Chapter Eight
If he had to consume any more goddamn cannoli, he might vomit.
It wasn’t because Matt didn’t like the rich Italian pastry, he did, but he’d been eating them on a weekly basis for how long—two months now?
Every Thursday morning, he cut through the park, grabbed a coffee from Katie, then walked across the street to Rossi’s bakery on the off chance he’d see her, but she was never there.
Where was she? And who was this girl who delivered pizza one day and tied on a baker’s apron another? All Matt knew was her first name.
He should’ve gone after her that day he spotted her in the park, but Matt missed out on his opportunity, thanks to a gaggle of fangirls visiting the city on spring break.
The Venery boys grew up in this neighborhood, so most folks who lived here had known them since they were kids and weren’t fazed to see them.
Sometimes, though, people came around to seek them out.
Hence, the reason they gated Park Place.
By the time he finished signing autographs and taking selfies with the girls, Gina was gone.
Matt tried to catch up with her out on First Avenue, but she was well ahead of him by then.
Too late, he called out her name. He should’ve chased after her, and he would have if the sidewalk hadn’t been so crowded with Saturday afternoon shoppers.
Catch you next time, bunny.
And there would be a next time.
It was Thursday, after all.
Matt watched the blonde chick stocking cookies in the display case through the storefront window. Thankful the bakery was empty and Mrs. Rossi wasn’t in sight, he opened the door. At the tinkle of the little brass bells, the girl glanced up at him and giggled.
“Gina’s not here, you know.”
Of course, she isn’t.
“How many cannoli would you like?” she asked, tongs at the ready. “We only have chocolate chip and pistachio today. My mother-in-law doesn’t make the flavors Gina does.”
“Mrs. Rossi’s your mother-in-law?”
“Yeah, I’m Nick’s wife.”
How did I not know that?
“I’ll take a dozen.” Not that he planned on eating any of them. “I have a meeting this morning.”
“You want to get something else, then?” And she moved to the other end of the glass case. “How about some zeppole? They’re kind of like doughnuts filled with pastry cream, chocolate, or jam, but my favorite way to have them is when they’re still warm, out of a paper bag, covered in powdered sugar.”
“All right, you convinced me.” Matt leaned against the counter and nodded. “Give me the doughnuts.”
“They’re so good.”
“So… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…” He glanced up and gave her a flirty grin, the one that turned the ladies into goo.
She blushed. “Sara.”
“Sara,” he repeated. “Can you tell me when she will be here?”
“Sorry, I can’t do that.” Sara went to work, plucking Italian doughnuts out of the case with her tongs.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know when that might be.” She closed the lid of the bakery box, tying it with red and white string. “Gina only comes in to help sometimes—when Rosemary guilt-trips her into it. Like she doesn’t already work her ass off at the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
Her lips curving into a pretty smile, Sara took the box over to the register. “Yeah, she’s a nurse over at Illinois Masonic—labor and delivery.”
As in babies? And here he thought the only thing Gina delivered was pizza.
“You like her, don’t you?”
Matt grinned. He didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened all on its own.
“I knew it.”
Nick came out of the back, wiping his hands on his white apron, staining it with splotches of red pizza sauce. He kissed his wife on the cheek, then greeted him, “Hey, Matt. How’s it goin’?”
“Can’t complain,” he said, handing Sara his credit card. “Meeting up with the boys this morning, and I had a taste for something sweet.”
“Zeppole—good choice.” Nick nodded over his wife’s shoulder.
She giggled. “He came to see Gina.”
“My sister?” His head snapped in Matt’s direction. “What for?”
“She’s your sister?”
The Rossis had a lot of kids. Tony was the oldest. Nick was a couple of years younger. They had another brother, who might have been in fifth grade back then. Hell, Luca was toddling around in diapers. And yeah, a little sister.
No fucking way.
“C’mon, you don’t remember the cute little pain in the ass?” With a toss of his head, Nick chuckled. “Course, she was only six, maybe seven, the last time you saw her.”
Christ…
He was an idiot. How had he not put two and two together? But fuck if it didn’t all make sense now.
“Look, that was a long time ago, dude.” Matt picked up the box of Italian doughnuts before Gina’s brother came up with four and asked him any more questions. “I gotta run, Nick, but good seeing you.”
“Yeah.” He winked. “I’ll let Gina know you came by.”
The guys were waiting for him in the first-floor office when he got to the studio. They sat on eggplant-colored sofas with Brendan, Jesse, and Dillon, twiddling their thumbs while staring at Kyan’s framed architectural drawings that hung on the exposed brick walls.
Taylor glanced at him with a heavy sigh. “You’re late.”
“Chill out, dude.” And he tossed the bakery box onto the coffee table. “I went to Rossi’s and got us some doughnuts.”
Bo snorted.
“Sit.”
“Can’t I get a cup of coffee first?” Ignoring Taylor’s command, he popped a pod into the machine. “What’s this meeting for, anyway?”
“Plans.”
Matt turned around, folding his arms across his chest. “Plans for what?”
“Our next record,” Taylor said. “I’d like to have the demos down by September.”
This wasn’t news to him. It had been almost a year since they put out the last one. Their typical album cycle was eighteen months—two years, tops.
“Want to release it next spring?”
Though they could finish it in time for Christmas, he supposed.
“Perhaps sooner.”
“Tour?”
Why was he even asking? They promoted every new album with a tour, except these days, Taylor wasn’t too keen on being away from his family for very long. Bo wasn’t either now that he had one, but surely, he’d bring Ava and Emery along with them again.
“Most likely.” Tipping his head onto the back of the sofa, the lead guitarist blew out a breath. “But that’s what we’re here to discuss.”
“Okay.” Matt grabbed his coffee and sat between Kit and Sloan. “In that case, where’s CJ?”
If they were talking about release dates and tours, their manager should be here.
“I didn’t invite him.” Taylor lifted his head, scraping his hand through his hair. “CJ’s contract is up, and after the shite he pulled with Vanessa Parisi, I think we need to re-evaluate keeping him on.”
Matt picked up a doughnut, or whatever Sara called it, from the box and bit into it. He swallowed, licking the remains of vanilla cream from the corner of his lip. “Yeah, well, I’ve been thinking it’s time we part ways with CJ for a while now.”
“I’m with you, dude,” Bo chimed in. “What he tried to do wasn’t cool.”
“Manipulative, meddling, greedy motherfucker taking twenty percent of our gross, and for what?” The voice of Venery had a way with words.
It almost sounded like an angry ballad. “He doesn’t give a shit about any of us and he isn’t acting in the best interest of the band—only himself.
We’ve done more for that ass-kissing dick than he’s ever done for us. ”
Sloan wasn’t lying. Fast cars. Plenty of women. Lots of money. The dude was rolling in dough, living the dream off of their sweat, their fame, their music.
“I don’t know.” Kit rubbed at the back of his neck. “He’s been our manager for a long time, man.”
Seventeen years.
Taylor nodded with a loud exhale. “I hate to say it, but he’s changed since we left the label.”
“Nah, man. He was a slimy motherfucker long before then. You just weren’t paying attention.”
Tell us how you really feel, Sloan.
“Perhaps, so.” Conceding, Taylor shrugged. “Are we all in agreement, then?”
“Yeah,” Kit said, pushing the hair from his eyes. “He’s out.”
“Think he’ll start trouble?” Jesse asked.
Dillon answered, “I’d expect some backlash.”
Yeah, count on it.
“I’ll have Phil draw up a severance agreement.” Taylor dismissed their concern. “We’ll give him a nice bonus and send him on his way.”
“We’ll need to find a new manager,” Matt reminded him. “Won’t be easy.”
“Brendan’s offered to help us out until we do.”
“Yeah?” He turned his head toward the club chair occupied by their tattooed giant of a friend.
“However I can.” Brendan tipped his head as if the offer was nothing to speak of. “Finances, contract negotiations—that sort of thing. I don’t know much when it comes to the rest of it.”
And the rest of it was a lot.
A band manager wears many hats. Marketing and promotion, scheduling appearances, coordinating tours, and all the shit that goes with it.
Brendan might not possess in-depth knowledge of the music industry, but he was a savvy businessman, and if there was anyone who had their interests at heart, it was him.
“CJ didn’t know shit when we started out either, remember?” And that was the truth. “You got this, brother.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“You’re family, Bren.” Matt slung an arm around Kit and the other around Sloan. “We trust you.”
His guitar rested on his thighs as he looked over the notes Taylor sent over.
Riffs. Chord progressions. Kit’s bass, Bo’s drums, and his guitar would create the rhythm section for each track.
Lyrics, melodies, and harmonies come after.
Then, they’d play it together, making numerous revisions along the way, until everyone was satisfied with the end result.
Sometimes, everything came together on the first playthrough.
Most often, it took many attempts and adjustments to get the sound just right.
He held down a series of chords with his fretting hand, alternately strumming and fingerpicking the strings with the other, composing the rhythm part in his head. The rudimentary beginnings of one, anyway. Because without Kit’s bassline and Bo’s groove, it fell flat.
His stomach grumbling, Matt set his guitar down on the sofa beside him. He’d been at this for hours, and after adding some notes of his own to Taylor’s scribble, he picked up the phone to order himself dinner.
“Twenty minutes?” His fingers rubbed over his bare chest. “Sounds good, Nick. Thanks.”
He knew Gina’s last name now. Her kid brother could tell him what he wanted to know. Did she still live at the townhouse on Willow Street? What was her schedule like? Her phone number?
Restless, Matt got up, and walking past the clock on the wall and the photo of him and his grandmother that stared at him from the shelf, he cracked the blinds open to peek out the window. Nearly dark, the last remnants of what had likely been a magnificent sunset rapidly faded from view.
And the Fates shone down on him once again.
Pizza box in hand, he watched her come up the porch steps. Smirking, Matt opened the door. “You’re not Luca.”
“I thought we established that already.”
Her stance casual, Gina cocked her hip, attempting to appear unaffected by him. He knew better, though. Dilated pupils. Rapid, shallow breaths. Her gaze fixated on his torso. She was nervous, but desire oozed from her pores.
“Filling in tonight?” Matt asked, and taking the pizza from her, he placed it on an entryway table.
Biting at her lips, she shrugged. “Something like that.”
“Wanna know what I think?” He rested his elbow against the doorframe.
“What?”
The muscles in her fingers twitching, she tucked her just-brushed hair behind her ear. No doubt it had been up in a messy bun not ten minutes ago. A touch of mascara. Gloss on those tempting lips of hers.
“I think you wanted to see me.”
Closing her chameleon eyes, Gina shook her head.
He reached out, his fingertips brushing her arm. “It’s okay. I wanted to—”
“This was a mistake,” she whispered and fled down the steps to her car.
Matt watched her taillights until she made it to the gate and closed the door.
A mistake? Yeah, maybe so.
Stunned, he picked up the pizza box and tossed it onto the kitchen island. Intent on grabbing a slice, Matt opened the lid, but found he wasn’t very hungry anymore. Then the doorbell rang.
She came back. He knew she would.
“Wanna fuck?”
“What?” Gina cocked her head, indignant.
But then, why else would she be here? That’s all any of them ever wanted. It disappointed him in a way. He wanted her to be different.
“You heard me. Do you wanna fuck?”
“Wow!” She slowly shook her head. “You’re bold.”
He didn’t have time for bullshit. “The answer to an unasked question is always no.”
Taking a step closer, Matt saw she wasn’t just pretty with her long, dark hair and those hazel eyes that changed colors. No, Gina was beautiful. And she didn’t back away from him, even though he almost wished she would.
Run, rabbit, run.
“Why should I?”
“Because you want to.” He smirked. “I’ve seen you looking at me the same way you are right now. You’ve been imagining this dick inside that pretty little cunt of yours for weeks, haven’t you?”
Heh, months.
Nuzzling his nose in her neck, he smelled her skin and growled, “Know what, bunny? I’ve been thinking about it, too.”
“I don’t even like you.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s what you came back for, isn’t it?” Matt took her hand and placed it on the hard bulge in his jeans.
She whimpered.
“You like me.”
“I don’t.”
Then he slid his hand inside her pants and felt the wet heat between her legs.
“See?” Matt held up his finger, coated in her sweetness.
He watched the muscles play in her throat.
“You like me.” He licked his finger, then grinned. “I’d say you like me a helluva lot.”