Текст книги "Torn"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 10

Rebel Beat

“River, get your ass out of bed! We have to meet with Ellie in thirty minutes.” Those are the first words I hear, right as our bedroom door swings open. I grab for the blanket and pull it up as far as I can.

Rolling to his side, he pulls me behind him, shielding me. “What the fuck, Xander, did you forget how to knock?”

Xander stands there looking very hungover. Leaning against the doorframe he says, “Shit. I thought you were alone. Didn’t know the Muse came home. Well, we have a meeting, so get your ass up.”

“I’m not going to any more meetings. Go without me.”

“This one is with the label.”

“Xander, I’m not going.”

Xander shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath that sounds like “asshole” but then he says, “Whatever, Loverboy! I’ll call you later with the details.”

As River pulls me tighter to him, I nestle my head contentedly on his shoulder.

“I’m sure you will,” he says to Xander.

“I’m outta here. Glad to see you worked it out.”

I wave goodbye to him and River says, “Xander, thanks for last night.”

Xander rubs his hand against the back of his head. “Whatever, no problem, but maybe next time we could stick to vodka.”

River and I both get a laugh out of that. Xander really does look like a mess. Funny I thought he could hold his liquor.

“Yeah man, but I’m not planning on there being a next time,” River says and I tighten my hold on him and kiss his shoulder.

Xander smirks as he leaves. Closing the door behind him he yells back, “By the way—nice shiner.”

Leaning around to kiss River, my fingers dance up his bare back. “You should go to those meetings, you know. It’s not good for the lead singer of the band to look disinterested.”

Turning his head to meet my kiss, he rolls over. Hovering over me, his lips almost touching mine, he answers me. “I’m not interested so I guess the way it looks is the way it is.”

I shove him a little.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Well since the tour is really happening I think . . .”

He doesn’t let me finish before he rolls us over so that I’m once again lying on top of him. “There. Let’s start the morning over.”

I laugh and let him do what he’s so very good at—changing the subject.

One hand moves the hair off my face as he asks, “What do you want to do today, beautiful girl?”

“I think we should probably work. Don’t you?”

He shakes his head. “I just want a few hours alone with you.”

Circling my fingers around his now very black eye, I grin slyly and say, “That can be arranged.”

“So any ideas?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, everything.”

“Well that narrows it down,” he says as he continues to stroke my hair.

“Does it hurt?” I’m staring at his eye.

He raises his arm over his head and shakes it before saying, “Nope, just a little sore, I’ll be able to lift the Starbucks coffee you’re going to get with no problem.”

I burst into a fit of giggles before I can respond. “First of all I meant your eye, but I’m glad your hand is better, and, second of all, I did not lose, you did! You couldn’t have stayed underwater if I would have held you there.”

“Yeah, I might have been a little buoyant.”

I can only laugh. He was more than a little buoyant, but talking about why he drank so much is not what I want to do right now. “How about we stop for coffee on the way to do something I have always wanted to do?”

He slides his body along the length of mine, then slips his arms under my back and presses his lips to my ear. “Hmmm . . . that sounds fun.”

I sigh deeply. With his body so close and his warm breath on me it’s hard to concentrate. I think a day away from all the chaos will help us both find the courage to have the conversation neither one of us wants to initiate. With determination I place my hands on his chest and push him off me slightly.

“What?” he asks, glancing down at me.

“Not sex!”

He pauses then kisses me. “I know,” he laughs, “but I can’t help it if my mind wanders when you throw words around like ‘something I’ve never done.’”

Careful not to grab his sore hand, I scoot out from under him and pull him by his other hand. “Come on, Loverboy, we’re headed to Keanu Reeves territory.”

He looks at me questioningly and shakes his head no.

“Point Break. Keanu Reeves. Johnny Utah. Latigo Beach,” I say so he knows where I’m talking about.

All signs of playfulness and laughter disappear. “I know the movie, Dahlia. But I’m not going to the beach with you.”

I gently clutch both of his hands and mold my naked body to his. Staring right into his emerald green eyes, I beg, “Please. Let’s go to Malibu. I’ve never been and I think it will be a good place for us to spend the day together.”

Resting his forehead against mine, he slowly shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“You have to go to the beach with me eventually. Let’s just get in the car and hop on the 101. Once we get there, if you’re still not feeling it, we can just hit up Neptune’s Net for breakfast.”

He looks straight at me when he says, “God, why can’t I ever just say no to you?”

* * *

Once I’m showered and dressed in my bathing suit, shorts, and my concert T-shirt of The Who, I pull my hair back and head downstairs. I’m in my office typing out a few e-mails when he enters. He had to take a call from Xander so I decided to get a little work done.

He comes in wearing jeans, a white short-sleeve T-shirt, and his Wayfarer sunglasses. It looks more than hot on him but it’s not exactly beach apparel, so I have to laugh. Especially when I look down and see his Adidas—at least he traded his work boots for sneakers.

“You can’t wear jeans to the beach.”

There’s a flash of the smirk I love before he slides the waistband of his jeans down so I can see his board shorts. Come to think of it I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in shorts and I know he would never own a pair of flip-flops. I have to draw in a deep breath to compose myself because he looks amazing no matter what he wears and showing me his bare skin does amazing things to me. But if I act on them we’ll never make it to the beach.

“You’re not going to make me wear a Ronald Reagan mask, are you?” he jokes, turning around and lacing his fingers in mine before pulling me out the door. We head back upstairs and grab some water bottles, towels, and my camera. As we exit through the kitchen, he stops to pick up the key lying on the landing and puts it back on top of the doorframe. I point to the hole in the wall. “Did you do that?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“River why . . . ,” I start to ask, but I know why so I stop.

He responds anyway. “Well, let’s just say I was in a piss-ass mood and the key wouldn’t cooperate.”

I look away in avoidance. I’m not ready to talk more about Ben, and I know he isn’t, either, so I step by him and head down the stairs. I really just want to spend the day together and enjoy each other’s company.

We cruise down to Malibu in his vintage black Porsche, managing to somehow keep the mood light.

“Did I tell you Jack talked to me about helping him produce MC Hammer’s Too Tight album?”

Snapping my head in his direction, my jaw drops. “Shut up. You’re shitting me. How did he get that? I thought it was buried along with his career.”

He laughs. “No I’m not. He picked up some small production company that years ago had acquired Death Row Records’ vault and it’s just sitting in there waiting for someone to show it some love. Jack just has to see if he can get MC to sign off on it.”

“Isn’t gangster rap a little passé?”

River shakes his head. “Maybe, who knows? But the cameo by Tupac will have everyone listening.”

I nod my head, trying not to think about the sadness of Tupac Shakur’s murder. River rolls his window down and I follow suit. Then he starts singing “U Can’t Touch This,” and I laugh hysterically. Soon I’m grabbing my camera and shooting pictures of him. He turns and mouths, “You can’t touch this” as well as some of the other best lines and I capture them all.

To get in beach mode, I pick up his phone and scroll through the iTunes store, downloading every song I can find with the word beach or fun in it. I want him to be excited to go to the beach, but most of the songs I select just make him roll his eyes—until I download “California Girls” by the Beach Boys. As it plays his smile widens. He sings along with me and we unknowingly have a contest for who can sing the words “wish they all could be California girls” the loudest. He smiles so brightly I can see his dimples. He even splays his hand out in the wind thumping to his own beat. When the song finishes I turn the volume down and just watch him.

He glances my way and lifts his sunglasses. “Yesss . . .”

“Nothing, I’m just surprised that you like the Beach Boys.”

“Well . . . not that I want to ruin my cool rocker image or anything but I’ll tell you a secret,” he says, winking at me. “My dad made us listen to them every time we ever went to the beach and after a while they started to grow on me.”

“That’s actually really cool. And your rocker image is still intact, no worries. I won’t tell anyone.” River falls silent for the rest of the drive. I wonder if it was the song, the conversation, or the fact that we are quickly approaching the beach.

A part of me knows River feels the beach was a place for me and Ben, but that simply isn’t true. True, we both loved the beach, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love it with River. I want to be able to experience the beauty of one of the most magical places with him and this feels like the time to bridge one of the last barriers between us.

We pull into the public parking lot and he swings the car into a spot. When he turns the ignition off, I can see his reluctance. “Hey, are you okay?”

Removing his sunglasses, he looks at me; I mean really looks at me before speaking. Then pointing to the beautiful Pacific Ocean that stands before us he says, “I’m not sure we should be doing this.”

I don’t hesitate in the slightest before saying, “Well, I am.”

Then I reach over and push the hair from his eyes. “I love you. Only you. Okay? And I want to share one of my favorite places with you. I want us to experience this together. We need to do this, River—for you and for me. For us.”

He sits quietly, like he’s weighing the pros and cons of what I just said. He stays like that for the longest time. I try to hasten his decision by opening my door. But when he doesn’t do the same, I move back in my seat and decide to resort to enticement. Pulling off my T-shirt, I sit there with the hot sun beating through the window in my black bikini top then lean back and wiggle out of my shorts.

While he watches me, his lips part and his chest moves a little more rapidly. A wicked grin appears on his face as he runs his finger up one of the strings of my top. “If you’d have taken your clothes off when we first got in the car, we probably would never have made it to the beach, you know.” With that, he opens his door, takes his shoes off, and stands to strip off his jeans. I watch him and think he’s right.

* * *

“Come with me,” he says, quirking a finger and leading me up the mound of rocks. I stop halfway to snap photos of him climbing. His strong muscular legs easily carry him up the rocks. When he sits on one of the boulders, I crouch down and snap. The wind blows through his light brown hair and with his sunglasses on he not only looks content and carefree, but sexy as hell. Every muscle in his chest and abs is on display as I click, zooming in to capture one or two close shots. “Sing something for me.” I have to raise my voice to be heard around the camera and the sound of the ocean splashing against the rocks.

He reaches his hand to pull me next to him but I stay right where I am. Standing, I steady myself and flip my camera to video mode. “Come on, one song.”

His eyes move across my face then drift down my body. He smiles a small sneaky grin. “Do I look like a jukebox?” he says, stifling a laugh.

Feeling the familiar heat of his gaze I answer. “No, of course not. Why do you ask?” I already know his question has a purpose and I’m extremely curious to discover what it is.

“You asked for a song, if I were a jukebox you’d have to insert coins to get me to play. Right?”

“Yes, I suppose if you were but since you’re not . . .” I stand there admiring the glow of his hair in the sunlight.

He extends his hand again. “Then come here and give me a kiss and I’ll play something for you.”

Slipping my hand in his, he pulls me to his lap. I wrap my arms around him and his lips find mine. His kiss is soft, warm and full of promise. His hands move everywhere . . . up my back, over my arms, on my hips. His kisses become harder and deeper until we both break for air, both feeling that familiar desire surfacing. Placing kisses up and down my neck, his lips slide along my collarbone and up my chin to my ear. He starts singing “Beach Side” in my ear, and, in the exhilaration of the moment, I forget all about videoing him. Next to kissing him, hearing River sing to me is the most romantic thing I’ve ever known.

For hours afterward we walked the beach, made sand castles and River even used shells to carve out moats around them. We chased each other through the surf and when he caught me he always picked me up and twirled me around before throwing me in the waves. After lunch we even bought a kite and kept it flying in the air for at least fifteen minutes. Now that evening is rapidly approaching and our perfect day is just about over, he begins to sing to me again. He has seemed more like himself today, still a little sad, still a little on edge, but all in all his demeanor is far improved.

As I sit in between his legs on top of a massive boulder, his song ends and he rests his forehead against mine and pulls away with one lone groan. I can’t help my grin. Knowing we’ve gone as far as we can on the public beach we turn to the west to watch the magnificent sunset. Sunrises and sunsets are among my favorite things and have always been my favorite things to photograph. I lean back into his chest and continue to snap pictures as he wraps his arms around me, kissing my head. I don’t want this perfect moment to end, and I know when we get home we have to talk. The fact that Ben is alive means that whether or not I want him in my life, we have to talk it through, figure out what it means that he’s not dead. Ben and I share more than a past, we share more than possessions, we share a family—Grace, Serena, and Trent. And even though I’m a little upset with Grace right now, they are just as big a part of my life as his.

He jostles me out of my thoughts when he whispers, “I’m going to miss days like these.”

“What do you mean?” I have to peer over my shoulder to see him.

“Us alone. No else one around. Days when it’s just you and me against the world.”

“We’ll still have that, River. Maybe not as often or for as long, but we will.”

Unsure where this conversation is headed, I wait for him to say more.

He kisses my temple and shifts his head down to my neck. “You know I don’t want to do this. Don’t you,” he murmurs into my ear and it’s not a question.

I need to look at him for this, so I rise up from in between his legs and move to sit beside him. Resting my head on his shoulder, I stay silent a long while. I know he’s talking about the tour, but I feel helpless to assist him in any way. He made his decision and I don’t want to add any stress to the already– large emotional load he carries. Looking up at him, I stroke his cheek with my fingers and say the only thing I can. “I know, River, I know. Why don’t you just tell Xander? Explain to him how you feel.”

There’s a haunted look in his eyes. “I can’t do that. I promised I would do this and I’m not going to break my promise.”

I hesitate a minute then ask, “Who did you promise?”

His body tenses and he inhales deeply. “Dahlia. I’ve never really explained how my dad died. Not that I haven’t wanted to, but more because the memory isn’t one I ever want to relive.”

One look at his somber expression, and compassion and pain swirl inside me and I fight to keep my own face expressionless. Beyond sympathy for him, for losing his father, I also feel my own remorse. For never having pushed him to tell me how his father died, other than the fact that he died from a gunshot wound when River was sixteen. I’m not sure why I never did; I could just tell it was something he didn’t want to discuss—and that was a feeling I knew well. My eyes lock on his and I give him a look that lets him know it’s okay to go on. That I’m here for him.

Letting out a long cleansing breath he starts to open up. “Xander and I promised our dad that we would do everything we could to be successful.”

Cupping his cheeks I say, “Every parent wants that for their child, and, River, you are successful.”

Sighing, he shakes his head. “No Dahlia, he was always pretty specific. He wanted us to hit it big in the music industry. It was his dream for himself but no matter how hard he tried to achieve it, he never could. He teetered close twice. The first time he cut an album and toured, but low sales and low attendance had him starting at square one. When I was fourteen he got a second chance, but by then he was too far gone. After that he never performed again and our family life changed forever until the day he killed himself and willed his dream on us.”

A wall of silence forms between us for a moment as my eyes widen in disbelief. Tears sting my eyes and I want to hold him, to comfort him, but can tell he wants to continue so I refrain. “I’m so sorry, River, I never knew. But I’m here. You can talk to me about it.”

Sniffing and looking toward the water he says, “Like I said, my dad was a dreamer, he always wanted to hit it big, but never could catch a break. I never even knew how unhappy he was for the longest time. He made us his life. Taught us everything he could. He tried to provide for us as best he could by teaching guitar lessons out of our house during the day and performing on the weekends. When I was about ten he started playing local joints at night and not coming home until late. It was about that time Grandpa started showing up secretly to slide my mom an envelope full of cash to buy groceries and whatever we needed. She took the money so my dad wouldn’t feel like what he was providing wasn’t enough. Xander used to get so mad at her for that. He thought she should just tell him, make him stop, but she never would. She wanted to believe he’d see his dream come true.”

My heart breaks a little more with every word he says and I comfort him in the best way I can. “Well your mom loved him, she wanted to be supportive and didn’t want to hurt him. That’s understandable.”

“Dahlia, that’s just it. That’s the ironic part, he was hurting all of us and Xander was the only one who saw it. My dad didn’t live in the real world and my mom didn’t make him. He lived in his dream world, a world where he was a star and he had started drinking to forget the reality of his situation. His drinking had gotten so bad that once my mom went back to work, Xander and I would try to sober him up before she got home. One day we came home after school and found him drunk and in bed with another woman. We cleaned him up and got the woman out of the house before our mom came home. My mom loved him and that would have killed her. He always said how much he loved her, too. But that was a funny way of showing it. Xander hated him after that. I loved him, I hated him, but most of all I pitied him.”

I caress River’s cheek and push down my sadness. “What you felt was only natural. You love your mother and didn’t want to see her hurt.” Not sure I want to hear the answer, but knowing I have to ask the question, I whisper, “What happened to him?”

Framing my face with his gentle hands, he looks deeply into my eyes. “Promise me that after I tell you, we never have to talk about it again.

“River, I promise,” I tell him, turning my head to kiss his hand.

My heart sinks as I prepare to listen to the rest of his story. His eyes sadden and his voice cracks as he tells it. “One day, Xander and I came home from basketball practice and dad was completely tanked. He had picked Bell up from school instead of having her go to her after-school program because he thought she needed more practice on the guitar. As soon as we walked in we could hear him. He was yelling at her, telling her she wasn’t playing the right chords and to do it again. She was crying and her fingers were bleeding, actually bleeding. As soon as Xander saw that, he lost it. He attacked my dad, punching him over and over and my dad didn’t return a single one, but Xander didn’t stop. He yelled for me to get Bell out of there and I did. I brought her to the neighbors, called my grandpa, and by the time I went back, my dad was dead.”

There is so much pain in his voice already I don’t want to ask him to continue. Tears roll down my cheeks and my pulse is racing, but I know he wants to tell me the rest, I can see it in his eyes. So taking a deep breath, I take both his hands in mine and urge him to go on. “What happened?”

His voice hitches and he tells me something he has never openly talked about with anyone. “My mom had come home just after I left and pulled Xander off him. My dad told her what happened and she told him he had to leave, to get out. He went in the bedroom and she and Xander thought he was packing his stuff, until they heard the gunshot.”

Shivering, I hug him as tight as I can. “I’m so sorry, River. I’m so sorry.”

He straightens his shoulders and pulls away, taking my hands in his. His voice tightens in anger as he talks. “That’s not all. He left a note. It didn’t say he was sorry, or why he did it. Instead it said, ‘I love you all. Boys, take care of Mom, and, Bell, and don’t ever settle for not being at the top, because I know you can do what I couldn’t.’ Xander or Bell never sang or played again after that day. But I never stopped. I don’t know if I kept on for him or for me, but I loved it and was happy doing it until the day Xander came home from seeing my grandfather and told me he wanted to manage my career—to put me on top. I never asked why, but since then he’s been determined to make the band succeed. Dahlia, I can’t let him down.”

“You owe it to yourself to do what’s right for you now, River. Please think about that.”

“My father always told us that scars are the road maps to one’s soul. It took me forever to figure out what he meant, but I did when I met you.”

Touched by his words but heartbroken by what happened to him, and to his family, I tip his chin up so I meet his eyes when I speak. “I love you so much.”

He sags against me, touching his nose to mine. Then he buries his head in my neck and sighs. After a few minutes he brings his lips to mine and kisses me with a need I know I can fill. His kiss is deep, powerful, and unstrained. His strong frame hovers over me. The raw desperate need I feel from him makes me surrender to him and I let the conversation drop without further discussion even though I think we should talk about the upcoming tour. He wraps his arms around my back and dips my body down onto the rock.

We stay like that, devouring each other, until the sun slips through the sky. But once the sun has set on the horizon, it’s time for us to head home. We have dinner plans with River’s family and we’re going to be late. With his arm slung around me and my hand tucked in the waistband of his board shorts, he carries the bucket of shells we found along the shore and I carry my camera and our towels as we head back to the parking lot.

When we get to the car, he reaches to open my door and I grab his arm to stop him. I push myself up against his smooth bare chest so that our sunburns blend into one. “I had an amazing day,” I tell him as I softly brush against the lips I just spent an hour kissing and still didn’t get enough of. And then I feel the need to tell him something else. I’m not sure why. I run the back of my hand along his cheek, caressing it gently. “Everything you and I did today, Ben and I never did as adults. We never took the time to just enjoy the beach—so thank you for taking the time with me.” I notice him flinch at Ben’s name, but the tension quickly passes.

And even though we are both barely dressed and our bodies are pressed up against each other, he refrains from making a move. Instead he circles his arms around me and just holds me tight. Resting his mouth on my ear he whispers, “Thank you for that and everything else.”

Then he opens my door and ushers me into the car. We don’t discuss anything we talked about today on the car ride back to LA. In fact, we hardly talk at all. Instead we listen to a new band that River really likes called Atlas Genius. He wanted his stepfather to sign them but he didn’t. I love their single “Through the Glass”; he prefers their song “Electric.” Both have strong lyrics and as we listen I can’t help but think we are both taking this time to reflect on all that has happened and everything we discussed.

We are so late that we don’t even take the extra ten minutes to go home and change before going to Charlotte and Jack’s. I’ve been over to River’s mother and stepfather’s house for dinner at least once a week since moving to LA, but tonight feels different now that I know what happened between Charlotte and River’s father. I feel like I understand her more—not that I didn’t before, maybe I feel sympathy for her more now, but I know I shouldn’t. She’s a strong, caring woman who loves her family and she’s happy now and that makes me happy.

Before entering the house, I reach for his arm. “Did you tell Charlotte and Jack about Ben?”

He flinches. Then, lacing his hand in mine, he kisses my forehead. “No. I thought you should tell them when you’re ready.”

“Do you think Xander told them?”

“No Dahlia, he wouldn’t do that.”

“So Bell doesn’t know, either?”

“Hey, nobody knows anything. Okay?” he says, slightly agitated.

River walks in without ringing the doorbell and we find them all in the kitchen. Charlotte’s kitchen is unlike any I have ever seen. It’s huge and has an old-world feel. The double-stacked ovens are encased in a brick wall, two sinks sit in one island and there’s another along the wall next to the refrigerator, and there are even two dishwashers. A large wooden table seats twelve at one end of the kitchen while the cooking island planks the other end. Bell and Xander are sitting at the middle island in the center of the room. There’s a gorgeous chandelier above it and five barstools wrap around it.

The smell of garlic immediately assaults me and I know the family’s favorite garlic mashed potatoes are on the menu. When Brigitte, the housekeeper, doesn’t immediately greet us I know she isn’t here and Charlotte must be the one cooking tonight.

River spots his mother at the stove and heads over to her. I follow behind him, waving to Xander and Bell on the way.

He kisses his mother on the cheek. “Hey Mom. Sorry we’re late; we lost track of time.”

“Oh River, your eye,” she says, brushing his hair from his face. “Xander told me you two were playing around and he accidently hit you, but I had no idea it was that bad.” She turns to scowl at Xander and I have to admire how the boys always want to protect their mother.

River walks toward Xander and Bell, and I kiss Charlotte as well. “Hi, Charlotte. It’s my fault we’re late. I insisted on going to the beach today.”

She tucks my windblown hair behind my ear. “Stop it. You’re not late. And it looks like the two of you got way too much sun today. Xander, grab them each a water, please, will you, honey?”

Looking at his watch, then at each of us, Xander says, “Since Loverboy is late, I think he can manage his own water.”

I look over to Bell, whose sense of style never falters. She’s wearing an orange, off-the-shoulder shirt with army green skinny jeans and her always-present high heels. She rolls her eyes and punches Xander in the arm. “They aren’t that late, just forty-five minutes, and I’ll grab them each a water,” she says, smirking at Xander.

We walk toward them and she hands each of us a bottle and hugs us. She seems gleeful and I ask, “What’s going on?”

Biting her bottom lip then smiling a huge smile, she says, “I stopped by Jack’s office today and not only did I meet Zane Perry and hear his dad’s record, I got an internship with Tate Wyatt.”

River’s mouth drops open and excitement lights up his eyes. “Zeak Perry was in the studio today? Was he cutting a new album?”

Looks like I’m not the only one jealous that she got to watch Zeak. He’s a musical genius. His music just commands your attention.

Bell shrugs her shoulders. “I have no idea but his agent Damon Wolf was there, too.”

Everyone grows silent and River’s gaze darts to Xander in a manner so blatant I can’t help but notice. Then I see that Charlotte’s normally vibrantly glowing face has paled and she excuses herself. I don’t ask why right now but rather, I let it pass. I know Damon has a reputation for being a bit of a hothead agent so who knows whose path he’s crossed? His father is also the head of Sheep Industries, who actually own Sound Music. Hmmm . . . that must be who Aerie was talking about. Strange Damon’s interested in the magazine. Maybe he’s trying to settle down and get off the road. I know that after he proposed to Ivy Taylor she severely cut her performance schedule and actually hasn’t done anything in months. Her music career was on the fast track but she had put out only one album and really hadn’t marketed it. Which was a shame because she has the most unique style—I once dreamed of photographing her. I even had an idea worked up in my mind for an album design . . . she has the perfect face for it. We’ll see.

Bell puts her hands on her hips and pulls me from my fan-girl thoughts. “All I know is Jack signed him last week. Did you hear what I said about my job with Tate Wyatt?”

Xander seems distracted when he speaks—his voice is gruff and he avoids looking at anyone. “Who is Tate Wyatt?”

Bell sighs and throws herself back on the barstool. “Only the top event planner in LA. He has a waiting list a mile long.”