When Della reached for his guitar, he resisted. “Hey.”
“What are you, six?” She tugged on the neck. “Give it to me. Go walk around the parking lot.”
“No, I have to get it right.”
“Well, you’re not going to. But I bet if you take a walk or a shower, anything other than thinking about the damn song, it’ll come to you.”
He lowered his head, and she thought he might be gearing up to tell her off. Instead, he looked up with a smile. “You’re right about that.”
“Of course I am. Now, get out of here.” She glanced around, taking in balled-up paper, empty soda cans, and the sneaker he’d obviously flung against the wall. “I’ll tidy up. Clear desk, clear mind and all that. Go.”
He set the guitar down but didn’t get up. “Well, aren’t you the little task master?”
“Yep, that’s me. Della Swanson, getting shit done since she burst out of the uterus with a pen and notebook in her fat little baby fists.”
He set his head back against the wall and smiled. “I can see that.”
“Are you going to take a walk, or do you need some more projectiles?”
“You make me sound like a temperamental artist.”
She gave him a look that said, And?
“Okay, okay. But I can’t leave the bus. Too risky during a concert.”
She sat on the edge of the couch. “Okay, what’s your happy place?”
“Just sitting here with you.”
The sentiment hit like a fire hose, nearly knocking her on her ass. He’d said it so plainly, so sincerely, that she just...swooned.
She’d only known him a day, but with his aura of command, he was just so intimidating. He was one of the richest men in the world. He knew his talent and didn’t question his abilities.
And yet he wasn’t afraid or embarrassed to pull back the curtain and expose his sensitive heart.
But she didn’t know how to respond because it wasn’t an invitation. There was nothing sexual behind it. It was just a stark admission of truth. And so, she plopped down beside him, drew her legs up, and rested her elbow on the back of the couch. “Sweet or savory?”
He cocked his head in confusion.
She made a rolling motion with her hand. Play along.
Once he got the game she was playing, he relaxed. “I have the worst sweet tooth.”
“Oh, please.” She pinched his belly but couldn’t pull even an inch of fat. “It’s like a slab of marble.” The sexiest marble she’d ever seen.
“I’m serious. Ice cream over chips any day of the week.” He tipped his chin. “Your turn.”
“Total sweet tooth. If people wouldn’t look at me funny, I’d live off Oreos, frozen yogurt, and cake. But not just any kind. I’m very particular about the cake that goes into this body.”
His gaze dipped to her cleavage, dropped to her hips, and slid down to her red-painted toenails. Color bloomed in his cheeks, and he licked his lips.
So, he was attracted to her. He was just shy.
Her defenses melted like candle wax.
But he was her boss, and today was her first day on the job. I’m not crossing that line. So, she continued the game. “Lots of friends or just a few close ones?” Although, she could already guess the answer.
“I don’t have a lot of friends.”
“That’s probably because you get everything you need from your brother.”
“Maybe, but I also don’t have time. I’m either in the studio or touring.”
“Your brother doesn’t seem to have a problem making friends.” She hitched her eyebrows in a teasing gesture.
“My brother and I might be identical in looks, but we’re built very differently.”
That’s my answer. He doesn’t screw around on the road.
He needs more.
Her skin tingled with a sense of déjà vu. She’d fantasized about conversations like this with Van Claybourne—the intimacy, the way their souls would mirror each other—but to live it? It was powerful. Shifting-plate-tectonics powerful. Flustered, she scrambled to come up with another This or That question. “TV or books?”
“Nuh uh. You have to answer, too. You seem like you’d have a lot of friends.”
“I have one best friend in the world, and a ton of acquaintances. I can hang with anybody, but I don’t feel safe with anyone but her.”
Whoa. She’d never admitted that to anyone before.
“She’s your version of my twin?”
“Pretty much. We tell each other everything.” Well, they used to. Now, Micky had a private, separate world with her fiancé, and Della had secrets because of this job.
The rift was widening.
“Hey.” His big hand settled over hers. “You got sad all of a sudden. Did you two have a falling out?”
“No. I was stupid enough to bring her to Wild Wolff Village with me.”
His concern warmed her to her bones. “How was that stupid?”
“Three weeks in, she met the love of her life, and now she’s staying there, building a house with him, and having his baby.”
He watched her for a moment, pressing his lips together. “Yep. You fucked up big time.”
She laughed, whacking his knee. “Shut up. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Oh, no. That kind of loyalty is earned. We’ll need at least another twenty-four hours for that, but I don’t really see the problem. Instead of starting your business in Arizona, why not move to Calamity and start it there?”
“Well, first, she’s the event planner for the village. But also, because I’d be a third wheel. With all she’s got going on, she really doesn’t have time for me.”
“Maybe not the way she used to, but she still needs you. She needs her friend, her ‘sister by another mister.’” He gave her a soft grin. “She probably needs you now more than ever.”
“What do you mean? She has Rhys.”
“She’s getting to know a new family, having her first kid, building a home in a new town… I can’t imagine any of that is easy.”
“She’s got something special with Rhys, though. It’s hard to explain because I’ve never had it, but he’s her person. She’s her real self with him, you know? She can be in a bad mood, she can vent to him and share her secrets, and nothing will drive him away. Have you ever had that with anyone other than Van?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but his jaw snapped shut. He took some time before answering. “No, I haven’t.” Lowering his head, he almost seemed ashamed.
“Have you ever been in love?”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “I know I should say yes, but…the truth is I haven’t.” It seemed like a revelation to him—and not a good one. “Have you?”
“No. Never. I’m an intuitive person, so I can tell pretty quickly whether I’m vibing with someone. I almost never go on a second date.”
“That surprises me.”
“Honestly, I’ve never been that girl who longed for a boyfriend, who dreamed about getting married and having kids. I assume it’ll happen one day, but until then, I want adventures.”
“What did you dream about? When you were a teenage girl writing furiously in her journal on her pink canopy bed with a desk crammed with nail polish?”
You. “You know, I want to be insulted. I want to tell you I played soccer and was a card-carrying member of Future Business Leaders of America, but I can’t. You pretty much nailed it.” I dreamt about this exact moment, hanging out with you. “I wanted a soulmate.” Her cheeks went hot. “That sounds stupid to someone who has a twin, but you asked, and that’s literally what I wanted. That one person who was mine, who connected with me on a soul-deep level.”
“Isn’t that what you had with your best friend?”
“Well, she always had a boyfriend. And she’s very close to her mom. I wanted someone who was just mine.” She forced a laugh. “Am I scaring you right now? I sound like I’m super co-dependent—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t diminish the things that matter to you.”
Oh, my God, this man. She wanted to move closer, to lay her head against his chest, and feel his arms around her. “You’re right. Well, that’s what I dreamed about. Having that intense connection to one person, feeling like…I’m not alone in the world.”
“So, instead of a wedding, you dreamed of walking through life with a soulmate. I get that.”
“Because of Van?”
“I…don’t know how to answer that. Until this conversation, I’m not sure I understood how little he and I have talked over the last few years. I think I’m so busy running this production, that I lost sight of my brother.” He lowered his gaze to the couch. “I think I’ve lost sight of a lot of things.” He gave a soft smile. “Okay, other than finding your soulmate, what did you want to do with your life?”
“You promise you won’t make fun of me?”
“Oh, no, I can’t make a promise like that. I’m a very honest person.” He nudged her knee. “Come on. Be brave.”
“Fine. I write poetry.” She watched his reaction.
“Poetry? Now, that I didn’t expect.”
“Yep. I was an English Lit major at Arizona State with a focus on poetry. And if you look in my closet, you’ll find boxes stuffed with my poetry notebooks.”
“Well, that explains your love of adventure. You can’t really write if you don’t sink into experiences and emotions. I mean, you have to bite into an apple in order to describe it, right? You have to have a broken heart in order to write about one.”
“Well, there you go.” She hoped she sounded as cheeky as she’d intended. “That’s why my poetry sucks. I’ve never had a broken heart.”
“Of course, you have. Your mom died.” He shook his head. “I can’t think of a worse break than that.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I don’t think I ever thought about it like that.” Awareness crackled inside her. “You know, I keep telling myself I’m a third wheel with Micky and her fiancé, that that’s the reason I’m going home, but the truth is they never made me feel like that. It’s not like he’s all over her when the three of us are together.”
“Thank God for that.” He shuddered. “And frankly, if a guy ever slavers all over you, that’s your cue to run.”
She laughed. “As if my standards weren’t high enough, now I have to add one more thing to the list?”
“Hm, we might want to review your list.”
“Man, I didn’t realize it until just now, but if I’m totally honest with myself, I’m jealous of their relationship. Their passion. He loves her deeply, and I want that. I want to be loved like that. I want to love someone like that. But…”
He nodded. “Your mom died, and now you can’t trust love.”
She wasn’t quite making the connection. “A mother and a boyfriend…those are two different kinds of love.”
“Love requires trust, but if someone as essential as your mom can be taken from you, how can you ever trust it again? Especially with someone who doesn’t have any real ties to you? Your mom has to be with you. Everyone else can come and go.”
The idea splashed against her skin, and it felt good, warm, true. So, she let herself sink into it. It didn’t take long until she was swimming in the truth. And God, it was a whopper.
“What’re you thinking right now?” he asked.
“Just that…I knew I wanted the kind of love Micky has, but I didn’t know how much it terrifies me. But as soon as you said it, I could feel my fear.”
“Of?”
“Of getting the kind of love, the kind of intimacy, I crave, only for it to be snatched away. I don’t ever want to feel a loss as big as my mom’s death ever again.” She gave him a look of utter marvel. “This is why your lyrics are so amazing. You’re so in touch with the truth. And why my poetry sucks. Because I don’t get to the heart of it the way you do. And that’s why you can love even though you lost your dad.”
He went quiet. “I’m not so sure I can. I might’ve confused affection with love.” His gaze connected with hers, and she felt the sizzle down to her toes. “But I had nothing to compare it to, so I didn’t know.”
What are you saying? Are you feeling this, too? It’s not just one-sided?
And if so, what do we do about it?
She had to stop thinking like this. She’d known him a day.
And he’s your boss.
She forced herself back into the conversation. “I know most of your lyrics by heart, and it sure feels like you know that kind of love. You have a way of nailing it. You take this idea, this feeling, that the rest of us can’t quite articulate, and you put it into words.”
“Maybe, but it’s not because I’m in touch with my feelings. I don’t know how to explain it, but the words just come. It’s not conscious. It’s always been like that for me.” He chuckled. “And it’s always when I try to find them that they don’t come. Like tonight.”
“For me, that happens either because it’s not genuine—I’m forcing a sentiment that isn’t true—or it’s so scary and real that I’m not ready to see it.”
“In this case, I think it’s because it isn’t genuine.” He tipped his head back and scrubbed his face with both hands. “And I have you to thank for that.” He didn’t sound happy.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ve blown into my life and forced me to look at things I’ve neglected for a long time.” He lowered his hands, looking concerned, as if she might be offended. “And I mean that in the best way.”
“Yeah, me, too.” She didn’t think she’d ever felt closer to another person in her life.
And, oh, the way he looked at her. His features soft, the yearning in his eyes...she felt the answering pull in her soul.
What if she acted on it? What if he only held back because he was her boss? Maybe other assistants had sued them—used Van Claybourne as their payday?
Then, it means you can’t have him. Because he won’t take the risk.
Oh, my God. Would you stop? He needs a friend right now. Not a tumble.
“Well, maybe scrap the lyrics for now.” She tried to sound professional, but her feelings were all tangled up, and her voice came out raspy. “Wait until you figure out what you really want to say.”
“And what if what I want to say is not what I should be feeling?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re right. I’ll scrap it for now.” He got up. “I don’t know what to do about Van.” He scrubbed his jaw. “That intuition you were talking about? I think you’re right.”
“You mean about him not being happy?” She got up, too, but didn’t approach him. He seemed lost in troubled thoughts.
“I try to keep it as easy for him as possible.”
“You do. You so clearly do. But maybe he doesn’t want to do it anymore.”
“He never wanted to do it.”
She went still.
“Fuck.” The word blew out on a rush of angry air. “I can’t do this.” He strode out of the lounge.
Had she been dismissed? Did she wait here or go up to her bunk?
She had no idea. Tension bound her to the couch.
I pushed too far.
Bottles rattled, the refrigerator door slammed shut, and then there was silence.
And he didn’t come back.
Well, that’s my answer.
He doesn’t want to talk anymore.
She got up and, just as she reached the door, his muscular body filled the doorway.
Leaning against it, a beer in one hand, he said, “There’s just something about you, Della. You dig deep, and dammit if I don’t want you to.” He looked at her like he had so much more to say—but with the language of his mouth and his hands. His gaze burned a trail from her lips to her cleavage, incinerating her clothes and making her heart thunder.
He’s so fucking hot. That mess of tousled hair, those warm amber eyes, the hard, unforgiving jawline covered in scruff. And that ink. She wanted to trace every line and curve with her tongue.
She wanted to drop to her knees, unbutton his jeans, and suck him into her mouth.
She wanted to watch his features transform from the pleasure she gave him.
His heavy exhale jarred her out of her dirty thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone the whole truth.”
“It’s okay.” Her pulse pounded. “We can stay away from secrets.” Tell me.
Tell me everything.
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to. I’m so fucking tired of lying and hiding and…Jesus.” He gave her a look filled with determination. “I’ve been a musician since I was strong enough to pull my mom’s metal mixing bowls out of the bottom cabinet and bang on them. She’s got this picture of me when I was…I don’t know, two? Three? I’m sitting on the floor in a white T-shirt with this big, drooly grin as I use her pots as bongos.” He played air drums. “It’s not like I remember the moment, but I remember what it felt like to create melodies out of bowls, sticks, pencils…anything I could get my hands on.”
“What was it like?”
“Like I’ve got a mess of emotions in my head. I’m pissed at my brother for knocking down my blocks, jealous that my dad’s taking my sister with him to the diner and not me, scared that the first day of school’s tomorrow…but when I could bang out a tune, all the noise went away.”
“That’s exactly what poetry is to me. I get it. I know.”
He nodded, and that snap of connection between them was so powerful it shook her on a cellular level. Like plucking a chord, it made her body vibrate.
“But it was my outlet. It was personal, the way poetry is to you. But then my dad died, and we needed money. My mom was working three jobs, so Van and I took over the household chores. We fed Hannah and Chance, got them to school, took care of laundry, but it wasn’t working. So, that day I started performing on the street? It wasn’t a lark. It wasn’t for fun.”
“What happened?”
“It was one of those days where you’re standing at the check-out, and the cost of your groceries is more than you have in your wallet. And the line is long, everyone’s watching, while you’re figuring out what food you can do without. My sister was only four, and she was whining. Van was embarrassed because his teacher was behind us, watching. And so, on the walk home, when my mom saw the street performers, she told Chance to take off his hat and had me sing a cappella on the sidewalk.”
“And?”
“And we made twenty-three dollars and sixty-five cents.”
She noticed how he always said we. It was lovely, but…where did he figure into all of this? “So, how did the whole family get in on it?”
He sawed a finger over his lip, looking down at the floor. “I did it myself for a while, but they eventually joined.” He glanced toward the door of his bedroom. “My brother’s going to be back soon, so I should probably get to my room.”
“Oh, sure.” She headed out of the lounge. “Hey, I know I keep blurring the lines between work and friendship, but I’ll try to stay on the right side.” She offered an apologetic smile.
With an urgent energy, he shook his head. “Bullshit.”
Her heart thundered at his ferocious tone. “Excuse me?”
“Fuck right or left. I want you with me. On my side.”