Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
T he moment they stepped into the party, Abe wished they could turn around and leave. Of course, there were plenty of camera flashes outside. His name was shouted and question after question was thrown his way.
“Who’s the mystery woman, Abe?”
“Is that your new girlfriend?”
“Will you be performing tonight?”
“Are the rumors true about another tour?”
“When does your next album come out?”
He kept one hand lightly on the small of Dylan’s back, steering her with a practiced smile and a quiet “just keep walking” under his breath.
She didn’t flinch or fumble, just kept her chin lifted like she belonged, like the million-dollar necklace around her neck was no big deal.
God, she was handling this better than he was.
Once inside, the noise shifted. Softer, richer. Classier, but still overwhelming.
Hollywood and music legends filled the space like it was a red carpet come to life.
The room was all marble floors, gold accents, and too many chandeliers for a single ceiling.
A grand piano stood near one wall next to a string quartet that had clearly been hired more for ambiance than entertainment.
Waitstaff floated through the room like black-clad ghosts, balancing trays of champagne flutes, smoked salmon canapés, and artfully sculpted desserts that looked too pretty to eat.
Abe hated all of it.
He’d been here before more times than he wanted to count and it always felt the same. Plastic smiles. Hollow congratulations. Men in thousand-dollar suits trying to talk music like they actually listened to the lyrics. Women clinging to his arm like he was still that guy from the underwear ad.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, Dylan was here.
She turned her head, catching his gaze over her shoulder as a jazz version of a pop hit floated through the air. Her eyes were wide but not scared. Curious. Lit up. And suddenly, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating.
They made it halfway across the room when a familiar producer, the host of the party tonight, cut him off with a smile too wide to be real. “Abe Collins in the flesh. I was starting to think you were going to stay a recluse.”
“Maybe I should have,” Abe muttered, shaking the man’s hand while his other arm stayed locked around Dylan’s waist.
“Glad you made it. Hey, if the mood strikes, give us a song tonight?”
Abe opened his mouth to brush it off, but then caught Dylan’s eyes again—bright, amused, encouraging. Damn it.
“We’ll see,” he said.
By the time dessert rolled around—tiny chocolate pyramids with gold leaf and something that tasted vaguely like passionfruit—the piano had been cleared of its string quartet and a mic had been set up.
It was funny, no other hit singer in the place had been asked by the host to sing tonight. Was this a good sign?
“Looks like you’re on the spot,” Dylan whispered, brushing her hand against his.
Their host was motioning him to the stage area. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before promising, “I’ll make it quick.”
He walked up and took the mic, and the room gradually quieted around him like a held breath.
He was handed a guitar and adjusted the mic, letting his fingers hover over the strings.
A thousand memories flooded his chest of his nights on tour, quiet bar gigs, music written in grief and healing, but none of them felt like this moment.
He didn’t introduce the song. Didn’t need to.
“This is a new one,” he said and then he began to play.
It was him, the guitar, his voice, and the words he’d written with Dylan on his mind.
The chords were simple but honest. The melody soft and aching. And when he started singing, his voice was raw with feelings, in the best way.
No one had heard the song yet.
He was just a man talking about the moment he started breathing again, when the shadows began to lift and something warm stepped into his life. A laugh he didn’t know he needed. A woman who didn’t flinch from his worst, who called him out and still stayed. Who saw him when he barely saw himself.
He didn’t look at the crowd as he sang. He looked at her.
She stood in the middle of the room, lips parted, chest rising slowly. Like she knew.
When the last note faded, there was a beat of silence, then an eruption of applause. A few cheers. Someone tried to get a video, but security stepped in.
Abe stood, gave a small nod, and returned to her side without a word.
“You wrote that for me,” Dylan said softly, her voice barely above the hum of chatter.
He reached for her hand. “I didn’t plan to.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining. “Abe Collins, you’re full of surprises.”
He leaned close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Stick around. I’ve got a few more happy surprises left in me.”
And for the first time that night, he didn’t want to leave the party. He wanted to stay exactly where he was, with her. Champagne, chandeliers, fake smiles and all. Because as long as she was there, everything felt real.
“There he is.” James walked towards him, Reba following a few feet behind. James slapped him on the shoulder and then gave him one of those stupid hugs men gave each other when they don’t really mean it.
It was funny, before the accident, Kara and Abe had been best friends with James and Reba.
Later, after Abe had boosted James’ career, the man had become more distant.
The couple pulled away further after Kara’s death.
He’d believed at first that it was because they thought that he had something to do with Kara’s death.
After his career really took off, he no longer cared as long as James kept things professional.
“This must be Dylan...?” James said when he straightened and extended a hand towards her.
“Beck, Dylan Beck,” she answered, shaking his hand.
“Right.” James’s eyes narrowed but then Reba stepped up. “James Lyle, and this is my wife, Reba.”
“Kara and I were best friends,” Reba said in a tone that was a little too sharp. Abe saw James wince slightly and take his wife’s arm. It was obvious that Reba was already more than a few drinks in.
Dylan didn’t miss a beat and just smiled as if she hadn’t heard what Reba had said.
“On that note, I think I’m going to take her home.” James wrapped his arm around his wife.
Before they could turn to go, however, Tony walked over. “You aren’t leaving yet,” he told James and Reba.
“Yeah, I’m going to get her home.” James motioned towards Reba, who had grabbed two more drinks from a tray.
“Bummer.” Tony glanced at him and Dylan. “Oh, this must be the new arm candy,” Tony said with a wink.
Abe could have punched him.
James used the distraction to steer his wife towards the door after handing off the two still full glasses to a waiter.
“That new bit, you didn’t mention you had that in your arsenal,” Tony said. He noticed that Tony didn’t bother to introduce himself to Dylan. No doubt because the man believed she wouldn’t stick around for long.
“It’s not for sale.” He quickly wrapped his arm around Dylan’s waist and pulled her closer. “A one-time performance.”
“Too bad. You had the crowd wanting more.” Tony took a glass of champagne and handed it to Dylan. “Pretty ladies should always have a drink in their hands.” He winked at her.
Abe smiled when Dylan immediately set it down. “I’ve had my fill tonight. Thanks.”
Before Tony could reply, someone across the room called him and he disappeared in the crowd.
“I should have warned you about him,” Abe said softly.
Dylan chuckled. “I spotted him a mile away.” She shrugged. “Now, how about we have a dance? Then you can introduce me to the most famous person here that you know.” She purred as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brushed her body against his.
Every thought he had about staying at the party disappeared.
“I have a better idea.” He ran his hands up to her waist. “What do you say we head back to our room, and I see what sexy things you are wearing under that dress?”
She smiled and then brushed her lips across his.
“I’ll save you the trouble. There’s nothing under here,” she whispered. “Just me.” It was soft, just a whisper of contact, but it lit him up from the inside like she’d flipped a switch he hadn’t realized was off.
He groaned softly and started to lean in again, to kiss her for real, but someone tapped his shoulder.
Of course.
“Sorry to interrupt, Abe,” said a guy in a velvet jacket and with a mouth full of extremely white teeth. Abe thought his name was Charles or Charlie? “You’ve got to come say hi to the execs from Silver Coast. They’ve been asking for you all night.”
Abe clenched his jaw but forced a smile. “Sure. Lead the way.”
He took Dylan’s hand, and they were pulled back into the swirl of partygoers, moving from one circle of industry people to the next. He made the rounds, shook hands, made small talk, did the whole I’m-still-a-human-even-though-I’m-famous routine.
And Dylan? She was flawless.
He introduced her to a few well-known producers, a Grammy-winning songwriter, and even a rock legend who smelled like cigars and leather and called her “darlin’” twice.
Not once did she fangirl or get googly-eyed.
She just smiled politely, asked smart questions, and carried herself like she’d been doing this for years.
Damn, she was good at hiding it. Either that or she really wasn’t impressed.
He caught her eye during a particularly awkward conversation about music licensing. Her lips curved into a knowing smirk, and just like that, he wanted to haul her out of there, find the nearest exit, and steal her away to somewhere they could be alone.
But the night had a rhythm of its own. They drifted towards the bar, where Dylan surprised him by ordering a dirty martini, extra olives, like it was her go-to drink. It probably wasn’t. But she owned it.
At one point, he watched her standing under a cluster of hanging lights, the diamonds at her throat catching the glow just right.
She looked effortless. Regal, even. Like someone meant for red carpets and private jets and yet completely untouched by all of it.
She wasn’t performing. She was just… her.
He didn’t know how the hell he’d gotten lucky enough to have her on his arm. How in the world was he going to keep her there? Would he be lucky enough for her to want to stay?
When the party began to thin out and the music shifted to a slower tempo, Abe slipped his hand into hers and quietly signaled to the driver. No long goodbyes to the host. No promises to call from the executives.
When they finally made it back into the limo, Dylan let out a long, dramatic sigh and flopped back into the seat.
“Oh my god, my face hurts from smiling,” she groaned, kicking off her heels.
Abe chuckled, loosening his collar. “You were a pro.”
She turned to look at him, her cheeks flushed, her hair a little tousled, and the necklace glinting against her collarbone. “I’m never doing that again without a pre-game tequila.”
He laughed. “I’ll make a note.”
“You were amazing, by the way,” she added, more softly now. “That song... Abe, it was beautiful.”
He looked over at her, his throat tightening. “It was true. Every word.”
The limo curved through the glowing streets of LA, city lights flickering past the windows like stars on fast-forward. She shifted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t belong in this world,” she said quietly. “But... I liked watching you in it.”
He kissed the top of her head. “You’re wrong. You belong wherever the hell you want to be.”
She smiled against his shoulder, and for the first time all night, he let himself relax. Because for once, the night hadn’t been about pretending.
It had been about her.
And her being there made all of it real.
“I totally fan-girled all over Dolly. I mean, it’s Dolly!” she admitted.
He smiled. “You hid it well. When I first met her, I think I mumbled a cross between hello and hi. It came out as hi-low.” He shook his head and chuckled.
Dylan smiled and then shifted closer to him. “Before we were interrupted”—she wrapped her arms around him—“you mentioned something about…” She trailed her lips across his jaw and the entire world stopped.
Everything narrowed to just her. Her scent, the feel of her body pressed against his. The taste of her mouth, her soft lips. He had to have more.
“Dylan.” Her name escaped his lips like a breath.
“Abe, tell me the hotel is close.” She sighed.
“Not close enough.” He hit the switch for the black-out glass to close between them and the driver. Then pulled her onto his lap.
His fingers slipped up under the dress and he was thankful she hadn’t worn anything underneath. She arched when his fingers found her, wet and ready for him. He used his hands and mouth on her to show her what he was going to do when they reached their hotel room.
As they were making the last turn, he felt her convulse around him as she cried out his name.
God, he wanted more. Needed more.
She was like the breath he gulped in after being deprived of air.
When the limo stopped, she was back sitting beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.
Taking her hand, he led her out and across the lobby quickly, and into the private elevator. There, he kissed her until he felt as if he was going to explode with need.
The moment their suite door closed, he pinned her against the door and kissed her while his fingers returned to slide inside her. She whipped off his jacket and tie, then tugged at the buttons on his shirt.
“More,” she said when his shirt hit the ground and her nails dug into his skin.
He growled as he tried to get to her fully, then hoisted up her skirt and knelt between her legs and put his mouth to her.
Tasting her sweetness and playing his tongue over her clit until he felt her convulse once more.
Only then did he stand up, yank his pants down, and fully embed himself deep inside her while pinning her hands high above her head.
He didn’t think he could control himself if she touched him again.
Twin moans echoed in the room as his mouth covered hers. When he started to move inside her, he knew that he was finally home.