“Go over there right now and tell Birdie you are looking forward to working together or you’re out of the damn will.”
“Daddy—”
“Go. Both of you. And it has to be convincing. Birdie is a better person than this whole damn family for putting up with me this long and we are going to make it up to her.”
I watched with narrowed eyes as they both moved over to where Birdie was getting fitted for Christine’s dress—her breasts overflowing in the tight bodice, making my cock twitch uncontrollably.
She was going to be like dynamite on this stage.
And I’d known it ever since the first moment I saw her.
I had been bored as hell that season, the last one of my contract, and I was tired of hearing the same damn style of singing, the same damn overly-produced and hyper-aware voices.
So when Birdie strolled onto that stage, dressed casually as hell in a long, colorful skirt and T-shirt, I sat up straight. There was something about her luscious curves, the way her hair was untamed and beautiful, the curls a whole riot, that was different.
And when she opened her mouth to sing—holy hell.
Hervoice.
It was rich, low, sultry, and so veryverytempting.
She sung with such pure pleasure too, not caring about anything but how the sounds felt, and the look she gave me sent heat pounding down to my cock.
Confident, unconcerned, deeply sensual.
I knew as soon as I saw her that we had a soul-connection, that here were two people who both deeplyfeltthe music in the same ways.
And I knew she wasn’t a gold-digger, but I had treated her like she was, like her voice was for me only, instead of an extraordinary talent she had ambition to share.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Lulabel broke into my reverie in a sugar-sweet voice as she walked past with a plate of chocolate-chip cookies for the cast.
Great, now it was confirmed all of my ex-wives and my hopeful future wife probably expected this production to fail.
This production could not fail.Birdie had to know how committed I was to her success and not jealously keeping her voice to myself.
Even though every time I saw Birdie even get close to Francois, who was playing the Phantom, I wanted to fuck shit up, her fangs extended to bite into his throat and all I could think about wasI fucked up so badly.
Unwillingly, I scrolled a few headlines about the upcoming show.
There was more attention on Phantom of the Bloody Opera than ever, all of it focused around the scandalous fact that I’d hired the woman I’d recently—left—at the altar.
There was that repulsive idiotic word again.Left. I hated it. In my head I had never ever intended to leave Birdie anywhere.
But I absolutelyhadthought I had the power and pull over my fiancée to make her pause and wait for me, let me get a little taste of Phee begging for another chance, before I went back.
And I had made a major miscalculation of my own goddamn appeal.
Fuck, I needed to get some better headlines out there.
Birdie was never going to forgive me with these headlines.
They framedmeas the rejector. Her as theloser. I needed headlines that flipped the narrative. I needed something toeven us out.
I needed a damn miracle to get her back.
Chapter fourteen
Birdie
