Chapter 7
SEVEN
Ty
Three months later
? The Archer – Taylor Swift ?
I’m sitting in the break room at the salon, staring into familiar sapphire eyes.
Only this time, those eyes aren’t staring into my soul as I’m being so thoroughly fucked that I literally see stars.
No, this time they’re on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine.
A cover and a five-page article highlighting Velvet Shadows’ new album and upcoming U.S. tour.
Three months. It’s been three long, grueling, months since I’ve seen Eric Ambrose’s painfully handsome face.
Ninety days that I’ve tried (unsuccessfully) to get him out of my head.
Two thousand one hundred and sixty hours of trying to forget a night that I know damn well will be ingrained in my brain for all eternity.
But it was getting easier.
Until they did a surprise drop of their new album at midnight and announced the tour this morning.
And now, he’s not just in my head…he’s everywhere.
The topic of conversation in every magazine, every social media post, and every music break on the radio station playing over the speakers in the salon.
“Hey, Ty,” my co-worker, Mya, says, popping her head into the break room and thankfully taking my focus away from Eric. I look up from the article spread out on the table in front of me and she smiles. “We’ve got a walk-in for a men’s cut, can you take them?”
I check my watch before saying, “Yeah, I have some time before my two-thirty gets here.”
“Alright, cool. They asked for you by name. Said they’ve had you before.”
I chug the last of my iced coffee before popping a mint into my mouth and grabbing a fresh apron from the rack on the wall beside the door, tossing it over my head, and tying the straps behind my back.
This is good. I need the money. And a distraction. I can’t sit here all day and keep thinking about a man who hasn’t thought about me once since—
I round the corner and freeze in my tracks when I lock eyes with the man standing in front of the check-in desk.
“Eric,” I say on an exhale, and the entire salon goes eerily still.
“You’re a difficult person to track down, Tyler Rose Norris.” Hearing my name in his deep voice does something to me. Awakens that woman I was in his room that night. Someone only he could bring out of her cage.
He found me. How did he find me? He had half of my first name and an occupation. He must have been determined as hell, and my heart hammers against my ribs when I realize that he hasn’t forgotten about me, either.
I start to move toward him but stop myself. I want to launch myself into his arms, bury my nose in his neck and breathe in his cologne, but I don’t. Not until I know why he’s here.
“What, uh,” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?” I ask, swallowing so loud I’m convinced the entire salon hears it. “What do you want?”
“You,” he says, without missing a beat and my heart stops. The same answer he gave when he was on his knees in his hotel room. I squeeze my eyes shut to clear the memory, half expecting him to be gone when I open them again.
Spoiler alert: he isn’t.
“We sleep together one time three months ago and you have to hunt me down?” I ask. “It wasn’t that good.”
“Is that so?” He asks, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smirk and revealing a dimple.
“Uh huh,” I say, holding my ground and crossing my arms over my chest. Suddenly aware that the salon is still much too quiet and everyone is watching.
“Not even when I had my—”
“Okay,” I say, cutting him off. Ignoring the stares and choked laughs from around me, I grab his arm and drag him toward the door. “Outside. Now.”
“It was nice to meet you, Eric!” I hear Mya shout as the door closes behind us.
Once we’re a safe distance from the front doors of the salon, I turn to face him and god do I regret it.
It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to really look at him, and I forgot how beautiful he is.
I’d convinced myself that my memories weren’t real—that no one is that good looking.
But he is. He’s breathtaking. It’s alarming, really.
His dirty blonde hair is a little longer than it was the last time I saw him, the ends touching his ears now, and it has a slight wave to it, but it’s still in its signature messy style.
His toned, tattooed arms are covered by a leather jacket, but I remember them anyway.
Remember every inky line like I just saw them this morning.
When I meet those familiar blue eyes again, they’re already boring into me, and I can’t stop my mind from flashing back to the last time I looked into those eyes.
As his body moved in perfect rhythm on top of mine.
The way we clung to each other like we never wanted to let go.
Like we couldn’t hold each other close enough.
I want you to stay.
His cheeks and jaw are covered in a short beard, but those damn dimples are on full display as he flashes me a smile that says his mind is exactly where mine is right now.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either,” he says, cutting through the silence.
“Again,” I say, trying to maintain my composure. “It wasn’t that good.”
“We did more than just have sex that night. Or don’t you remember anything else?” I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “You want to lie and tell me that you didn’t have fun that night? That it wasn’t one of the best nights of your life?” he asks, and I feel my cheeks burn.
It was. It truly was. I’d never felt connected to someone I barely knew like I did that night. And the sex? Easily, hands down, cross my heart and hope to die, the best sex of my life. He ruined me for anyone that will come after.
Not that I’ll ever tell him that.
“And how many women have you been with since?” I challenge. He doesn’t say a word, and that is enough of an answer for me. “That’s what I figured.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “What do you want, Eric?”
“I want to offer you a job.”
“A…job?” Alright, that was…not what I was expecting.
“I want you to write my biography.”
“You what? Why?”
“You’re a writer, are you not?”
“I mean I—”
“You’re a writer,” he says, leaving no room for argument. Like he’s absolutely certain of the one thing I’m terrified to let myself believe. “And I have a story to tell.”
“I write shitty romance novels that no one wants to publish,” I say. “I’m not a journalist.”
“Have a little faith in yourself, Ty.”
This can’t be real. I have to be dreaming.
Eric Ambrose did not just spend the last three months tracking me down to offer me a job.
I must have dozed off in the break room, and the fact that Velvet Shadows is all over everything right now brought him to the forefront of my mind. It’s the only explanation.
I reach out and touch his arm, jerking my hand back when I realize that I can feel the cold leather of his jacket under my fingers and that he is, in fact, standing in front of me right now.
“What was that for?” he asks, laughing.
“You’re here. Like, really here.”
“I’m here, Ty,” he says.
“This isn’t a dream.” I say, and he shakes his head. Our eyes meet, and once again, I have to fight the urge to throw myself into his arms. He’s here to offer you a job, not date you.
“Okay, so…how would that work? We sit down for a few interviews, and I write your book?”
“No,” he says, his mouth twisting up into a knee-weakening smile. He slides his ringed fingers into the front pockets of his jacket, and I realize he’s shaking. Like he’s nervous. Or cold. It has to be the cold.
“Come on this tour with me. You’ll have unlimited access to me and everything that happens on the road. We’ll sit down for interviews when we’re traveling between cities.”
Holy shit. This is…too good to be true. This man barely knows me. He’s never even read anything I’ve written. It doesn’t make any sense.
“I can’t just pack up and leave for six months,” I say. “I have a job and bills to pay.”
“At the end of the tour, I’ll pay you five hundred thousand dollars,” he says. “And when the book is finished, you will get fifty percent of the initial deal plus fifty percent of all sales.”
I can feel the color drain from my face and the urge to sit down comes on strong, but I shake it off and take a deep breath of the frigid January air.
“When do you need an answer?”
“Tonight,” he says. “I’ll be at Pour. Come find me if you decide to be brave and finally chase that dream of yours.”
He turns and disappears down the street.
I rush back to the salon and out of the crisp air, heading straight to the breakroom, where I splash cold water from the sink on my face and try to process what the fuck just happened.
“So,” Mya drawls from behind me. “That’s Eric?”
“That’s Eric,” I say.
"What did he want?”
“To offer me a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“A writing job,” I say, trying to replay our conversation in my head. “He wants me to write his biography.”
“Ty, that’s…that’s incredible!” Mya squeals. “Are you going to do it?”
“Doubtful,” I scoff. “He’s probably just trying to get me to sleep with him again.”
“I don’t think that’s what this is.”
“Why not? Nothing else makes sense.”
“Well, for starters, you’ve already proven that he doesn’t need to do anything this grand to get you to sleep with him,” she says with a shrug, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“And,” she continues. “You’re a good writer, Ty.
You’ve just had shit luck, that’s all. So, a writing job and six months on the road with one of your favorite bands of all time? I don’t see the problem.”
She’s right. She’s right and I hate her just a little bit. This is literally a dream come true. Except…six months on the road with Eric Ambrose. The one man I don’t trust myself to be around.
Fuck.
“I have conditions,” I say, cutting right to it as I slide into the seat next to Eric at the bar inside Pour, a quaint little restaurant and bar in town.
It’s busy for a Wednesday night, but Eric sits alone, which surprises me.
With the album and news of the tour blowing up all around us, I half expected him to be surrounded by people bugging him for selfies and autographs.
Either everyone in town has incredible manners tonight, or it all happened before I arrived.
“Hello, Ty,” he says, hiding a smile behind his glass of what looks like Coke before taking a sip. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”
“Sorry,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Hi, Eric. It’s good to see you. I have conditions.”
“Anything you want,” he replies, setting his glass down and turning in his stool to face me. His knees touch mine, but neither of us moves.
“I need my own bus,” I say, and he winces.
“Okay, almost anything you want,” he says. “We do RVs, not busses, which are around two million each. I don’t have it in the budget to get you your own, but I can agree to you having the bedroom and I’ll take one of the bunks.”
“So…we’d be alone? Together? For six months?”
He laughs. “Is that a problem?”
Yes.
“No,” I say. I was really counting on having some space between us over the duration of the tour, but if he’s not lying about what they cost, it’s not like I can offer to pay for my own RV.
I can be professional. I’ll just have to pivot and think of something else to ensure I don’t end up doing something stupid. Again.
“I also need one hundred thousand dollars up front to cover my expenses while I’m gone.”
“Done.”
Wow, and that was the one I’d been worried about.
I take a deep breath, ready to pivot.
“If we’re sharing an RV, under no circumstances will we be having sex.”
I study his face. Watching for any sign that he wants to negotiate the no sex thing, and a tiny part of me wants him to. I want to know that he’s been as hung up on me these last three months as I’ve been on him, but his face remains neutral.
“Fine. Anything else?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, laughing nervously. “Why are you doing this? Why…me?”
“Assuming you weren’t lying to me the night we met, you’re looking for your break. Well, here it is. People have been on me to write this thing for years, so it won’t be a hard sell. I assume it’ll go to auction and fetch well over seven figures like Josh’s did.”
It’s a good thing I’m sitting down this time, because I feel as if my world is tilting on is axis. Seven. Figures. One million dollars, at least.
“I need everything in writing,” I say.
“It’s already being drawn up. I just needed your list of demands.” He winks at me and takes another sip of his soda. He extends a hand, and I look from it to his eyes, and back again. “So, Tyler Rose Norris, do we have a deal?”