Chapter 11
Angus
As if my life isn’t enough of a cluster-fuck, my father has called several times today. Eventually, I have to answer. At some point, I’ll have a lot to make up for. Not just professionally, but personally. I owe the people in my life—all of them. My band, my friends, my family, and my fans. I deserve privacy, but they deserve honesty.
And I’m still trying to reconcile that.
The band is working through myriad emotions, and there’s still a lot of tension despite our reasonably peaceful meeting this morning.
But I can see that the bond, our closeness, is broken.
Maybe not irreparably, but it’s going to take more than an apology or five to make this up to them.
I was also a jerk to Ryleigh, which was uncalled for.
None of this is her fault.
Well, I guess I don’t know that for sure, but a bunch of people saw me walking around backstage with Alden. Any of them could have recognized him, including the arena employee he bribed to get to me. There’s a picture circulating online of the two of us standing next to each other last night in one of the articles that came out, so someone saw us, and I would have noticed if it had been Ryleigh.
My phone rings again, and this time the name on the screen makes me pause.
My grandfather.
We’ve always been close. Not the last couple of years, but before that it always felt like he had my back. Lately, he’s been leaning more toward me joining the family dynasty, but he hasn’t really pushed it either.
“Hey, Grandpa.” I figure I might as well talk to him.
“What’s going on, August?” He gets right to the point. “What have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say calmly. “I was just living my life, playing music. Alden showed up, bribed a security guard to get backstage, and now my life is a shit show.”
“Jesus.” He huffs out a breath. “Well, what are you doing to fix it?”
“It’s been less than a day, Gramps—I’m working on it. The first thing I have to do is get my band to forgive me.”
“Your band didn’t know your identity?”
Great. Even my grandfather sounds mystified about my actions.
“No. I didn’t want anyone to know. I legally changed my name almost a decade ago.”
“Why would you do that, son?”
“You know why.”
“Your father made a business decision.”
“How rich do we need to be?” I demand, throwing up my free hand even though he can’t see it. “I mean, being worth a few billion isn’t enough? We need to make another billion off the backs of people with cancer?”
“The insurance companies?—”
“Stop. I know the talking points. At the end of the day, at least five thousand people who weren’t able to afford that drug died. Five thousand people who might still be alive if not for Dad’s greed. I don’t want to be associated with any of it.”
“You’re never coming home, are you?”
“As a Hollingsworth working for Holland-Burke? No. I’ll wait tables or work construction before I join the fold.”
“Your grandmother made sure you would never have to do that.”
“I know, but I would if I had to. You need to listen to me, Grandpa—I am never going to take over for Dad. You should start grooming Abe or Alden. Or even Annette. Because it’s never going to be me.” Abe is my next youngest brother, followed by my sister Annette, and then Alden.
“I still sit on the board. I could find you a position that doesn’t require you to be responsible for those kinds of decisions.”
“Holland-Burke has a shit reputation, and our family does now too. And even if it didn’t, you really think I belong in a boardroom? With my long hair and tattoos and potty mouth?”
He chuckles. “You obviously haven’t spent much time in boardrooms—we use some pretty colorful language.”
“Please, can’t you respect my decision?”
“You’re a fourth generation Hollingsworth. Your great grandfather had a different middle name, that’s why you’re not a fourth, but this is what our family does.”
“You started an amazing company,” I say sincerely, “but it’s too big now. You don’t represent the same things you did when you started. I know a lot of it is business, but you’ve lost your humanity—the collective you—and I don’t want people to look at me the way they look at Dad.”
I don’t want to say “both you and Dad” even though it would be true.
“And yet you can’t escape who you are. Who you were born to be. It’s caught up to you now. My attorney has been following the story and it’s not pretty, August. You have to have seen?—”
“I know that, dammit! I’m well-aware of the cluster-fuck my life has become.”
“So let us protect you.”
“I don’t need protection—I just need to be left alone.”
The silence is telling, and I immediately regret my words. I don’t mean that I don’t want a relationship with him, just that I want them to stop trying to pull me into the family business. Even if they didn’t use sketchy business tactics, I have no interest in the pharmaceutical industry. If I was going to work in the business world it would probably be in marketing, something where I could get creative.
Definitely not big pharma.
“Grandpa, I just want?—”
“I understand what you want. Take care of yourself, August.”
“Gramps, wait!”
But it’s too late.
He’s already disconnected.
Dammit.
I’ll give him a few days and then call back.
He needs a little time to think, and I need time to fix everything I’ve fucked up.
* * *
Sleep doesn’t come that night, and I find myself at the bar, a glass of twenty-five-year-old Macallan in front of me. Since the guys aren’t around, I can drink the expensive shit without worrying about how much I spend.
It’s been a long-ass day.
I still feel bad about how the conversation with my grandfather ended, and even though we normally hang out on nights off, I haven’t heard from anyone in the band. They might not be mad but they haven’t forgiven me either.
And there isn’t shit I can do about it.
“Hey, there, handsome.” An attractive blond sinks onto the barstool next to mine, a flirtatious smile on her face.
“Hi.” I take a sip of scotch, averting my gaze.
“You’re Angus.” She has a predatory look on her face. “Or should I say… August?”
Things like this never end well.
“There a point to this?” I ask, downing the rest of my scotch and motioning for another.
“I just thought you might be lonely.” She puts a perfectly manicured hand on my arm.
Christ.
I’m so not in the mood for this.
“Not tonight,” I reply.
“Why not? You’re not with anyone.” She tickles a trail up my arm with a long, pointy fingernail. “And I promise I’ll make you feel good.”
For some reason, her touch sets me on edge.
I could use a night of mindless sex.
But not like this.
Not with her .
The only face I see when I’m horny belongs to a certain redhead.
And like magic, in my peripheral vision, I see a flash of red hair.
Maybe there is a God.
“Actually, I am with someone.” I turn and lift my arm. “Ryleigh—over here, babe!”
There’s surprise on her face as she turns but she comes over without hesitation.
“Hey! What’s?—”
I don’t know if it’s the day I’ve had, the alcohol, or the fact that I just want the blonde to go away, but I cut Ryleigh off by covering her mouth with mine.
It’s not sweet or gentle.
In fact, it’s downright demanding, my tongue sliding between her lips without waiting for an invitation. There’s a fifty-fifty chance she’s going to slap the shit out of me, but to my surprise, she doesn’t. In fact, after a slight hesitation, she loops her arm around my neck and kisses me back.
And it’s fucking amazing.
Her mouth is warm and sweet, her tongue tangling with mine as if this was inevitable.
Maybe it was.
There’s been this spark between us since day one—even if we both somehow mask it in banter and negativity ninety-nine percent of the time.
But if this is the other one percent? I’m in.
Fuck, she tastes good.
I deepen the kiss, stroking my tongue against hers as I wrap one arm around her waist.
Her body feels amazing pressing into mine.
Firm breasts against my chest, soft hair tickling my arm, and the sweetest little whimper that calls my dick to attention.
The blonde lets out a huff of annoyance and stomps away muttering under her breath, and I feel Ryleigh’s chuckle.
“ That’s what this was about?”
I pull far enough away to look into her eyes. “ This was about doing something we’ve both wanted to do since the first time we met. That was just the excuse I needed to do it.”
Her eyes grow stormy, like a tornado forming in the sky, about to erupt into…something.
I’m not sure what’s going to happen, but I don’t think she’s mad.
“Don’t start something you aren’t going to finish,” she says instead, her eyes meeting mine with what I can only describe as an unspoken challenge.
I down my third drink and slap a twenty on the bar for the bartender.
“Don’t challenge a man who has very little to lose.”
She reaches out and uses her finger to trail a finger along my mouth… the line of my jaw… and down my Adam’s apple. “You don’t scare me, Angus.”
“I should.”
She studies my face and then leans in, pressing her lips to mine, but keeping it quick and chaste this time.
“You’ve been drinking,” she says, “so I’m going to give you an easy out. Take a few minutes to think about whether or not you really want to do this. I’ll wait for thirty minutes. Then I’m going to bed.”
Her big green eyes bore into mine. “Room 2612.”
Then she turns and heads out of the bar.
The joke’s on her, though.
She actually believes there’s a chance I’ll change my mind?
No way in hell.