Page 37

Dash, A Year Later…

“Cut!” The director is on a tear today, and I hate watching her yell at Willow.

Well, technically, she’s not yelling. She’s…directing.

I don’t get this part of Willow’s job, but she does. And she’s happy. Thriving.

It’s incredible to watch her in her element.

And this director, Vivian Krause, is the first one to give her a chance with a leading role.

“I’m needed back in wardrobe,” she murmurs as she brushes past me. “See you later?”

“I’ve got to run some errands, but Ty will be here until I get back.”

She smiles and nods, attentive but also distracted.

That’s okay.

This is her job.

With the trial finally behind us, and all her money woes gone, it feels good to be at a stage where we’re so comfortable with each other that we practically read each other’s minds.

The trial was brutal, forcing her to relive the trauma of her past. The worst part—at least to me—was her mother up there.

Defending Dylan. It made me sick. Listening to her talk about a wild, troubled teenager who was out of control.

And yet, in recounting her misadventures, there was nothing truly over the top.

Not enough to justify her subsequent actions.

A little drug use, but let’s be honest—it’s rare to find a teenager that doesn’t dabble, especially a wealthy one in the public eye. She never hurt anyone, never used hard drugs, and it never impacted her work. Yet her mother seemed determined to paint her as some sort of drug-addled villain.

And it pissed me right off.

Apparently, it pissed off the jury too.

Not only did they find Dylan guilty of aggravated assault, he was also ordered to pay her a fuck-ton of money. The forensic accountant is a fucking magician, if you ask me. He dug up almost every penny of Dylan’s financial abuse to go along with the physical and emotional.

Dylan had to sell the house and everything he owned to pay for his legal team and get Willow what he owes her.

The best part?

When he gets out of prison in eight or so years? He still owes her six figures.

It’s great.

We don’t need the money, but putting the screws to Dylan will always make me happy.

I proposed right after the trial, at the top of a canyon in Arizona at sunset.

We’re having a winter wedding—next January—in Hawaii. The girls are having a field day with the planning, and I’m man enough to admit that it’s fun. Mostly. Sometimes. Cake tasting was fun, at the very least.

My phone rings once I’m in my SUV, heading to take my favorite senior client, Martika, to the doctor.

“Hey, Chuck. What’s up?”

“Dude, we’re gonna need to think about hiring some more help. Business is fucking booming. Three new clients since yesterday.”

“Three?” I ask in surprise.

“Yup. One is Martika’s grandson—he needs security for a gala he’s hosting. A thousand people. So we’ll probably need to hire some freelancers for that one.”

“Jesus. But still, good news.”

He updates me on a few more things before I pull up to Martika’s building.

“Listen I just pulled up to Martika’s,” I say. “So we can talk about expansion at next week’s all-hands meeting.”

“Well, now that you have a new partner?—”

“Gotta run, man. I’ll call you later!” I disconnect and get out to greet Martika.

As always, any appointment with Martika runs long.

Her doctor tends to be busy, traffic is usually a nightmare, and she always gets me to walk her in when we get home.

So she can feed me, give me water, whatever it takes to keep me around a little longer.

And I don’t mind—she’s lonely. Plus, she pays me incredibly well.

I can hang out and make her laugh for a while.

She loves hearing updates on the wedding, so I tell her everything I can remember.

Color scheme, menu, and bridesmaid info makes her giggle. Then she pulls out pictures of her own wedding. Well, her first wedding. From what I understand, there have been four, and she’s outlived all the grooms.

It’s getting late, though, and I really need to get going.

I’ve just gotten into my SUV when a text from Willow pops up.

WILLOW: I need you. In my trailer. Hurry!

My blood runs cold, and I probably break a dozen traffic laws getting back to the set, grateful that this part of the movie is being filmed in L.A. They did two weeks on location in Hawaii—which is what convinced her to have the wedding there—but the rest is all local.

Throwing the vehicle into park, I race past the guards, past some startled members of the crew, and even past Vivian, in a panic about what might be happening to Willow.

And where the hell is Ty?!

I throw open the door to Willow’s trailer. “Willow! Babe, what’s—” I cut off abruptly.

She’s buck naked, sprawled across the small daybed provided for her.

And as my eyes rake over her beautiful body, I realize she’s… handcuffed.

“Took you long enough,” she murmurs, playfully batting her eyelashes.

“I was…” I can’t remember where I am and my mouth feels dry.

Not that we don’t already have the most incredible sex possible, but this is different. Special .

The ultimate show of trust.

“Where’s the key?” I ask automatically, safety always of tantamount importance.

She laughs and motions with her head. “Right there. Now come to bed, Hudson.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.

I take a second to lock the door and start ripping my clothes off.

A moment later I’m on top of her, mouths and bodies in perfect sync as we kiss and touch and…bond. That’s the best word to describe this because it’s so much more than lovemaking.

She knows I love her.

She knows I’ll always take care of her.

She knows she’s my everything.

But now I also know she trusts me.

Which means so much to me.

“I love you,” I breathe against her lips. “So much.”

“I love you more,” she whispers back.

Our eyes lock, and my world is stupidly perfect.

“Hudson?”

My eyes snap to hers.

“What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

I rumble out a laugh and press my lips to hers.

“You’re in a very compromising position to be so sassy.”

“Uh huh.” Her eyes twinkle. “Let’s go, buddy—I have less than an hour at this point.”

“Well… you might be a little late.”

Atlas

“And then he says”—her voice drops into a rough approximation of my voice and if I wasn’t so annoyed at the gorgeous woman making fun of me a-fucking-gain, I’d be impressed at how good she is at that—“I haven’t had a hot dog in my mouth since college.”

Yup.

Not one of my finer moments.

But I turn into a bumbling dumbass around this woman.

Lily Maxwell is beautiful. And funny. And smart and talented, a country star who’s successfully made the transition to full and complete pop star in the last six months.

People sport T-shirts with lyrics from her songs.

Her tour dates sell out in seconds.

Social media shows her on every other video—or maybe that’s just my algorithm because I can’t seem to scroll away when she comes up on my phone.

Number one singles. Platinum records. A documentary about her song-writing and the aforementioned tour.

All of which has cemented her spot as an A-lister.

And none of which seem to have changed her.

She’s still the same vivacious, smart, confident, and yes, it has to be said, beautiful woman with a mischievous streak a mile wide.

“Dude,” Banks mutters, slanting his gaze at me, his green eyes dancing with mirth.

I know.

If it was anyone but me who said that shit, I’d be dying of laughter.

Unfortunately, it was me.

And it is me who’s on the receiving end of my friends’ laughter. Briar, my assistant—or in actuality, the woman who’s become my right hand in my business—cackles the loudest of them all.

And Aspen and Banks, Royal and Jade, Willow and Dash all laugh pretty fucking loudly.

I scowl, lift my glass to my lips, tossing back the dredges of my Gamebreaker, the drink our deceased friend, Colt, created way back in our college years.

No, it doesn’t pair well with hot dogs.

Probably why I hadn’t had one between then and the last concert of Lily’s I attended.

I was starving, the spread was there, and…

So was the infamous Lily Maxwell to overhear my idiocy.

To the rest of the world, I’m Atlas Delarosa, powerful businessman, billionaire before I turned thirty.

To this crew, Lily included, I’m just Atlas—a former college hockey player who is loyal and steadfast and…

Great.

I sound like a golden retriever.

Lily’s phone buzzes and, thank fuck, it cuts off the rest of her teasing.

“Excuse me,” she says softly, pushing back her chair and striding for the privacy of the hallway of The Sapphire Room.

It’s the club my friends and I own, one we started to honor Colt, and now a place that has become a second home for us.

My eyes linger on the entrance to the hall for long enough that Dash kicks my foot.

Hard.

“Dude,” he mutters, “you need to pull it together.”

“Seriously,” Royal says, “you’re giving whipped a bad name.”

“Pot meet kettle.” My words are terse, filled with warning.

One they all ignore.

Because they’re my friends. But they’re also my family.

And because our love language is giving each other shit.

I ignore Banks when he says, “You need to ask her out.”

And Briar when she says, “Exactly. He needs to shit or get off the pot.”

“Maybe we should all give Atlas a break,” Jade, the nicest of us, murmurs.

“Or maybe he needs a push,” Willow, who’s also nice, but whose wicked streak comes out more frequently now that Dash and her have fallen in love. “I know I did.”

“I need another drink,” I growl, shoving up to my feet and striding to the bar, trying very hard to keep my gaze away from that empty hallway where Lily disappeared.

It’s just…

She’s taken a lot of phone calls tonight.

Like an obscene amount—and that’s saying something, considering my cell is perpetually glued to my ear.

That’s why I leave my empty glass on the bar, turn for the hall.

Her voice reaches me before I see her.

“...I’m not trying to be dramatic Erin, but that’s not going to work for me.”

I frown, move a little closer, drifting through the corridor and toward the woman standing near to the door to the parking lot, phone to her ear, chin to her chest, tension wound tightly through every inch of her frame.

My frown deepens.

Because this isn’t the Lily I’ve come to know over the last months.

She’s light and joy, mirth and mischief…not this picture of frustration with a hint of gloominess.

As if the weight she’s carrying is heavy.

Too heavy.

When every interaction I’ve had with her before now makes it seem as if worldwide stardom has barely touched her.

I step closer and she starts, head jerking up, eyes going wide for a heartbeat before I see it.

A mask slipping back into place.

She smiles at me, tosses her hair—bright and bubbly slipping back into place. “Just take care of it Erin, yeah? Within the next couple of hours.”

Then she’s tapping at her phone’s screen, letting her hand with it held tight in its grasp fall to her side. “Easy on the scowling, big guy,” she says lightly, her smile widening. “Otherwise your face may stay like that.”

“I—”

That’s so far from what I was expecting her to say that I fumble for a second.

Hell, who am I kidding?

I’m always fumbling over myself with this woman.

Stammering. Dropping shit. Running into things.

It’s so beyond fucking pathetic that I almost let her slip by me. Except…she has a problem.

And if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s fixing things.

I catch her arm as she starts to brush by me. “What’s wrong?”

A tug, trying to free herself from my grip. But I can’t seem to let her go.

“What does Erin need to fix?”

Her brows drag together and I want to kiss the befuddlement off her face.

But…something to fix, some way for me to stop feeling like an idiot with this woman.

“Lily,” I warn.

She jerks slightly, her startling blue eyes locking on mine, and she doesn’t fight me for once, just says, “My charter to Denver fell through. I’m supposed to leave tonight for the next leg of my tour, and my assistant has supposedly looked into every option…

and landed with me taking a commercial flight. ”

My eyebrows fly up.

“I’m not trying to be a diva,” she says quietly.

“You being on a commercial flight right now is stupid,” I mutter. “At best you’ll be mobbed. At worst things could get scary quickly.”

She nibbles at her red-painted lips. “I know.” A shrug then I watch the worry being wiped clear of her face. “It’ll be fine. Erin will take care of it.”

“Come with me,” I blurt.

Confusion in blue eyes. “Um…where are we going, big guy?”

“I can give you a ride on my private jet,” I say in a rush. “I was heading to Denver tomorrow, anyway.” A lie, but not a huge one. I need to check in with the office there. It just wasn’t at the top of my priority list.

“You were?” Her brow furrows.

“I have an office there.”

Her face relaxes. “I can’t ask you to?—”

“It’s not asking. I’m offering. I have a jet, Lily.” I glance at my watch. “I’ll make call, have it ready by ten. Does that give you enough time?”

“Atlas,” she begins, and the protest hasn’t left her tone.

“It’s heading that direction,” I say, grasping at straws, unable to let this go. “God knows the environment would prefer if someone more than me was on it.”

“So, you’re saying we should carpool to minimize our carbon footprint?”

Well now, that sounds dumb.

And…I turn back into an idiot.

“I—um… Well— I just?—”

Then I catch it—humor in blue eyes, red lips curving into a hint of a smile.

The damned woman is teasing me. Again.

“Lily,” I warn again.

A flicker of something through her face—heat maybe? But before I can really process it, her voice is gentling. “Thank you, Atlas.” She lifts on tiptoe, presses her lips to my cheek. “I really appreciate the offer. I’ll see you at ten.”

My skin burns from the contact, from the agreement.

Then she’s slipping her arm free of my grip and I know that nothing is going to stay the same.

Because I’m not going to let it.

We hope you loved DEALbrEAKER as much as we loved writing Willow and Dash’s story!