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CHAPTER TEN

Jade

“Ms. Cantrell?” One of my security guys gently touches my shoulder. “You received a note from someone in one of the other suites.”

I sigh.

It’s probably an invitation from some corporate CEO who noticed I’m here alone.

The invite could be genuine or an attempt to get their name in the news because Jade Cantrell joined them in their box.

Whoever it is, they’re probably watching, so I keep a pleasant smile on my face as I unfold the piece of paper.

And freeze.

Jade—

My goddaughter is a huge fan and wants to meet you. If you could do this for her, I’d appreciate it. We’ll keep the visit short.

Royal

Royal.

It’s been two weeks and my body still tingles in all the places he touched me.

Which is pretty much everywhere.

Crud.

And I’m sitting here out in the open where he—and anyone else who’s noticed me—is watching my reaction.

That’s just great.

I honestly never want to see him again, but the goddaughter he told me about is only three. I can and should do this. It’s not her fault her godfather is a womanizing cretin.

I nod to my security guy, Larry, and get to my feet as he walks over to open the door.

And there he is…

Royal-pain-in-the-butt.

Looking better than he should, with his scruffy beard and unkempt long hair.

Hair I vividly remember tugging on as he made me?—

“Jade!” Frankie’s squeal is delightful. Her eyes dance with mischievous excitement as she pulls Royal forward. “Hi!”

“Hi there.” I make sure not to have eye contact with Royal as I squat down to my haunches so it’s easier to talk to Frankie. “You must be Frankie.”

“You know my name?” Her eyes round.

“Royal told me all about you,” I respond.

“Uncle Royal told you about me?” She clasps her hands together in front of her chest and grins. “It’s cause he loves me.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“I love love love ‘Temporary Love Song’ and ‘Forever in Rewind.’ They’re my favorites.”

“Thank you. ‘Temporary Love Song’ is the very first song I ever wrote,” I tell her. And the only one my record company would let me record. After that, they made me buy them from big-name songwriters. Like Royal Ewing.

I won’t tell her that part.

“I want to write songs too,” Frankie says. “Uncle Royal is teaching me to play guitar and piano. Then I want to write lots of songs. Better than ‘Old MacDonald.’ That’s so boring.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, making me bite back a laugh.

“Well, you have to work your way up,” I say.

The crowd goes wild—apparently the Vipers scored—and Frankie’s eyes fly to the TV screen on the wall.

“Did Uncle Banks score?” she demands, turning to her uncle.

“No, it was Magnus Forsberg,” he replies. “But Uncle Banks got the assist.”

“Goals are better,” Frankie mumbles, turning back to me.

“They are, but this is a team sport, right? So it takes the whole team to win.” I try to be gentle so she doesn’t think I’m upset with her.

She knits her little brows together as if considering this carefully. “I guess so. I just like it better when Uncle Banks scores. Did you know my auntie Aspen is going to have a baby?”

I chuckle at the sharp right in conversation. “No, I didn’t.”

She gives me the rundown on what everyone in her inner circle is doing—Uncle Atlas is away on business in the Anti-arctic, Auntie Aspen has a tummy ache because of the baby, and Mommy had to go with Uncle Atlas so Uncle Royal is staying at her house—and then flops down in one of the chairs.

“Uncle Royal, I’m hungry,” she says.

“Then it’s time for us to go,” he responds.

I reach out to gently stroke one of her soft, dark curls, thinking how beautiful she is. How smart and sweet and funny. Her mother and uncles must love her very much.

“Would you like me to sign something for you?” I ask her. “I don’t have any pictures or anything with me.”

“Uncle Royal, do we have the programmer?”

“The program,” he corrects absently. “But no. We left it in Uncle Atlas’s suite.”

“Oh, I’ve got mine.” I quickly get it out of my bag, where I’d stuffed it, and dig out a Sharpie. It’s become habit to carry one with me everywhere so I sign the front of the program with lots of hearts and swirlies, and hand it to her.

She clutches it to her chest. “Thank you! I love it!”

“You’re very welcome. Would you like to take a picture?”

“Can we, Uncle Royal? Since you writed a song together?”

“Wrote.” We gently correct her in unison and, for the first time, our eyes meet.

His are shrouded and wary, which makes no sense since he’s the one who snuck out like a thief in the night.

“Since you wrote a song together!” She claps her hands happily.

“I’ll take it, Ms. Cantrell.” Larry holds out his hand to Royal who looks at it blankly for a beat before opening his phone, typing in the passcode, and then handing it to him.

I get to my feet, and Royal comes to stand next to me.

Good-golly-Miss-Molly, just having the side of his arm brush against mine makes goosebumps break out on my flesh.

What the heck is wrong with me when it comes to this guy? He showed me that I was nothing more than a notch on his bedpost, so there is no reason for me to still get all tingly inside when he’s near me.

Then the jerk puts his arm around me—the one with the hand that doesn’t work properly—and I suspect it’s to keep it hidden. The fingers curl a little when he’s not using it, so I’m guessing he’s self-conscious about it. I turn my body to a slight angle, further hiding his hand as Frankie stands up on the chair.

“We don’t stand on furniture, Tater Tot,” Royal says quietly.

She sighs dramatically and gets down. “But now I’m too short.”

“I’ve got you, kiddo.” I reach down and pick her up, settling her on the hip where Royal’s bad hand is loosely resting.

He pulls it back.

Two birds, one metaphorical stone.

We take a bunch of pictures and then the crowd is in another uproar so I set Frankie down and she runs to the railing to see what’s going on.

“A fight!” she exclaims. “It’s Uncle Banks! Oh, no.” She immediately covers her eyes.

“It’s okay,” I say, moving toward her without thinking. I pull her against my side and stroke her hair. “You must know it’s part of the game and usually not real.”

“I know,” she whispers against my hip, “but it’s Uncle Banks . Auntie Aspen doesn’t like it when he fights either.”

I bet.

“See, it’s all done,” I whisper several moments later, kneeling down again and hugging her. “And he’s sitting in the penalty box, safe and sound.”

“Okay.” She lets out a little sigh of relief and drops her hands.

“We should go, Tater Tot. Ms. Cantrell has other people to talk to.”

“She does?” Frankie looks around. “Who?”

I bite back a laugh. “It’s okay,” I tell Royal. “ She can watch the game with me.” I emphasize the word she just enough for him to get my meaning, hopefully without Frankie catching on.

“Yay! Can I, Uncle Royal? Pretty please with sugar and sprinkles on top?”

His lips thin, annoyance practically seeping out of him, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it came. “We have to go, Tater Tot. We’ve taken enough of Ms. Cantrell’s time. I’m sure she’s very busy writing new songs.”

I frown.

Was that a jab of some kind?

Why is he acting like I’m the one who did something wrong?

“Larry,” I say, “would you get Frankie some fresh popcorn?”

“Absolutely.” He nods and slips out.

Frankie’s immersed in the game and I lower my voice as I move closer to Royal. “You can leave her here until the end of the game. I don’t mind.”

He shakes his head. “She’s my responsibility, which means I don’t let her out of my sight.”

“Okay. I just thought it might be fun for her. You’re welcome to stay as well. It’s not like we have to talk.”

He snorts. “Yeah, you did all your talking to the press.”

“ Excuse me?” It’s hard to keep my voice down, but I somehow manage.

“Apparently, we’re writing new songs together,” he says dryly. “Anything to keep your name associated with mine, eh?”

My mouth falls open, and I stare at him. “I’m sorry— I’m not the one who was caught sneaking out of my hotel room early the morning after…” I don’t finish my sentence. “And maybe that kind of thing is an everyday occurrence for you, but it’s not for me. I have a reputation to uphold. I care what people think of me.”

We stare at each other and I see the wheels turning.

“There were pictures?” he asks finally.

I give him a look. “Oh, so you know all about what I said about us working on new music but not that you were seen leaving my room? Or how I got ambushed by a reporter and I had to think fast because my former publicist couldn’t be bothered to pay attention?” I grind my teeth together then exhale, trying to keep hold of my temper. “And anyway, I didn’t say we were writing music, I simply said people would have to wait and find out.”

His eyes burn into mine. “Which is essentially the same thing.”

I shrug. “That’s not my problem. I had to do damage control on the fly. Otherwise, not only did we spend the night together, you snuck out like I was nothing more than another one-night stand. Which is fine—except for the part where it makes me look like some trashy bimbo who meant nothing to you.” For some reason, my eyes feel a little scratchy and I turn to watch what’s going on out on the ice.

Darn it.

Why do I want to cry?

“Wait. No.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not…shit. I—” He’s interrupted as the crowd erupts once again, and this time, it’s Banks who scores.

I keep my gaze on Frankie as she dances around the suite happily, completely ignoring us.

“I didn’t know,” Royal says once things have settled down again and his voice is softer. “For that, I’m sorry. I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” I say when he doesn’t finish. “But that’s not me. And I don’t need to link my name to yours. My name does just fine on its own. Yes, you wrote that song, but I’m the one who made it a hit. The bulk of my fan base are country music fans—they don’t know who Royal Ewing is. And they don’t care.”

He looks like I slapped him.

Dang it.

I take a moment to gently backpedal.

“I just mean, country music fans don’t necessarily follow a rock guitarist like Royal Ewing—they follow Jade Cantrell.”

“Until you told the world that we were writing a song together ,” he grumbles. “Now they’re following both of us.”

I lift my chin. “I did what I had to do. Just like you did the morning after our night together.”

“Except now we have to figure out what to do about it.”

“We don’t. We can just say we didn’t have time in our schedules and eventually everyone will forget all about it.”

His eyes settle on mine and whatever is lurking beneath those blue depths is hard to read.

He takes what feels like a long time to respond, his jaw working the entire time.

“We could…make the time.”

I frown.

“But it has to be on my terms,” he adds in a rush, as though he can’t believe he’s actually saying what he’s saying. “And it can’t be in L.A.”

My heart starts pounding.

“I—”

“I know a place that’s private,” he says. “No press. No pictures. Just music.”

“I don’t know if I have time,” I admit despite the excitement building in my chest.

I want to spend time with him again.

Even if it’s platonic.

Well, it absolutely has to be platonic.

I’m not doing that again. Nope, no way. It’s far too dangerous for me.

But the lure of actually writing a song, together , is more than I can resist.

“It wouldn’t take long,” he says, those deep-set eyes boring into mine. “Three or four days at most.”

I open my mouth. Close it again. That’s hardly any time at all. Three days is totally doable.

Right?

“It can only be business,” I say with as much certainty as I can muster up.

“Absolutely.” He’s waiting for a response, eyes never leaving mine.

Jiminy crickets.

This is going to be a huge mistake.

But I’m going to do it.

I can’t help myself.

So, I take a breath, jump right into the deep end, and just say,

“Give me the details.”