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Colt sat as if glued to his seat, stunned.
What did I do?
“What did I do?”
Dexter glanced in the room.
“What did I do, Dexter?”
It was more of a rhetorical question, but the big man answered him. “I think she thinks you were coming on to her.”
“What? I—” Colt reviewed the conversation. Personal connection. He slapped a hand on his forehead. “Oh, shit!” Not only had he physically accosted her, he’d probably broken every sexual harassment rule on the books. Instead of an ally, it was quite possible he’d made an enemy. He sat with his mouth hanging open. Now what?
DJ answered on the second ring.
“Hey, I’m not bothering you, am I? Ooh. You weren’t doing it, were you?” His bassist had told him once that he answered the phone while having sex, and that grossed Colt out. He wondered if they’d ever been in the middle of an intimate moment when he called, and he felt violated somehow.
“No, we weren’t doing it. Not yet anyway. Ouch. Keep that up and you won’t get any... What’s up, Colt?”
“Remember the girl I ran into in the elevator?”
“The Hell, Yeah Girl?”
“Yes, that one. Well, I may have kinda, sorta, inadvertently sexually harassed her.”
“Man, you’re moving up in the corporate world.”
He opened a desk drawer, wondering what he was searching for. A clue? “Yeah. I guess you could say that. Man, I feel like a complete moron here. Give me an amp and a Fender American and I can make something of it.” He pulled back the bottom drawer and found a plain gray T-shirt, some gym shorts, socks, and tennis shoes. There’s a gym here? Things were looking up. He noticed a shadow near the back of the drawer and reached in again. A sweatband? He twirled it around on his finger. Really, Dad? “But here, I’m like Barney Fife on reefer. I’m dropping things. Saying the most asinine—”
DJ interrupted. “Dude, you’ve got to give yourself a break. I got lost two blocks from home the week my dad died. Hadn’t the foggiest notion where I was. I kept calling people by the wrong name, and I lost my wallet...God. I don’t know how many times.” He paused. “Your brain is fried. That’s why it’s important you stay. Work things out.”
Colt sighed. “You’re right, I guess.” He glanced at the pile of clothes again. I can at least work out.
“Damn straight, I’m right. Who always puts together the best set list?”
“You do.” Colt thumbed through the day planner.
“Who can always find a liquor store, no matter what city we’re in?”
He snorted. “It’s like you can smell them.”
“Who never drinks too much before a performance? Okay, rarely drinks too much before a performance? Okay, never mind. That doesn’t apply to either of us. Anyway. I know what I’m talking about here. You need to sort through things, and you need a break. Remember, what we talked about. You weren’t happy with your music...”
Colt’s jaw tightened. It was the first time in his entire career the creativity well had gone dry. He was empty, like all of his talent was poured out and spent. “Yeah. You’re right. You’re right.” An entry caught his attention and he stopped paging through the planner.
At the top, in his father’s small, neat print he read, Board meeting 1:00. But that was not what caught his attention. Underneath, the words Order flowers!!! was scrawled across the entire rest of the page and circled four or five times. Shit. Did he die right before their anniversary? Knowing he saw some writing on the other side of the page he flipped back to read.
To my confidante, my friend, my advisor. The best set of ears to listen to me, the best heart to guide me, and the best pair of hooters this side of the Mississippi.
Deliver June 13th
The delivery date was again orbited by pen several times. Whoever these flowers were going to, they would receive them tomorrow. And that wouldn’t be his mother, he realized, because he remembered they’d honeymooned in Germany during Oktoberfest. They were for one of his father’s women. It was a punch in the gut.
Sure, he knew his father had a shitload of affairs. He’d heard his mother scream about it since the age of nine. And there were times Colt didn’t blame him for it. Diving into bed with his mother must have been like taking the Polar Plunge. But, to see evidence of it, right in front of him...
He’d always told himself the tabloids had it wrong. He could remember walking home from school and stopping at the convenience mart to get a candy bar. Those colorful pages had greeted him at the checkout. He’d averted his gaze, not wanting to know. But something inside urged him to look. He fought it every time, but his eyes always betrayed him. He would breathe a sigh of relief if he didn’t find his dad’s picture, clench his fists if he did, telling himself the photos were fixed. His father wasn’t with a different woman every night he was on the road.
But now Colt knew what the road life was like. It wasn’t like he was as pure as the driven snow himself. But he didn’t have a wife and sons waiting at home either. People who counted on him. Believed in him. Trusted him. If he ever doubted it, here, emblazoned in ink, was the proof. Though a grown man, a small part of him still held his dad up on a pedestal, no matter how much disdain his old man had shown him. Colt still wanted him to be perfect, like the man who used to play with him as a child, not the unfamiliar Ty who had turned his back on his son as soon as he hit puberty.
But in the end, he had to admit his father was a man, not a god. Human and flawed like the rest of humanity.
“Colt? Are you listening?”
He rubbed his eyes, trying to make the images of those concentric lines, and the words within them, go away, though he could still see them.
“Yeah, sorry. I missed that. What did you say?”
“I said don’t worry about the band. We’ll be here for you when you get it all figured out. And don’t doubt yourself. You’re the guy who created some of the best damn songs in the music industry. People shelled out millions for your stuff, that’s how valuable your mind and heart are.”
It was good to hear it, but he couldn’t let DJ get away with it. “Whoa. You goin’ all emo on me, bro?”
“That was pretty sappy, wasn’t it?”
“Sticky sweet, dude.” A flash of red in the hall made him glance up. Melody Hawkins was marching along the corridor with those folders perpetually clutched to her chest. He glanced at his watch. Five to one. Board meeting.
“Well, don’t expect to hear it again. You know what you have to do, so freakin’ do it.”
Colt rose from his seat, lifting his suit coat from the back. “All right, man. I got it. Thanks for listening to me, but I gotta go. Talk to you later.” He hung up and trailed after Melody.
* * *
MELODY HEARD HIS FOOTSTEPS behind her but didn’t slacken her speed. A board meeting was the perfect thing to help her pull herself together. This was her arena. Although she was the lowest ranking individual in the room, and her comments were few and far between, they were listened to with respect.
At least they had been before Ty died. What would it be like now? Would they see through her? Know she was only a diner waitress Ty picked up. That her mother was the town’s biggest whore, her father’s anger had burned away the man he once was? The thought made her chest tighten, and she forced a deep breath in and out to regain her composure. She sat at Ty’s right hand, as always, only when she lifted her gaze to his seat, it was hauntingly empty.
Colt passed and stood behind the chair. She looked away.
Flopping a stack of blank computer paper on the table, he addressed the room. “Good morning. If we haven’t met yet, I am Colton Remkus. I’m not sure how my father ran these meetings, but I’ll simply sit back and listen today.”
The execs exchanged glances, and Melody noted a few were having a hard time concealing smirks. Throats were cleared, papers shuffled, foam cups lifted to lips. An awkward silence descended. Colt revolved a little in his office chair, but to his credit, his smile never faltered. He had to be sweating in his designer suit because Melody was perspiring for him. A pulse of protectiveness flashed through her. He was Ty’s son. And Ty had loved him more than he was able to say.
“Okay. How about this? Since I need to get to know everybody, why don’t we go around the table and introduce ourselves. Obviously I know my brother Edward here.” He got a few faint chuckles at this. Edward raised his gaze and smiled uncertainly. “We’ll start with this gentleman to his left. What is your name, sir, and what department are you from?”
Fred Davonovich, Director of Marketing, introduced himself, and Colt rose to shake his hand.
“Very nice to meet you.” He turned to the man on his other side. “And you—Ms. Hawkins, would you mind...?” He mimicked writing something and nodded at his stack of computer paper. She stared at it blankly for a moment, then rotated it to face her. “Fred Dovonovich, Director of Marketing” was scribbled at the top. She corrected his spelling and wrote the names of everyone seated at the table. She thought about telling him an up-to-date organizational chart was on his hard drive, but she didn’t want to embarrass him, so she wrote away like this was how things were done every day.
In reality, the table at board meetings most often resembled a black and white photo from the 1830s. Not an ounce of animation to be found. Everything was presented very formally. But as she watched him, Colt seemed to relax as he moved along. He appeared to genuinely enjoy having an opportunity to meet his employees. She shook her head, amused despite herself. Some of the directors seemed to be taking to Colt. Some, she could tell, thought his demeanor ridiculous.
Melody peered up again after jotting down “Sam Peamore, Director of Logistics” and caught Edward Remkus’ impatient expression. He was practically rolling his eyes behind his brother’s back. She wanted so badly to kick him in the shin, but the table was too wide, and she couldn’t reach him.
Before she knew it, Colt was shaking the hand of the man next to her. He rotated. “And Ms. Hawkins.” He offered his hand, and she slipped hers into it. He covered it with his other hand. His grip was strong and warm. “You, I met.” He moved to take his seat. “Thank you so much for taking notes for me. I appreciate it.”
“Now everyone knows each other,” Hector Sanchez piped up. “Can we maybe get some business done? I need to draw something to your attention.”
Colt leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. His blue gaze was intense. “Go on.”
“We own a factory in Aberton, Texas.”
Melody blinked. Aberton?
Hector continued. “Texas Twangs they call it. This place is in an uproar. Apparently, they weren’t too happy with the way R&J treats them, for some reason. They are threatening to strike. Say they’ll take their strings elsewhere.”
What the hell? Why didn’t I know about this? She hated being blindsided.
Colt shrugged. “So let them. They can’t be the only guitar string manufacturer in the country.”
Melody looked from Colt to Hector, her mouth hanging open.
“Okay. If that’s the way you want to handle it, I can find another company.” People packed up their papers.
Melody surveyed the faces in the room. Some of them were appearing rather pleased with themselves. They were setting Colt up.
“No.”
All heads swiveled to stare at her.
“What do you mean, no?” Colt asked, eyes wide. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem, Colt...Mr. Remkus, is these are the guitar strings Ty...your dad, insisted on.”
Colt’s gaze jumped around the table. People were observing him expectantly. “Well...maybe it’s time for a change, then.”
Directors nodded their approval.
“No, it’s not time for a...”
Colt’s jaw tightened.
Melody glanced around, but didn’t find any sympathetic expressions. “Listen. Aberton, Texas is about thirty miles south of Houston. Seventy-seven percent of the town is employed by Texas Twangs. If you pull our business, it will be a catastrophe for them.”
“What?” he stammered. “How do you know this shit?”
“Well, I...uhh...it’s my job. Sort of. You need to go there. Talk to the people. I’m sure you must have inherited some of Ty’s charm.”
He straightened his back. “I’m very charming.”
When you’re not mowing people over in elevators.
Hector Sanchez leaned in. “You know, I think Mel might be on to something.”
“I am?” She wasn’t sure if Hector’s agreeing with her was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Yes. Colton should visit, and you should go with him.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“You used to accompany Ty on all his business trips.”
“Yeah. But...but...”
“You two go.” Hector smirked. “I’m sure you’ll charm the socks off them.”
“I’ll have Nancy book your flights for Thursday,” Edward said as if the matter was finished. “That way you’ll have some time to prepare yourselves.”
Melody glared at him. This wasn’t turning out at all like she hoped. Countless hours with Mr. Rock and Roll. Her baser instincts said all was good. The brain she counted on told her otherwise.