Chapter 8
Joz
I haven’t a clue what I’m doing…
but I’m doing it anyway.
A throbbing headache pounded behind my eyes. I rubbed circles on my temples, the sudden exhaustion taking me by surprise.
What in the fucking hell had I played that song for?
The song I wrote after Caroline killed herself.
It made no sense. I’d never played it in public before and hadn’t sung it even to myself for years.
I’d written it during my first week in therapy, when I couldn’t face going to the group sessions, but it hadn’t made me feel any better then, and it didn’t make me feel any better now.
I took out my phone and sent a text to Kate asking after Arthur.
It was late, but Kate was a night owl and she’d be up.
I recognized the need to reach out to them.
Whenever guilt consumed me, it was always Caroline’s mother and son I contacted.
A form of punishment, maybe. Self-flagellation for my part in what happened to Kate’s only child, and the only fucking mother Arthur would have.
She replied with a “He’s fine,” along with a goofy picture of the nine-year-old in his Spiderman pajamas, holding both thumbs up, a beaming grin on his face.
The ribs around my heart seemed to flex, crushing me like a vise.
He was only one when Caroline took her own life.
He’d never know his mother, and I had a whopping great part to play in that.
It was odd to think that, before Caroline died, I hadn’t even known she had a kid.
Back then, I’d only cared about singing, Scottish single malt, and heroin.
Oh, and fucking. Getting to know the woman I’d been on-and-off dating for a few months didn’t even make the top ten list of my priorities.
The first responders found her with a needle sticking out of her arm and my latest album playing in the background.
We pulled up outside my apartment block, and I just sat there, staring out the window at the starless sky. My driver eventually switched off the engine, but as he made a move to get out of the car, I stopped him.
“Take me back to Kingcaid Kensington.”
“Sure thing, Mr. R.” He restarted the car, reversed, and returned to the busy London streets.
I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, but whatever it was, I owed Aspen an apology.
She must have had fucking whiplash from how fast my mood changed.
It wasn’t as though she’d forced me to sing or made me sing that song in particular.
I wasn’t even sure she knew about Caroline.
When it happened, the press were rabid, on my back every minute of the fucking day, but Aspen would’ve been, what?
Nineteen or twenty? Probably at college in the States, far away from the fucking mess my life had been at the time.
Sometimes I felt only one piece of bad luck away from falling back into the dark pit I’d clawed my way out of with bloodied fingernails and a head full of regrets.
I told my driver to wait, dropped my sunglasses into place, made sure the peak of the baseball hat was tugged low, and entered the lobby.
Bollocks. I didn’t even know what room Aspen was staying in, and if I went to reception to ask, I risked being recognized.
After taking shelter behind a large palm tree in the corner of the lobby, I called her mobile.
It went to voicemail. I called again and again.
She could have been asleep, and I didn’t know her nearly as well as I’d like to, but she struck me as the kind of woman who’d have her phone nearby.
Especially considering her position in the company.
She was ignoring me, and I couldn’t blame her.
Tapping the messages app, I dropped a text.
Me: Hey, I’m sorry about before. Can we talk?
Nothing.
Me: I’m an arsehole, and I’d like to explain if you’ll let me.
Nothing.
Sighing, I pivoted, but as I reached the sliding doors leading to the car park, she replied.
Aspen: Yes, you’re an asshole.
I fucking loved how she said asshole. If I was ever lucky enough to bed this woman—and that was looking more doubtful by the minute—I’d have her scream that as she orgasmed.
Great. Now I had a semi.
Aspen: I’m on the top floor. Owner’s suite. Code for the elevator is 1135. Bring a shovel.
I grinned.
Me: So you can bury me?”
Aspen: I’ll keep that as backup option. It’s for you to dig yourself out of the hole you put yourself in.
She. Was. Magnificent.
I set off for the elevators, but halfway there, an idea came to me.
I spun on my heel and jogged outside. An apology was one thing.
An apology with flowers would go down better.
Earlier, I’d seen a flower seller across the street from the hotel—one of those with a portable cart.
Sure enough, it was still there, probably waiting to catch closing time at the pub next door.
Armed with a massive bouquet of summer blooms, of which I couldn’t name a single one, I returned to the hotel and rode the elevator to the top floor. The owner’s suite was at the far end. I knocked and waited.
The look she gave me when the door opened—half exasperated, half impressed—made my dick jerk again. This woman had me in some kind of a chokehold.
“For you.” I thrust out the flowers.
She wrapped her fingers around the stems, brushing mine in the process. A shiver of delight traveled up my arm.
“Such a cliché.” But she smiled when she said it.
“I was pressed for time. Next time, I’ll do better.”
“Ah, I see. You think being an asshole is okay as long as your apology comes with gifts? Bad move, my friend.”
I think I’m in love.
“You’re unlikely to believe this, but I’m usually pretty chill. What happened tonight wasn’t normal.”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, she studied my face for a few seconds, then stepped back to let me in. That was a start, at least.
I closed the door and followed her through an entrance hall, into a large living room with a great view of Kensington Gardens and the city skyline.
“Have a seat.” She gestured to the couch, then disappeared through another door, returning a couple of minutes later with the flowers in a glass vase. She set it on the coffee table and sat on an adjacent chair. “I’m listening.”
I ran my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip, throat suddenly dry. I tried to never think about that time, let alone talk about my pain, fear, anger, and remorse. But Aspen deserved a thread of the truth.
“I wrote that song at an extremely painful time in my life. One I don’t talk about. Ever. And I’m not going to talk about it now, either. What I will say is that I am sorry for snapping at you. I don’t even know why I chose to sing that song tonight.”
She plucked at the soft skin at the base of her throat, her eyes probing.
I squirmed. Aspen Kingcaid had this ability to bring a man to his knees with one look, and she was using that look on me now.
Falling to my knees for this woman would not be a hardship, but if the price was to share the shame I carried with me, it was a price I wasn’t willing to pay. Not even for her.
“I’m sorry I pressed.”
I shook my head. “That’s just it. You didn’t.
You asked a simple question, and I overreacted.
” Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, and with it, the anxiety melted away.
“Look, cards on the table, we don’t know each other well, and to you, I’m probably just another artist signed to your label, but I like you, Aspen.
I like you a lot. And when I say you, I don’t mean Aspen Kingcaid, CEO of Kingcaid Music.
I’m talking about the woman, not the role you hold. I want you to know that.”
Her expression softened. “You’re not just another artist, Joz. You’re the artist I most wanted to sign. An artist I relentlessly pursued, and not only because we will make a lot of money together, but because you’ve always intrigued me.”
I like where this is going.
“How so?”
She rubbed her lips together and took a few seconds to answer, as though she was truly thinking about my question rather than spewing the first thing that came to mind.
“I’ve worked with a lot of musicians over the years.
Even when I was a kid, I was always hanging around the studio or pleading with my older brothers to take me to concerts.
Music is in my soul, which means I recognize a fake with my eyes closed.
Many talented musicians may love music, but it doesn’t thread through every cell in their body.
But you, you’re like me. Music is you. Without it, you’re empty. ”
Her insightful comment hit me like a bolt of lightning. Even though I felt jaded, and I planned to quit the business in a few years’ time, I’d never stop playing music or writing songs. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know how. She was right. I was music, and music was me.
“Did you know I happened to be on the same cruise as you a while back? The one they cut short because of a shooting on board.”
“Serenity?”
“Yes.”
“Christ, no, I didn’t.” I ran a hand over my scruff. “I had no idea.”
“I was so excited when I heard you were a guest because I’d been trying for ages to organize a meeting with you, but your people kept giving me the runaround.”
That was news to me. Until recently, I hadn’t heard a peep about Kingcaid Music wanting to sign me.
I filed away that nugget. Next time I saw Mike, he’d get a fucking earful.
Sure, he had my best interests at heart, but I made my own fucking decisions.
He should’ve told me they were interested and let me decide whether to sign with them.
“You should’ve just knocked on my cabin door. I would never have turned you away.”
“Hmm.” She gave me one of those looks again that made my dick swell. “My cousin, Blaize, who runs our cruise ship business, pretty much told me he’d throw me overboard if I used my privilege to find out which suite you were in. He’d have done it, too.”
I laughed. The more I heard about the way the Kingcaids ran their extensive business interests, the more I liked them. Privacy was clearly important to these people, and I respected that.
“I had a ton of people primed to call me the second they spotted you, but they never did.”
“That’s because I holed up in my suite the entire time. I was having trouble getting words down, so Mike thought a change of scenery would help.”
“And did it?”
“Yeah. Came away with half a dozen songs. Bad business what happened, though.”
She nodded, somber. “Awful. Two people lost their lives, and my cousin had to have his lower leg amputated.”
I nodded, recalling the events from the papers. “How’s he doing now?”
“Oh, nothing can keep Blaize down. He’s unstoppable.”
“A bit like you. That particular talent must run in the family.”
She grinned. “We know what we want, and we go after it with everything we have.”
I smoothed a thumb over my eyebrow and locked eyes with her. “A trait I also have in spades.”
“You’re a dreadful flirt.”
“I’m aware.”
“And, like I said, I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“You know where I am when you change your mind.”
Her chest rose on a deep breath, and she shook her head, but her lips tipped up. “You are persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“And I’ll take it.”
Yawning, she stretched her arms overhead. “It’s late, and I have an early flight. As much fun as this is, I gotta get my beauty sleep.”
“Any more beautiful and it’d be unfair to womankind.”
“Good Lord, you have all the patter, don’t you?”
I chuckled, rising to my feet. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”
“Or the worst.”
She followed me to the entrance hallway. When I turned to say goodnight, she was right there. Close, so close. Her sweet scent enveloped me, and I breathed her in. I lingered, not wanting to leave but knowing my time was up.
“Goodnight, Joz. I’ll see you at the press conference on Monday.”
“You will.”
Drinking her in for the last time, I risked reaching out to tuck a lock of plum hair behind her ear. I swore she shivered, or maybe that was me.
“Goodnight, Aspen.” I turned around, opened the door, and walked away. The urge to look over my shoulder evaporated at the soft sound of a door closing behind me. Still, I looked.
She’d gone.
The hollow feeling that had made me return here in the first place came back, and by the time I trudged into my loft apartment at almost one o’clock in the morning, I felt emptier than I had in a long while.
Thinking about Caroline often had this effect on me, which was the main reason I tried not to let my mind go there. But sharing even a snippet of my self-hatred with Aspen had opened the floodgates, and I couldn’t find the energy to slam them shut again.
The first fingers of light inched through the curtains before I managed to fall asleep, but even there, rest proved impossible. I woke, drenched in sweat, the familiar nightmare slowly fading. Except this time, it wasn’t Caroline’s lifeless body that had haunted my dreams.
It was Aspen’s.