Chapter 21
Aspen
FFS! Not again!
Consciousness slowly crept in, the early morning sun warming my face. Keeping my eyes closed, I slid my hand across the bed, reaching for Joz. He wasn’t there, and the mattress was cold. I opened my eyes, blinking to dispel the sting as light hit my retinas.
“Joz?”
He didn’t reply.
I cocked my ears for sounds of the coffee machine brewing a much-needed cup, or running water from the shower, or a reporter on TV relaying today’s dose of bad news.
Nothing.
I slipped out of bed and shrugged into a silk robe hanging on the back of the door. Tying the belt, I padded into the main living area.
Empty.
He wasn’t here.
I frowned. Had he gone out for milk? I opened the fridge. Inside the door was a full quart. I checked the other rooms. Nope. He definitely wasn’t in the apartment. As I returned to the kitchen, my eyes caught a piece of paper lying on the floor. I bent to pick it up.
I’m sorry.
That was it. No explanation, no call, no fucking conversation. He’d just left.
Son of a bitch.
An ached bloomed in my chest, but anger burned right through it, dispelling pain with a storm of rage.
I showered and dressed in silence, my jaw clenched so hard that by the time I was ready, I had a headache, and my teeth felt as though they were going to fall out.
My gloom only worsened when I called his hotel and was told he’d checked out over an hour ago.
Fuck you, Joz. Fuck you to Hell and back.
On the car journey to the studio, I contained my rage by practicing box breathing. For all I knew the I’m sorry could’ve meant sorry for leaving me so he could get a head start on recording the rest of his album. Except, deep down, I knew that wasn’t it.
He’d bailed.
Again.
Last time he did this should’ve been warning enough to stay away from the man.
I counted myself as a highly intelligent woman, yet I’d fallen for the practiced repertoire of a sexy rock star.
One who happened to be a fucking amazing kisser with a pierced dick that had given me the best orgasms of my life.
Womankind should cast me adrift, send me to purgatory, make me walk naked through the streets like Cersei Lannister while onlookers bellowed, “Shame” as I passed them by.
My driver pulled into my parking spot. I climbed out and entered the building, a spark of hope that I was wrong still flickering somewhere inside me where faith resided.
I smiled at the receptionist. “Is Joz here?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, Ms. Kingcaid. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
The spark extinguished, snuffed out by a selfish asshole who deserved a swift kick in the balls and at least two of those barbells ripped out of his dick and jammed down his throat.
“Thanks.” As I headed for the studios, I pulled out my phone and called him. Voicemail. Fucking coward. I waited for the beep.
“Joz, it’s Aspen. Call me.”
If he bothered to listen to his voicemail, he’d know how pissed off I was. Not that it would make much of a difference. If a man could sneak out, leaving nothing other than a shitty note after spending the night in my bed, he’d hardly grow a conscience with one curt voicemail.
God, I was furious with him.
If he thought I’d take this lying down, he’d picked the wrong fucking girl to ghost. I’d check in on Presley, make sure everything was going to plan, then get on a goddamn plane—again—and chase after him.
Again.
This time, though, I’d demand answers. Deep in my gut, instinct screamed at me that this hot and cold behavior he favored had something to do with his dead ex.
Every time she’d come up in conversation, he’d put up barriers faster than erecting a prefab house.
Well, not this time. He’d come inside me, twice.
He owed me the truth, even if that truth ended whatever this was before it had a chance to begin.
Presley was strumming on his guitar when I entered the control room.
He greeted me through the glass with a broad smile, then launched into an upbeat tune.
I took a seat at the sound desk and closed my eyes.
Listening to him took me back to a rainy day in London, but it wasn’t Presley on stage in that dive bar who I saw behind my lids.
It was Joz, plying me with brandy and openly ogling my tits.
Last night, as I’d fallen asleep in his arms, I thought we could’ve had something real, something special, but now…
I was so fucking mad. At him, and at myself.
Presley played three more songs, then his engineer called a break, nodding at me as he left the control room. Presley propped up his guitar against the wall and exited the sound booth.
“What did you think?” he asked me, eyes shining. He appeared to have taken to recording like a pro, even though he’d never cut an album before.
“It’s going to be a bestseller.”
“You think?”
“I know it. We did the right thing rushing the first single out. Everyone is salivating for the album now. That doesn’t mean we rush it. We take our time, but I’m telling you, you’re going to be a superstar.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Joz’s image popped into my mind again. The way he’d pitched for Presley, even going as far as attempting to tie his own contract to Presley’s.
“It’s Joz you need to thank. If it weren’t for him, I doubt I’d have ever heard of you.”
His gaze cooled by a couple of degrees. “I like to think our paths would’ve crossed anyway.” A muscle feathered his jaw. “Can I share something with you?”
“Of course.”
He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowed. “You’re too good for him.”
I blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“Joz. He doesn’t deserve you. He’s virtually a has-been.”
The conversation I’d had with Joz over dinner, where he’d shared his concerns about Presley, echoed in my head. “He’s one of the biggest stars in the world.”
“Yeah, but for how long? You don’t want to hitch your wagon to a soon-to-be washed-up rocker. You’re too special for that. You need a man who’ll put you first. Raynor will always choose himself over you. He’s that kind of a guy.”
I suppressed a curse. Joz had been right on the money. Presley’s brief taste of fame had gone to his head. I should’ve listened to Joz, should’ve seen this coming.
“My private life is just that, Presley. Private. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I pivoted, reaching for the door handle.
“Aspen, wait.”
I stopped. Turned around. He was right there, close to me. Too close.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“It’s just…” He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m so grateful to you, and I don’t want to see you hurt by a guy like that.”
“Gratitude is one thing. Overstepping boundaries is quite another.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I am sorry.”
“We’ll say no more about it.”
I went to turn away when he put his hand on my shoulder and moved in to kiss me. He moved in to kiss me.
Planting both hands on his chest, I pushed. “What the hell are you doing?”
Horror leached across his face. “Oh, my God. I-I don’t know what came over me. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He covered his face with his hands. “I’m a mess. God, Aspen, please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. I never meant to make a pass at you.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing down the mix of shock and irritation crawling up my spine. “Presley,” I said, quiet yet firm. “You can’t do that. Not to me. Not to anyone you work with. You understand?”
His hands dropped from his face. “Yes. God, yes. I swear.”
“Good.” I folded my arms, keeping my voice steady. “You’ve got talent. Real talent. Don’t screw it up because you’re spinning and don’t know where to put that energy.”
He nodded miserably, cheeks flushed.
“I get that you’re overwhelmed,” I continued, “but boundaries matter. You don’t cross that line again. Not with me, not with anyone else. Clear?”
“Yes. I’m so embarrassed. It’s just weird, you know.
I’m away from my family, in a strange country, and all this stuff is happening to me.
I’m getting fan mail. Fan mail. It’s… a lot.
But that’s no excuse. You’ve been so nice to me, amazing and supportive, and I guess I-I… ” He trailed off, face bleak.
“I understand. Now, go cool off. Take a walk, splash some water on your face, whatever you need. We’ll say no more about it.”
I waited for him to leave, then headed to my office.
The altercation with Presley had made me ache even more for Joz.
It wasn’t the first time a guy I had no interest in had tried to kiss me, but it was a timely reminder how different Joz was.
Not once had he pushed or gaslit or coerced me.
He’d shown patience and understanding, even while he outrageously flirted.
In his company, I felt safe. There hadn’t been a single occasion where the internal warning radar all women developed the second they hit puberty had sounded.
Joz was the real deal. A confident man secure in his own masculinity, with no reason, want, or need to push a woman into doing something she wasn’t comfortable with.
Now that I’d had time to calm down, I was convinced he’d left me this morning because whatever demons he lived with had reared their heads, and he’d made the mistake of listening to them instead of talking to me.
I wouldn’t let him run this time. Although I couldn’t force him to tell me his innermost thoughts and fears, I could lend an ear and let him know I’d always be a safe place to fall.
I left the studio without bumping into Presley and returned to my apartment to pack for a few days in London.
Once situated in the back of my car, I messaged my assistant, telling her I was taking a couple of days off and to only call me if something urgent came up.
If Joz agreed to talk to me, I wanted to ensure we weren’t interrupted.
The flight across the Atlantic was smooth enough that I managed a few hours’ sleep.
We landed to a chilly breeze and a fair amount of drizzle—typical fall weather for England.
I didn’t mind the damp conditions. I’d spent time in the UK during every season, and fall was one of my favorites, even if it did rain a lot of the time.
Far better than the humid summers, where the lack of air conditioning made it a thoroughly miserable time for most.
My palms slicked with sweat as the familiar site of Joz’s building came into view. Conflict wasn’t something I shied away from. In my business, it was a necessary skill to have, but when it came to personal relationships, I didn’t enjoy the aftermath of a contentious argument.
Catching him unawares was the best approach rather than ringing the bell and giving him the opportunity to tell me he didn’t want to see me. If I was standing right outside his apartment door, it would be harder to ignore me.
I hovered around the entrance, sheltering underneath the polka dot umbrella I’d purchased the day I met Joz for the first time. It had been a lucky charm for me then. Maybe it would work for me now.
Fifteen minutes went by before the door opened, and a couple exited.
I waited for them to pass, then grabbed the door, lowered my umbrella, and slipped inside.
It was somewhat fortunate that Joz didn’t live in a building which required a code for the elevator.
If I thought about it, he lived frugally, the loft apartment spacious but nowhere near as luxurious as a man of his means could afford.
Perhaps it was his working-class background that made him more comfortable in down to earth environments.
If he opened up to me, and the right moment came, I might ask him.
First, though, I wanted to know why he gave me the best orgasms of my life, then took off.
My hand shook a little as I made a fist and knocked on his door. There was a chance he wasn’t even here, but I’d wager that he was. He’d come home to lick his wounds, whatever they were, and tell himself he’d done the right thing.
He was wrong, and I was here to tell him that.
A heavy sigh came through the door. He’d obviously spied me through the peephole.
“Not now, Aspen.”
I tamped down the swell of annoyance that rose in me like a well proved loaf.
“Yes, now. I’m going nowhere, and just so you know, my family has told me many times I have more tenacity than the rest of them put together.
So, unless you want me to murder every single song you’ve ever written by bellowing them at the top of my voice and pissing off your neighbors, you’ll open the fucking door. ”
He sighed again, but the sound of a lock being turned shot my heart rate into overdrive.
Here we go.
The door opened, and a bedraggled Joz stood on the other side dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a baggy, plain black T-shirt, his feet bare.
“You left your spine at my apartment.” I swanned past him, my stilettos clicking on his bamboo flooring. “And just so you know, you don’t get to fuck me and run away, so buckle up, buttercup. You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”