CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AFTER EVERYONE DISPERSED from breakfast, Brit had the task of getting ready for the night’s festivities—the big show she had arranged with Daisy as the opening act for Vincent, who was the opening act for DJ Knight. She realized she hadn’t run anything by DJ Knight, but hopefully he wouldn’t care. What did it matter if someone went on before Vincent? DJ Knight probably wouldn’t even notice.

Cord had said he’d take care of redoing the paperwork, which was sweet, but Brit still felt guilty about it. She should’ve offered to help, but she herself had a lot to do. She had to make sure Daisy had something to wear and get her ready. Who knows how long that would take? Come back, pick out her own outfit, and get herself ready. Then somehow get Daisy in contact with Cord to get all the forms signed before she stepped on stage. Oh, and make sure Lander was in the audience, so he would see how great Daisy is.

Taking her time in the shower, the steam rose up around her until the hot water turned her skin pink. She tilted her head back and enjoyed the warmth. She stayed in there until her fingertips turned to raisins before she begrudgingly turned the water off. Shivering, she stepped out of the shower and dried off her body before wrapping the towel around her hair.

Without bothering to put any clothes on, she walked naked back to her bedroom and into her walk-in closet. Living alone, she spent a lot of the time at home naked after showers if she didn’t have anywhere to be, and she was momentarily glad she had remembered earlier that morning Cord was around, and she hadn’t inadvertently walked around her house in the nude. She toweled off and walked out to the living room. The throw blanket had been carefully folded and laid on the back of the couch, just like Cord said he and Lander were going to do when Barbara and Brit were arguing about Saffron.

Her laptop dinged from her bedroom, and she went to check it. As if he knew she was thinking about him, Cord’s name appeared in an instant message. Her lips tugged into a smile.

CORD MCCUTCHEN: I had a lot of fun this morning and last night, all things considered. Thanks for letting me stay for breakfast.

Brit was about to type something about him being family but thought better of it.

BRIT BYERS: Anytime ;-)

Let him think what he wants about that. She didn’t know if she was leading him on. She didn’t know what to think. Cord was straight-laced. He was her dad’s employee, and he would soon be her brother-in-law. But he was sweet—endlessly sweet—and he cared about Brit and her family. And good Lord, did he look sexy when he woke up in the morning!

“Snap out of it, Brit,” she scolded herself. She suddenly felt very naked and exposed, looking at Cord’s name on her computer screen. It was almost like he could see her, but she knew that was crazy. Still, she closed the laptop and went in search of some clothes.

WITH BRIT’S CAR STILL at Daisy’s apartment, she planned to have Daisy meet her at her place. Daisy burst in with a flushed expression and a huge grin. She stared at Brit inside the doorway, waiting for her to ask what she inevitably would.

“Vincent. Is. An. Animal!” She said this sentence like it was four separate sentences, and after each word, Brit’s eyes grew wider and wider, and her jaw dropped farther and farther.

“I’m sorry, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” demanded Brit. She led Daisy to the couch and made her sit down, grasping both her hands.

Daisy heaved a gigantic sigh, her small chest and shoulders dramatically rising and falling. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“What? I thought that’s what you wanted!” Daisy’s ecstatic face fell, and her eyebrows knitted with concern over Brit’s opinion of her.

Brit squeezed Daisy’s hands. “No, no, I’m excited for you! I’m just surprised. I figured Vincent liked you, but I didn’t know it would progress this fast. That’s awesome!” She bounced Daisy’s fists against her thighs. “Tell. Me. Everything!” she said, mirroring Daisy’s speech pattern.

“OK, so he walked me back to my place to grab my guitar before going to the rehearsal space. I was trying to decide which guitar I wanted to bring, and I asked his opinion. I played the beginning of one of my songs for him, and he started harmonizing. Then he said I was beautiful, and I said, ‘so are you,’ and he tossed my guitar aside...”

“And we made love right there on my couch. Well, ‘made love’ is a sappy way of saying it, but it felt like lovemaking. It felt like dramatic, wild, sexy, loud, quiet, sensual, movie-quality lovemaking. It was everything. He could do things with his hips—oh Brit, he’s magic. And when we were done, he strummed on my body, and sang one of his songs to me...and we were done again. I had the BEST night.”

Daisy’s description of the night even made Brit blush. And then she thought of Cord on her own couch and their innocent night, and she imagined his hands on her body, and she blushed even deeper. “Daisy, that’s amazing.”

“Sort of? For a few seconds? He said he got the gist, and he’d sing that song with me tonight. So I’ll close my set with it.” She sighed. “I don’t know how I’ll get through that song without thinking about him.”

“No, definitely think about him! That’s called chemistry. I can picture it now—it’ll be as electric as Lindsay Buckingham and Stevie Nicks.”

WITH DAISY SORTED OUT in every sense of the word, Brit could tend to herself. She wasn’t the star of the show that night. In fact, she preferred to be in the background, but she still wanted to look hot. It was a big night, and quite a few people knew she was the one who had a lot at stake. She expected a lot of feedback, and hopefully it would be good.

She stripped off her clothes again and stepped back into her walk-in closet. Dress or pants? She went with a one-shoulder Jill Stuart number with a waist cutout and a thigh slit. Simple, black, but edgy. She added a studded bracelet for the bare arm and went to the bathroom to straighten her pink locks. It was excessive for an event where many of the attendees would be in jeans, but she didn’t mind standing out. With a smoky eye and a pale lip, she was ready to knock ‘em down like dominoes.

Without a car, Brit had limited options for making an entrance. She cracked open her laptop again and sent her sister a message, asking for a ride.

BARBARA BYERS: We’re going right from dinner to the club. Remember? The dinner rezzies you made us?

BRIT BYERS: Rezzies? Really, Barbie?

BARBARA BYERS: Good luck, sis! Gotta go sip my expensive martini with my hot fiancé.

BRIT BYERS: Are you at the club already?

CORD MCCUTCHEN: Of course. I never leave this place.

BRIT BYERS: K, never mind.

CORD MCCUTCHEN: What’s up?

BRIT BYERS: Looking for a ride. Don’t worry about it.

CORD MCCUTCHEN: Be right over.

When Cord knocked on the door, she swung it open and leaned one elbow on the doorframe, popping her hip.

Brit curtsied. “Thank you. Monsieur.” She held out her hand, and he took it and led her to his car. An entrance she would have.

THE PLACE WAS BUMPING. Brit could not contain her excitement. She pressed her face to the cool window in Cord’s car and then thought better of it and patted her forehead to make sure she didn’t displace any makeup.

“Hold on, let me get that. You can’t make an entrance getting out of the car yourself.” Cord shifted into park, and stepped out of the car. Brit watched him through the window as he stood up straight, buttoned the top button of his suit jacket and moved around the car like a gentleman from the regency era. He placed one arm behind his back, opened the door, and then offered her his hand.

“So charming,” she purred and strutted into the club. She glanced over her shoulder and smoldered at him. “Coming?”

Doors hadn’t officially opened yet, but Walter, the club’s regular bouncer, stepped aside and opened the door for Brit and Cord. “Hey, Brit. Hey, Cord. What’s up, man?” He raised his hand up for a high five. Brit avoided his hand in favor of an air kiss, but Cord indulged him with a manly, loud high five that reverberated in the street.

“Hey, why does she get to go in?” Some punk stepped out of line near the front and jabbed his finger in the direction of Brit and Cord.

Walter stuck out his beer gut and squared his shoulders in the guy’s direction. “Because she owns the place. Now get back in line.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s Britnee Byers,” Brit heard a woman’s voice say before Walter closed the door behind them.

She felt Cord’s light fingers on the small of her back. “Sounds like you have a fan.”

“I’m going to get a drink. Can I get you something before the place fills in? A Sprite?”

Brit jumped at a woman’s voice she only vaguely recognized. A woman with waist-length brown hair in big sausage curls and feathery fake eyelashes grinned back at her.

“Oh hey! Autumn! It’s so good to see you!” Brit turned on her PR voice and air-kissed Autumn on both cheeks. She caught a whiff of shampoo and faint berry.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Walter let me in. He’s such a sweetie. I wanted to catch you because I have another idea for a feature on the blog.”

“Absolutely. The last feature on Sweet Maple Street did great things for the club.” Brit didn’t mention that the hugely popular Canadian lifestyle website and accompanying print magazine SMS also gave her much attention she would’ve preferred not to have. “What’s the topic?”

“The buzzing social life of children of stars. We’ll get you together with the daughters of Frank Franklin and Cub Amaryllis.”

“He’s a hockey player turned actor turned politician. His daughter is Carrie Amaryllis.”

“Listen, you have my number, right? I’m going to duck out of the way before...” Brit pointed her thumb at the excited concertgoers coming at them.

Before Autumn could answer, the power-walking mass came between them like the Red Sea.

“Britnee Byers!” The girl that had recognized her from the line was at the other end of the lobby.

Brit ducked her head into the corridor where the coatroom was and pushed open the door to the roof stairwell, slamming it behind herself. She’d hide out there until the crowd dissipated and then she’d meet up with Cord and find a good spot to watch Daisy and Vincent.

She went into her purse to check her phone and kill time but then remembered her new phone hadn’t come in the mail yet. After what she guessed was fifteen minutes, the noise from the crowd outside decreased, and she assumed the first surge was let in, and people would be trickling in more gradually after that. She twisted the doorknob and pulled, but nothing happened.

“No, no, no, not tonight.” Kicking off her sandals, Brit braced her bare foot on the side of the doorjamb to give herself more leverage and pulled again. The door grunted but didn’t give. She pounded on the door, but it was too loud inside. Someone had to hear her eventually. She slumped against the door, pounding every so often when she heard voices.

Brit couldn’t believe she had done this to Cord again. He must be pissed or exceedingly worried. Likely both. And she had gotten all dressed up to sit in a stairwell and not be seen by anyone.

Plopping herself onto the bottom step, she leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes just for a moment...or what felt like a moment.

When she heard a couple voices outside, she popped her eyes open and pushed her ear up to the door. The man and woman sounded like they were having an argument.

“Hey!” Brit banged on the door again. “Stop fighting and let me out of here!”

“What the—” The doorknob jiggled, but the door didn’t move. “It’s jammed,” said the man.

There was a bang against the door, and the man swore. He tried again, and the man burst through the door. Brit dodged the falling figure.

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much! Sorry about your shoulder,” she called as she ran by the man who was rubbing his arm and rotating it around to make sure it still worked. As a result of the interruption, she hoped whatever fight they were having would be over too.

Rushing to the stage area, Brit wished they had a clock somewhere in this place. She couldn’t have been in there long. The dampened sound from the concert boomed through the double doors. She opened one, and the volume intensified, but it wasn’t raspy Daisy that Brit heard. It was a crooning Vincent, and he was alone on stage with visible sweat across his brow. He must’ve been up there a while.

“Britnee, there you are!” Barbara appeared and grabbed Brit’s forearms. “Where were you? Daisy did a shout-out to you, and you were nowhere to be found. Cord has been losing his mind with guilt.”

“Barbara, what the hell are you talking about? No! I got trapped in the stairwell. That damn door sticks.”

Barbara pushed a hand mirror at her. Brit’s bright pink lipstick was smeared, and she had mascara below her eyes.

“Yes, you do. Go get yourself cleaned up. No, better yet, I’m coming with you.”

Someone was crying in one of the stalls, and another girl was washing her hands. Brit knelt down enough to see the shoes she had helped Daisy pick out below the stall door. “Daisy, oh my gosh, is that you?”

Barbara stared down the girl washing her hands until she scurried away, and then Barbara locked the door behind her.

“Brit, you’re alive!” Daisy opened the door for her. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Luckily, her eyes were so beautiful that she didn’t need mascara, so she at least avoided that problem. “You scared me so bad. Where were you?”

“This is going to sound cheesy, but this isn’t what it looks like. I feel horrible that I missed your set.”

Daisy looked dubious, so Barbara elaborated. “There’s this stupid door in this old piece of junk building that sticks. I’ve gotten stuck in there myself.” Someone knocked on the door. “Go away!” Barbara yelled.

Barbara was normally the level-headed one, like their father, but also like their father, she could be a bear when one of her young was in trouble.

“Can we find some place to talk other than the bathroom? People are going to start to get pissed. No pun intended.” Brit rolled her eyes at herself, annoyed that she had acknowledged something so cheesy.

Daisy sniffled, pulled out a length of toilet paper, and blew her nose. “Sure.”

“Barbie, can you take her to Mike’s office? I have to find Cord and let him know I’m OK. I’ll be back soon.”

Barbara nodded and led Daisy past the crowd, out the doors, while Brit found Cord at one of the VIP tables on a bar stool next to Lander.

Without missing a beat, he stood and embraced her. She melted into his strong arms. The flash of a camera went off somewhere, but she didn’t care if it was pointed at her or not. Being linked to him in the tabloids would not be the worst thing that could happen.

“I’m just glad you’re OK.” He pulled out his bar stool for her, and she took a seat and leaned in toward Lander.

“I’m fine, and I hate that I keep getting into situations to say that. This was a stupid one. We have to get that stupid door to the stairwell fixed. Anyway, what’d you think of Daisy’s set?”

“She’s got real potential. I wanna see more before I make any decisions, but there’s potential there. Vincent Gordon is killing it.”

“I don’t think Vincent can do anything but kill it. He’s a star. So when do you think you’ll make a decision about Daisy?”

Cord set a glass in front of her. It was a now watered down Sprite with melted ice cubes and a lime that had fallen in.

“I guess I better drink this since you went to all that trouble,” Brit said. She had to yell since Vincent had started his next song.

She shook her head and wrapped his forearm in a vice grip. He looked down at her hand on his arm and smiled.

After Vincent’s next song ended, Brit excused herself to find Daisy and Barbara in Mike’s office.

“Really?” Daisy jumped up and hugged Brit. “I wasn’t sure after how my song with Vincent went.” Her eyes watered again.

Someone knocked lightly on the door behind them. Vincent sauntered in with a sweat towel around his neck, holding something in his hand. He dabbed his forehead.

“Lander said this was where all the beautiful women were. He wasn’t wrong. You girls staying for DJ Knight?”

Vincent turned over the packet in his hand. “I don’t know. They’re called Zotz.”

“Don’t tell anyone else you bought those. The employees are going to be pissed. Those have been in that machine since the eighties.”

His lip curled in disgust as he held the package by two fingers. “Seriously?” He dropped the ripped open package into the garbage can, the rest of the candy clacking against each other.

Brit reached out her hand helplessly. “No, don’t! That’s history you’re throwing away.”

Maybe, but Brit had every intention of digging it out of the trash after he left anyway.