“You what?”
His mouth pulls down like he’s disappointed in me. “She’s as fresh-faced and naive as your sister-in-law. But the difference is that your sister-in-law contributes to your brother’s career. If they’re to be believed, he wouldn’t actually have a career without her. But you?” He shakes his head again. “No. She can’t help you. And with you running all over the place to see her and fly her here and keep her happy? You can’t focus. You can’t make the connections you need to make it in this business if you’re distracted by some piece of ass that you got drunk and married and deluded yourself into believing you loved.”
So many things I want to do. To say. I want to flip this desk. Pick up the expensive electronics one by one and send them flying across the room. Scream my fury. Tell him exactly what I think about him and his interference.
But instead, I do the thing I know will hurt him the most. He already told me what he wants from me. So I’m taking that away.
Uncurling my fingers from around his desk, I straighten to my full height, draw in a deep breath, and look him dead in the eyes. “I quit.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Lauren
Dr. Graves is droning on about Renaissance music when there’s a knock at the door. From the way everyone perks up, it’s obvious that the interruption is welcome. Dr. Graves is the only exception, stopping mid sentence to press her lips together and flare her nostrils in annoyance.
Penny, the department’s administrative assistant pokes her head in, scanning the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Graves.” Her eyes land on me. “Lauren? If you could come with me, please?”
“Hold on, Lauren.” Dr. Graves holds up a hand in the universal gesture for stop. “Can’t this wait, Penny? We’re in the middle of class.”
A masculine voice sounds from the hallway, threaded with impatience. Penny looks caught, uncertain who to listen to, Dr. Graves or the man behind her. He says something else, and while I can’t quite make out the words, I’d know that voice anywhere.
I jolt in my chair, banging my elbow painfully against the bar holding up the desk, my eyes wide. Brendan’s here. Why is Brendan here?
I mean, him showing up out of nowhere is kind of his thing. But showing up and pulling me out of class is a whole other level of extra.
The sudden shot of adrenaline at hearing his voice makes me clumsy, and I hit my leg against the desk when I stand, knocking my notebook to the floor. “Sorry,” I mutter, crouching to gather my things and stuff them in my backpack. Standing again, I look at Dr. Graves, whose face is a picture of frustration. “I’m sorry. I, um—” I glance at Penny, whose hand is the only thing still visible on the door handle. She’s trying to pull the door closed, while another hand is wrapped around the door obviously trying to push it open. Turning back to Dr. Graves, I offer an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I have to go. If I don’t, the disruption will only get bigger.”
Dr. Graves’s mouth hangs open in shock as I sidle my way through the row of desks as quickly as possible and head for the door. I’ll have to deal with her later, though, because right now there’s a man intent on barging into class to get to me.
Wrapping my fingers around the door handle, I give a tug, but it doesn’t move. “It’s okay, Penny. I’m coming out.”
She exhales in a whoosh, obviously relieved as I slip out and pull the door closed behind me. “Okay. Sorry to drag you out of class like this. But he”—she casts a meaningful glance at Brendan over her shoulder, who’s now staring at me with his hands in his pockets, his face giving nothing away—“wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted on seeing you immediately. He wouldn’t wait.”
I give her a tight smile. “I believe you. I’m aware of what he’s like. I’ve got it now.”
She leans in close, cutting her eyes to the side and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Are you safe? I can call the police if you need me to.”
“No, no. That’s not necessary. He’s not dangerous, I promise.” Looking over at him, the hard set of his jaw, the tense muscles, practically banging down the classroom door to get to me, I can see how someone might be concerned. “He’s just a man on a mission.”
His eyes meet mine, glittering with intensity, and I can’t look away. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
Crossing my arms, I lift my chin, tempted to refuse. “I don’t know. I can’t say I appreciate having my classes interrupted and the department staff feeling threatened. You couldn’t have waited until after class?”
The muscles in his jaw jump again. “I can’t say I appreciate being left with only a two sentence note and one phone call. You owe me a real conversation at the very least. And no, at this point, I’m not willing to wait any longer. One conversation. That’s all I ask. And then you can have your papers.” He reaches behind him and pulls the papers in question out of his back pocket, unfolding them to show me the signature lines—his blank one with the sticky flag still attached next to the one I signed in my attorney’s office a few days ago.
The sight of it takes my breath away and makes my stomach twist into a hard knot that tries to force its way up my throat.
His voice softens. “I just want to talk, Lauren. We can do it here in the hallway. I’m not trying to hide anything. But I know you like your privacy.”
Another punch to the gut that knocks the wind out of me. Privacy. Ha. I haven’t had any real privacy since I agreed to marry him.
Which I guess is his point. But he’s leaving it up to me how much of a public spectacle I want to be. At least in this instance.
“Fine.” I hold up a finger. “One conversation.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I doubt I’ll be able to keep that vow. That’s why I haven’t taken any of his calls, haven’t called him back. I can’t hold out against him. I’ve never been able to. But he’s right. He didn’t deserve to be left with barely a note and a phone call. I’ve been a coward, and he’s suffered for it as much or more than I have.
Tilting my head down the hall, I decide we can have our conversation in a practice room. They’re not completely soundproof, unfortunately, but should give us a modicum of privacy.
He follows me, a foreboding shadow. The thought of being trapped in a closet-sized room with him fills me with … excitement. Anticipation.
Dammit. No. I sent him divorce papers. I shouldn’t want to be alone with him. I’m trying to do what’s best for both of us by pushing him away. Locking us both in a narrow room where we almost have to touch each other seems like a bad plan. But what other option do I have? Take him home with me?
Yes. Do that. Gah! Shut up, crazy voice in my head! You’re the reason I’m in this mess!
But as we walk into the practice room hallway and are met with the cacophony of piano, strings, trumpet, and a stray vocalist, it’s clear that this isn’t going to be a helpful place to have a conversation. It’s the middle of the afternoon. The building is full of people. Between classes, students practicing, and ensemble rehearsals starting in an hour, nowhere in the music building is a good option.
With a sigh, I lead him through the hall of practice rooms and back to the stairs, resigned to the inevitable. “Come on,” I toss over my shoulder. “Let’s go to my house.”
Hopefully I don’t lose my pants as well as my head and my heart by the end of this conversation.
Chapter Forty-Four
Brendan
I make a concerted effort to not say anything as I follow Lauren to her car, climb in the passenger side, and ride with her to her house. The silence carries the same tension it did when I showed up out of the blue back in May with my brothers in tow and we drove to some lake to look at the stars.
This seems to be my MO. Showing up out of the blue and demanding she speak with me.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the car window, forcing myself not to bang my forehead on it in frustration. What the fuck is wrong with me?
A lot, actually. And it all begins and ends with Lauren. But I can’
t accept that this is over. Not without one last-ditch effort. Not without convincing her that The Professor is an asshole who’s only looking out for himself. He doesn’t give a shit about me or my career, except as it potentially benefits him. He’d keep me under his thumb for as long as possible, feeding me lies about how long I need to work with him to beef up my resume, how no one will want to work with an untested new guy, and that it takes years to get enough experience to not be a new guy anymore.
Maybe there’s some truth to what he says. There probably is, honestly. But he twists and contorts it so much that it’s hard to decipher where that kernel of truth is lodged.
And fuck him, anyway. I’m friends with one of the biggest popstars of the century and related to another one. I’ve worked on enough projects with him. I have contacts at labels now that I didn’t have before. And it’s just a matter of time before the albums that I worked on are released and their lead singles rocket up the charts.
Okay, that’s a mixture of hopeful thinking and arrogance right there, and I’m self-aware enough to admit it, but I have to tell myself that, because all my plans hinge on that becoming a reality.
The other ace up my sleeve is my brother, though. Jonathan’s already agreed to have me produce something for him soon. I played him the heartbeat track I started working on when Lauren was with me, and he loved it. With his backing, even if I don’t get a ton of work right away, I can start building a reputation for myself. Without The Professor.
Parking in front of her house, Lauren leads the way inside, dropping her backpack by the coffee table and turning to face me, arms crossed. Her face is set in hard lines, her brows raised in expectation. “Here we are. One conversation. Go.”
I toss the folded divorce papers on the coffee table, spreading my arms. “Just like that? Go?”
Her nostrils flare as she sucks in a breath. “You’re the one who came here. Again. With no warning. You’re the one who wants to talk.”
“And if I’d given you warning? Would you have agreed to talk to me?”
She stares at me, her entire body tense, her shoulders almost to her ears. But she doesn’t answer.
“I miss you.”
Her head jerks. Not in denial, but in surprise. It shouldn’t be a surprise, though.
Her shoulders inch down. But she’s still strung as tight as one of her violin strings. The highest, thinnest one that always looks like it might break if you pluck it too hard. But like that string, I know she’s stronger than she looks. Still, she says nothing.
Cautiously, I take a step closer. “I know what he told you.”
Her eyes, which had been staring at a point over my shoulder, snap to mine.
I take another step. “You wouldn’t tell me. I was trying to give you time. Let things settle. And I know school started. But I miss you. I hate not seeing you, not talking to you. I was still telling myself that we could work this out somehow. And then I got those papers today.” The words leave my mouth with a bitterness that coats my tongue. “Divorce papers.” I don’t even try to disguise the pain in my voice, in my face. “And I thought back to that last week you were with me. That’s when I realized that everything changed after he gave you a tour of the studio. I knew I shouldn’t have let him spend any time alone with you. But like when we were at my parents’ house, I made a mistake. A miscalculation. I’m sorry.”
Her nostrils flare again. “I’m not some fragile princess.” Her voice is raw. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
I nod. “I know. You’re strong. So strong. But I still should’ve protected you from my mom, who we know is horrible when she decides to be overprotective. And I should’ve protected you from The Professor. He’d already let me know that he didn’t think I should be getting married or spending time with you. I shouldn’t have let him fill your head with poison.”
She jerks her head again, this time a deliberate denial. “It wasn’t poison. It was the truth. He was totally right. I’ll never escape the attention of the tabloids. They’ll always find ways to make anything and everything I do look tawdry and wrong.” She closes her eyes, hiding from me. “I’m tired of being called a slut. For fuck’s sake, we’re married, and I’m still somehow a slut. Not to mention a gold digger and a fame whore.”
“But you’re not.” My denial is as vehement as her defense of the lies The Professor told her.
When her eyes open, they’re filmed with unshed tears. “I know,” she whispers. “I know that part isn’t true. But they’ll always call me that. Everyone will always think that. And it will drag you down. We’ll drag each other down.” She shakes her head slowly, spreading her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “This is the only way to escape it. The only way for both of us to get the lives we want and deserve.”
“No.” The word slips past my lips before I even intend to say it. It’s little more than a whisper, and Lauren’s face registers her surprise. I clear my throat and say it again, louder this time. “No. This isn’t the only way.”
She scoffs, exasperated, her arms spreading wider, inviting an explanation. “Really? It’s the only way I can see. What do you propose?”
I take another step closer, putting me right in front of her. Close enough to reach out and touch her. To take her in my arms again. I want to so bad, but I force my hands to stay at my sides. “I propose that we do what we told your parents.”
Her mouth drops open. “What?”
“I propose that we get married. Again. With a proper wedding.”
Her arms lock back in place across her chest. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
She shakes her head. “You’re crazy. This is crazy. This whole idea—this whole relationship—has been based on one crazy idea after another. It can’t work. We can’t work!”
“Why? Why can’t we work? And why is crazy such a bad thing? Other than the last month, it’s worked out pretty well.”
Her eyes narrow. “No. Don’t put this all on me. Even without the tabloids, I still don’t see how we could make this work. Not when the summer’s been as hard as it has already, and I still have nine more months of school. My schedule will be even worse this year, between auditions and recitals. And then grad school. What if I can’t get in to the place in California? What if there’s a school I’d rather go to instead? What if I hate the professor there? I don’t want that to be my only option.”
I shrug. “So we don’t make that your only option. Or even an option, if you don’t like it.”
She splutters, throwing her hands in the air. “So we just continue living apart indefinitely? Barely ever seeing each other? Remaining in this long-distance hell forever?”
The fierceness of her hatred of that idea gives me hope. Just a little. “Is the long-distance part your biggest objection? Is that what you hate the most?”
Her arms drop to her sides, and she stares at me, her face crumpled in pain.
“I know the media attention sucks, and I’m sorry about that. I wish I could make it go away. I know how much it hurts you. And I hate it more than I can express in words.” Reaching out, I grasp one of her hands in mine. “But I hate the thought of never seeing you again even more. If the long-distance thing is what’s holding you back the most, then problem solved. I quit this morning. I’m not going to work with The Professor anymore. I can go wherever you are.”
Instead of happiness or even the cautious hope I expected at my announcement, she jerks her hand away, her face morphing into a mask of horror. “What? You what? Why did you do that? Please tell me you didn’t quit because of me.” She covers her face with her hands. “God, Brendan. I left so you could have your career. Why would you torpedo it for me?”
“Don’t you get it?” I reach out and gently wrap my fingers around her wrists, trying to tug her hands away from her face. But she won’t budge. Giving up on that, I pull her against my chest and wrap my arms around her. She holds herself stiffly against me, but doesn’t pull away. �
�I’d rather have you than whatever grand future he’s dreamed up for me. I don’t need him. Not anymore. I have enough to strike out on my own already.”
She lowers her hands, but keeps her face against my shirt, turned to the side, her arms pulled in against her chest as she processes my statement. “Then why did you stay with him? If you didn’t really need him, why put us through all this in the first place?” Her voice is low and surprisingly steady, but she vibrates with suppressed energy in my arms.
Gently I pull her away from me so I can look at her face. “Because I thought I needed him. Honestly, if I could stand to keep working with him, it would pave the way a lot more smoothly. But between Jonathan and Charlie and the handful of label execs I’ve already met, I think I can get started. Maybe I won’t have some meteoric rise where I’m the top choice on everyone’s list. I can handle that, though.” I squeeze her shoulders, holding her gaze with mine. “What I can’t handle is being away from you. I can’t handle you leaving me. I can’t handle getting woken up by the receptionist so I can be served divorce papers. Give us another chance. I’ll move here. I’ll get my own place if you don’t want to live together yet. We’ll do this right. We’ll date. Take it slow. If, in the end, you decide that we don’t belong together, I’ll find a way to accept it. But not without actually making the effort first.”
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 24