Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
WILLIAM (NOW)
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlotte asks, her hazel eyes blazing.
Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but hey, we gotta start somewhere. “It means I’m going to need your help.”
She scoffs. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you care.” I’m counting on it.
Pain tightens the corners of her eyes. “No.”
I clamp down on my molars.
“You shouldn’t have bought it,” she says. “Not without talking to me.”
“Kinda hard to do when you never answer my calls.” It was a miracle she answered the call three nights ago, but it was the middle of the night.
I bite the rest of my retort back. It won’t do us any good to fight right now.
Charlotte rubs her forehead, looking tired.
She’s dealing with so much. I want to take her in my arms and hold her.
That I can’t is making it hard to breathe.
I pinch the pressure point between my thumb and index finger to distract me from the building tension at the base of my skull while silently praying that the headache doesn’t progress. That’s the last thing I need today.
“Why?” she asks. Her voice has softened a little, but she’s still angry. I don’t blame her.
I keep the truth to myself, for now. She’s got enough on her plate. “Someone needed to. I’ve got the time.”
“And the money, apparently.” She says it like an accusation.
I wince. It took me years to feel okay about accepting NIL endorsement money as Oregon’s QB.
“Well, good luck,” she adds. Before I can work out a reply, she’s turned the corner and pushes out the back door, the blast of sunlight from outside blinding in this dark space.
I don’t try to stop her. Though I’m not surprised she stormed off, it puts another crack in my fragile hope. But what did I expect? That she’d jump at the chance to fix up the place she blames for so much heartache? That she’d be okay helping me ?
At least she didn’t show up wearing someone else’s ring, or worse—like try to convince me she had feelings for Crosby. That lie died the moment he moved back to Finn River without her. If I find out he hurt her, I’ll fucking break him.
I cling to the hope that Charlotte’s single because she’s still in love with me, but that’s a pipe dream.
When I drop into the black office chair, it gives a loud squeak that might as well be an ice pick to my eardrums. I force in some slow breaths, but the stale air back here only seems to add to the growing pressure squeezing my skull.
What that hell was I thinking, taking this on?
I should be spending my time off doing something fun, or at the very least relaxing.
Not elbows deep in a problem I don’t even know how to solve.
This is Charlotte and Morgan’s world. And though Ray clearly hasn’t been pulling his weight for awhile, he’s steeped in this business.
He could have fixed this if he’d wanted to.
I’m clueless. I can’t even listen to music anymore. At least, not the kind that plays at The Limelight .
But there’s no turning back now. Would Charlotte feel compelled to step in and help if I epically failed while she was still in town? Or would it be better to fix all the problems myself—somehow—and draw her back by her curiosity, maybe even admiration?
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to see her smile at me again. To hear her laugh. To touch her soft skin and watch those pretty hazel eyes tense with longing.
Seeing her on my doorstep last night was like drinking fire.
She’s even prettier than she was back then.
That long brown hair that I loved to play with, the strands like sun-warmed silk.
Hazel eyes flecked with green and gold. That heart-shaped mouth that haunts my dreams. Her slender hips and long, lean legs.
A knock on the open door is like the crack of a whip.
It’s a woman, her hair pulled back in a twist and her quick brown eyes focused on me. A thin silver hoop hugs her left nostril. “I’m Annaleise Bell, with the Journal,” she says, extending her hand.
I rise and take it. Her handshake is firm, efficient.
“Let’s talk out in the restaurant,” I say. “It’s kind of a mess in here.” Plus there is only one chair, and it’s uncomfortable as hell.
“Sure,” she says, and steps back. We walk down the dim hallway side by side. Though she doesn’t speak, there’s a brisk energy to the way she moves. I brace myself for this interview.
I head for the table I made sure was clean. Thanks to the lull between lunch and dinner and the unflattering sunlight streaking through the dingy windows, the space feels stale and lifeless.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask.
“No, thank you.” She slips a small notebook and pen from her purse before hanging the straps from the back of her chair, then sits.
I choose a chair across from her and wait. After four years as a D1 athlete, talking to the press isn’t new to me, but there’s something about Annaleise’s cool efficiency that has me on edge.
Or maybe it’s because I have something to hide.
She flashes me a smile. “Thanks for talking with me today.” After a quick scan of the room, she adds, “This is quite the change.”
I shrug. “The only change is the ownership.”
Her lips purse in thought. “So why buy it if you aren’t going to make it your own?”
“It’s a good investment,” I say evenly. At least this one I’ve rehearsed.
“For a firefighter?”
I laugh. “Why not?”
She tilts her head while studying me. “You don’t exactly have the background for this.”
Neither did Ray. “True.” Does she think I’ll fail? “I like a challenge.”
She scribbles something on her pad. “So this is a cure for boredom?”
A twinge of discomfort tightens in my shoulders. She makes it sound like I’m some ungrateful playboy looking for a pet project to boost my shitty image. “It’s another way I can serve my community.”
Her eyebrows arch up. “By running the region’s best music club into the ground?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I only took over today. Maybe give me a chance to prove myself?”
She jots this down. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Dagney Cole. Did you know she played at The Limelight?”
“Uh, no.” Her death has been all over the news. Another young, promising musician who lost a battle with addiction. “When?”
Annaleise’s pen hovers above her pad. “About six years ago. Before she signed with Tempest Records. How’d Ray take it?”
She better not be twisting this into something it’s not. “It didn’t come up.”
Annaleise’s gaze lingers another moment. Is she waiting for me to say more? Because there isn’t. “Did your relationship with the Hannahs factor into your decision to rescue the club? ”
She’s dropped a hint in her question, but she also gave me an out. “Rescue?”
“It’s not hard to obtain financial records.”
And yet, Ray and Morgan were the ones who needed rescuing, not the club. “It’s a tough business, but The Limelight isn’t going under.”
“Why didn’t Morgan take over?”
I rub down my thighs with the heel of my hands, slowly. Annaleise absolutely knows where Morgan is right now, and she also knows I can’t talk about it. “That’s between her and Ray.”
She wets her lips, but her expression doesn’t change. “What about Charlie?”
“What about her?” It comes out too sharp, but I will be protective of Charlotte Hannah until the day I die. Even if my plan doesn’t work. Even if she doesn’t stay.
“She’s a successful musician,” Annaleise presses. “Steeped in its culture. Why not involve her?”
“Again, that’s a question for Ray.”
“Right before our meeting, she came storming out of the back door. What had her so upset? Did she want The Limelight for herself, and you beat her to it?”
Is this really where she wants to go with this story? “Out of respect for what the Hannahs are dealing with right now, could we pass on the family drama angle?”
She sighs through her nose. “There’s a rumor that an outside investor was interested in The Limelight.”
My shoulders feel pinched, or maybe the muscles are fatigued from forcing them to stay out of my ears. “There were other offers, yeah.”
“You outbid them, or did Ray choose?”
“He chose me.”
Her eyes light with triumph. “Why?”
“My plans aligned with his.” It’s not a lie, but it’s all I can give her .
“So this other investor was a threat?”
“This is a prime location, the possibilities are endless.”
“It was a developer?”
“Among others.”
She glances to the side, and I can practically see the gears of her mind turning.
“It’s puzzling. You were poised to be the next Tom Brady.
Instead you turn down a career that would have made you millions to be a firefighter in your hometown, and now you’re a small business owner in an industry you know nothing about. ”
“Is there a question in there?”
A look of annoyance flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone just as fast. “Why trade a career that would have given you financial security and fame for this?”
“Maybe I’m more than just a dumb jock.”
With another huff, she closes her notebook. “I guess we’ll see.”
I pour my pent-up worries on sifting through the rest of the items in the office. The dinner crew trickles in, and the music turns edgier, punctuated by chopping and the occasional burst of laughter. At four o’clock, Mike pops his head in.
“Oscar’s here. You ready?”
“Great,” I say, and follow The Limelight’s bar manager out of the office, locking it behind me. I’m going to need to return there, but maybe not today.
“Can I put in an order for you before we sit down?” Mike asks over his shoulder. He’s compact, with a buzz cut and a bristly mustache. Full lips and kind, expressive eyes.
“No, thanks, I’ll grab something later.” One of the perks of now owning a restaurant is free food.
It’s…weird…but just add it to the list. Never in a million years did I think I’d put my environmental science degree toward being a firefighter or running a place like The Limelight.
Annaleise Bell wasn’t wrong. I should be out collecting water samples or coring trees or watching bugs fuck .