Taking the Handoff, page 8
Trepidation fills my gut. This doesn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on why it doesn’t—maybe because nothing about today has gone like I planned—but something feels wrong about this. I look out the window and bite my lip, not sure what to do. I really wish I wasn’t here alone.
“Is there a problem?” my driver asks. There’s a hint of annoyance in his voice, but I can tell he’s trying to keep things professional, probably so I won’t give him a shitty review.
“No.”
Despite my instincts telling me to go home, I get out of the car, pulling my guitar case out after me. The car drives away as soon as the back door shuts, and I stare after it, unable to shake the feeling I should be going with it.
I turn back to the house. I’ve come this far, so I might as well go inside. I push aside any worry and head toward the gate. There’s a button on the side, which I press and wait, looking around. The sun is just starting to set which only adds to my unease. I expect a voice to come through the speaker attached to the button, but instead the gate opens almost right away. Walking through, I set my shoulders back, making my posture appear strong and confident, even if I’m feeling anything but right now.
I notice Jason standing at the front door, a wide smile on his face. He’s wearing jeans that are fitted in the butt and thighs and a little looser down his legs, and a black long-sleeved Henley with the sleeves pushed up his muscled forearms. Bernie would be drooling over him already, but it’s Luke’s face this morning that flashes unbidden through my mind.
“You look gorgeous, Emma.”
His lidded gaze slides down my body, feeling just on the edge of smarmy instead of sexy. I shake off the feeling and mentally blame Luke for my unease. He’s made me second-guess all this with his judgment from the other night.
Everything is fine.
Plastering a smile on my face, I reach Jason and offer him a brief hug. His hand lingers a little lower on my back than is professional, and his breath smells faintly of alcohol, but again, I brush it off. When I pull away from the hug, his hand still lingers on my back as he guides me in the house. The sound of the door closing sends apprehension down my spine.
A small voice in the back of my mind says this isn’t Luke’s fault I’m feeling uneasy. Something’s off. But again, I try to ignore it and blame my unease on nerves.
Jason guides me farther into his immaculate house, pointing out objects here and there that he seems to be proud of. I grew up around wealth, and this screams new money. Someone trying to show off how rich they are by buying the most outrageous things. My skin crawls when he shows me a tiger skin rug, and bile rises in my throat. Isn’t that illegal?
I glance around the room he guides me to and notice a small glass table off to the side where a credit card sits near white residue.
My heart beats a little faster, and I look at Jason’s face, taking in the light sheen of sweat and wondering if he’s been using drugs and not just the alcohol I smelled on his breath when I got here.
My gut is telling me to leave right now, but my stubbornness and determination to prove Luke wrong keeps me here.
“Do you want a drink?” he asks.
No, I definitely don’t want my inhibitions lowered. “I’m good.”
“You sure?” The way he asks me makes me absolutely certain I don’t want a drink from him.
“I’m sure.” I need to get us focused on why I’m here. “I’d love to jump right in and play some more of my songs for you. I’ve written a bunch of new stuff the past few weeks.”
Jason’s blue eyes stare at me, hawk-like. It’s unnerving, but I don’t fidget and refuse to give away how uncomfortable I am. I set back my shoulders and meet his gaze. Whatever he sees makes his eyes light up, which only unnerves me more.
What did he see?
What did I give away?
“All work and no play, huh?” He shakes his head, his lips quirked in a smirk as he glides his thumb across his lips. “Alright, let’s head to the studio.”
We walk down a hallway, several awards displayed on the walls, platinum and gold albums hanging everywhere. I recognize the name of a very popular pop artist whose first single skyrocketed her to the top of the charts. I look at Jason’s back. I knew he was a popular producer from my research, but it’s different seeing his success hanging on the walls.
He’s the big time, and while I’m still a little nervous, I’m feeling slightly better at the reminder that he’s the real deal.
He shows me through a door, and relief courses through me when I see the setup for an in-home recording studio.
God, I was being paranoid for nothing.
Fucking Luke.
My shoulders drop down. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding them so tensely until I saw the room and realized I was being ridiculous. Of course, he would have a private studio in his house. This is LA after all.
He fiddles with some dials on the sound board and gestures for me to go in the room where a mic stand and a stool are already set up. “Go on in. I’ll finish getting set up out here.”
“Sounds great.”
I walk in, and butterflies flutter around my stomach in excitement. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. The chance to work with a big-time producer and get my music out there for the world.
He fiddles with some dials on his sound board and then speaks into the mic, “I’m ready when you are.”
I pull my guitar from its case, my fingers sliding along the strings and the brand-new neck. As annoyed as I am at Luke, I’m still incredibly grateful he was able to fix my guitar.
I strum a few chords and warm up my vocal cords. “Okay, I’m ready.”
He gives me a thumbs-up, and I start playing the song I was fine-tuning this morning. I close my eyes, getting lost in the song, Luke’s piercing hazel eyes invading my thoughts as I sing about loving him.
Jason’s voice interrupts after my second verse, and I open my eyes to see him frowning at the board. He looks back up. “Okay, try again.”
I start strumming my guitar, but as soon as I open my mouth Jason stops me. “Have you ever played this with an electric guitar?”
I shake my head.
“I think it could really enhance this song. Give it a little punch.”
I frown but reluctantly nod in agreement. It’s not how I envisioned the song, but he’s a world-renowned producer, so he knows what he’s doing.
He smiles that slightly smarmy smile again. “Great. I’ve got one for you to use.”
He comes into the studio, pushes against one of the wall panels, and it pops open to display several instruments. As I place my guitar in its case, I look around the small room and wonder how many of these panels are actually storage closets. Jason pulls out a white electric guitar with a deep red strap and walks over to me. I duck my head when he slides the strap over my head instead of letting me do it. His knuckles graze the insides of my breasts as he readjusts the strap across my chest. I cautiously glance up at him to gauge his expression, but before I have a chance, he turns away and plugs the cord into the amp and then walks back into the booth.
“Okay, try that.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my fraying nerves, and strum the guitar. The sound that comes out throws me off. I pause and glance at him in the booth.
“Is there a problem?” he asks, his brow arched.
I shake my head and readjust the strap of the guitar. “Sorry. It’s just not what I’m used to. I’ll try again.”
He smiles like he did the first time we met, which puts me more at ease. I start playing the song and make it almost to the end before he tells me to stop.
A frown mars his face, and he twists his lips. “You know what, I think your instincts were right. An acoustic guitar is a better sound.”
Relief floods through me. I agree. I wasn’t liking the sound of the electric guitar at all.
“Go ahead and switch out.”
I quickly pull the strap of the electric guitar over my head and gently lean it against the wall, facing away from the window that divides the two rooms. I’m bending over about to pick up my guitar when I feel him behind me. I pop up but don’t get a chance to turn around before his hands grip my hips almost painfully. He whispers in my ear, his front now plastered against my back and my heart racing so fast I’m sure he can feel it. “I can totally picture this gorgeous ass on an album cover.”
My heart stops and drops to my stomach. His hand glides across my stomach, and I’m frozen in fear and shock at what’s happening. “Do you know how tempting you looked all bent over and displayed for me?”
His other hand still grips my hip so tightly I know there will be bruises there tomorrow. The hand gliding over my stomach slides up until it reaches my breast and then he grips painfully.
He’s whispering in my ear, but I can only hear bits and pieces over the pounding of my pulse as I remain frozen, unsure what to do. He’s blocking the door, and even if I could get out of this room, he would probably catch up with me before I made it to the front door.
Not to mention, I don’t even have my car here.
A tear slides down my cheek. Not only should I have listened to Luke, I should’ve listened to my gut when I first got here. But what good does that realization do me now?
Jason’s warm breath slides across my throat, and his tongue darts out and licks up my cheek. A sob works its way up my throat, but I hold it there and pinch my eyes closed as more tears start streaming down my face.
“This is how the game is played, pretty girl. I can make you famous. Make all your dreams come true.”
I feel the ridge of his erection against my back and let out a whimper, terror overwhelming me as he kisses my neck from behind me, his grip still holding me captive.
You hear stories all the time of this happening to women, especially in this industry, but it’s never supposed to happen to you. You convince yourself you’ll never be in that position.
Until you are.
My whole body shakes as his hand continues to rove over my body, touching me until I feel dirty and tainted.
I always thought I would be a fighter. I have enough of a temper. But here I stand, my fight-or-flight response abandoning me and leaving me frozen like a deer caught in headlights waiting to be run over.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t hear, except for the pounding of my heart as it races terrified in my chest.
His hand slides down to the button on my pants, and my eyes flash open.
No.
I attempt to turn around, but the hand on my hip tightens even more. “Uh-uh-uh. If you want me to produce your music, I’m going to need something from you, and I think you know exactly what I want.”
He kisses my neck, and bile rises up my throat.
“No.” It comes out weak.
“Don’t you want to be famous?”
“Not like this.” There’s a little more strength this time.
“You don’t mean that. Let me teach you a little lesson. I’m the one with the keys to your future, and without me you’re no one. This is how it’s done, baby.” I hate the term baby, and now hearing it from his smarmy mouth makes me hate it even more.
“No,” I say again stronger, even though my tears clearly give away my fear and panic.
“Do you know who you’re saying no to?” Anger seeps into his tone as his hands rove more aggressively over my body. “I can blacklist you in this town. Trust me, you want to be on my good side.” He slides his hand over my pants until it rubs between my legs, and I cry harder. “Last chance at a life-changing career. Yes or no?”
Is he actually bothering to ask for consent with his hand already rubbing between my legs? Is this how he justifies his actions to himself?
“No.” It comes out as a sob, but I can’t help it. I’m beyond scared, and I wish I had listened to my gut when I first got here.
Jason pulls his hand away and shoves me hard against the wall, cold air instantly cooling my back. “Then get the fuck out of my house, you goddamn cock tease.” His words are sharp and angry. I turn around just in time to see him walking out the door into the other room and out into the hall. I drop to my knees and take a breath, another sob ripping through my throat.
I don’t think. I just move, adrenaline and survival instincts kicking in. I close my guitar case and quickly exit the room, looking for Jason around every corner, but I don’t see him. I run to the front door as soon as it’s in sight and leave the house without looking back. When I get onto the street, I pull out my phone and stare at it.
Who do I call?
There’s only one person I want. Only one person who will make me feel safe.
Without a second thought, I find the number in my contacts list and hit the call button.
As soon as I hear his voice through the line, I let out another sob, this time in relief.
“Luke, I need you.”
Fourteen
My heart races as I speed through the Hollywood Hills going way faster than I should, but I’m determined to get to Emma. She didn’t tell me anything on the phone except where she was, but I can still hear her sobs ringing in my ears. I wanted to keep her on the line until I got to her, but her battery was dying, so she texted me the address and hung up.
I pull around the bend, searching the house numbers. As soon as I see her leaning against a wall, her head down and shoulders hunched as she holds the top of her guitar case, relief floods through me.
She’s okay.
But then I notice her shoulders shaking and realize she’s still sobbing. I pull over and get out of the car as soon as I put it in park. Rushing over to her, I wrap my arms around her and hold her close, feeling Emma’s body sag into mine, her tears already soaking my shirt.
I pull back just enough to run my hands over her hair and my thumbs across her wet blotchy cheeks, brushing away her tears.
“Emma,” I breathe out, “what the fuck is going on?” My voice shakes from the worry that’s consumed me since I got her call.
She takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself enough to say, “I should’ve listened to you.”
My heart falls to my stomach, and I look at the house behind her and her guitar now lying next to her.
The fucking producer.
She took the meeting with the producer.
I look back down at her, my voice low. “What the fuck did he do to you?” It’s practically a growl, and I can already feel rage brewing in my gut.
I swear to God, if he laid a hand on her, I’ll rip it off his fucking body.
She shakes her head and grips my arm tightly. “Please, Luke, just take me home. Please,” she pleads.
Rage still coils in my gut, growing and ready to explode, but my need to take care of her overwhelms my need to murder this fucking scumbag on her behalf.
I slide my thumb across her cheek again, seeing her red and puffy eyes and wanting desperately to make this better. I grab her hand and bend down to pick up her guitar. I usher her to my car and, once she’s settled inside, put the guitar in the back and get back in the driver’s seat, taking her home.
Safe, where she belongs.
She’s silent the whole way home. My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white and my fingers grow stiff. I continue to glance at her as she sits in the passenger seat, silent tears streaming down her face, while she nibbles on her bottom lip.
Helplessness like I’ve never felt before rushes through me. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to make her pain go away. It doesn’t help that she hasn’t told me what he did. My mind is spiraling with all the ways he could’ve hurt her.
I desperately want to fix this for her. I’ll give her whatever she needs. I’ll be her shoulder to cry on, hell, her punching bag if she needs to hit someone after whatever this guy did to her.
I’ll be anything for her.
She’s still quiet as we pull up to my house, but her tears have stopped. The second we walk through the front door, she heads for the stairs. I stop her, holding her hand gently in mine and cupping her cheek. She stares at my chest, her hands at her sides and her shoulders drooped.
I can’t take it anymore. I have to know.
The words are like broken glass coming up my throat. “Did he…did he touch you?” I ask hoarsely. It’s not the full extent of what I’m worried he did to her, but I don’t know if I can actually say the word.
She closes her eyes, and a tear slides down her pale cheek, which doesn’t make me feel any better. I tip her chin up with my fingers, silently begging her to look at me so I can see her beautiful green eyes and the truth she usually reveals with them.
“Emma. I need to know,” I beg.
Another tear slips down her cheek as she opens her eyes. “He didn’t rape me,” she whispers, her voice catching on the same word I didn’t have the guts to say out loud.
But the truth hangs heavy in the air.
He didn’t rape her, but he did assault her in some way. Just not in any way we’d be able to prove. It would be her word against his.
Motherfucker.
How many other women has he done this to?
“What do you need?” I ask.
“A shower,” she whispers.
I nod and reluctantly let her go. Her emerald gaze locks on me. I slide my hand through her hair gently, and she immediately wraps her arms around me in a tight hug before pulling away and going up the stairs.
I watch her until she’s out of sight, my heart aching to follow her.
Instead, I head to the kitchen to make her something I know she’ll love, something comforting and familiar. Emma’s always doing small things to take care of me. This is my chance to do something for her. By the time everything is ready, I find her sitting on her bed, her wet hair hanging loosely around her shoulders.
“I made you some hot chocolate,” I say, setting down the oversized mug with hot chocolate and whipped cream. It’s her favorite, and something I knew would offer her a little bit of comfort. I watch her take a sip, her gaze staring off in the distance.
