Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
“Ouch!” Flinching, I flick my hands. These pine needles are pricking me to the point of exasperation.
Why Bianca feels the need to wrap every branch with lights is beyond me.
It’s a tedious, painstaking process. My back is aching, and my fingers are sticky from sap.
I tried wearing gloves, but they’re too big and make me so clumsy that it’s impossible to do anything with them on.
Why did I let Harmony talk me into this?
Axel’s not even here.
I’ve been at this for four hours, and I’ve only managed to wrap lights around two ten-foot-tall trees.
I have twelve more trees to go. At the rate I’m going, I’ll end up doing the same thing all over again tomorrow and probably the next day for a good eight or nine hours.
And the worst part is that Bianca’s not paying me a cent.
She’s the one coming out like a bandit in this deal—getting free labor.
After the lights are all strung on the trees, they have to be decorated.
Bianca has a long list of instructions for each one.
Going off the mile-high stack of plastic bins in the garage, it’s going to be a grueling week.
Will Axel be here tomorrow? Who in the heck knows! This whole thing is a waste of time.
I glance around at the modern living room of steel and glass with large windows and a tall ceiling stretching to the second story.
A ginormous fireplace with a mounted flat-screen TV is the focal point.
When Bianca let me in this morning and gave me my marching orders, she mentioned that she had decorated the home.
While the woman is haughty and condescending to her help, she certainly knows her stuff when it comes to design.
My gaze lingers on the buttery-soft leather sectional and massive coffee table.
The furnishings are masculine with homey touches in the comfortable-looking pillows, rugs, and throws.
I look at the infernal tree. Time to get back to work!
These trees aren’t going to decorate themselves.
It’s Monday, and the party’s on Saturday.
As Bianca reminded me umpteen times, there’s no time to waste.
One thing I can say about decorators is that they sure know how to suck the enjoyment out of festive activities.
I have so many fond memories of decorating the tree with my mom and brother.
However, we simply draped the lights over the branches, and in ten minutes or so, we were done and could get to the fun part.
This is torture. I never knew one tree could have so many branches.
When Bianca showed me around the house, I noticed several cameras. Too bad because I would’ve loved to do some snooping. Oh, and some playing. On Bianca’s tour, I noticed a sweet-looking music room with a drum set that has been calling my name ever since I stepped foot in the home.
My phone buzzes. I retrieve it from my pocket and crinkle my nose. It’s Harmony. Should I answer or let it go to voicemail? I’m not in the mood to talk to Harmony right now. But if I don’t answer, she’ll just keep calling.
“Hello,” I bark.
“Hey, there. How’s it going?”
“Do you really wanna know?”
“That’s why I asked.”
“Painstaking and painful.”
She sounds surprised. “Painful? How so?”
“These pine needles are sharp, and my back’s killing me.”
“Are you making any headway on the story?”
Axel has security cameras, but I wouldn’t think any sound is being recorded. Still, it’s better to be cautious and not divulge any incriminating information. “Not yet. Just tackling the lights on the trees. I’ll be at it the rest of today, tomorrow, and probably Wednesday.”
“It’s taking you that long just to put up lights?”
“Yep, every strand has to be wrapped around a branch—Bianca’s orders.”
“Oh, wow.”
“I’ll be at this for three days before I can even start decorating the trees.”
“Have you been able to talk to Axel?”
“Not yet. I’m the only one here.”
“Hopefully, you can get some info soon.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Hang in there. Just keep thinking about that mega story you’re about to get.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Bianca told me that Zoe Reynolds is leaving tomorrow for Aspen, Colorado, to do a segment on skiing for her YouTube Channel. That means you’ll have Axel all to yourself this week.”
“Joy,” I grumble. My phone clicks, letting me know that another call is coming in.
“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. You’re about to get one heck of a story.”
I blow out a breath. “No need to play cheerleader. I’m here, and I’ll do what I can.” The phone clicks again.
“You might have to get creative on how to spend time with Axel, so he’ll open up to you.”
“Next, you’ll be telling me to sprout wings and fly.”
“What was that? You cut out for a second.”
“It’s because another call’s coming in. I should let you go.”
“Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
I answer the other call with a curt, “Hello.”
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
The accusatory tone raises the hairs on the back of my neck. “Who is this?”
“Bianca,” she spouts like she’s insulted that I asked. “I don’t know how Harmony runs her workforce, but when I call, I expect you to answer.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Irony drips from my voice. The more interactions I have with the highfalutin designer, the less I like her.
“How’s it going?”
“Fabulous. I’m on tree three of fourteen. I should be done by the New Year.”
“The party’s on Saturday, so speed it up.”
“It’s a joke.”
“It’s not funny. I put my neck on the line to get you into that position. I forgot to mention this earlier, but don’t you dare go anywhere in that house unless you’re taking care of what I hired you to do. I can’t afford to have my reputation tarnished.”
“Hired is a loose word. It’s not like you’re paying me.”
“You’re well aware of my arrangement with Harmony,” she says crisply. “I agreed to it on the condition that Axel never finds out who you really are.”
“That’s the idea.”
“I need you to get those lights on the trees, pronto. Zoe will stop by later this afternoon to assess the progress before she heads out of town. She wants this party to be perfect.”
“Great,” I mutter. Just what I need … to be scrutinized by Axel’s diva girlfriend.
“I expect you to be polite and respectful.”
“Got it.”
“I mean it,” Bianca growls, “Do you have any idea how many talented trainees would trade their mama’s sweet tea for an opportunity like this?”
“I get it. You’re doing me a favor.”
“Don’t blow it,” Bianca snips. “Clients like Zoe Reynolds, with her mega following on social media and famous boyfriend, don’t come along every day.”
“I understand.” I exhale sharply. “You know, you could speed things up by hiring a crew to finish putting lights on the trees.”
“Not gonna happen. Axel doesn’t want a slew of people in and out of his home. The only reason why you’re there is because he knows how carefully I vet my employees.”
“You must owe Harmony one heck of a favor.”
“Once this ordeal is over, Harmony and I will be even. Answer your phone the next time I call.” She clicks off.
“Goodbye to you too,” I mumble.
This whole thing is a waste of time. How am I supposed to question Axel when he’s not even here?
Two hours and countless skin pricks later, I finally finish the third tree.
Needing a break, I stretch my back and go to the restroom.
When I come out, I glance around the hall.
Not spotting a camera, I pad over to the music room and linger in the doorway, letting my gaze wander.
No cameras that I can see. There are several guitars hanging on the wall—two of which are Gibsons.
A trumpet case sits on a shelf of a built-in bookcase.
Of course, Axel has a trumpet. It’s probably the same one he played when we were in band.
There are framed pictures of Axel and his band, South Bound, around the room.
In many of them, Axel is acting like a goofball, just like he did in band.
A CMA trophy sits in the center section of the bookshelf, the slender prism glimmering silver.
I pull my phone out and snap several photos that I’ll never be able to use in an article without giving myself away.
However, the photos will help me get in the right frame of mind when writing the piece.
In the pictures on the walls, Axel looks chummy with his band. What happened to make him split from them?
The drum set catches my attention. It’s a high-end DW brand that probably cost almost as much as my 2021 used Toyota Corolla. My fingers are itching to try it out. I still play regularly … but only during daylight hours so my neighbors won’t complain.
I should turn around this instant and get back to work.
And yet … when will I ever again get the chance to play on a drum set in Axel Cox’s music room?
Before my brain can register what’s happening, I stride over and sit down on the drum throne.
I pick up the sticks and wince when they stick slightly to the leftover sap on my fingers—the parts I couldn’t get off even though I scrubbed like crazy at the bathroom sink.
Tentatively, I tap out a beat against the snare drum. I go easy at first, not wanting to make too much noise. The acoustics are good in the room. Before long, the rush takes over, and I’m playing for all its worth, losing myself in the rhythm. Then I look up and freeze.
Axel’s leaning in the doorway. An easy grin tugs at his mouth. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Heat whooshes through my body. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in the song.”
“Moonlight Mile.”