do you know Black Velvet? Since we’re doing Southern themes tonight.”

  “I do.”

  Thump- thump-thump. Thump- thump-thump.

  He launched into the song, and I couldn’t help but sway. This was one my audiences often requested. I loved singing it, giving my own spin to differentiate from the original that had been popular on the radio in the early nineties.

  We killed that one and then a few more. Mostly nineties hits, branching out from our Southern blues jag. Spencer kept up with me, as though we had played together many times. It felt that way, which was really weird. Every time someone new came into our band, it took a few rehearsals to find a fit. Or not. We’d been like a revolving door lately, except for a few founding members.

  I shook off my concerns about the band and finished the song. My throat had gone scratchy, and it was time for a break so I stood. Most of the guests had left except for a few stragglers.

  “Whew. I need some water.”

  Spencer stood also and held out his a
rm.

  “I just happen to know where the kitchen is.”

  He took me to the back of the house where several white-coated staff were cleaning up. He grabbed a bottle of artisan water from a tray and a white dish towel for some reason, and then steered me through a back door onto a patio. The night was balmy, as it usually is in early July. He handed me the water bottle and walked toward the huge swimming pool.

  “So, Melanie. Tell me about your band.”

  “We play a mix of rock, country, and nineties pop. It sounds weird, but it works for us.”

  “Cool. I’d love to hear it.”

  He sat on a nearby lounge chair and removed his shoes and socks. Then he rolled his pants up to the knee, looking rather ridiculous. A couple walked by on their way to the house, giving us curious glances. But when Spencer sat at the edge of the pool to dangle his feet in the water, I suddenly wanted to do the same.

  I kicked off my heels and rolled my satin pants up to my knees. I sat down beside him, and the cool water on my feet was next to bliss.

  “This was a great idea.”

  He smiled. “I used to swim every night before bed when I lived here. In the summer, that is.”

  His smile turned sad at the edges, and I wondered what went wrong. Growing up in Colebank Manor had to have been pretty nice.

  “Do you miss it?”

  His golden-brown eyes flashed.

  “What? Living here? No. I like having my own place. But it was…a simpler time.”

  There was a story behind his words, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I was still a little on guard, simply because Sacha and Gibson didn’t seem to like Spencer much. But I sensed he wasn’t all bad.

  But then, I’ve always been a sucker for a guy who was trouble.

  He didn’t look like trouble now, but seemed lost in thought, as he stared at the water. Reflections of light from the house danced on the pool’s surface, shimmering. The effect was hypnotic, and I found myself staring too. Like watching a campfire, it brought on deep thoughts I normally wouldn’t be having while sitting next to a guy I hardly knew.

  To remedy that, I asked Spencer a question.

  “So, what’s your heart’s desire, Spencer Colebank?”

  Being a guy, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d answered, “A dozen hot wings” or made a lame joke to brush me off, but his expression was thoughtful.

  “To leave a legacy that will touch people for years to come. And I don’t mean money.”

  He looked at me, his eyes golden-brown in the dim light. There was a bit of a challenge in his gaze, as though he expected me to laugh. I didn’t.

  “I get that. What sort of legacy, then?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Musical. I write songs. Been playing since I was a child, and I’ve always wanted to do something more with it than just entertaining at parties, but I never pursued it.”

  He was still staring at the water, and now his face had a somber expression. I leaned closer, almost touching his shoulder with mine.

  “So, why haven’t you?”

  A long sigh escaped his lips, and he leaned back, resting on his hands.

  “I don’t know—work and other responsibilities. There was always some pressing issue, some urgent project that came first. I had to pursue a career, and music wasn’t considered a viable one, at least not in this household.”

  Now I was the one sighing.

  “Tell me about it. I have pursued music as a career, and it’s not easy.”

  “I can’t fathom why you’re not already famous. You put more heart and soul into those songs than even the popular versions had. You’re technically skilled and gorgeous too.”

  “Thanks. It’s not for lack of trying.”

  Dang, he had the cutest dimples. His smile was warm with an edge of heat to it, and his eyes swept over my bosom for a split second, causing a flush to my partially exposed cleavage. I kicked the water, suddenly giddy. Guys came on to me all the time at the bars and festivals we played, so I was usually immune to flattery. But this was somehow different, more sincere, and I liked it.

  “Well, Miss Melanie, I’m definitely a fan. I’ll be at your next show, so just tell me when and where.”

  I gave him the side-eye.

  “Are you sure? Somehow, I can’t picture you hanging out in a dive bar.”

  Spencer pulled his feet from the water and stood, offering me a hand.

  “To hear you sing again, I’d go anywhere.”

  “Well, all right, then.”

  He was probably flirting again, but I took it as a compliment. I removed my feet from the pool and grasped his hand. When I rose, he wrapped his other arm around me and pulled me close. He was a few inches taller than me and stronger than I expected. I stared into his eyes, barely breathing, his lips inches from mine. Was it too soon for a kiss?

  His voice was a low rumble. “I look forward to it.”

  Then he released me, and I stumbled slightly. He picked up my shoes, handed them to me, and picked up the towel from a nearby chaise lounge. He bent down, began to gently dry my legs and feet, and then rolled my satin pants back down my legs. The intimate gesture caught me off guard, and a low heat sprang to life between my thighs.

  “Thank you, Spencer.”

  I slipped on my heels as he held me steady with a hand at my back.

  “My pleasure. I’m serious about catching your show, so will you text me the address?”

  “Sure.”

  We exchanged phone numbers, and then he walked me into the house. I found Sacha and Gibson, said my farewells, and Spencer stayed at my side. Sacha gave me an arched brow, but I just smiled. She’d be calling me before I made it out of the driveway, I was sure.

  We waited in front of the grand house as the valet fetched my car. It was a late model Honda, likely the cheapest car on the property tonight. Spencer didn’t seem to care, and I detected no condescension or judgement as he opened the car door for me.

  “I’m so glad I got to see you again. I hope you had a good time.”

  I answered truthfully. “I did. I’ll text you about the show.”

  His dimpled grin undid me. Again.

  “I can’t wait.”

  As I drove away, I wondered what in the world the charming guy I had spent the last hour with could have done to piss off anyone. I’d probably never find out, anyway. We were so wrong for each other. Spencer Colebank and I were definitely from two different worlds.

  And I wasn’t even sure how much longer I was going to be in my little world, if things didn’t improve big time, and soon.

  * * *

  Spencer

  After Melanie left, I wandered back toward my uncle’s office. It wouldn’t do to leave without at least trying to say goodnight. Uncle John was a stickler for certain protocols, in business and with his family. I’d learned most of his rules the hard way, and even at my age, I had no wish to get on his bad side again.

  Although some days it seemed unavoidable.

  The door to his office was open, so I stopped in the doorway. It sounded like he was finishing up a call, and when he saw me, he held up a finger. A few moments later he hung up, placing his cellphone on the elegantly carved, massive desk. He turned to me with a smile, which faded quickly to a scowl.

  “And where have you been all night?”

  “Making the rounds, like you asked.”

  “Did you speak to Mr. Yamada? Or Ms. Larimer?”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like where this was going. “They were both here? I spoke at length with Glenn Anders, and that couple with the resort in Oregon. Their name escapes me at the moment.”

  Uncle John frowned, dismissing my efforts.

  “Anders is already on board, and the Oregon couple informed Gibson yesterday they weren’t interested. I expected more from you tonight than providing musical entertainment, Spencer.”

  I leaned against the door frame and crossed my arms over my chest. So that’s how he wants to play it. Typical.

 
; “Like I said, I made the rounds. If they were here, I never ran into them. It’s a big house. You were behind closed doors, and maybe if Gibson had updated me, I’d have taken a different tactic with the Oregon couple. Perhaps I could have brought them around.”

  “Well, I ended up making a verbal deal with Yamada. His team will be sending some information about their website to you next week. He’s all but signed up, so that’s top priority for your department until the deal’s done. Understood?”

  “Of course. And I’ll follow up with Ms. Larimer as well. Anything else?”

  This wasn’t my first day on the job, and I should have been immune to my uncle’s overbearing attitude. If everything didn’t go perfectly, he’d let you know in no uncertain terms. It was his right to be in control—he was one of the most successful men in his industry. Yet, my logical business mind couldn’t quite override the emotional discomfort I felt at having let my uncle down once again.

  At least he didn’t know how unworthy I really was—that secret I would never reveal to anyone.

  We stood in silence for a few moments, and then he waved a hand to dismiss me.

  “That’s enough for now. Just stay on top of things. To be honest, Spence—I get the feeling your heart’s just not in it lately. Ever since Gib came back, you’ve seemed…off.”

  “Nah. Everything’s fine. Have a good night, Uncle.”

  “Good night.”

  I turned to leave, barely acknowledging his response. I did not want to have a deep conversation with the man. I didn’t want to have a deep conversation with anyone, which made me wonder why I had spilled my guts to Melanie earlier that evening. I’d never told anyone my true heart’s desire was to make music. It seemed such a pointless folly, so why bother?

  Something about Melanie Parker had lit a spark in my soul. Or was this fascination just another distraction from the gnawing pain in my heart?