Just For Now, page 26
“And if I don’t want to do any of that?”
With a shrug, he holds my gaze as he sips his beer again. “Then you’re fired.”
I choke on nothing. “Excuse me?”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “You heard me. Either go talk to him or you’re fired. Simple as that.”
“I can’t—What—Are you crazy?”
He just shrugs again.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I swig my drink instead of chucking it at his head. “What if he doesn’t want me back?” I ask at last, giving voice to my biggest fear. “He bared his soul, and I walked away. What if that’s it, and he’s not willing to deal with my shit anymore?”
Marcus gives me a doubtful look, then claps a hand on my shoulder. “Tell you what—if that happens, though that seems extremely unlikely to me—but if he turns you down when you tell him you love him and that you want to work with him again, then you can stay with Cataclysm for as long as you like.”
Mollified, I nod. “Okay. I can handle that.”
“Now,” Marcus says, prying my glass from my fingers. Then he slides a folded piece of paper to me. “There’s his room number. Go.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Beckett
I drag myself back to my room after leaving Rockefeller Center. For once I’m grateful that it’s late enough that Tawni’s in bed already when I get back.
I’m not fit for company. Especially not hers. She doesn’t need to see me depressed and pathetic. And I don’t want to tell her why, because by all rights I should be ecstatic. The audience loved the new single. Chet called to tell me that two more artists are open to collaborating, and Kelsey confirmed ten minutes later that one of them had already reached out to schedule a session. If this doesn’t convince my label to give me a new contract, Chet’s confident that Cataclysm’s label will take me on after the reception of our single. Sales are already on track for it to lead off in the Billboard Top Ten.
But I told Blaire I love her, and she ran for cover.
None of the good outweighs that one, lead-weighted bad.
Somewhere deep down, I’d harbored this hope that I might be able to work things out with Blaire. That I’d apologize, tell her I’m in love with her, and she’d come back to me.
Today was the death of that hope.
I call down to room service for liquor, then collapse in a chair to wait.
Blaire’s somewhere in this hotel. Kelsey made a point of telling me as much when we checked in, hinted that she had her room number if I wanted to make use of the information. Go visit her like I used to when she was part of my team.
It had been tempting, but ultimately I’d resisted, reasoning that showing up at her hotel room after the way she left might seem too much like stalking. Or desperation.
Not that I’m not desperate. I definitely am. But I know enough to know that’s not a way to win anyone back.
And after the way Blaire reacted in my dressing room tonight, I’m glad I didn’t seek her out. It was bad enough the way it went down. At least Kelsey was the instigator, so I don’t have the humiliation of seeking her out and being rejected to add to the pile.
A knock on the door drags me out of my thoughts. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since I called room service, but I guess it’s just a bottle and a glass. It’s not like it has to be made, so why should it take the thirty to forty-five minutes they quoted me?
But when I open the door, it’s not a uniformed bellboy delivering my whisky.
It’s Blaire.
I’m so stunned I can’t even speak. Instead I just stare at her. Am I hallucinating? Did I fall asleep in my chair and this is all a dream? If it’s a dream, I should be able to get her back. And her hair should be down, and she should be in her tiny tank top and boy shorts that she always wore when I’d come to her room, instead of still dressed in her backstage work clothes with her hair in a ponytail.
So maybe it’s not a dream … maybe it’s a nightmare.
She shifts on her feet in front of me, pushing a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “Um … can I come in? Can we talk?”
Immediately I shove the door wide and step out of the way. She wants to talk? Of course we can talk. We can talk all night long if that’s what it takes for me to be able to see her, spend time with her. And hopefully by the end of whatever this “talk” entails, I’ll be able to be in the same room with her without wanting to carve out my heart and hand it to her on a platter.
Maybe we can have some kind of closure.
And maybe that’s wishful thinking, but that’s all I have left right now. That and the confidence that somehow, someway, I’ll survive this. I’ll definitely be worse off, but I’ll live.
When she brushes past me and I get that familiar hit of her shampoo, I know for certain that I’m not dreaming. I’m awake. She’s really here.
Why is she here? She made her position abundantly clear earlier. What more could there be to say?
Letting the door close behind her, I turn and stuff my hands in my pockets to help me resist the urge to go to her, to wrap my arms around her, to kiss her until she kisses me back.
She walks around the room, fidgeting with the little things on the desk and the TV stand, straightening the pen and paper next to the phone, precisely lining up the cups and mugs next to the coffee maker.
When she doesn’t say anything for several minutes, doesn’t even look at me, I clear my throat. “Blaire?” I prompt, my voice sounding rusty. “What did you want to talk about?”
She raises her eyes to mine, and the wealth of pain lurking in their depths steals my breath. “I was wrong,” she says.
The reckless part of me wants to believe she means she was wrong for leaving—today, weeks ago, all of it. But the smart half is more cautious. “Wrong about what?”
She grunts and wraps her arm around herself. “Everything,” she whispers.
Once again it’s hard to breathe. Everything? What everything? What does that mean?
But I don’t have to ask. Apparently my first questions were enough to break the dam, and the words start flowing.
“I talked to my cousin tonight,” she tells me, once again moving around the room and straightening things that don’t need straightening. I let her, though. Not interrupting. Not moving. “I was wrong about pretty much my whole life.” She finally raises her eyes to mine again. “My aunt and uncle wanted to adopt me.”
The statement surprises me. She told me about growing up bouncing between her parents and her aunt and uncle, how she never felt like she belonged anywhere, never felt like she was wanted. “They did?”
She nods, looking up at the corner of the ceiling and blinking rapidly. “Yeah.” Her voice is raspy and thick with tears. “My parents wouldn’t let them, I guess. I had no idea, though. I always thought …” She drops her arms. “Well, I always thought they preferred the times when I was gone.” Collapsing into a chair, she tells me about the whole conversation, how they missed her when she went away, how her cousin hated that Blaire always missed the family fun during the summers, the camping trips, the water balloon fights, the nights spent sleeping under the stars in the backyard.
While she speaks, I settle onto the couch across from her, unsure why she’s sharing all this with me, but happy that she is. Happy for her, because this is a big deal, and I want good things for her. And happy for me, because I get to see her, listen to her speak, and at least know that she’s not all alone in the world.
“All these years, I felt unwanted. By everyone. Well, except my guys. When I went to work for Cataclysm, it was like finding the family I always wanted. A chosen family. They cared about me, and I cared about them. We worked together and lived together and supported each other. And now I’ve just found out I’ve had a family like that all along. Or I would’ve if I let myself.” She lapses into silence, her legs pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as she stares into the middle distance somewhere near the floor or the coffee table.
My heart lurches at the way she speaks about “her guys.” I know she’s been with them a long time. I know that most of them are now attached. And I know that she’s been involved with two of them at some point.
Once again, I ask myself why she’s here telling me about this? What does any of what she said have to do with me? With us?
“Why are you here, Blaire?” I force myself to ask, my voice rasping. “Not that I’m upset. I’m happy to know your family loved you all along, even if I’m sorry you never realized it before now. But”—I gesture between us—“when I told you that I love you earlier, you told me to stop talking and ran away.” I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t understand what’s going on right now.”
She huffs out a laugh, tears tracking down her cheeks. Sniffing, she wipes them away. “I don’t really either. It’s been a mindfuck of a day, and I honestly haven’t had time to process it. First your assistant kidnaps me and locks me in a room with you, where you apologize and tell me you love me. Then my cousin calls and completely rearranges my entire worldview. And finally, Marcus corners me in the hotel bar and tells me he’ll fire me if I don’t come talk to you.”
I jerk in surprise at that last one. “He did what? Why?”
Her lips twist in a wan little half smile. “He said that I’ve kicked his ass when he needed it enough times over the years, and now it’s his turn to return the favor. Because …” She sucks in a deep breath and blows it out slowly before meeting my eyes. “I’m in love with you too.”
My heart stops in my chest. Then restarts with a hard thud and starts galloping along, like if it pounds hard enough and fast enough it can make its way out of my chest and hop into Blaire’s lap like a puppy.
“You do?”
She gives another huffy laugh. “Is that really so hard to believe?” Her face turns serious as she takes me in. “Did you mean it? What you said earlier?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately. Vehemently.
“Which part?” The question is a whisper, like she’s afraid to ask because she’s afraid of the answer.
“All of it.” And to hell with restraint. She’s looked like she needs someone to hold her since she walked into my room. And I’ve wanted to wrap my arms around her since she walked out and got on an airplane back to LA weeks ago. If she doesn’t want me to touch her, she can tell me to go to hell.
But she did just say she loves me too. So I think I’ll be okay.
Moving to her chair, I kneel on the floor in front of her and wrap my arms around her. “Blaire, I meant every word. And so many more that I didn’t say. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. For not making time for you after Tawni came.” Swallowing, I shake my head. “I overheard you telling the crew that what we had wasn’t serious after word got out. And I know I said in the beginning that I didn’t want anything serious. And I realize now, after some perspective, that after hiding our relationship for so long, you wouldn’t just tell everyone all the details at the first opportunity. I should’ve talked to you, told you that I wanted more, that I was happy not to have to hide and that I wanted something serious with you. That I wanted you to stay as my tour manager until you got sick of managing a tour and then just stay with me because I love you and I want you with me as much as possible. I shouldn’t have just accepted what you told them at face value and let it fester and eat away at me until it poisoned what we had. And I shouldn’t have believed my ex when she said I’m only good for fucking and paying.”
Her face twists at my last words and she shakes her head in denial. “You’re good for so much more than that.” Reaching out, she cups my face in her hands, her tears flowing freely. “And I should’ve asked what you wanted. After our first conversation, you never brought up my contract again. I didn’t know for sure if you wanted me to continue, especially after your daughter came and you stopped talking to me.”
“I’m so fucking sorry I did that. I shouldn’t have used her as an excuse to distance myself from you. Neither of you deserved that from me.”
She stares into my eyes for a moment, and I could maybe be happy just like this forever. Holding her. Touching her. Her hands on me, knowing that she loves me, that she knows I love her.
Then she leans forward and touches her lips to mine.
And it’s a blast of dynamite. An instant chemical reaction. A revelation.
My arms lock tight around her, and I lift up, plundering her mouth, needing to be as close to her as humanly possible. Any residual worry that this isn’t what she wants falls away as her arms wrap around my neck and she scrambles to turn so she can wrap her legs around me.
I’m rock hard, my zipper surely leaving an impression on my dick as I grind into the hot center of her. God, I’ve missed this.
“I missed you,” I whisper against her mouth. “So goddamn much. I love you. Don’t leave me again. Stay.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Blaire
“Stay,” he whispers against my lips. Before I can answer, he’s kissing me again, his hands finding my ass and holding me still so he can grind his hips against me.
I’m moaning into his mouth, desperate for more. More friction. More kisses. More promises of love and belonging.
More confirmation that everything I’ve believed for so long was wrong.
I’m not a burden. A drain. A whore.
I’m wanted. Loved. Perfect.
“You’re perfect,” he says. “So fucking perfect.” He keeps up a litany of compliments and praise as he kisses his way down my neck to my chest. “You’re the smartest woman I know. The bravest. The best. I should never have let you leave. I thought you wanted space. I didn’t think you’d go straight to the airport. I wanted to apologize as soon as I said those awful words. I’ve never thought that. Not about you. My ex was in my head, and she only ever wanted to use me, and—”
“Stop,” I tell him, pulling his face up to mine, kissing his lips. “Stop apologizing. I believe you.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, his dark eyes vulnerable.
“I know.”
“I’ll never do anything like that again.”
A smile pulls at my lips. “I know.” I kiss him again. “Does this mean I have my job back?”
Laughing, he picks me up and carries me to the bed. “You can have anything you want. Everything you want. If I have it to give, it’s yours.”
He strips off his own clothes before helping me out of mine. When he settles over me, his hands brushing hair out of my face, a look of pure adoration on his as the broad head of his cock nudges at my opening, I hook my leg over his hip. “All I want is you.”
He slides into me, joining us, his eyes never leaving mine as he rocks into me. Making love to me. Worshipping me with his body. “And all I want is you.”
Epilogue
Viola
“Hey, Blaire!” I say, surprised. But I set down my book, wondering at my good fortune to talk to her again so soon. After I called and talked to her last week, she’s been making an effort to stay in touch, but mostly through text. Though I did send her an email the other day because I needed to bitch about my job, and it was easier to do on a computer keyboard than on my phone.
I needed to be long-winded. I had a lot to say.
“I think I have a solution to your job problem,” she says, skipping the small talk and getting straight to the point.
I sit up straighter. “Really? How so?” She actually read my email, novel-length though it was, and now she has a possible solution? I wasn’t even looking for a solution. I just needed to vent my rage to someone who wouldn’t judge me. My parents are awesome and they love me, but they’d just come back with some kind of platitude about how even if you don’t get along with everyone, you still have to do your job or sometimes having to do things you don’t like to get where you want to be.
But how is working as an administrative assistant at the most boring insurance office on the planet going to help me get where I want to go?
Especially since I have no idea where I want to go?
My whole life has been mapped out for me. I went to school, went to college, got good grades, graduated summa cum laude with a degree in English and for … what? I don’t want to teach. I’m not a writer. I picked it because it’s a good excuse to read and talk about books. But no one pays you to be a professional book reader.
Do they?
Is that what Blaire’s calling about?
“So … well, I don’t know if you’d be interested, actually. But you sounded so unhappy, so you were the first person to come to mind. It’s a lot different than what you’re doing, but it’s not nearly so mind numbing.”
“I’m in.”
She laughs. “You haven’t even heard what it is yet?”
“So?” I respond sardonically. “It’s not mind numbing. Does it need a better recommendation than that?”
More laughter, and whatever it is she’s calling about, even if I don’t actually want to do it, I’m just glad she thought about me. That she’s calling me and we can laugh together on the phone. That alone makes me feel better.
“Let me start from the beginning,” she says. “Or, well, the recent past anyway. I’m back with Beckett as his tour manager, so Cataclysm is in need of a personal assistant. It’s honestly probably too much for just one person, but if you’re a good fit, you’ll get to hire the person who works with you, but you might get run ragged in the meantime.”
“Wait wait wait wait wait,” I say, my mind going a million miles an hour. “You think I should be a personal assistant for a band?”
“Well, I mean … not if you don’t want to,” she backpedals. “I know it’s not something that uses your degree, and maybe you think it’s beneath you or something but—”
“No!” I shout over her, interrupting whatever she was going to say. “No no no, that’s not what I meant. I’d love to. Yes. Yes! That sounds amazing. I don’t even know what it means, really, but if you think I can do it, then yes. Sign me up. Count me in. Tell me where to be and when to be there, and I’ll quit the most boring job in the world that is slowly depleting me of both brain cells and my will to live and go live the exciting and glamorous life of someone who works for a band.”
