My parents stare at their screen in silence for several breaths. Then Dad nods. “We’re glad to hear that. You can understand that we’ve been very concerned about our daughter’s … ongoing relationship with you. None of this is something we would’ve chosen for her.”
Brendan’s fingers tighten around mine again, like he’s seeking reassurance from me. I squeeze back, and he glances at me with a small smile before turning to respond to my father. “I understand, sir. I can see how our choices might seem irresponsible, but I assure you that I love your daughter, and I’ll do my best to take care of her.”
I open my mouth to protest that I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch, but Brendan squeezes my hand again, and I settle for glaring at him instead. He ignores me in favor of watching Dad nod and give him a hard stare directly in the camera. “I’m glad to hear that, son. See that you do.”
I blow out a breath in exasperation. “If we’re done with this display of masculinity, I’d like to remind you both that I’m in charge of my decisions.”
Brendan grins at my arched eyebrow and leans in for a chaste kiss. “Of course you are. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Just that I’ll be with you while you make whatever decisions you like and help you along the way.”
Somewhat mollified, I nod and sniff. “That’s right you will.”
Dad stares at us impassively, while Mom rolls her eyes. Conversation moves to other things, and Dad interrogates Brendan some more. They’re not quite sold on the whole music producer idea, I can tell, but given that his brother is a big deal and he’s married to Gabby, who they know and love, they’re prepared to give Brendan the benefit of the doubt. For now.
When we end the call, Brendan shuts the laptop and collapses back against the couch like he’s exhausted. Laughing, I crawl over him, straddling his hips. His hands fall to my waist, holding me still.
“Damn. I think your dad might hate me.”
I laugh. “No, he doesn’t. But he’s not totally on your side yet. I’ll give you that much. He’s a math teacher. He likes things that are concrete. Me wanting to be a musician is weird enough to him. Now here you are saying you don’t even really make music, you just sample sounds and create beat tracks to go under melodies that other people write and still other people actually perform. It doesn’t make sense to him how anyone could make money doing that, much less the kind of money that people like The Professor make.”
Leaning forward, I balance my hands on the back of the couch so I can bend down to kiss him. He kisses me back, but it’s reserved, so I sit back up to continue reassuring him. “When you get to meet them in person, they’ll come around. Telling them we’d plan a real wedding and reception was a good step. And that whole ‘I’ll take care of your daughter’ thing seemed to reassure him at least.”
He grins. “I thought you were about to bitch-slap me after that.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t.”
He laughs and levers himself up to sitting, kissing me for real this time. “So we’ve napped on your couch, had hot reunion sex, and now I’ve met your parents. There’s something else I’ve really been looking forward to.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
He brings his mouth right next to my ear, and I shiver in anticipation of what he’s going to do. But he only whispers, “I want to make dinner with you in your kitchen.”
I’m too stunned to respond for a second, but my stomach gives a loud rumble, making both of us double over with laughter.
Brendan gives me one more affectionate kiss before guiding me to my feet and standing with me. “I promised your parents I’d take care of you. Right now that means feeding you. When was the last time you ate?”
I shrug. “I’ve been a little distracted today.”
His look is full of censure. “Eating’s important.” Just then his stomach echoes mine. “See? I’m starving too. Come on. Let’s see what’s in your fridge.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Brendan
My time in Spokane with Lauren is over far too soon. Which is the chorus to the love song of our life.
I head back into the studio the day after I return to California, unhappy that I couldn’t have continued working remotely until Lauren was ready to come back with me. There’s not really a good reason I can’t. I work just as well on my laptop as I do on the big setup at The Professor’s studio. All my mixes were done on my machine until I started working with him. But he sent several pointed emails about my time away. When I asked for more time out of the office, he flat out said no.
When I get to my workspace, there’s a note on the door telling me to come to his office. Dropping my laptop bag in my chair, I sigh and check the time on my phone before following the note’s command. The red light he uses to indicate that he’s deep in work and not to be disturbed is off, so I rap lightly on the door and let myself in.
He’s sitting at a large L-shaped desk that takes up one wall before turning the corner to block him from the door. Two large flat screen monitors sit side by side in front of him. He taps his keyboard when I walk in and removes the headphones he’s holding to one ear, spinning in his chair to look at me. “Nice of you to come in today, Brendan.” Aside from the technology setup, he looks exactly like a stereotypical professor—glasses, receding hairline, a scholarly air. Though he does favor slim-fitting jeans and concert tees these days, rather than the khaki and corduroy he used to be known for wearing when he first got his nickname.
Gritting my teeth, I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to be intimidated. “Thanks.” The truth is, he needs me as much as I need him right now. I’m doing the lion’s share of the work around here. He doesn’t have any beat makers on staff as good as me, and no one who can help him master the mixes. But he’s the man in charge, so he likes to throw his weight around.
He stares at me like he’s waiting for me to flinch. At length he sighs, like I’m an errant child in need of correction and he’s frustrated that I’m being stubborn. I struggle not to roll my eyes. I guess we’re both falling into the parent/rebellious teenager roles. As though I need someone else treating me this way. I have my own parents, and now with trying to convince Lauren’s parents I’m not a fuckup, I really don’t need The Professor breathing down my neck. Especially when I’ve done everything he’s asked, and better than he could’ve asked for. I’ve gotten the gushy thank you notes from the stars singing my latest hits. The terse acknowledgments from the label execs. They’re stingy with their praise when it comes to producers. The labels are afraid if they’re overly enthusiastic that producers will start demanding a larger cut. But if they’re unhappy, the notes they send are very different.
The Professor knows as well as I do that I’m the primary reason the tracks with my name on them are doing so well. He may be leading the team, but without my beats, they wouldn’t perform nearly as well. And the remix he has me working on now is cake compared to what I’ve been doing. I’ll have it done by the end of the day. As long as this meeting doesn’t eat up all my time, at least.
Setting the headphones aside, he straightens in his chair, looking me over, one arm lazily resting along the edge of the desk. “How was your trip?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Fine.”
He sighs again, like he expects more from me than monosyllabic answers. But I’m not interested in wasting my time filling him in on details he doesn’t need to know. He’s my boss, not my friend.
Crossing his arms, he stares me down. I return his stare evenly. If he’s trying to be intimidating, he’s failing.
“You’ve been out of town a lot since I hired you,” he finally says.
I nod. This isn’t exactly news.
“I thought we had an understanding that this would be your primary workspace.”
“Is there a problem with my work?”
He doesn’t answer, except to stare at me some more.
My molars grind together with the effort of not losing my temper. “W
hen I agreed to come on, it was with the understanding that my traveling wouldn’t be a problem. I have family obligations that precede my employment here.”
He nods. “Performing with your brother. Yes. That was part of our agreement. But your last two trips have had nothing to do with your brother, have they?”
“I fail to see how that’s relevant. I went to Spokane for a family emergency. And the trip before that was at the end of a lengthy project. I typically take a week or so off when I’ve spent a hundred and fifty hours in the studio to finish up a rush project the week before.”
His nostrils flare. “Family emergency? I wasn’t aware you had family in Spokane.”
I grit my teeth. “My wife lives there.”
A glint of triumph enters his gaze as he nods. “Ah, yes. Your new wife. Funny how she hasn’t come up before now.”
“Why should she? We discuss projects and music. You don’t share your personal life with me. Why should I share mine with you?” My fists are clenching under my arms, but I’m determined to keep myself under control. He might be pissing me off right now with this passive aggressive bullshit, but he’s the best person to get me where I want to go in the long run. He knows it. I know it. I can’t afford to piss him off. And even though I’m responsible for his latest string of label-pleasing hits, none of them have dropped yet, so we don’t know how well they’ll perform with audiences. He still has the power in this relationship.
Tipping his head back, he stares at me down the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. We don’t discuss my personal life. The difference is that my personal life isn’t pulling me away from my work.”
“I repeat my earlier question—has there been a problem with my work?”
We continue our staring contest, him still looking down his nose at me, me grinding my teeth so hard they might start crumbling. Finally he blows out a breath, shaking his head and sitting forward to reach for his headphones again. “No. Not yet, at any rate. See that there isn’t.”
With that, he turns back to his computers, effectively dismissing me.
I stare at the back of his head before I manage to force myself to turn and walk out of the room without punching a hole in the wall or slamming the door behind me, though I’m sorely tempted to do both of those things.
Rage simmers under my skin, and I’d love to hit the gym right now to burn off the adrenaline and anger. But I can’t afford to. I need to finish up this project and see what else he throws at me. I can’t give him a reason to fire me right now.
At the very least I need to be able to last until tracks with my name on them start topping the charts.
Pushing my way back into my closet of an office, I stare blankly at the desktop, my mind still processing.
I’d planned on being here for a year or two more to really establish myself and learn everything I can. I know Charlie had nothing but good things to say about The Professor. But he’s very different to work for on this side of production. He coddles the singers. Strokes their egos. Encourages the ones who want to contribute to the writing process either with lyrics or melodies.
Which is great. If I were a singer with songwriting aspirations, he’d be one of my top choices to work with. He has a killer stable of writers, and he’s a master of the mix down.
But as one of his stable? He’s a strict taskmaster. He wants everything done to his exact specifications. Even though he gives me a modicum of leeway, he still strips out a lot of my originality in the final cuts. Or layers in his own additions, to put his stamp on what I’ve done. He can’t leave anything alone. Not if he didn’t come up with it.
As an intern, I figured it was just part of the process. But the longer I work with him, the more I realize he’s an egomaniac, and he has to have his fingers in all aspects of the process. That’s why he insists on me working in the studio. It’s not for any other reason. I have access to all the same software on my own.
But for now, I need to keep him happy. Once my tracks drop, I might be able to speed up the timeline for striking out on my own. But hoped-for hits aren’t enough to launch my career. I need these tracks to drop and hit the top ten at least before I can even consider leaving.
Something about Lauren finally being in my home feels like a victory. We’ve met in the middle and I’ve come to her place, but she’s never been here before. I love having her in my space and can’t wait until we can be together all the time.
I hate that it’s still a year before that happens, but despite my growing dissatisfaction with working for The Professor, I can’t make other plans yet. All I can do for now is sit on my hands, keep my head down, and try to space out future trips. I’ll have to go up to visit her at least once more, because I need to meet her parents.
Otherwise, maybe she can manage to come here more often. Maybe she’ll want to, especially as it gets colder in Spokane. Visiting me in LA will be a nice break. Right?
She glances at me over her shoulder after unpacking her suitcase, straightening and tugging down her tank top. “You okay over there?”
I shake myself out of my thoughts, focusing on her again and smiling. “Great. You’re here now. How could I be anything else?”
She gives me a lopsided smile, stepping close enough that I can reach out and bring her against my chest. Where she belongs.
“You were glowering at me.” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
I drop a kiss on her head. “I wasn’t glowering at you. I was just thinking about work.”
She presses her hands against my chest to gain enough room to look up at me. Her eyes are wide and fathomless, concern creasing her forehead. “Is everything okay? You haven’t been talking about it much lately.”
I shake my head. “Everything’s fine. The Professor’s just giving me shit about being gone so much lately. But since you’re here this time, instead of me going somewhere to see you, he can’t bitch about it.”
My reassurance doesn’t do anything to erase the concern from her face. “Is he going to make you work twenty-four seven while I’m here?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t actually have to do that.” Mostly. “But when you’re in Spokane and I’m here, it’s a good distraction. Otherwise I’m just hanging out by myself at home, jacking off to thoughts of you.”
She splutters out a laugh, which was my goal, her serious face fracturing and turning into a happy smile. Her cheeks turn pink. “You should call me if you’re doing that.”
“We don’t have enough phone sex for your taste?”
Her smile turns sly, and she shrugs. “I’m just sayin’. If you’re doing it anyway, might as well call me while you’re at it. Make it more fun.”
I grab her ass and hike her up my body. She clamps onto me, levering herself up for better purchase. My dick hardens immediately against her center. “At least for the next two weeks, that won’t be necessary.”
Her gaze darkens. “Right. Because when we’re together, at least one of our original rules applies.”
“Oh yeah?” I lift my eyebrows. “What rule is that?”
Her grin is sin and sex and happiness all rolled into one. “If you’re horny, I’ll take care of you. And if I’m horny, you’ll take care of me.”
I hum my agreement, pulling her tight against me so I can grind into her. “I’m a big fan of that rule.”
Her lips part on a gasp. “Right? Me too.”
“I think both of us need to be taken care of right now.”
She rubs against me. “For sure.”
I carry her back to the bed, laying her gently across it, shoving her suitcase off the end with a loud thump. Then I claim her mouth for a sensuous kiss, happy to savor her. I still can’t get enough of her, but that frenzied desperation I felt when we first got back together has subsided. Mostly.
It helps that it’s only been a handful of days since I saw her last.
Making love to Lauren in my bed is everything I hoped it would be. Her copper hair fanned across my pillows, the lig
ht streaming through the windows gilding her skin. Her taste. Her sounds. The way she wraps around me. The way she sees into my very soul as I mutter every dirty thing that crosses my mind, emptying myself in every way for her.
And when she comes for me, it’s a thing of beauty. If I wrote songs, actual lyrics, I’d write one for her.
Instead, after she’s asleep late that night, I pull out my laptop, and reliving the memories of our afternoon lovemaking, I ignore the hard-on in my shorts and focus on my heart rate. Then I start sampling sounds, syncing them up to my heartbeat, laying a track that’s literally my heart under the influence of Lauren.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lauren
Double-checking the apartment number in my phone, I close the door of the Uber behind me and stride into the building like I know exactly what I’m doing.
I mean, it’s not that I don’t know what I’m doing. Just that meeting a random person in their apartment is a little nerve racking.
My violin case banging against my thigh is a comforting weight, though. I’m here for a lesson with Julia, Gabby’s teacher from the summer she spent here. When Gabby found out I was going to be in town for a couple of weeks, she put Julia and I in touch with each other. We’ve exchanged a few emails and texts, and now here I am.
She answers right away when I knock at the door, a wide smile on her face, blue eyes sparkling and sleek tawny hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Lauren?”
At my nod, she holds out her hand for me to shake. “Come in! I’m Julia. It’s so great to meet you. Gabby’s gushed about you and your playing. I’m excited to get to hear you.”
“Thanks.” I’m a little overwhelmed, but in a good way. I shouldn’t be surprised that Gabby talked me up. I’m just not sure I can live up to the hype.
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