“No, I think that one’s good. We’ve got everything we need on that. Let’s move on.”
Raine tilted her head before narrowing her eyes—and she approached the door to the control booth. “Um…can I ask you a question?”
No. “Sure.”
“You feel…different somehow. What’s changed?”
Jesus. Of course, she knew it. How could she not? But he wasn’t about to tell her his deepest fears—that touching her again would mean her ruin. He focused on keeping his voice level. “Nothing. I…” Quentin paused and shook his head. “We still have an album we need to record. Or have you forgotten that?”
The way her face blanched caused something inside Quentin to shrivel. Jesus, he was an asshole—but at least that was a role he knew how to play well. And it was for the best. It was for her sake.
It didn’t matter if it would cause him to hate himself even more. He couldn’t cross the line again.
“Of course not.” Echoing her earlier sentiment, she said, “That’s why I’m here.” But the way she said it this time told him everything he needed to know. His cruelty had successfully shut her down.
“Good. So let’s decide on which song we’ll record next.”
“Um…you pick, I guess.”
That entire day was tense—and intense—but at least Raine took the hint and stayed professional throughout the session. When they broke for lunch, Quentin stayed in the studio, telling her he needed to perfect a section of the song they were working on—and, at the end of the day, he said he was going to work on getting the last few remaining tracks ready to record.
He saw it again on her face—the confusion, the hurt. But it was better this way.
For both of them.
And, as he stayed up late into the evening, he dedicated himself to finishing the album as soon as possible while making it as perfect as possible without making it too perfect…and, when it was as big a hit as he knew it would be, maybe she would be able to forgive him.
Maybe he’d even be able to forgive himself.
Chapter 19
The very next week, they were in L.A. The fucking label had decided that they needed to have a listening party for the tracks that were done and ready to go—even though Raine wasn’t ready for them to hear any of it. But it didn’t matter because what the label wanted, they got. Even now, she had little say in her career. They were releasing the single the same day as the party, and so they felt like it was a good time to let it out into the world.
She and Quentin weren’t done yet, but the label didn’t care. The way Russ, the PR guy, had framed it was that this would really “sell the narrative that you’re a couple.”
Ugh. It was fucking bullshit—especially since Quentin had been acting like he’d regretted sleeping with her ever since it had happened.
And now they were arriving at somebody’s mansion in the Hollywood Hills ready to be on display. They label had told Quentin he could wear whatever he’d typically wear to an event like this, but Raine didn’t get that kind of choice. Instead, they brought her a selection of several outfits—and, after looking through them all multiple times, she landed on one that felt the closest to something she might pick out for herself. She chose a soft almost-black silk cami with a cotton skirt that ended just past the knee and low boots. They allowed her to wear her hair almost normally, but it was still weird. It was blonde now, having been bleached to take in whatever fun color she’d have added, but the label didn’t want her to do that right now. The pink had long since faded and they’d promised they’d let her change it up on tour but, right now, they wanted her to look “natural.” That was likely why her makeup too was soft. The label had sent the same makeup artist to work with her who’d been there for the staged photo shoot and, when she was done, she’d declared Raine “beautiful.” Looking in the mirror, Raine couldn’t disagree—but she felt a little off. Beautiful, maybe, but the woman in the reflection wasn’t Raine Dennison.
The same could have been said of the entire affair. As the limo pulled into the drive, Raine took in the place where they’d be spending the next few hours: all glass, but not like Quentin’s place. This mansion was surrounded by lush green plants, several palm trees, and, she discovered later, a large pool with a view of the lights of Los Angeles.
When the driver opened the door for them, Russ and his assistant Hunter got out first. After Quentin exited, he held out his hand for Raine, helping her out. His black button-down shirt with dark jeans and black leather shoes, ones she hadn’t seen before, complemented her outfit.
They would easily project the image the label was looking for.
As they made their way up the walkway to the house, lit up like the fourth of July, Raine pulled at the camisole. It was like a lot of clothes she’d worn in the past…but different. It felt like it was made of richer fabric and made to show that she was feminine without looking too sexy. There was no deep scoop or plunge, making it what Russ had called “respectable.”
She could hardly wait until this night was over.
Approaching the door, she felt a slight chill in the air, reminding her of the hot days in Joshua Tree—and the cold nights.
As soon as they entered, they were introduced to lots of people—some she knew, but others were strangers. A few people, she knew, were influencers of some kind, no doubt there to spread early buzz about the album.
Again, it was all about control, as Russ had said on the way there.
Tristan was there as well, pressing palms and making nice with the folks who were there to take in Raine—and Quentin’s—newest efforts.
What really struck Raine, though, was the immediate shift in Quentin’s behavior as soon as they walked through the doors. After not having touched her since their night together, he put his hand on her back, doing exactly what the label had asked.
