Chapter 15
"Why?" Liam is in New York, but he can feel the chill in Abigail's words even from that far away.
"For fuck's sake, Abby, because I'm not. Do you seriously want me to send Loretta just because it calms you when she drives? What’s she supposed to do the rest of the day? This isn’t Manhattan—you don’t have meetings or studio visits or those shops where you buy your suits or those expensive shoes.
You just go from the apartment to the rehearsal space.
You want to pay her to do nothing? Everything you’ve got going on there is costing us enough as it is. "
"We’re paying her now, too," Abigail says.
"Right now she’s my chauffeur."
Abigail stops short before pushing the rehearsal room door open, seething.
"Did you steal my chauffeur?" she asks in a low voice, firm as steel.
"God forbid I be that brazen," Liam says. "I just borrowed her; she's bored."
"Yeah, you’re always so generous. I’m hanging up." Abigail hangs up and lifts her hand to rub her neck, but drops the idea when the sting of Taylor’s bite sends a jolt that reminds her what she did.
The executive has barely slept. She’s used to handling any hiccup and fixing it before it turns into a problem, but with Taylor she’s slipping; with her she hesitates, and it grates on her, and today she’s in a foul mood.
She pushes the door open and the first thing she sees is her.
Taylor is there, practicing some chords on her guitar that Abigail hasn’t heard before.
Taylor looks up when she hears the door, and something tightens in her stomach when she sees Abigail walk in. She smiles at her, but Abigail just walks right past without so much as a glance.
"Good morning," Abigail says.
"Hi," Taylor replies, still smiling at her, but nothing disturbs Abigail’s tense expression. She heads to her corner, pulls out her planner, and starts reviewing notes as if Taylor weren’t there.
The musicians show up one by one. Ethan, as always, arrives five minutes late, but Abigail doesn’t even flinch; she looks like a marble statue put there for everyone to behold.
"Let’s start with 'Wildfire,'" she announces in a clipped voice. "From the top. Let’s make sure everything’s perfect."
Everyone nods and Taylor steps behind the mic. The chords start and she begins to sing, but they’re only halfway through when Abigail’s voice cracks like a whip and stops her.
"Posture, Taylor. You’re slouching."
Taylor straightens after a sideways glance, surprised by the tone, but she doesn’t let it get to her and they start again. Minutes later, before they’ve finished the third attempt, Abigail interrupts her again.
"Stop. You’re not supporting your breath; if you don’t, you won’t be able to sustain the high notes."
Taylor looks at David and he shrugs. Abigail is looking at her phone now, typing, as if nothing were happening and it were completely normal for her to interrupt rehearsal constantly.
Taylor knows her posture is fine, and so is her breath; what isn’t fine is Abigail herself, who is probably punishing her for what happened last night, though Taylor doesn’t know why.
"Can we keep going?" Taylor asks, keeping her cool.
"Whenever you want," Abigail replies.
Not even twenty seconds pass before she stops her again.
"Stop. You’re off at the start of the second verse," Abigail says.
Ethan smirks, amused, but Taylor’s had enough and takes off her guitar.
"Be right back," she tells the others, striding toward Abigail.
"Do you need something?" Abigail asks without batting an eye.
Taylor looks over her shoulder; she knows everyone’s watching them, feeling the tension, and if Abigail won’t cut it, she has to.
"I want you to stop acting like a bitch," she whispers, staring at her with those huge dark eyes.
Abigail lifts her gaze and wets her lips very slowly. She knows what she’d say in any other case, to anyone else, but she holds back with Taylor, her nostrils flaring as she tries to calm down.
"Go rehearse," she orders, not looking away from her.
A charge shoots through Taylor from head to toe, and she doesn’t understand it. She should be angry at this woman, and all she wants right now is to wrap her up in her arms.
"Are you going to keep interrupting?" Taylor asks, very softly again.
"No." Abigail’s answer is as dry as it is decisive, and Taylor turns around.
Taylor steps back behind the mic and when she sings, everyone notices something different.
Abigail’s pressure, far from intimidating her, has just unleashed her wildest side, the most intense part she keeps hidden inside.
Her voice turns rawer and more powerful, as if she were channeling all the tension of the moment through it.
Abigail is frozen on her stool, back against the wall and breath uneven, wondering if she should act like a tyrant with her more often.
When the song ends, David comes over and squeezes her in a bear hug like the first day while everyone laughs—everyone except Ethan, who’s in his corner feeling smaller by the second.
"Can we take a break, Abigail?" David asks. "I need coffee."
Abigail checks her watch and nods.
"Fifteen minutes."
All the men head out, and just then Tiffany walks in, dressed in a suit and a briefcase in hand. Taylor almost trips over the cables when she sees her, leaving her guitar on the way so she can run to hug her sister.
"What are you doing here?" Taylor asks, cheeks flushed.
"I left the firm early and took the chance to swing by. I wanted to see this. Maybe we can grab lunch when you’re done."
"Hell yes," Taylor says. "Come on."
Taylor takes her sister by the arm and drags her toward where Abigail is, who’s still looking at something on her phone as if she hadn’t seen the visitor arrive, though she has—Abigail keeps track of everything.
"Abigail," Taylor says without a trace of resentment in her tone. "This is my sister, Tiffany."
Abigail puts down her phone, gets off the stool, and approaches Tiffany with that natural elegance she seems to have been born with.
"It’s a pleasure," she says with a soft smile, extending her hand to her.
Tiffany shakes it firmly and smiles back.
"Likewise. My sister doesn’t stop talking about you."
"Yeah." Abigail’s gaze flicks to Taylor, who quirks a smile. "Taylor loves to talk."
Something throbs between Taylor’s legs all of a sudden and her mouth goes dry.
"Yes," Tiffany confirms. "She was born chattering. Mind if I stay for the rest of the rehearsal?"
"Not at all," Abigail answers, returning to her spot while Taylor pulls her sister toward the rehearsal area to explain a few things.
"Where’s Ethan?" Tiffany asks.
"He went out for coffee with the rest of the band."
"So he gets along with them?" her sister asks, surprised.
"Not really, but he’ll use any excuse to get out of here."
Right then all the guys come back. Tiffany greets her brother and Taylor introduces her to the other members.
"We’re ready," David announces.
"Let’s go with the second song," Abigail calls from the back.
Tiffany sits in a chair and is floored when her sister starts to sing. She’s seen her a thousand times at Rusty’s, heard her a cappella and shouting in the shower, but this is completely different. Her voice sounds professional, polished, but without losing that wild essence Taylor has always had.
"Fuck," she murmurs, impressed, but what strikes her most is that Taylor keeps seeking out Abigail’s gaze, as if she were singing for her, and she probably isn’t even aware of it.
Abigail gives a few notes. There’s no trace now of criticism or direct attacks toward Taylor; they’re constructive comments like she always makes, all aimed at helping her improve.
Taylor answers each one with a smile, eager to learn, a sponge soaking up everything she can to give her best at the concert.
When the last run-through ends, Taylor takes off her guitar and wipes the sweat from her forehead with her hand. She’s sweltering; her cheeks are burning and her eyes shine with excitement as if she’d just gotten off a roller coaster.
"All right, that’s enough for today," Abigail announces. "Tomorrow we’ll run it like it’s a real concert."
"Will I have an audience?" Taylor jokes.
"Unless your sister comes, I’m afraid all you’ll have is me."
Taylor is about to say that’s more than enough, but she bites her tongue and turns to her sister, who’s moved closer to Ethan.
"Want to grab lunch with us?"
He doesn’t even think about it.
"No. I’m going to swing by the bar—have lunch with our parents."
Ethan leaves at the same time as the musicians and Taylor shrugs.
"Will you wait for me outside? I need to tell Abigail something—I’ll be right out," she asks her sister.
"Sure."
Tiffany waves goodbye to Abigail and leaves the room. Taylor walks over as she fishes for something in her back pocket. Abigail is still on the stool, one foot on the floor and the other on the bottom rung, jotting something down in that planner Taylor is sure will be full soon.
"I’ve finished the third song," Taylor blurts.
Abigail lifts her eyes from her planner and focuses on her, brow furrowed.
"When?"
"Last night." Taylor smiles, blushing. "Apparently, fucking clears my head," she says with a shrug.
Abigail goes rigid and feels the pressure in her neck.
"Relax, I’m not going to jump you," Taylor says, pulling a folded sheet from her back pocket. "Here, read it and tell me what you think. If you like it, I’ve got the melody too—we could start rehearsing it tomorrow."
"Do you like it?" Abigail asks, taking the paper.
Taylor wavers; she’s so used to her brother not taking what she thinks into account that it’s hard for her to process that it always matters to Abigail.
"Yeah. I think it’s the best song I’ve written so far."
"Good," Abigail replies. "I’ll read it more carefully later. I need to make a few calls now."
"Okay," Taylor smiles. "I think you’ll like it," she adds, with a sparkle in her eyes that Abigail can’t attribute to anything in particular.
"Yeah, I’m sure. Go eat."
"Bye."
Taylor leaves and Abigail tucks the folded paper inside her planner.
"Ready?" Tiffany asks when Taylor comes out of the rehearsal space.
"Yeah."
"I have to admit that woman is doing an amazing job with you," Tiffany says in the car. "I never thought your voice could be better than it already was, but fuck, Taylor," she adds, smiling, "it almost blew my mind when I heard you."
"Really?" Taylor puffs up like a peacock.
"Oh yeah. You even sound like a different person—more mature; I don’t know how to put it."
"I feel different," Taylor admits. "Like I’m finally being who I really am when I sing."
Tiffany sighs, aware of how deep a wound Ethan has caused all this time.
"So what do you think of Abigail?" Taylor asks.
Her sister looks at her sidelong.
"I had my doubts, but I liked her, though she’s very intimidating," Tiffany smiles, "and I can also see why you like her."
Taylor nearly chokes.
"I didn’t say I like her."
"But you do," Tiffany says.
"Well, maybe a little," Taylor admits with a playful laugh and that breezy tone that makes everything seem easy.
"You need to be careful, Taylor," Tiffany warns her.
"Why? I’m not in love or anything. I’m physically attracted to her, that’s all," she answers too fast.
"That doesn’t matter. She’s about to become your agent, the woman who’s going to change your life, who’s making your dreams come true, and it’s very easy to confuse admiration with love, even gratitude with attraction. And she could take advantage of that."
Taylor almost slams on the brakes, but stops herself in time to avoid an accident.
"For starters, I was attracted to her before I even knew her, before I knew who she was. And I already told you I’m not in love—it’s just…
I just like her, that’s all; that’s not a bad thing.
And she’s not taking advantage of anything.
Fuck, I wish she would—I wish she’d fuck me every day; you have no idea how fucking good she is in bed. "
"Taylor!" Tiffany exclaims, eyes wide.
Taylor bursts out laughing.
"Sorry, but, fuck, you don’t know what it’s like to be with her," she says, shivering at the memory.
"No, definitely not," Tiffany laughs too. "I’m just saying make sure that attraction doesn’t go any further, because you’ll have a rough time if she doesn’t give you what you want."
"I know full well Abigail won’t give me anything more than she already has, don’t worry," Taylor says, gripping the wheel too hard.