Shattered Chords (The Encore Book 3)

by N. N. Britt

  The world outside this little terrace ceased to exist. The world where my lawyer was talking to Frank’s lawyer about countersuing KBC. Where Quin had left an unexpected voicemail on my cell. Where we were ready to gamble with our careers and our money just to stick it to the label minions who knew nothing about making music.

  None of that seemed important.

  “What’s going on between us, Dante?” Camille murmured, her voice small and deep and dangerous all at once. It had a detonating quality to it, as if we—our lives—were on the cusp of a huge explosion.

  Heat surged through me, wild and certain. I marveled at how much her presence vexed me, vexed me because I couldn’t have her the way I’d had hundreds of other women before.

  “Do you want to hear the uncomfortable truth or do you want to hear the convenient lie?”

  She drew a breath, long and measured, preparing herself. “I don’t like lies.”

  “Me neither. I’d rather make a thousand enemies by telling the brutal truth than lose a single friend by not saying anything when it matters.”

  It struck me then how relevant this notion was, how fitting. It described my life with such vivid accuracy, the fraudulence of it.

  I’d done it before—deceived a friend because I was too scared to speak up, too scared to look him in the eye and hurt him then and there so he wouldn’t hurt after.

  “You know my interest in you isn’t strictly platonic,” I rasped out, holding her green gaze. “You can deny all you want that you’re not even a bit curious, but the fact remains. You are. You’re just scared. And I understand why. This may sound cheesy coming out of my mouth, but I care about Ally. I care about where she takes this fire she has in her. She’s ridiculously talented and I’ll gladly help her get where she wants to go professionally, if she chooses to pursue that route.” I paused for a second to gauge Camille’s reaction. She was motionless. “But I’m not going to sit here and pretend I don’t feel things when I’m around you. Because I do. So do you.”

  “Where does that leave us then?” she whispered, hardly moving.

  “We could give it a shot. A slow start.”

  “And when you decide you don’t need us anymore? It’s not just me, it’s Ally too.”

  “I’ve done a lot of shit I’m ashamed of and I’m learning how to live with the consequences of those fuck-ups, but if no one will take a chance on me, how the hell am I supposed to figure out where to go from here?”

  “So it’s about you.”

  “No, it’s about you trusting me. About you trusting that I’m not out to just screw you and leave you like I would have done in the past. I like you. You’re the first woman who’s caught my interest in a long time.” There were tons of one-night stands and short-lived girlfriends before the overdose, but they were also, just like everything else, background noise. Their names—the ones I knew—were long forgotten now, erased from my memory by months of sobriety and clean living.

  “And if it doesn’t work out?”

  “I’m not going to leave Ally hanging if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’d like to be there when she gets her first Grammy nomination.”

  Camille laughed. It was a deep and bright sound and it reverberated through my chest and warmed my stomach. “You really lay it on thick.”

  “I prefer to call it thinking big.”

  “She’s fifteen years old. You better not feed her any ideas.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having goals.”

  “They should be realistic.”

  “You’re sharing a table with a two-time Grammy winner, darlin’.”

  “Okay.” She rolled her eyes. “You win.”

  “I wasn’t trying.”

  “You were just trying to prove a point.”

  “No, I was trying to tell you that, eventually, I’d like to take you out and you should agree to my invitation and that we can start getting to know each other better by having you and Ally come over to my house next Sunday.” I paused, then added, “I have a pool and a puppy. Ally will have fun.” My hand slipped to the pocket of the shirt I wore over my tank and I pulled out a lollipop. The conversation was making me strangely anxious and my mind needed a distraction.

  “Why such interest in my daughter?”

  “She’s very talented, but you already know that.”

  “I do.”

  I dragged my gaze away from Camille’s face and stared at the illuminated stretch of her tiny back yard. Something compelled me to speak only the truth when she was around. “She reminds me a little of myself when I was her age. I had no one to tell me what to do, no one to explain to me the danger of certain things like booze or drugs. My life was just one never-ending party from the moment I drank my first shot and snorted my first line. It was easier that way. The music industry is going to tempt your Ally. A lot. And you’re just gonna have to trust her to choose right. The decision is hers and hers alone. But I know people who won’t take advantage of her. People she’ll be safe with. It’s not much, but it’s something I can offer to help you ease your worry.”

  Camille didn’t respond right away. She took a few seconds to process the information I’d just sprung on her. “So why are you really inviting us?” she finally asked, as if she could see through my bullshit.

  “It’s my birthday.”

  Hard silence ensued. I waited patiently, and my fingers tortured the edge of the candy wrapper.

  “How many people are going to be there?” Camille inquired, her eyes deep and shiny like emeralds, settled on me, on my face.

  “Four.”

  That surprised her. “Four?”

  “You, Ally, myself, and my friend Malik. He’s staying with me for a few months. We met in rehab.”

  She listened intently.

  “I lied,” I corrected myself. “Snowflake too. So...five.”

  “Can I discuss this with Ally?”

  “Absolutely.”

  12 Camille

  As I expected, the discussion with Ally was very short. She pretty much threatened to disown me by emancipating herself if I didn’t accept Dante’s invitation. There was also the matter of his famed guitar collection that she wanted to see.

  What kind of mother would rob her child of that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

  A bad one, of course.

  And that was how a week later, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, I ended up in front of the gated property right off Mulholland Highway.

  “How much do you think these houses are worth?” Ally asked, entranced by the sight of the mansions dotting the green hill we were on.

  The 4Runner purred softly as I steered it toward the entrance—a wrought iron fence, either side of which disappeared into a line of thick vegetation surrounding a large portion of the land. My phone sat on my lap and I opened up my messages to find the text Dante had sent me the other day. It’d shocked me a little when I realized he’d included the code to the gate along with his address and the instructions on how to find him. I was always under the impression that famous people valued their privacy and his blatant trust in my keeping his secret perplexed me.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I understood why he’d done it. We both knew what was at stake here—Ally’s safety. Somehow, the three of us formed a mismatched, close-knit group of people who had no business being...friends. That was the only word that came to mind. I wasn’t certain what else I could call Dante Martinez at this point.

  My daughter was impressed for the first time in years. Impressed by the quiet opulence of the neighborhood, impressed by the rare expensive cars that we saw on the way here, impressed by the fact one of her idols had invited her over to see his guitar collection.

  Part of me wanted to be in her shoes for at least a second, to know how it felt to be on the precipice of something great. Because Dante Martinez was a key that could open a lot of doors for her, doors we would otherwise have to break clean off the hinges.

  I shoved down all my emotions and reached
for the keypad to punch in the code. The gate slowly slid to the side and we continued up the long driveway until the front of the house came into view.

  Several cars, including Dante’s Navigator, were parked off to the side.

  I pulled in the spot next to a Jeep with a No pain, no gain. Shut up and train decal. There was a blend of scents wafting from the vicinity of the house and I realized how hungry I truly was. Earlier, I’d spent an obscene amount of time doing my hair and picking my outfit, which resulted in my skipping lunch, and I still wasn’t sure about the dress and the sandals.

  Ally stuck to her usual—a pair of skinny jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt that read Systematic, compliments of Jules Keaton, who’d created a brand-new design for the upcoming batch of merch.

  Apparently, Jesse Catchum had spoken to someone who knew someone who ran a nightclub in Hollywood, and the band now had their second live show secured for late November, right before Thanksgiving.

  Ally was excited.

  “You think he’ll like the present?” she asked as we strode toward the front door that was wide open. There was movement and music inside.

  “I’m sure he will.” I glanced at my daughter, who was holding a gift box with a red ribbon around it.

  Dante had indicated in his text that we didn’t need to bring anything, but Ally felt compelled to make it a true birthday and had really gone all out.

  The moment we stepped over the threshold, a floppy-eared ball of fur wobbled over to us and started unceremoniously sniffing my sandals. He was small and nearly all white except for a few brown spots, and one of his back legs was bent at an awkward angle. I was so thrown off by the puppy at my feet that my gaze didn’t truly register the elegance of the interior.

  The entire floor, or at least, the portion of it visible to me, was designed as an open concept and seemed sparsely furnished. To my right, there was what looked like a dining and living area with an intricately carved wood table and a sleek sofa corner set, the two being at odds with each other because they obviously belonged to different time periods. To my left, was a huge glass wall overlooking the terrace. A staircase farther ahead disappeared to the second floor, and behind it was what appeared to be a hallway.

  A big, muscular man in dress slacks was telling something to a petite Hispanic-looking woman in the far corner of the room, and I suspected they were the ones I saw from the outside.

  “So you’re Snowflake?” Ally squealed and lifted the puppy off the floor, her mean face instantly melting into a mask of pure adoration.

  The man and the woman stopped talking and stared at us, surprise, then welcome settling in on their features.

  “Hello,” the woman smiled and gave me a slight nod. I caught a hint of an accent. “I’m Yanneth.” She wore dark pants and a black and white striped cotton shirt and looked to be in her late forties or early fifties, with her hair neatly tied into a bun at the back of her head, a few silver strands coloring her temples.

  “You must be Camille and Ally.” The big man grinned, starting his approach.

  “We are,” I said. “Hi.”

  “Ah, let me tell him you’re here.” Yanneth lifted her finger and pointed at the ceiling, then disappeared somewhere into the house, her voice carrying over the distant sound of rock music. “The guests are here, Mr. Martinez!” I heard her call, tone urgent.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” the man rattled off, his dazzling million-dollar smile growing intently wide. “You’re in for a great time today.” A cross of considerable size peeked out from beneath his shirt, the soft gold offsetting his dark brown skin.

  “Oh my God.” My daughter’s expression changed into something reverent. Stars in her eyes, she pressed the puppy to her chest with one hand and offered the other one for a shake. “You’re Malik Dixon.”

  “Last time I checked.” He tipped his chin. “And I hear you’re the future of rock’n’roll.”

  He had a loud, commanding voice that indicated that he, perhaps, did a lot of public speaking, and I had no idea who he was, but judging by Ally’s reaction, he was some sort of celebrity too. And then I remembered what Dante had told me about his guest list. Just us and his current housemate, whom he’d met in rehab.

  Was he a musician too?

  Beaming, Malik shook my daughter’s hand before his eyes swept over to me. “We’re glad you could make it.” He had an imposing but kind aura. The lines around his mouth and in the corners of his onyx eyes told me that he laughed a lot.

  “Likewise.” I offered a smile, fumbling with the strap of my beach bag. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.”

  “That makes two of us,” he joked, then explained evasively, “I’m just keeping my brother from another mother company for the time being.”

  I made a mental note to ask my daughter who he was later on if the opportunity presented itself and if Malik’s true profession wasn’t outed before the end of the party. Or I could google him on my phone. Harper would do just that.

  But after careful consideration, I decided against it. Too tacky.

  The second we moved past the initial introductions, footsteps sounded down the hall and Dante’s figure emerged from behind the stairs.

  There was a slight hitch in my breath. I didn’t know why, but perhaps it was because he looked somewhat different in his own house. He was decadent and beautiful despite his simple outfit—a pair of low hung jeans with rips across his knees and a black T-shirt that stretched seductively across his chest, showcasing some of the ink that adorned his arms, which he continued to hide while at my place. He wore no shoes or socks, and I found that cute.

  My pulse skittered through my chest, suddenly becoming fast and hard, and I questioned my sanity yet again. My instinct and my body were in total disagreement.

  You have no business being attracted to a man like him, Camille.

  “Hey, you made it.” Dante crossed the room and leaned in for a quick hug. By any means, the gesture was perfunctory, merely a formality, because we’d never hugged before, but shaking hands with him would be odd.

  Then Dante bumped Ally’s outstretched fist. “I see you’ve already met my roommates too.” His gaze darted between Snowflake, whom my daughter was cuddling, and Malik, who stood off to the side with both hands now buried in the pockets of his slacks and a grin that seemed almost permanent.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment? I should change out of these and into something more appropriate.” Malik jerked his chin down, motioning at his attire, and disappeared upstairs.

  “So you’re here,” Dante said.

  “We wouldn’t have missed it.” Ally smooched the puppy before setting him down on the floor. “Happy birthday.” She thrust out her hand at him, the box with the bow hanging awkwardly in the space between them.

  “Happy birthday,” I added quietly, but my words sounded like an afterthought. I also didn’t want to steal my daughter’s thunder.

  Dante’s eyes changed. Something similar to surprise lurked there. “You didn’t have to get me a present, Hendrix,” he told her.

  “I wanted to,” she insisted, red coloring her cheek, the one that wasn’t hidden behind the curtain of purple-highlighted hair.

  “Okay...well…” He accepted the gift, seemingly at a loss, which was so not him. “Thank you.” He studied it with curiosity. “I should open it.” A statement and a question.

  “You should,” I agreed. My daughter worked hard to find the right present. What would one even get a man who had everything?

  “Why don’t we do it in my music room?” Dante motioned toward the stairs and started in that direction.

  Visibly nervous, Ally slipped her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and fell into step behind him, then I followed.

  The space that he led us to was at the rear of the house. Big and windowless, stuffed with dozens of guitars, amps, and other equipment that looked a lot like Ally’s but was probably ten times more expensive. Framed posters, awards, and photos lined the walls.<
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  Strangely, this room felt like the only properly lived-in room in the entire house. Dante’s character was splashed and smeared across each and every surface like paint against canvas. The madness of his existence. The decadent luxury.

  “Wow!” Ally rushed toward a white guitar in a case that was sitting on a stand opposite the door. I didn’t even need to see her expression to know she was amazed by the instrument.

  Dante shot me a sideways glance and winked.

  “Can I touch it?” She spun and pressed her hands together as if she was praying.

  “Go ahead.” He nodded, his gaze sliding to me again for a brief second. There was a subtle smile on his lips, warm and artful, and I returned it.

  I’d brought a swimsuit.

  Because the text message said so. Granted, it took me over two hours to work up the courage to lose my dress and join the rest of the small crowd that wasn’t as shy. The afternoon heat and the sight of Ally and Malik splashing around in the massive pool that stretched out along the terrace finally convinced me that it was okay to let the man who’d recently declared that his interest in me wasn’t just platonic to see eighty percent of my bare skin.

  I’d never been self-conscious about my body. I ran and worked out several times a week. The need to stay healthy and in shape had been pounded into me by my mother since my childhood, and at times, I wondered if it had simply become a part of my DNA.

  But here and now—in the company of a man who’d definitely slept with more than a handful of intimidatingly beautiful women in his past—the swimsuit affair terrified me.

  When I finally emerged from the pool house reserved for Ally and me and our things, my stomach was tight with nerves.

  Dante was handling the grill. Yanneth, who was his property manager, was apparently also giving him cooking lessons, because as I walked over the cobblestone path leading to the pool area, she was rattling off some instructions. He nodded, a fierce expression twisting his sunglasses-covered face. Their speech was a mixture of English and Spanish and I could only understand separate words that didn’t make much sense if put together. It was the gestures that revealed what exactly they were doing.