“With an option for two more.”
He smiled. “So, what’s the skinny on the story? Am I going to wake up and find out I’ve traveled back in time to eight years ago?”
My heart clenched, but I shook my head. “The story is buried. There may be the odd line here or there, but no one is going to focus on what happened.”
“You did that?”
“It’s my job.”
“Cleaning up after artists with a short fuse is your job?”
“Man, you don’t know the half of it.” I angled my head. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “Not particularly. It was the worst time in my whole fucking life.” As I opened my mouth, he held up his hand. “Don’t.”
“Have you ever talked to anyone? A therapist?”
“You Americans and your therapy.”
“You British and your ridiculous stiff upper lip.”
He relaxed into a smile. “Touché.”
“Well, have you talked to anyone?”
“I did the therapy thing. It helped me kick my addictions.” He sighed before resting his head on the cushion and staring at the ceiling.
“But not the guilt.”
“No.”
“I can recommend someone if you’d like to tackle that.”
“I won’t, but thanks.” Leaning forward, he picked up his water and sipped. “I am sorry for bailing, but if I’d stayed, I’d have fallen off the wagon. Had to keep moving, you know?”
“I wish you’d called.”
Slowly, he rolled his head in my direction. “And if I had, what would you have done?”
My right shoulder hitched. “Kept you company. Checked out if The Godfather was streaming anywhere, and showed up at your hotel room with a bucket of popcorn and a six pack of soda.”
He chuckled. “We should hire out a cinema. Watch it in style.”
“I’m game if you are.”
His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath. “Tell me something, Aspen. I know you said cleaning up after artists is a part of your job, but does everyone signed to your label get this kind of personal service?”
No.“I pride myself on treating every single artist signed to Kingcaid Music the same. If they need me, I make myself available.”
“Hmm.” He ran his middle finger over his bottom lip. Damn, I wished he wouldn’t do that. He was altogether too damn sexy.Every second I spent with him tested my self-applied rule of never dating musicians. Especially those signed to my label.
“Looking forward to getting into the studio in a few weeks’ time?”Well done. Steer the conversation onto safer subjects.
He nodded. “Yeah. More than ready. I have a couple of songs written already, and a ton of ideas. Gonna spend the next few weeks here writing.”
“That’s good.”
We lapsed into silence, but as was often the case with us, there was no awkwardness, just the quiet comfort of spending time with someone—and words were an unnecessary interruption.
