38. Callie
38
CALLIE
My phone rings just as Torren and I are about to leave the suite.
Jonah’s gone already, and Damon and Craig are in the lobby. Everyone is just waiting for us, so I don’t stop as I answer the phone.
“Hey, Glor.”
“Are you here yet?”
“Not yet. Heading to the airfield to board the jet now.”
“They own a jet?”
“I don’t know, actually.” I pull the phone away from my ear and turn to Torren as he steps out of the suite to join me in the hallway. “Do you own the jet?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. We just charter one when we need it.”
“Boring,” Glory says, overhearing him, and I laugh.
“Did you get the tickets for the shows?”
“Oh my god, yeah, thank you so much. I can’t believe it. Bummer we’re gonna miss night one, but this is still so amazing. Can I get a picture with the band? Everyone is going to be so fucking jealous that I get to be there two nights in a row.”
“We can get a picture, but don’t say fucking, Glory.” She sighs dramatically, but she doesn’t argue, so I change the subject. “What are you doing right now? Walking your dumb dog?”
“Oh, I actually just left Bruno’s!”
“The store?” I arch a brow in question even though she can’t see me. What’s Glory doing at my old job? It’s too far from the house for grocery shopping. The only reason I shopped there was because of the employee discount. “Why were you at the store?”
“Oh, you know... Browsing ...”
There’s a pregnant pause, and a whisper of unease skates down my spine. My steps halt, leaving me frozen in the middle of the hallway. Glory’s overly casual tone has me in full-blown big sister mode. I don’t trust her when she’s draped in faux-innocence, and I don’t have the patience for her theatrics.
“Glory Bell, what did you do?”
“Nothing. Honest...” Another intentional pause. Another dramatic sigh. I brace myself for what comes next. “I just accidentally spilled an entire extra-large blue raspberry slushie on the magazine rack, is all. Then I dropped two dozen eggs and one of those glass half-gallons of the expensive chocolate milk on the floor. Eggs and glass and chocolate milk everywhere. Buncha magazines ruined, too. I’m such a silly, clumsy girl. Poor Quinton had to clean it all up by himself.”
My jaw drops at the fake contrition in her voice. At the very thinly veiled pride.
“Glory Bell! Tell me you didn’t do that on purpose.”
“Bet your ass I did! And I’d do it again. That douche nozzle deserves worse for what he said about you in that stupid tabloid. He’s lucky I didn’t glue his big fat stinking mouth shut.”
I gasp. My sister is a tiny devil. That’s what she is. A tiny little revenge monster, and I’m flabbergasted.
“Did Quinton think it was an accident?”
She snorts. “No. He’s a jerk but he’s not an idiot. Dwayne did, though, so that’s all that matters. I cried real good. You’d be proud. Really sold it and didn’t have to pay for any of the damaged stuff.”
“What the hell were you going to do if he did try to make you pay for it?”
Her voice is saccharine when she responds. “I’d just tell him I was hard up for cash and couldn’t pay it. After all, that’s what Quinton told The Star. ”
Oh my god. She’s ridiculous. She’s an evil mastermind.
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. “You’re kind of scary, you know that?”
She giggles. “I know, right? ”
My cheeks hurt from smiling and my heart is flooded with warmth. My sister is ruthless and out to defend my honor. Wreaking havoc to avenge my name. She’s nuts and unpredictable, but she loves me.
“Thanks, Glor,” I say with another laugh. “I know I should probably tell you that was not acceptable behavior, but...well...just thanks.”
“No problem. It’s the least I could do since you gave me the Coach clutch you found in that thrift store near the pier.”
I gasp. “Glory! I didn’t say you could have my Coach clutch.”
“Oh, well, look at the time. I need to go clean egg yolk off your sneakers. Love you! See you in a few days! Bye!”
The line goes dead. I pull the phone back to stare at the screen in disbelief.
“She’s a little devil child,” I whisper to myself. “She’s completely unhinged.”
Torren laughs, and I look up at him with wide eyes.
“Don’t let her get around Sav and Mabel. I don’t think the world could handle it.”
“Did you hear what she did?”
“Every word.” He laughs again and shakes his head. “I’m not mad about it, though. I kind of feel like I should thank her too.”
“Oh god, no. It will go straight to her head. She’s already off her rocker. We don’t need her ego inflated, too.”
He drops his hand over my shoulder and leads me to the elevator. “Baby, I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”
“Thanks for getting them tickets to the shows,” I say, leaning into him as the elevator carries us down to the lobby. “She’s really excited.”
“Yeah, of course. Since your mom only has PT on Tuesday, maybe she and Glory can come up early on Wednesday and hang out.”
I squint up at him like he’s just offered to lie in a tank of spiders just for funzies. This trip to LA is a quick turnaround, playing shows Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights to make up for the ones they had to cancel a few months ago when everyone caught the flu. Then they have to get back on the jet and fly to North Carolina so they can resume the regular tour. Torren will be exhausted. The last thing he should want is to spend time with my mom and bonkers little sister.
“Are you high?” I ask, only half joking, and he laughs.
“I’m serious. I know you miss them, and I’d like a second chance with Glory. You know, since last time she more or less threatened my life.”
He’s got me there. And I’ll admit, it will be fun to see how he handles her. Or rather, how she handles him. No one handles Glory. It’s something I’ve come to terms with since I moved back home.
“I’ll ask her,” I say as the elevator door opens and we step into the lobby. “But I just need to warn you, Glory is a lo?—”
“Miss James.”
Torren and I turn toward the voice, a hotel bellhop. He’s young, maybe early twenties, and I open my mouth to greet him, but nothing comes out as my eyes fall on the object in his arms.
“Someone left these for you. I was about to deliver them, but the front desk said you were checking out.”
The boy holds the bouquet of calla lilies out to me, but I don’t reach for it. Instead, I take a step back and look at Torren. He’s frowning at the bouquet.
“Where did you get those?”
The boy’s smile falters at the tone of Torren’s voice, and he stammers when he responds.
“Uh...someone...just...just dropped it off. A, uh, delivery person. But we don’t allow delivery people past the lobby. Only ho-hotel staff, so it was given to me. Sir. Mr. King, sir.”
Craig and Damon step up beside the boy, and the poor thing jumps. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I’m too busy panic-spiraling about another bouquet. The first one was weird. But this one? This one feels ominous, and I can tell from the looks on Craig and Damon’s faces that they think so, too.
Without asking, Craig takes the bouquet from the boy while Damon goes straight to the front desk. Torren turns back to the bellhop.
“Did you happen to see or talk to the delivery person?”
The boy shakes his head. “No. The desk manager just flagged me over and told me to bring them up. She’s the one who talked to the delivery guy.”
Torren looks to the desk. Damon is speaking with a blonde woman who is wearing a pencil skirt and blouse.
“That the desk manager?” I ask, and the boy nods .
“Okay, thanks.” Torren gives the bellhop one flat smile, then stalks to the desk.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to make my smile friendlier than Torren’s. The boy just frowns at me and nods again, so I follow Torren to the desk where he’s already speaking with Damon.
“She’s going to get permission to pull security footage for me.”
“What did she say he looked like?”
“Male. Thirties, maybe. Had a hat on.”
“Not helpful,” Torren spits, and Damon shrugs.
“Delivery people come here all the time. She didn’t think to pay attention.”
“When will you see the security footage?” I ask, and Damon softens his face to look at me.
“She has to go through her boss. Might be five minutes. Might be five hours.”
My eyes flare as I look between Damon and Torren. “We’re supposed to take off in an hour.”
“This is more important,” Torren says, and I shake my head.
“You can’t miss the flight because of me.”
“It’s not because of you.”
“Don’t worry,” Damon cuts in. “I’ll wait here. Walton will head with you to LA. I’ll meet you there when this is done.”
Torren is still frowning, and a concerning glance is exchanged between him and his security detail. It makes my frown mirror theirs.
“How worried do I need to be?”
Torren flicks his eyes to me. “Probably not at all, but I’m not taking chances.”
“You think it’s Sav’s stalker?”
When Torren doesn’t answer, I look at Damon. His face stays neutral, but he gives it to me straight.
“We haven’t heard from them, but with the recent press and considering past behavior, we need to be vigilant.”
“Okay.” I jerk out a nod and take a deep breath, failing to soothe the swarm of bees that have invaded my stomach. “Awesome. Cool. Totally fine.”
Torren wraps his arm around my body and pulls me against his chest, pressing his lips to my hair .
“We’re good, Callie. I got you. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.”
I relax into him, breathing in the scent of detergent and body wash and me on his skin, and the nausea I’d been battling starts to fade.
I trust Torren, Levi had said and sometime in the last few weeks, I’ve come to trust him, too. I tilt my head up so I can look into his gorgeous green eyes, and I smile.
“Thank you. Let’s go catch our flight.”
“You can leave your shoes here.”
Torren gestures to the floor of his foyer as he kicks his own shoes off, so I follow suit. It’s been almost three months since I was in Torren’s apartment, but it’s just as imposing as ever. I stand awkwardly by the door as he crosses the living room and enters the kitchen. He pulls open the fridge and looks inside.
“You thirsty? I have regular water, mineral water, sparkling water, a few energy drinks, and two protein shakes.”
“I’ll take a regular water,” I say with a laugh.
He grabs two waters and shuts the fridge door. When he turns to look at me, he quirks a dark brow.
“You can come into the apartment, you know. You don’t have to stand in the doorway.”
I take two steps in, then halt. “I don’t want to break anything or get anything dirty.”
He smirks and walks toward me. “What if I get you dirty?”
I roll my eyes. “That was dumb.”
He chuckles and hands me a water. Then he takes my free hand, tugging me into the kitchen with him, and starts pulling plates out of the cabinet and food from the fridge.
“Since we get to stay here, I called ahead and had them get me some things.”
“Had who get you some things?”
“Oh, the building management. It’s like a concierge service for residents.”
Of course. Rock star perks .
“You like turkey? I’m going to make sandwiches, but I’ve got ham, too.”
“You’re gonna make me a sandwich, King?”
He pulls a few slices of organic whole grain wheat bread out of a bag and winks at me as he lays them out on the table.
“Baby, I’ll make you anything you want.”
Heat stirs low in my belly at his suggestive tone, the way he looks at me with so much need igniting a fire in my veins. I force a cool smirk of my own to my lips and give him a shrug.
“Turkey is fine.”
I watch as he gets to work fixing sandwiches and decide there’s something very sexy about this larger-than-life rock god carrying out such a domestic task. Stop anyone on the street and ask them to imagine Torren King making a sandwich, and I bet money no one could do it. Those hands are for playing bass guitar, talented fingers meant to create music. Seeing them artfully construct a picture-perfect turkey and cheese sandwich? I’m dumbstruck.
I take a sip of my water, and he slides a plate in front of me.
“Got anything you want to do tonight? We can go out if you want? Club or dinner?”
I pick up the sandwich and move it to my mouth. “Honestly? I’m tired. I’m not used to jet lag.”
Torren laughs. “Just wait until Europe.”
I blink and take a bite of my sandwich, so I don’t say anything stupid. Like, but I’m not contracted for Europe . I chew slowly and swallow, then take another sip of my water before speaking again.
“I’m good with staying in tonight, if you are.”
“Want to watch a movie and fall asleep on my couch with me, Firebird?” Torren’s playful grin makes my stomach flip.
“That sounds nice.”
“Wait. Actually...” He puts his half-eaten sandwich on the plate and rounds the kitchen island to do the same with mine before he grabs my hand. “Come with me. I have a surprise for you.”
Torren leads me back through the kitchen and down a connecting hallway. We pass a bathroom and a laundry room before he slows just before we round another corner.
“How fucking big is this place?” I ask, arching a brow, and he grins .
“So, around this corner is like a second living room. It’s supposed to be for entertaining, and when I bought the place, I thought I’d be throwing parties and jam sessions and shit, but I’ve never used it for that. Not once.”
“You have a second living room that you don’t use?”
He shrugs in response.
“Then this isn’t a studio apartment,” I say flatly, and he laughs.
“Yeah, I guess not.”
He grins at me as we stand in the hallway, and prickles of excitement start to tease my arms and legs.
“What did you do?” I ask slowly, and he nods toward the end of the hallway.
“Go see.”
I wait only a moment before I brush past him and walk around the corner, and the moment the large room comes into view, I freeze with my mouth gaping.
“Do you like it?”
I can’t even look at him. I’m still too busy staring at the grand piano in the middle of the room. It’s a Steinway, and it’s gorgeous. I fist my hands at my sides. I bet the keys would be a dream under my fingers. Smooth and cool and perfect. My toes flex in my sneakers, imagining pressing those solid brass pedals. The concert piano I played at Barnum Hall was nowhere near this nice. I’ve never even been in the same room as a piano this nice. I feel like I’m standing feet away from royalty, and I don’t know how to act.
Torren steps up next to me. “Are you going to play it?”
My jaw drops. “I can’t play that! It’s, like, one-hundred-thousand dollars, easy.”
He smirks. “I paid one-twenty, actually.”
A squeak escapes me, my eyes probably as big as frisbees. “You don’t even play!”
“Yeah, but you do.”
I blink. My brows slant and my forehead creases as his words sink in, and then I gasp. “What?”
“I got it for you.”
“What? Why? When?”
He shrugs. “The day after I heard you play on the roof. ”
I stare at him, speechless, and suddenly his smile slips. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and runs his hands through his thick, black hair.
“This is too much, isn’t it?”
I blink again, I huff a laugh, but I still can’t speak. Not yet.
“I’ve overwhelmed you. I’m sorry.”
The remorse in his voice helps me find my own, and I swallow, shaking my head.
“No...it’s just...you didn’t even like me then. We’d argued hours before that. And then, just because you heard me playing Beethoven one time , you decide to drop a hundred grand on a piano? That’s bananas.”
“One hundred and twenty.”
“Torren.”
“Calla Lily.”
He steps forward, self-assured smile returning to his full lips, and closes the distance between us. He rubs his thumb over my lower lip before notching his finger under my chin and gently closing my gaping mouth.
“Just play it for me, please.” He smirks. “Don’t make it a waste of a hundred and twenty grand.”
I groan, an irritated laugh escaping my throat as I roll my eyes. “You’re dumb.”
“So, you said. Now play. Please. You know you want to.”
He’s right. I want to. I really want to.
I scowl at him, though there’s no heat behind it, then walk to the piano bench and sit down. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, then open and close my fists to stretch my fingers. I breathe in and out. Then slowly, I move my hands to the keys, and I have to suppress a shiver as my fingertips barely graze the surface.
I play scales first, and the gorgeous sound that comes from the piano brings tears to my eyes. Even without concert hall acoustics, it sounds amazing. When I tap out “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” Torren chuckles, and I look over to find him seated on a couch, eyes trained on me. The way he’s looking at me sparks something in my chest, something thrilling and fearless.
Slowly, a smile stretches across my face and my heart starts to thrum faster. Then, before I lose my nerve, I look back at the keys and begin the third movement of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” It’s the same piece I chickened out of playing on the roof weeks ago, but this time, I don’t hesitate. For seven minutes, my fingers glide over the keys playing the notes from memory, my body rocking with the unbridled emotion within the music. I do it almost perfectly. By the time I’ve played the last note, my hands ache and my heart pounds behind my rib cage, but I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I feel grounded, centered, in a way only playing classical music has ever done for me. I feel at peace .
“That was amazing,” Torren says, drawing my attention to him. “That was so fucking good, Callie.”
I give him a half-smile. “I’m no Constance Chen, but I do love it.”
“Will you play me something else?”
“I could play classical all night,” I say honestly.
He settles back into the couch and folds his hands in his lap. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
For the next few hours, I play a solo piano recital for Torren King while he lounges on the couch, and he’s the most enthusiastic audience I’ve ever played for. Between pieces, we talk and laugh. I tell him a little about each piece and each composer, and he ask questions about my experience learning how to play them. At one point, he sits on the piano bench next to me, and I teach him how to play “Heart and Soul.” He’s a fast study, and I’m smiling so big my cheeks hurt when we’re able to play it together.
“Thank you,” I say quietly as I sit on his bed wearing one of his T-shirts. “Not for the piano—I can’t accept that—but for tonight. Thank you.”
Torren smiles, then sits on the bed beside me. Slowly, he pushes me down onto the plush mattress, so his body is between my thighs and his face is just inches above mine. His green eyes glitter in that magnetic way that makes my heart skip and my knees weaken, and just as I lean up to kiss him, he says words that take the breath from my lungs.
“Move in with me.”